At some point, I started believing that convenient things simply didn't happen to me anymore.
Or maybe I just stopped noticing them.
Maybe they came too late—only after I'd already dug myself too deep to be saved. Even if, somewhere inside, I was still trying to crawl my way back out.
And everything I've pulled off lately? Feels less like progress and more like fate tossing me a bone—just so it can kick me harder.
But… whatever.
Even if that's true, I'm not the kind of person who goes down quietly.
Never was.
Never will be.
And that's why… I was genuinely shocked when my name showed up on this year's school trip list.
I remember staring at the blackboard, blankly, like it was written in Russian.
I'd never been on a school trip before.
So why now?
It wasn't just me. My classmates looked just as surprised.
In the corner of my vision, I caught Yamashita's faint smile.
Then Suzuki's smirk.
If I had to guess… they actually wanted me there.
That felt stranger than the trip.
The bell rang, but nobody moved right away.
The list on the blackboard stayed there, names written in the teacher's neat handwriting, mine included like it belonged.
Someone in the back muttered, "Wait… Shiba's actually going?"
Another voice—lower, half-laughing—followed immediately.
"No way. The delinquent? On a school trip? That's gotta be a typo."
A girl near the window snorted.
"Or maybe the teachers finally gave up and decided to babysit him in Kyoto."
A couple of guys at the side laughed. I felt it build, that anger that always burned in my chest.
Normally I'd let it slide.
Not today.
I slammed my fist into my desk. The crack of wood cut through the classroom, sharp and sudden. Silence dropped instantly.
I stood up slowly, rolling my shoulders once, cracking my knuckles like I had all the time in the world.
My head tilted just enough.
"You got something to say?," I said calmly, "Well, say that shit to my face, you little bitches."
A few squeaks came from the guys—actual squeaks, high-pitched, panicked.
I dropped back into my seat, letting the tension explode without me.
To my surprise, Inazuki spoke up first.
"Uh, hello?" she said lightly, flipping her hair back. "Shiba-kun is literally in this class, you know? Pretty sure he has the same right to go as the rest of us."
A girl beside her leaned closer, lowering her voice.
"But, Mika-chan… he's a delinquent…"
Inazuki blinked, then let out a short laugh.
"Delinquent?" she echoed, like the word itself was funny. "Okay, but—has he ever done anything to our class?"
No one answered.
"Problematic or not, Shiba-kun is a student in this class," Yamashita said quietly, her voice gentle but steady, like she was stating something obvious and important at the same time.
She looked around the room with that calm, even gaze she always has when she's stepping into her class-president role.
"Judging him just by a label… that's not fair to anyone."
I thought that would be the end of it.
But then Mori spoke up.
"Seriously? People are actually defending that delinquent now?" he scoffed, voice loud enough to cut through the room.
"You all hit your heads or what? I get that the class president's got a crush on him, but even Inazuki? What's wrong with you guys?"
The room stiffened.
For a second, no one answered.
Then Suzuki interfered.
"…This isn't about liking him or not."
Every head turned.
She didn't look at Mori at first. She looked straight ahead, expression calm, almost bored—like she was tired of repeating something obvious.
"The whole 'Shiba-kun is a delinquent' thing?" she continued, tilting her head slightly.
"It's old."
Her eyes shifted, finally landing on Mori.
"And honestly? It's getting annoying."
I can defend myself, you know?
For the first time, I looked that loudmouth straight in the eyes.
"Yo, NPC-kun," I said, voice flat, like I was reading off a script I didn't even care about. "Aren't you that idiot who was crying last month about being too ugly to get a girlfriend?"
The room went dead.
Then, from the back, one guy let out a choked snort.
Another followed.
A girl near the window covered her mouth, but her shoulders were shaking.
Even the loudmouth's friend cracked, a quick "oh shit" laugh slipping out before he caught himself.
Not everyone — a few people looked uncomfortable, eyes darting between me and the idiot.
"You wanna fight, bozo? I do jujitsu, I ain't afraid of a delinquent," he barked, voice cracking just enough to betray how hard he was trying to save face.
I burst out laughing — real enough to bounce around the room and catch even me off guard.
He blinked, completely thrown.
"W-what's so funny?" he yelled, face turning redder.
I leaned back in my chair, eyes half-lidded, smile already gone.
"I don't fight weaklings," I said, voice flat and bored.
Laughter erupted again, louder this time, sharp and sudden.
The girl next to Inazuki leaned in, voice carrying.
"I'm not gonna lie," she said, half-smiling. "Mori-kun looks more like the delinquent right now."
A guy a few seats back snickered, not even trying to hide it.
"Shiba destroyed him. RIP."
Mori sank lower in his chair, face burning, no comeback left.
Then the intercom cut through the tension, secretary's voice almost bored with life.
"Shiba Takumi. Please report to the faculty office immediately. Shiba Takumi to the faculty office."
Damn.
I shrugged and started walking off.
"For the record, I didn't do anything but skip a few classes… but whatever," I muttered over my shoulder.
I could feel Yamashita's gaze following me—soft, worried. Suzuki's smirk was gone. She just stood there, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Mori, still red-faced from earlier, kept his head down like he was praying I wouldn't glance back.
The hallway was empty except for the echo of my own steps.
Whatever this was—attendance, the outburst, the trip list, or some random crap—it didn't matter.
I wasn't about to beg, explain, or apologize.
The faculty office door was already half-open when I got there.
I pushed it wider and stepped in.
The counselor sat behind her desk, folder open, looking up like she'd been expecting me forever.
"Shiba-kun," she said, voice neutral. "Have a seat."
I sat.
She closed the folder and leaned in slightly.
"We need to talk about your attendance… and a few other things."
I mentally tuned out the whole attendance lecture, nodding along like I was paying attention. But the second I heard Mom paid for me to join the school trip, I couldn't hide the shock.
"She… did what?" I asked, voice flat, trying—and failing—to keep my confusion in check.
"Your mother said she hopes you'll go," the counselor said, her voice noticeably softer now.
"She was also worried you might drop out of school. She seemed… relieved when she heard you hadn't."
Yeah.
As if dropping out was even an option anymore. It's not like Yamashita or Suzuki would let that happen.
And maybe… just maybe, I liked having them around more than I was willing to admit.
She hesitated, fingers tightening slightly around the folder.
"We're aware your family situation is complicated," she added carefully.
"Actually… she also asked for your current address."
I sighed.
"I don't know if she's trying to bring me back or what," I said, staring at the floor. "But there's no way I'm giving my new address to anyone."
That was the end of it.
After the meeting with the counselor, I ran into Suzuki in the hallway.
"Shiba-kun, walk with me for a bit," she said.
I opened my mouth, but she cut me off.
"No. And for the last time, I don't care if people see us together. We're friends, remember? Stop being an idiot."
I blinked.
How did she—
…You know what, never mind.
"Aight, princess," I said, leaning against the wall with my arms crossed, fighting the smirk that was creeping up anyway. "What's on your mind?"
Suzuki flinched—barely. Just enough to prove the nickname got under her skin. A faint blush rose to her cheeks.
Her eyes flicked up to mine, then away, then back again like she was deciding whether to run or stay.
She took a small breath.
"Umm, Shiba-kun…" Her voice came out softer than usual, almost hesitant. "Are you coming on the trip?"
The question hung there, quiet and heavy.
I didn't answer right away.
Just looked at her, feeling that familiar ache in my chest.
She was asking like it mattered.
Like my answer could actually change something.
And for some reason, that pissed me off more than anything else today.
"I don't know," I said, my voice flat. "My mom already paid for it. That's what the counselor told me. I'm still trying to figure out whether I'm supposed to be grateful or annoyed."
I lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug.
"Plus, I've got my part-time job. No idea if they'll even let me take days off."
Suzuki didn't look away this time.
She held my gaze like she was on stage, expression calm, composed—too composed for someone our age.
"I know things are… complicated between you and your mom," she said softly, her tone careful, almost rehearsed. "But a school trip isn't really about parents, is it?"
She smiled, small and neat, the kind that made people feel chosen.
"It's more like… a limited-time event," she added lightly. "A chance to get closer to people you usually just pass in the hallway."
Then her fingers brushed the edge of her sleeve. Just once.
"And who knows," she murmured, eyes avoiding my gaze,
"Maybe we'll end up in the same group."
I thought about it for a second.
I'd ask the manager later. Maybe.
"I'll see what I can do," I said, voice flat.
Suzuki's eyes lit up for half a second before she looked away quick, like she didn't want me to see.
She stepped closer and gave my shoulder a light punch.
"Yeah, you better," she said, with a small laugh—half tease, half relief.
A smirk crept onto my face.
"Admit it," I said. "You'd like it if I was there."
"S-shut up," she muttered, rolling her eyes, cheeks pink.
She punched my shoulder again—lighter this time.
I laughed under my breath.
The hallway noise took over.
We turned and walked back to class side by side, like nothing happened.
But it kinda felt like something did.
After class, I dropped into my seat and my phone buzzed.
Yamashita.
"Shiba-kun, hello. Are you ok? I heard you were called to a meeting earlier… may I ask what it was about?"
I stared at the screen, then typed out what the counselor said—Mom paid for the trip, asked for my address, all that.
Her reply came fast.
"I see. Thank you for telling me."
Then a pause.
"I really hope you can come on the trip with us. As class president, I think it would be good for everyone."
She added one more line, softer now:
"And personally… I'd be glad if you were there."
I exhaled quietly.
"I'll see what I can do. No promises," I typed back.
A few seconds later, three dots appeared, then disappeared.
No reply.
I felt like messing with her a bit—just to see how far I can push it.
"Maybe if I go… you'll finally stop worrying about me, prez 😈"
Typing dots popped up.
Vanished.
Popped up again.
Two minutes of nothing.
Then:
"…That's not what I meant."
Short pause.
"I just think it's good when everyone in the class is included."
Another pause.
"And…"
"I don't dislike being around you, Shiba-kun."
I stared at the screen way too long.
"I like being around you too. 😉"
The typing dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
No reply.
I shoved my phone into my pocket, folded my arms on the desk, and stared at the ceiling for a second before closing my eyes.
And just like that, the rest of the school day slipped by without anything worth remembering.
By the time I got to work, the manager was already leaning against the counter, arms crossed, expression unreadable as always.
Of course he was waiting.
"Kid," he said the moment he saw me. "Golden Week's gonna be hell. The bar'll be packed. You're working full-time."
Great.
Not like I had anything better to do anyway.
"Can I take the late shift?" I asked, shrugging. "Like five to two?"
"Six to three," he corrected instantly. "You'll be free during the day. Night transport's on us."
So much for negotiating.
I let out a quiet breath, then moved on to the real topic.
"Manager… turns out I'm on the list for the school trip."
He didn't even let me finish.
"And you wanna go."
I nodded.
"Your mother paid. Money's money," he said flatly. "You can go."
He already knew.
For some reason, that didn't surprise me.
"In fact," he went on, tone almost bored, "I scheduled you full-time on purpose. Thought you'd need those free days. Figured you'd ask."
…Damn.
Yakuza really are always two steps ahead.