"I know," I mumbled, my voice barely audible, the admission tasting like ash in my mouth. I did know. I knew I was a defect. I knew I was useless. I knew Alisha was kind. What good did that do me?
Kaito's eyes flashed with anger. "Then how dare you disrespect her?" he roared, and then his open palm connected with my face. The slap echoed in the sudden quiet of the street, a sharp sting that made my ears ring. Before I could recover, a foot connected with my side, sending me sprawling to the ground. The concrete scraped against my cheek, a rough, unwelcome sensation.
"He's so weak, man," Rai chuckled, his voice laced with disdain as he looked down at my prone form.
Their laughter faded as their footsteps receded, leaving me lying there, the throbbing pain in my face and side a stark reminder of their cruelty. I tasted blood, metallic and acrid, on my tongue.
"Are you alright?" a voice asked, surprisingly soft, cutting through the ringing in my ears.
I pushed myself up onto my elbows, wincing. It was Mitsuki. Her perfect hair, her expensive clothes, her air of bored superiority – she reeked of privilege. She was nowhere near kind; in fact, she was known for her casual cruelty, her knack for turning anything into a game. So why was she here, offering help? I met her gaze, a flicker of suspicion in my eyes.
"No need," I said, my voice hoarse, as I started to push myself up, ignoring the way my muscles protested. "I'm going."
Before I could fully rise, her hand shot out, grasping my wrist. Her grip was surprisingly strong. I glared at her, trying to pull away, but she held firm.
"Don't you think you are too disrespectful towards someone who wants to help you?" she said, her tone a mix of amusement and annoyance.
I tugged harder, frustration bubbling up inside me. "I didn't ask for your help."
"Can you leave him alone before I make a commotion?" a familiar voice cut through the air, cool and clear.
My head snapped up. I knew that voice. My gaze landed on her, standing a few feet away, her expression unreadable.
It was Alisha.
My head snapped up, the pain in my face momentarily forgotten. Alisha. Of all the people… I knew that voice, cool and clear, cutting through the polluted street air. She stood a few feet away, her posture straight, her expression unreadable.
Mitsuki, still gripping my wrist, blinked, her mischievous eyes losing some of their sparkle. A subtle shift in her expression, almost imperceptible, as if a minor annoyance had just entered her perfectly manicured world. Her grip on my wrist loosened, then released completely.
"Alisha," Mitsuki drawled, her voice losing its edge, though a hint of irritation lingered. "Just having a little chat with Shou here. He seemed to have taken a tumble."
Alisha's gaze flickered to me, then back to Mitsuki. Her eyes held a peculiar intensity, a quick, assessing look that made my skin prickle. It wasn't pity, not exactly. More like… a silent judgment of the situation. "He looked like he was trying to leave," Alisha stated, her voice even, devoid of emotion, yet carrying an undeniable authority. "And I believe he said he didn't ask for your help."
Mitsuki let out a soft huff, a sound of dismissive annoyance. "Fine, fine. Don't be such a spoilsport." She tossed her perfect hair and gave me one last, lingering look that was more curious than sympathetic. "See you around, Shou." With a shrug, she turned and sauntered away, her expensive shoes clicking rhythmically on the pavement. I pushed myself fully upright, wincing as a sharp pain shot through my side. I dusted off my pants, avoiding her gaze. I hated that she had to be the one to intervene. It was just another instance of her "kindness," a reminder of how helpless I was. My mind still replayed the snide remarks from Kaito and his friends, they think what she does is kindness, they're probably masochists for thinking this kind of humiliation is kindness.
"Are you… alright?" Alisha finally asked, her voice softer now, almost hesitant. She took a step closer, her hand rising slightly, as if to reach out, then dropping.
"I'm fine," I mumbled, deliberately not meeting her eyes. The urge to flee, to simply disappear, was overwhelming. My face still stung from Kaito's slap, and the pain in my side was a dull ache. The last thing I needed was her concern, which only highlighted my weakness.
She remained still for a moment, her gaze fixed on me. I could feel her eyes, a heavy weight on my shoulders. It was a look that felt different from how she looked at others, a subtle intensity that I, in my self-absorption, completely missed. To me, it was just her usual composure, maybe a touch of polite obligation.
"You should probably get that checked," she said, her voice quiet. "Your lip… it's bleeding."
I instinctively touched my lip, pulling my fingers away to see a smear of crimson. "It's nothing," I scoffed, turning to walk away. "I'm going to the library."
"Wait," she said, she grabbed my hand, stopping me. I turned back reluctantly, knowing what would happen to me if I disrespect her. She pulled out a small, intricately embroidered handkerchief from her bag. It was made of fine silk, clearly expensive. "Here," she said, extending it towards me. "For your lip."
I stared at the pristine fabric, then at her hand. Accepting it felt like accepting her charity, acknowledging her superiority. "No, thanks," I said, my voice clipped. "I don't need it."
Her hand remained outstretched, unwavering. A slight frown, almost imperceptible, touched her brow. "It's just a handkerchief, Shou. Don't be stubborn." There was a hint of something in her eyes then, a brief flash of frustration or… something else, quickly masked.
Her grip was firm, she won't let me go unless I do what she said.
Fine, this is your day.
I took the handkerchief from her hand, a defiant gesture. "Fine," I muttered, dabbing it roughly at my lip. The silk felt cool against my skin. "Happy now?"
She smirked. I shoved the handkerchief into my pocket, the expensive fabric feeling alien against my worn trousers. "I'm leaving," I stated, turning on my heel. I didn't wait for a response, just walked away, eager to escape her presence.
"Hey." Her voice, surprisingly close, made me flinch. a sigh escaping my lips. What now.
"I'm going to the library," she stated simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Oh, but I'm not going there" I said, a pathetic response that did little to hide my confusion.
"But I didn't ask whether you were going or not. Were you also thinking of going there?" She asked
"No."
She snached the notebook from me,"then where are you going with a notebook? You don't go to tutions too, you don't need to."
"It's not of your concern." I stated
She offered a small, almost imperceptible nod, then simply fell into step beside me. The silence that settled between us was different from the strained silence with Mitsuki. This was a more… neutral quiet, perhaps even a bit awkward. I found myself acutely aware of her presence, the gentle swish of her uniform as she walked, the subtle scent of something clean and floral that clung to her. It was irritating.
"Why are you following me?" I asked
"I wanted to know where you would go, after lying to me."
Her presence felt like an intrusion, a constant reminder of my perceived failings compared to her undeniable success.
"Yeah... I'm going there."
I tried to focus on the familiar landmarks passing by: the flickering neon sign of the ramen shop, the cheerful chatter spilling from the bakery, the distant rumble of the city's power grid. Anything to avoid acknowledging her.
"Rough day," she murmured, her voice soft, breaking the silence.
I grunted, a noncommittal sound. "You could say that." I still hadn't looked at her directly.
"The BTP assessment… it's a lot of pressure," she continued, her tone empathetic, almost gentle.
Pressure? I wanted to laugh. She had scored a near-perfect 39.6%. What would she know about pressure? About the suffocating weight of being a 1.4% in a world where power was the only currency?
"Everyone feels it," she added, as if sensing my unspoken thought. "Even those of us with… higher percentages." There was a subtle pause before she uttered "higher percentages," a pause that, to my ears, sounded like a deliberate attempt to be sensitive, which only grated on my nerves further. It felt like pity.
I finally risked a glance at her. Her gaze was fixed straight ahead, her profile serene. She wasn't looking at me, which I appreciated. It made her words slightly less unbearable. "Right," I mumbled, my voice devoid of emotion. "Must be hard."
She remained silent for a moment, and I thought the conversation was over. We continued walking, the library's glowing entrance now visible in the distance.
"You're always studying, aren't you?" she suddenly asked, changing the subject. "Even now, you're heading to the library."
I clutched my notebook a little tighter. "It's what I do." It was my refuge, my only real skill in a world that valued brawn over brains.
"Do you really believe there are other factors?" she asked, her voice dropping, almost to a whisper. It was a question that surprised me, a crack in her usual composure.
"There has to be," I said, my voice gaining a rare flicker of passion. I didn't wanted to tell her, but they do exist. This was a topic I had poured countless hours into. "The established theories are too simplistic. There are anomalies, historical records that don't fit the current model. It's not just about raw percentages. There's something more subtle, more… intricate."
She listened, her head slightly tilted, her gaze still fixed on me. I found myself, despite my earlier annoyance, continuing to explain, the words tumbling out as I articulated the complex theories I'd developed in my lonely hours of research. I spoke of the rare historical accounts of tamers with surprisingly low BTPs, of the subtle energy fluctuations I'd read about in ancient texts, of the psychological bonds that seemed to form between mythical beasts and their partners. I was passionate about this, about finding a loophole, a way to defy my defect.
"That's… interesting," Alisha said, her voice thoughtful. "Most people just accept what they're told about BTP."
"Most people don't have to," I retorted, the bitterness creeping back into my tone. "They have high percentages. They don't need to look for alternatives."
She didn't respond to that directly. We reached the library entrance, the heavy wooden doors looming before us. She pushed one open, holding it for me. I walked through, heading straight for the dusty shelves of the restricted section, the place where the oldest, most obscure texts were kept. As I passed, I heard her footsteps behind me. She was still following.