My eyes opened slowly, as if the body refused to come back to life. Everything hurt; even parts that I didn't even know could do it. Every movement made my bones crack, and even so the worst thing was not the pain, but the little desire to go to class.
I looked at the alarm clock, turned off because of the batteries. I slammed it against the table, my usual method, and it blinked just enough to show the time: I was an hour late. That's great.
I got up slowly, ignoring the dizziness, and got dressed. I didn't wash my face or comb my hair; I didn't care. I shuffled down to the kitchen. I opened the fridge and stared without thinking. Mom had saved last night's dinner. I ate it cold, standing up.
"Fuck... it's delicious," I murmured when I finished.
I put the dish in the sink and went up to get the backpack. The clock was already showing nine-something. I put on my shoes, hung the backpack over my shoulder and left without haste. The morning air was colder than usual. The streets were empty, without a single student. Just a distant car, a blind, a dog.
I arrived at the institute, just as silent. I crossed the gate and walked through the deserted corridors, my footsteps echoing among the muffled voices of the classrooms. As I stood in front of the door of my classroom, I took a deep breath. I knew what was coming.
I knocked on the door with my knuckles and opened it slowly. All eyes turned to me instantly. The professor interrupted the explanation and looked at me with that tired gesture of someone who no longer knows whether to scold you or let it go.
"Yes... I was late," I replied, avoiding looking at him.
I walked to my seat among the murmurs that, although they tried to be discreet, sounded perfectly audible.—Look at that scratch...—Every day he has more wounds, do you see?—It's a bad vibe just to see him...
I sat in my place, trying not to show anything, but each word weighed more than the blows of the night before. I looked down. With an almost automatic gesture, I pulled up the collar of my shirt and pulled the sleeves to cover my knuckles. I didn't want them to see them. I didn't want them to think anything. I just wanted them to shut up.
The professor resumed class. The murmur dissipated. Even so, the gazes were still there, glued to my back like shadows that I couldn't shake.
"Well... Taking advantage of the fact that you are all here today, I have to tell you that next week there will be an exam on the most recent syllabus," the professor announced as he left some papers on the table.
The murmur in the classroom was immediate. Some complained with exaggerated shouts, others protested with more sensible arguments – that there was hardly time, that the last topic had not been explained well – and a small group, the usual ones, just remained silent, observing the chaos without daring to intervene.
"By the way, Leo," the professor said, picking up a pen and jotting something down on the blackboard. You, along with Nina and Ray, will have to make up for the last exam.
"Shut up...", I thought. I can't stand it when they say my name out loud. I wish they would forget that I exist, that they would leave me alone. I only come to class so as not to worry mom, not to stand out. I don't care about studying, and most of those around me... they are noise.
"Did you hear me, Leo?" The professor repeated.
Some laughter died down, but the whispers continued. "Yes," I murmured, barely moving my lips.
"Excuse me?" The professor asked, in a dry tone.
"I said yes," I replied, louder this time, without looking at him.
He watched me for a few seconds. Then he folded his arms and let out a sigh that seemed to say everything for him. I could perfectly imagine what he was thinking: "What a waste of a kid. With the future I would have if I put in a little effort..."
Heh.I wish it were just that. I wish my problem was simply laziness.
"Well, you'd better start studying right now." I don't intend to be soft when it comes to correcting the exam," the teacher concluded before resuming class normally.
The minutes passed slowly, as if time had become stuck between the hum of the lights and the monotone voice of the professor. I was about to fall asleep for the second time when a couple of knocks on the door interrupted the silence.
All eyes were directed towards the entrance. Through the frosted glass of the door, two silhouettes could be distinguished: a tall one, with an imposing presence, and a smaller one, fragile in comparison.
The professor put the chalk down on the blackboard shelf and walked toward the door. The sound of his footsteps echoed through the classroom, and for a moment, no one breathed. He turned the knob and opened it slowly.
The light from the corridor filtered into the classroom, and the two figures were exposed.
First came the one who, without a doubt, was the director of the institute: the gentleman Yoichi.Su name had always been curious to me to pronounce, although that did not detract from the merit of the guy. He was, to be honest, a very cool man... within what fits in someone of his age.
Their footsteps echoed loudly on the wooden floor, each marking their authority as if the thunder gods were escorting them. No one spoke. No one breathed. She stopped right in the middle of the classroom, in front of the blackboard, with a smile so wide that it seemed sculpted.
I rested my head on my hands, dropping all the weight of my body on the desk. I wasn't overly interested in what was going on, but there was something—a little twinge of curiosity—that kept me watching. From my seat I could not fully see the figure that accompanied him. Just a smaller, still, expectant shadow.
"Good morning everyone," Yoichi greeted, clasping his hands behind his back.
"Good morning, Director Yoichi!" The class replied in unison, with the almost mechanical precision of a well-rehearsed sect.
I watched out of the corner of my eye as the professor walked to the empty table next to mine, the one that had been unoccupied since last year. My eyes narrowed." Could it be...?" I muttered under my breath, though the thought dissipated when the director resumed speaking.
"It's beautiful to see how all of you are becoming... well, more or less educated students," he joked, forcing a laugh that only found silence in response.
The man coughed elegantly, readjusted his jacket, and turned toward the door.
"That said... Today we have a new addition to the class.
The murmur was immediate. Some accommodated themselves, others feigned indifference, but all — without exception — looked at the door.
The handle turned with a soft click. The light from the hallway filtered back into the classroom, and then she entered.
He was of average height, with pale orange hair that seemed to catch fire softly with every reflection of light. His bangs fell asymmetrically, brushing the edge of his eyes—green eyes, serene, but containing a kind of silent fear, not of one who fears being seen, but of one who fears being remembered.
"This is Aina Rukawa," the director announced in a solemn voice. It is transferred from Hanamori Prefecture. I hope you treat her well.
Aina bowed her head gently. He did not tremble, he did not stutter; his silence spoke for her. His hands were clasped behind his back, his shoulders straight, his gaze fixed on an undefined point on the floor.
He didn't say a word, but for some reason, his presence felt like a change of season. The air in the classroom became different.
"B-good morning everyone... My name is Aina Rukawa and I have been transferred from the Kalip Institute. I hope I can get along with all of you," he said, bowing again.
After introducing himself, he advanced to his new seat following the professor. The classroom, which was normally a nest of rumors and giggles, remained silent. And that irritated me. Why didn't anyone comment on her? Why didn't they whisper about her clothes, her voice, or her good girlish looks? If I entered any class like this, half of the classroom would be narrating the event as if it were a thriller.
When he reached his place, the professor offered him the chair with a soft, almost ceremonial gesture. She paused for a moment, bowed her head in gratitude, and settled down with a delicacy that puzzled me. She held her skirt at the back, as if she feared to wrinkle it, and sat down as if the chair were made of glass.
She hung her folder from the small hook on each desk and left her hands clasped on her lap, fingers intertwined. Every movement of his seemed rehearsed, smooth, almost silent. Some strange glow in her orange hair, so vivid that it seemed painted, already bothered me. The uniform immaculate, ironed without a single wrinkle. The humble air, too correct... I do not know. I didn't like it.
And on top of that, everyone seemed hypnotized from the second he entered. Like it's a fallen angel or something." Please... nor is she so beautiful. It's normal," I thought. But inside me, something kept itching. I didn't know what.
"Remember to infect her with that respect that this school promotes," said the principal before saying goodbye. I knew we'd see him hovering around the building in an hour... probably without doing anything.
The professor placed himself between my table and hers, with his hands behind his back, erect and solemn.
"You've heard the director. No mistreatment of the newly incorporated woman," he added.
At that moment, he rested a hand on my table. He left it there a second too long. A gesture I didn't understand. Warning? Suspicion? Chance? I didn't know what face to make. I looked at him, waiting for some kind of explanation, but he simply withdrew his hand and returned to his desk as if he hadn't done anything.
She continued the lesson as if nothing had happened, without bothering to summarize the syllabus so that the "newcomer" could catch up. Nothing new: in this school, you either adapt alone or you sink.
I put my head back on my hand so as not to get fried. The new girl —Aina, or whatever— didn't take long to start making noise: pencil case, notebooks, papers... all arranged as if he were setting up a small study altar. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. Smiled. I smiled as if being here was a gift and not a punishment.
How lucky. When I was transferred to another high school after... Well, after that, I didn't smile for a second. Everyone watched. No one spoke.
And I, as always, without friends, without plans, talking only just enough with teachers who were not exactly fond of me either.
"Excuse me," he murmured suddenly.
I hadn't even noticed that he was leaning a little towards me. I looked both ways, in case I spoke to someone else. But no: it was for me.
"What," I replied, dry, unwilling to create imaginary friendships.
—Do you have any notes on the current issue? He asked in a soft, almost friendly tone. His voice trembled a little, but not from fear... rather of insecurity.
I raised an eyebrow. I let out a short, incredulous laugh." Notes? This aunt doesn't know where she has sat."
I shook my head, speechless. It wasn't worth wasting air.
"Oh... "All right," she said, trying not to sound disappointed. He lowered his gaze a little, but did not insist.
She turned her head to her right and asked another classmate for her notes. That one did give them to her without hesitation, almost running over herself to look good.
Genial.La new one lasted exactly thirty seconds before he realized that I wasn't the right choice.
***
Recess arrived and the corridor was filled with noise. I leaned against the wall, not wanting to go down to the patio. I always did the same thing: wait for the human tide to disperse and then move on my own.
Aina, meanwhile, left class with her things pressed to her chest. He walked with short, light, almost calculated steps. I didn't know why, but my eyes came back to her again and again. Perhaps because he did everything with an absurd calm. Or because everyone seemed interested in her except me. Or so I wanted to believe.
She stood by some lockers and opened her case to change pens — who the hell needs to change pens at recess?—. Every gesture was slow, orderly, perfect.
And it bothered me. I was bothered by how calm she seemed. It bothered me that everyone looked at her with admiration. And it bothered me even more that I was looking at her too.
She noticed something. He turned his head, slowly, as if he had felt my gaze fixed on the back of his neck.
Our eyes met.
I looked away instantly, as if I had stared at a wall too long.
I cleared my throat, trying to regain my composure.
—… What a mania to get in the way," I muttered to myself, even though I wasn't in the middle of anything. An absurd excuse for not admitting the obvious.
Aina put her things back in her backpack and continued on her way to the stairs. I watched her walk away until she turned the corner.
The corridor had become quieter. Now I could move.
I pushed myself with the heel of the wall and sat up with a tired sigh.
"I need sugar..." or something that isn't people," I said quietly.
I started walking up the stairs at the back, down the steps two by two until I reached the ground floor. That floor was always colder, quieter. I liked it. The music rooms, the club rooms, the door to the covered patio... and, in the background, the old vending machine of the institute.
I stood in front of her. Illuminated by a flickering fluorescent as if she were about to commit suicide.
I put my hands in my pockets, looking for some coins.
"Tsk... I always forget them," I grumbled.
I hit the machine with a pair of knuckles. The sound rang hollow, almost sad.
"This at least doesn't look funny to me," I said, not realizing that I had said it out loud.
I leaned slightly to look at the products. Chocolates, potatoes, something that seemed to have been there since before I was born.
As I decided if it was worth looking for coins in another pocket, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs.
Soft.Light.Too familiar.
Aina.
Without thinking, I straightened up. I didn't know why, but I didn't want him to see me hunched over hitting a machine.
The footsteps came closer... and stopped just around the corner.
Aina poked her head out. He was surprised to see me there.
"Ah... you're here," she said, shy but with a soft smile.
I frowned. I didn't want to look surprised, or curious, or anything.
"Recess exists for me too, you know?" I replied, dryly.
She went down the remaining steps and stood a couple of feet away from me, looking at the machine as well.
"Doesn't it work?" he asked.
"It works." I'm the one who doesn't work without coins," I said.
She let out a small laugh that annoyed me. Not because it was mocking... but because it sounded too natural.
"Well... if you want, you could—
I raised my hand before he finished.
"I don't need charity," I said bluntly. Then, without thinking about it, "But thank you all the same.
Aina stood still, watching me as if trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me.
I looked away from the buttons on the machine. Anything was better than looking her in the eye again.
The seconds became long, uncomfortable and rarely warm.
In the end, I took a deep breath.
"I'm going to—" hey... keep going around," I said, starting to walk toward the side hallway.
I passed by her without brushing against her, without looking at her, but feeling every millimeter of her presence.
"See you," I murmured almost voicelessly.
And I walked away, with the metallic taste of something I didn't want to admit.
Curiosity.Interest.Annoyance.A little bit of everything.
Too much.
I walked down the aisle with my hands buried in my pockets, with no sugar to put in my mouth. The dizziness hit me every few steps and the headache beat with an unbearable insistence. When I was far enough away, I leaned against the wall and covered my face with one hand, trying to stop the trembling that ran through my body. Automatically, my fingers brushed against one of the wounds. A sharp chill ran through my skin. Idiot. You knew it would hurt.
I sighed and took out my phone. I opened the notepad where I kept track of the money I had recovered so far.
"There's still a long way to go," I murmured.
The screen lit up the corridor with a figure that for anyone would be absurd, impossible to assume: €356,000. It was what he had to gather as soon as possible. Each fight won deducted about €30,000 from me, and yes, the amount made sense: I was always facing the big fish, the guys that the gang used to have fun seeing if "the Big Boss puppy" would last one more day.
I began to calculate how many fights I had left.—Two... seven..." My voice trailed off with each number. Twelve.I let out slowly.—I have twelve fights left to win.
I let the silence of the hallway envelop me completely. For a few seconds, there was nothing but the distant echo of the school and my own gasping breath. Then, without me being able to help it, my body decided to release all the accumulated pressure at once.
I hit the wall with a sharp punch, so loud that the sound echoed through the empty hallway. Absolutely nothing happened to the wall, of course. To my knuckles, on the other hand, yes. The burning spread through my fingers like an electric shock, but even that didn't quite pull me out of the daze.
They hadn't broken. It was impossible. In this place, there was nothing more broken than me.