In a corner of an ordinary public high school in Tokyo, Japan, a pale-faced boy was being beaten by three other boys around his age, though they were significantly taller than him.
"Please stop, I beg you... I beg you," the boy being hit sobbed as he covered his head.
One of the taller boys pressed his foot on the boy's head and said, "I told you to bring the money yesterday, and you dared not listen. Just die." He kicked the boy hard in the stomach.
"Oof!" The boy cried out in pain and spat out.
"Disgusting," sneered another boy wearing an earring on his left ear, spitting on the beaten boy before stepping aside.
The third boy, dressed in red, kept hitting him relentlessly.
"He's at it again; he's probably high," the taller boy remarked.
"Looks like it."
"Enough, Daiki. If you keep going, he might actually die. You want to end up back in detention?" The red-dressed boy hesitated, then stopped.
"Remember, if you don't bring the money tomorrow, I'll make you play an even more 'exciting' game," the tall boy warned, staring at the boy lying motionless on the ground.
"Playing dead again," sneered the boy with the earring. "Let's go. We've got a game to play."
"I'm skipping it. I've got class."
"Pretending to be a goody-two-shoes, huh? Are you just trying to get the new teacher's attention? She does have a nice body, and she's pretty too. Let us in on it if you get her."
"Sure."
The three walked away, laughing, leaving the quiet corner just as it was before—except for the boy lying on the ground.
After a while, he slowly got up, took a tissue from his pocket, and wiped the dirt from his face and clothes. Then, he picked up his fallen backpack and headed silently back to the classroom.
As he entered the classroom, he kept his head down to avoid drawing attention to his bruised face as he went to his seat.
No sooner had he sat down than someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was Mizuta Kazuo, a classmate with freckles on his face.
"Yamamoto's group beat you up again, didn't they?"
"No, I just tripped."
"Yeah, right. Just looking at your face tells the story. Lucky for me, I paid my protection fee a while back; otherwise, I'd be in your shoes now."
The boy felt a wave of discomfort at Kazuo's smugness, though Kazuo was one of the few people who spoke to him, so he kept silent.
"Do you know Awata Rumiko from Class 3?" Kazuo asked, leaning in conspiratorially.
"That class beauty?"
"Yeah, her. Hmph, class beauty, my foot. She's just a slut. I saw her on the street yesterday, holding hands with some guy, all lovey-dovey. And guess what happened next?" Kazuo's eyes gleamed with excitement.
The boy, mildly curious, looked like he wanted to know.
"I followed them and saw them go into a hotel. Can you believe it? That slut, acting so high and mighty, turns out to be a real whore. Makes me want to try her out myself!" Kazuo gritted his teeth as he spoke.
The boy was surprised, but he was more worried about the consequences if he didn't have the money for Yamamoto tomorrow. The thought weighed heavily on him, leaving him uninterested in Kazuo's gossip.
Looking at Kazuo's smug expression, he couldn't help but feel a little envious. Kazuo's family had money, so he could pay the protection fee without a second thought, unlike himself, who could barely save enough to buy a new game after months. He felt a twinge of resentment toward his parents, who had been separated for four years.
If only his ugly sister were dead, he could ask for double the allowance. He was startled by his own thought and shook his head as if to rid himself of it.
"What are you doing?" Kazuo asked, noticing his odd reaction.
"Uh, nothing. Just a bit of a headache." He didn't want anyone thinking he was crazy, so he quickly explained.
The class bell rang, and everyone took out their textbooks as the classroom grew quiet.
A young female teacher in a blue skirt suit entered.
"Good morning, students," she said with a smile.
"Good morning, Miss Naoko."
The charm of a beautiful teacher had a great effect; her class was popular among the male students, though many girls viewed her with jealousy.
Is this the woman Yamamoto talked about? The boy recalled Yamamoto and Watanabe's conversation that morning.
What does she look like without clothes? He wondered, eyeing her mature, curvaceous figure, feeling a sudden thrill.
But she was Yamamoto's target, so there was no chance for him. The thought deflated his excitement.
"Hirota, are you feeling okay?" The teacher's voice startled him.
"I…" Being called out unexpectedly, he stood up in confusion.
Miss Naoko had noticed that he seemed out of sorts, either slouching or lying on his desk with no energy.
"You're injured. What happened?"
"I… I just fell."
"Be careful next time. Do you need to go to the nurse?"
"No, thank you."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, thank you," he replied sincerely. No one except his mom had shown him such concern before, and he felt regretful for his earlier thoughts about her.
At lunch, the students took out their bentos. The boy waited, and eventually, his sister, who wore thick, outdated black-rimmed glasses and was known as a bookworm, called him from the door.
"Finally. I've been waiting forever," he snapped, holding back his hunger-fueled anger.
"You didn't have to," she replied coldly.
"Why, you…" He grabbed the bento from her hand and went back to his seat.
"Looks like your sister needs some… 'discipline.' Want me to help?" Kazuo sneered.
The boy, who had seen his fair share of adult videos, knew what Kazuo meant by "discipline."
"No thanks," he replied in the same cold tone as his sister.
Kazuo seemed genuinely disappointed. Though he came from a well-off family, he wasn't rich enough to buy his way into girls' hearts, and his short, unappealing appearance meant girls wouldn't give him a second look. Like the boy, he was still a virgin, though he liked to act as if he knew all about such things. His birthday wish this year was to finally lose his virginity, though he'd never admit it.
The rest of the classes passed in a blur as the boy worried about getting the money. He thought of borrowing from Kazuo, but as soon as he asked, Kazuo began complaining that his dad had cut his allowance and he'd just bought a model, leaving him with nothing. Although the act was painfully transparent, the boy couldn't exactly snatch his wallet.
He'd thought of asking his parents, but he had no excuse since his sister was in the same grade and they'd know the truth if they checked with her.
Getting a job would take at least a month, assuming he could even find work as a high school student.
In the end, he decided to use his last option.
To avoid being beaten up, he called in sick for a week. What would happen after that, he'd deal with later.
For the first time, he enjoyed skipping school—no crowded, smelly buses, no need to pretend to listen to stern teachers, and, most importantly, no bullying from Yamamoto.
Each day, he played games late into the night and slept until noon. When his sister wasn't home, he'd even rent some "adult" films to watch. By now, he felt like a different person; though he hadn't had real experience, he thought of himself as an expert on the subject.
Though he tried not to think about school, time passed quickly, and his week off was nearly over. With dread building, he tossed his game controller aside.
Feeling restless, he went for a walk around town.
Wandering aimlessly, he ended up at his usual game arcade and played until evening.
On his way home, he saw an elderly woman struggling with a cane up a slope.
Then, a thought flashed in his mind.
Looking at the lonely old lady under the dim streetlight, his heart pounded.
If he succeeded, he could pay the protection fee and maybe even buy the latest Gundam model. His lips curled into a smirk as his desire grew.
After an intense inner struggle, his reason finally gave way to impulse, and he rushed toward the old woman.