"Finally, some rest," Ezakiel sighed as he lay down under the tree, feeling the soft wind brush against his skin. The gentle rustling of leaves filled the quiet space, blending with the distant chirping of birds hidden among the branches. The air smelled fresh, carrying the earthy scent of grass and damp soil.
Around him, small trees and bushes formed a natural barrier, their branches swaying slightly with each passing breeze. The ground was covered in thick, lush grass, soft enough to lie on comfortably. It felt like a tiny forest—though in reality, it was just a leftover patch of greenery after Summer Fall High was built.
This place, often called the school's backyard, was off-limits to students. There were rumors about why—stories of fights, secret meetings, and even more sinister things. But according to the anime, there was more to it than just school rumors. However, now wasn't the time to think about that.
Ezakiel had come here for peace, to be alone for a while before the inevitable happened. The principal would show up soon, probably furious, ready to shove either an expulsion letter or a suspension notice into his hands. He preferred expulsion. That way, he could just leave Japan entirely, move to a different country, and stay far away from the chaos that would begin once the main protagonist transferred to Summer Fall High—just one week from now.
He lazily raised his hand, staring at his fingers as he opened and closed them slowly. The simple motion calmed him, but his mind remained restless.
I think perhaps I took it a bit too far, breaking that Hiro dude's jaw, he muttered to himself. But it was necessary to get me expelled from this school.
Besides, his new parents didn't care. According to the original Ezakiel's memories, they barely paid attention to his studies, and they certainly wouldn't waste time worrying about him getting expelled. They were wealthy and had bigger concerns.
He would just leave, find another place—another country. Somewhere safe. Somewhere far away from any of the insane events that were about to unfold.
Ezakiel's eyes wandered across the area without much thought—until something caught his attention. A bit further ahead, near the side bushes in a dense, overgrown corner, three guys stood around a smaller figure. The three looked ordinary enough, with average builds and forgettable hairstyles, the kind of faces that wouldn't stand out in a crowd.
But the one they surrounded was different.
The smaller figure had an almost delicate appearance. His skin was smooth and pale, untouched by the sun, and his slender frame made him seem even smaller next to the others. His hair, styled in soft, bouncy drill curls, framed his face in a way that could easily fool someone into thinking he was a girl. His large eyes, long lashes, and soft features only added to that illusion.
A real trap, Ezakiel thought. First time seeing one in real life.
Then, he saw it happen.
One of the guys suddenly threw a punch, landing it hard against the feminine-looking boy's stomach. The smaller boy gasped, doubling over in pain, but before he could even recover, the other two joined in. They stomped on him without hesitation, their laughter ringing out as he curled up, arms weakly trying to shield himself. But it was pointless. He was too fragile to fight back.
He's getting roughed up pretty badly, Ezakiel muttered to himself, watching the scene unfold. Not my problem.
If it had been someone else watching, maybe they would have stepped in to help. But not him. He wasn't a good person, and he had no intention of getting involved in something that had nothing to do with him.
Bullying was just a part of school life—unfortunate, but inevitable. If the boy was too weak to stand up for himself, then that was his problem. People only got bullied because they allowed themselves to be. If he wanted to stop it, he could just stab one of them—or all of them. Of course, that would mean he'd have to kill himself too, unless he wanted a life sentence or, worse, the death penalty, which was becoming more popular with the public in Japan.
Speaking of the death penalty, Ezakiel never really understood why it was so strictly enforced in some countries. He could understand it for rapists, but for murderers? Killing one or two people shouldn't be enough to justify execution. If anything, mentally ill criminals should be the ones getting hanged—after all, sane people could be reformed, but the insane? Not a chance.
He sighed and leaned back, deciding to keep watching. He was getting bored, and this would at least be a decent way to pass the time.
I'm just an innocent bystander, minding my own business, Ezakiel thought to himself as he continued to watch the scene unfold. The bullies spat on the boy's face, laughing as he trembled on the ground, too weak to fight back. One of them even gave him a final kick to the ribs before they finally turned to leave.
But then they noticed him.
"Hey, you there," one of them called out. "You saw what we did, right?"
Ezakiel met his gaze without a hint of concern. "What if I did?" he replied casually. He had no reason to lie. He wasn't afraid of them—he could take them all on alone. And if things got out of hand, the pocket knife tucked inside his pants was more than enough to handle the situation.
"Are you gonna report us to the principal?" the second one asked.
Ezakiel scoffed. "And why would I do that? Besides, I just broke some guy's jaw earlier, so I'm expecting to be called to the principal's office anytime now. No point in wasting what little rest I have left."
"Wait, seriously? You broke someone's jaw?" the third one asked, looking him up and down with surprise. "You don't seem like the type."
Ezakiel sighed, standing up and walking toward them. "I fail to see what my appearance has to do with anything. Not that I care. Now hush, or I'll do the same to you all. And I mean it."
"Oh?" the second guy sneered. "Just because you think you broke some nobody's jaw, you think we're scared of you?" He grinned darkly. "We've done worse—murder, even rape. You're nothing compared to us."
Ezakiel's expression remained indifferent. "And why would I want to be compared to lowlifes like you?" He ran a hand through his hair, looking at them as if they were insects. "Whatever your pathetic kind does among yourselves means nothing to me."
That was the final straw. The trio, now furious, charged at him all at once.
But they never even got close.
In one swift motion, Ezakiel unbuckled his belt, yanked it free, and swung it through the air. The thick leather lashed across their faces with a sharp crack, the force sending them stumbling back. They clutched their faces, groaning in pain as red welts began to form.
But he wasn't done yet.
"Now, let me show you my Anti-Bully Technique."
He swung the belt again, this time with more force. The first strike landed across one of their shoulders, sending him to his knees. The second snapped against another's arm, making him yelp. The third took a hit to the back, arching in agony as he collapsed.
Ezakiel kept going. The belt whistled through the air, striking their skin over and over again. Welts turned into open wounds, streaks of red appearing on their exposed flesh. They screamed, begged, tried to crawl away, but he didn't stop until their movements grew sluggish, their bodies too battered to resist.
One by one, they slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Ezakiel exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "I must say, beating people until they pass out is quite satisfying." He fastened his belt back around his waist and turned his attention to the feminine-looking boy.
The boy had managed to push himself up, though his arms were trembling. His eyes, wide and glossy with tears, flickered between Ezakiel and the fallen bullies, disbelief written all over his face.
"You should leave now," Ezakiel said flatly. "I've beaten your bullies to near death, so unless you want to get caught up in the mess that's about to unfold, I suggest you run as far as you can."
The boy hesitated, staring at him, as if searching for something in his expression.
"Don't just stand there—go while you still have the chance," Ezakiel insisted. He turned away but paused for a moment. "And if you don't want to be bullied, try standing up for yourself for once."
"Stand up for myself…" the boy whispered.
"Yes," Ezakiel muttered before walking off. But just as he took a step, the boy's voice stopped him.
"W-What's your name?" the boy asked hesitantly.
Ezakiel paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "...It's Ezakiel. Ezakiel Graciór." His gaze lingered on the boy for a moment before he asked, "And yours?"
"Kiharu Kimito," the boy replied.
The moment that name left his lips, Ezakiel's body went rigid. His breath hitched, and his eyes widened in shock, almost as if he had seen a ghost.
A cold chill ran down his spine.
A bead of sweat formed at his temple, slowly trailing down the side of his face. His fingers twitched slightly, his mind racing as his stomach twisted into a tight knot.
Oh shit!