Yellow Diamond: Chapter 2 - part 4

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Even when he was with the group, it felt as if he were alone. They ate lunch together, moved as a group from one classroom to the next, and to anyone else, they probably seemed close. But the miserable feelings circled only within Shun’ichi. Even though they ate together, it was as if he became invisible, like he didn’t exist. The other four were the only ones who talked. Whenever Shun’ichi tried to join in on their fun conversations, the mood would suddenly sour, and the topic would quickly change. Each time this happened, it hurt. So, he had given up on trying to be part of the conversation. Since he couldn’t join in anyway, he decided not to listen to them from the start. It didn’t matter how many people surrounded him; he was always alone. Maybe being truly alone would be better. Listening to the cheerful conversations of people nearby only made him feel more miserable.

Amid the noise of others, Shun’ichi gazed out the window, lost in thought. The sound of the rain hitting the leaves made his chest tighten, and it brought tears to his eyes. Two days ago, he had found his missing indoor shoes. The first time they had disappeared, it took him a week to find them. The second time they were stolen, he was too tired to keep searching, so he apologized to Isamu, saying he had lost them, and Isamu had bought him a new pair. It was an unplanned expense, and Isamu had only muttered, “I guess it can’t be helped,” without scolding his careless son. Then, just recently, the missing shoes turned up, found in a corner of the gym storage room. A student had handed them in to a teacher, and since his name and class were written on them, they had been returned to him. But he wished they hadn’t been. The shoes were torn in places and reeked like rotten eggs. Even after washing them, they were unwearable, so he threw them in the trash that very day. His new indoor shoes hadn’t been stolen yet, but that was because he brought them home every day. The frequent theft of his shoes and the graffiti that appeared in his textbooks—it was probably all their doing. And yet, they pretended to sympathize with him, saying things like, “Why would someone do this? How awful.” The false sympathy and their ability to carry out the harassment without ever being caught made him sick.

Shun’ichi stood up, needing to go to the bathroom. After he finished, he lingered by the sink, reluctant to return to that space. But he couldn’t stay there forever without it looking suspicious, so he stepped out into the hallway. And there they were, as if they had been waiting for him—those four, surrounding him.

“You’re slow. What were you doing?” Yamashita clicked his tongue.

“We’re bored, so we thought we’d play some volleyball. You’re coming to the gym too, right, Sanada?” Mizusawa asked with a friendly smile.

“Oh, uh… sure.”

He followed at the back of the group, as if dragged along by invisible strings. Part of him suspected something was off—why were they suddenly inviting him to hang out? Was there an ulterior motive? But another part of him dared to hope, wondering if maybe the bullying had finally stopped, and he felt a small twinge of happiness at being included. As they made their way to the gym, he could see it was packed with third- and second-year students, leaving no room for underclassmen to play.

“Come on, let’s grab a ball.”

Mizusawa tapped Shun’ichi on the shoulder. One ball would have been enough, and one person could easily have gone to get it, yet for some reason, they all headed toward the equipment storage. Shun’ichi thought it was strange but followed as they urged him along. The moment he stepped inside the storage room, Tsutsui, who had been standing behind him, slammed the door shut.

“Let’s practice some spikes,” Mizusawa said, grinning with a volleyball in hand.

“We’ll be the ones spiking, and Sanada will be the receiver.”

Without waiting for a response, Mizusawa threw the ball at Shun’ichi. It all happened so fast that he didn’t have time to react, and the ball hit him square in the face from close range. The pain was sharp, and for a moment, it wasn’t just a joke—he really saw stars in front of his eyes. Through his flickering vision, he could see the four of them laughing.

"What are you dragging your feet for? It’s not practice if you don’t catch the ball properly!"

Yamashita yelled, and another ball came flying toward him. This time, Shun’ichi managed to block it with his arms, the ball bouncing off his elbows. That seemed to be a signal, as balls were suddenly hurled at him from all directions. Unable to endure it any longer, he curled up on the floor of the gym storage room and shouted.

"Stop it! What the hell are you doing?!"

The barrage of balls stopped instantly. When he cautiously lifted his head, the four of them were standing around him, arms crossed, looking down at him with smirks on their faces.

"What do you mean? We’re just practicing volleyball."

The ball-throwing resumed, but this so-called "practice" was nothing more than a guise for bullying. He couldn’t raise his head or move; all he could do was endure the pain of the balls hitting him, as his anger swelled inside. He had come along, thinking they actually wanted to hang out, and now he felt so pathetic it brought tears to his eyes.

"Enough already!"

He yelled, grabbing a ball that had rolled to his feet and throwing it back at Mizusawa, who was right in front of him. The ball hit Mizusawa square in the shoulder with a dull thud.

"Ow!"

Mizusawa clutched his shoulder and crouched down.

"Hey, are you okay?"

The same guys who had been laughing and throwing balls at him now rushed over to Mizusawa with concerned expressions.

"That hurt, damn it! It really hurts!"

The grin that had been plastered on Mizusawa’s face vanished in an instant after just one retaliatory throw.

"What the hell is wrong with you?! You think you can just do that to me?!"

Enraged, Mizusawa grabbed a ball and kicked it hard toward Shun’ichi. The ball struck him square in the chest, knocking the wind out of him for a moment.

"You act all high and mighty like you’re smarter than everyone else. Stop putting on airs!"

Clutching his chest, Shun’ichi doubled over, struggling to breathe, his shallow breaths coming in rapid succession.

"Agh!"

A sharp pain shot through his side, and the impact sent him rolling onto his side. Curled up like a wounded animal, Shun’ichi’s eyes caught sight of Mizusawa’s indoor shoes, marked with the red stripe that signified he was a first-year student. Their eyes met. In the dim light of the gym storage room, Mizusawa’s face first showed a flicker of fear, but it quickly twisted into a dry, malicious grin. His lips curled with sadistic pleasure, and without a moment’s hesitation, he raised his right foot and stomped down toward Shun’ichi’s face. Even though Shun’ichi tried to cover his head with his arms, the blow still hurt. And it didn’t stop there.

"I’ve hated you from the very beginning!"

Mizusawa’s relentless kicks rained down on him. His foot found every vulnerable gap that Shun’ichi’s arms couldn’t protect.

At first, the other three stood back, watching Mizusawa’s outburst from a distance, but gradually they began to close in, taking turns kicking him like cats toying with a helpless mouse.

"Haha! This is hilarious."

They laughed as they kicked him, and the constant pain made Shun’ichi’s head grow fuzzy. Tears began to fall from his eyes.

"Hey, look, he’s crying!"

Mizusawa laughed even louder, kicking Shun’ichi’s curled-up back even harder.

"Hey, what time is it now?" Yamashita asked.

Mihara glanced at his watch. "We’ve got ten minutes until fifth period starts. Should we head back to class?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Yamashita agreed, and the four of them left the gym storage room together. At the doorway, Mizusawa turned back to look at Shun’ichi, who was slumped on the floor after the relentless kicking. "Hey, make sure you clean up all the balls," he ordered.

Even when a few other students came in to put away equipment, Shun’ichi remained motionless, sitting in the corner of the storage room, staring blankly into space. Only when the classroom grew quiet and the bell signaling the start of class echoed through the halls did he finally feel his spirit return to his body. He began to pick up the scattered volleyballs, and as he did, hot tears streamed down his cheeks. His head, stomach, and back throbbed with pain. Overwhelmed, he collapsed onto the floor midway through cleaning and cried out loud, unable to contain the sadness and anger that had been welling up inside.

Even after the tears dried, the sadness lingered in his chest. But eventually, time passed, and he finished cleaning up. He dragged himself out of the hellish storage room. When he checked his watch, he realized that twenty minutes of the lesson had already gone by. By then, he didn’t feel the need to rush. Once you’re late, it doesn’t really matter whether it’s five minutes or ten. With a heavy heart, he returned to the classroom. The four who had kicked him were sitting there, acting as if nothing had happened, casually attending class. The social studies teacher didn’t ask why he was late, just acknowledged it and then ignored him. Shun’ichi quietly pulled out his chair, trying not to disturb the lesson. He stared at the back of Mizusawa, sitting in front of him, his calm demeanor as if he had forgotten everything that had just happened. In that moment, Shun’ichi felt a surge of fear. His back and head, where he had been kicked, pulsed with pain, and his hands began to tremble.

The teacher glanced at him several times. It took Shun’ichi a while to realize why—it was because he hadn’t taken out his notebook or textbook. Flustered, he started searching through his desk. The textbook was there, but his notebook was missing. He emptied the contents of his bag, checking everything, but still couldn’t find it. He figured he must have mixed it up with another subject’s notebook, or at least that’s what he told himself at the time. Even at home, he couldn’t find his social studies notebook, and that’s when a gnawing suspicion crept in.

The next day, the notebook turned up. A student from the neighboring class found it during cleaning time—in the toilet. It was half-soaked, stuffed into a plastic bag, and handed to him with a look of distaste.

"What the hell were you doing?" Mizusawa asked, glancing at Shun’ichi with a smirk as he held the soggy plastic bag with his ruined notebook inside. Mizusawa looked amused, clearly relishing Shun’ichi’s miserable expression. Shun’ichi knew Mizusawa was probably the one who had tossed his notebook into the toilet, yet here he was, laughing at Shun’ichi’s near-tears face with satisfaction.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

He no longer had to take his indoor shoes home every day. Mizusawa and his group had found something more entertaining than watching him frantically search for his hidden shoes.

Every lunch break, they would call out to him, "Let’s go have some fun." If Shun’ichi followed, he would inevitably be dragged to some secluded spot where "fun" was just a euphemism for violence. He knew this, so no matter how many times they asked, he would never agree. But as he started to avoid them, Mizusawa and the others got cleverer in their attempts to catch him. They would use other students from different classes, having them lie and say a teacher was calling for him, luring him to the music room. There, taking advantage of the soundproof walls, they’d beat him during the entire lunch break. He didn’t even understand why he was apologizing, but all he could do, desperate to escape the pain, was repeat, "I’m sorry, I’m sorry."

Each time, the violence got worse, and soon, just hearing Mizusawa’s nasal voice call out, "Sanada," was enough to send shivers down his spine. Yet in front of teachers or classmates, Mizusawa acted kind, pretending to be his friend. No one would suspect that the same person who smiled at him in public was secretly kicking and punching him behind closed doors. The contrast was like looking at the front and back of a sheet of paper—two completely different sides.

"Don’t you dare tell your parents or the teacher."

Mizusawa was fully aware of what he was doing, kicking Shun’ichi around like an empty can, all the while repeatedly warning him to stay silent.

"This is just 'play,' you know."

The audacity to call it "play" while kicking him in the stomach hard enough to make him vomit, or striking his thighs so severely that the bruises remained for days, was beyond belief.

Shun’ichi tried many times to report it to a teacher. He had stood in front of the staff room more than once or twice, but he could never bring himself to walk in. What held him back was the fact that, on the surface, Mizusawa acted like they were friends. Shun’ichi doubted whether the teacher would even believe him if he reported the bullying. And then there was the fear that once he spoke up, the truth of the bullying would eventually reach Isamu.

If he told the teachers, they would surely ask why he was being bullied. Then Isamu would find out that his son was being called "trash-smelly." The thought of how much it would hurt Isamu to know that his job was the reason his child was being bullied made Shun’ichi decide that he would rather endure the rest of his first year in silence, even if it meant continuing to be kicked around. He didn’t like Isamu’s job, but Isamu had worked that job for years to provide for him. His hardworking father didn’t deserve to be hurt by this.

"If I just endure it," Shun’ichi would remind himself, again and again, like a mantra, even in the middle of being kicked. Each time the misery of the situation made him want to cry, he’d repeat it in his mind: "If I just endure it."

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The air grew thicker with each passing day, and the warm, humid breeze hinted at the approaching summer. Shun’ichi longed for its arrival. Once summer break began, he wouldn’t have to come to school anymore. He wouldn’t have to worry about his textbooks disappearing before class or endure the pain of being punched and kicked. It might sound silly to say he looked forward to dusk, but it was true. Once the sun set, all that was left was to go home—no more words that tore at his heart, no more violence that bruised his body.

A little while ago, Shun’ichi had started keeping his distance from Mizusawa’s group. He avoided them, didn’t talk to them, and always left the classroom during breaks and lunchtime. If he wasn’t near them, Mizusawa and the others couldn’t touch him. He wished he had realized that sooner. During class, with the teacher’s eyes on them, they wouldn’t do anything obvious. If he could just get through the breaks, then he could go home. Sure, every time he left the classroom, his textbooks would end up covered in graffiti or his notebook would go missing, but he’d grown used to it. No matter how much the vandalized textbooks screamed out, at least his body didn’t hurt.

When the fourth-period class ended and Mizusawa called out to him, Shun’ichi ignored him and left the classroom. After confirming no one was following him, he ran up to the rooftop of the school building. He sat on the concrete steps, hugging his knees. Even though he felt hungry, he knew that if he waited long enough, the feeling would pass. It had been a long time since he’d stopped eating lunch. Back when they had kicked him every day, he’d always end up throwing up afterward, so he had stopped eating to avoid that.

It was strange how getting beaten made him feel like garbage, like he was worthless. He’d wonder why he had to go through this, and his thoughts always led back to Isamu’s job as a garbage collector. That was part of it, but not the whole reason. His heart waged a battle inside him. The problem wasn’t Isamu—it was them, those idiots who didn’t understand anything.

Plop, plop. The sound of raindrops hit the ground near his feet. Black spots appeared on the gray concrete, and the smell of damp earth filled the air. The rain quickly closed in on him, and he hurried over to the door that led back inside. The distant blue fence became blurry behind a curtain of rain.

“Would things be easier if I jumped?”

If he died, Isamu would probably be sad. He might even cry. But would the pain of everything Shun’ichi had endured so far hurt more, or would falling to his death be worse? No matter how painful it might be, it would be over in an instant once he fell. Then it would all be done.

Suddenly, he heard voices approaching. The door behind him swung open with force, shoving him forward, and he stumbled out into the rain.

“Sorry, are you okay?”

He turned around. It was Yamashita who had apologized. But the moment Yamashita realized it was Shun’ichi—the boy they always bullied—standing in front of him, he clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

Next to Yamashita, Mizusawa stood with his arms crossed, grinning.

“I called for you, but you ignored me.”

The cold rain seeped into Shun’ichi’s clothes, but his heart felt like it would freeze over long before his body did.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Shun’ichi's face slammed into the wall of the stairwell. He slid down along the dirty white surface until he sat on the floor. His forehead burned with pain, and when he touched it with his fingers, there was a little blood.

"Don’t mess up his face. People notice stuff like that," Mizusawa said lazily, sitting on the steps, watching the scene unfold as if it were a casual spectacle. Today’s bullying was disguised as a "fighting game." The idea was to try out the moves from a fighting game in real life. Of course, Shun’ichi was put on the receiving end, and any attempt to fight back only resulted in twice the retaliation.

"Is this what a heel drop looks like?" Yamashita asked as he kicked Shun’ichi’s shoulder with his heel, sending him backward.

"Nah, that’s just a regular kick. A real heel drop looks like this," Mizusawa said, standing up. Shun’ichi saw the red indoor shoes approaching and instinctively curled into a ball, covering his head. With a strange shout, Mizusawa’s foot slammed into his back, a sharp pain shooting through Shun’ichi's body. He couldn’t hold back a low groan, "Ugh."

The laughter that had been echoing around suddenly stopped. Footsteps echoed up the stairs. Mihara grabbed Shun’ichi, trying to force him to stand, but the pain in his back was too much, and he remained hunched over. Mihara stomped on both of Shun’ichi's feet and barked in a low voice, "Get up."

"What’s going on here? There’s been a lot of noise," came a voice from the top of the stairs. It was their homeroom teacher, Fukiyama. He noticed the group of students gathered in the stairwell and let out a tired sigh.

"We were just playing," Mizusawa replied, flashing a friendly smile at Fukiyama. The teacher glanced briefly at the students, seemingly accepting the explanation without question.

"Is that so," Fukiyama muttered, and opened the door to the rooftop. A gust of wind blew in, carrying with it the increasingly heavy rain. Fukiyama grimaced and quickly shut the door.

"What are you doing up here, Sensei?" Mizusawa asked.

Fukiyama, still frowning, replied, "Patrolling, of course. We found cigarette butts on school grounds, so I’m checking around during lunch break."

As he started to descend the stairs, Fukiyama suddenly turned back toward the landing.

"Oh, by the way, Sanada. You scored full marks on the latest quiz. The other teachers have been saying how impressed they are with your recent effort. Keep up the good work."

Hearing those words in that moment made Shun’ichi want to cry. He wanted nothing more than to rip out the mouth of Fukiyama, who was completely oblivious to everything going on. Just as Shun’ichi had feared, the moment Fukiyama’s footsteps faded away, Mizusawa shoved him hard.

"That was close. Damn... what’s he doing patrolling all the way up here?" Tsutsui sighed, and Mihara and Yamashita nodded shallowly in agreement. But Mizusawa’s eyes were filled with cold fury as he glared at Shun’ichi. Without saying a word, he delivered a fierce kick to Shun’ichi’s side. Shun’ichi knew that fighting back would only make things worse, but the pain was unbearable, and he rolled onto his side to try and escape. The red indoor shoes relentlessly followed him, continuing the assault.

“Haha, this is hilarious,” Yamashita laughed, pointing at Shun’ichi. But Shun’ichi kept rolling, unable to stop because of the unbearable pain. Laughed at, kicked, and rolling over and over—it was the same thing, again and again.

"Hey, don’t you think this is going too far?" Tsutsui muttered under his breath.

"Sanada, stop!" Yamashita called, but it was too late. Shun’ichi rolled one last time and suddenly felt his body drop.

“Whoa—!!”

He didn’t understand what had happened. The world around him spun in dizzying circles, his head and legs slamming into the stairs as he tumbled down. His neck jerked violently, like a whip, before his body finally slammed hard onto his back.

"Hey, this is bad, right?" He heard Tsutsui’s voice through the haze of pain and confusion. The sound of indoor shoes running down the stairs echoed in his ears.

"Hey, he’s not moving. Do you think he’s dead?" Tsutsui’s voice again.

"How the hell would I know?!" Mizusawa’s voice was higher-pitched than usual, panicked.

"Is his head bleeding?"

Shun’ichi felt a hard sensation on his shoulder, accompanied by the musty smell of someone’s indoor shoe pressing against him. Through half-closed eyes, he glimpsed the red heel of Mizusawa’s shoe as it nudged his shoulder.

"There’s no response. This is seriously bad. I’m not taking the blame for this." Panic in their voices. The sound of footsteps as they rushed away, abandoning him.

After a while, when everything had grown silent, Shun’ichi slowly opened his eyes. Laughter bubbled up from deep within him, and he let out a chuckle—kukku. Each laugh made his stomach ache, but he couldn’t stop.

"Idiots, idiots," he murmured like a song, laughing until he felt nothing at all. Then, his eyes caught sight of the stairs looming high above him. It was only then that he realized: I fell from up there. A cold shiver ran down his spine. He could have died. The thought sent waves of terror through him, and suddenly, he was overwhelmed with fear. Tears poured from his eyes, and he sobbed uncontrollably. His ragged breaths were soon drowned out by the blaring sound of the school bell. The noise rang out loudly, then faded into the distance, until everything fell silent again.

Shun’ichi slowly forced his body upright. His right ankle throbbed with pain. It wasn’t bad enough to keep him from walking, but each step sent a sharp pang through his leg. Grabbing the railing, he carefully made his way down the stairs, avoiding putting weight on his right foot. But with only three steps left, his foot slipped. He fell to the floor, landing in a kneeling position that sent a sharp, breath-stealing pain through his body. He couldn’t even cry out. The fall only made his right ankle hurt more.

I should go to the nurse’s office, the thought suddenly occurred to him. He had an injury, so there was no reason not to go. If someone asked, he could say he fell down the stairs—it wouldn’t even be a lie. His ankle ached, but his heart felt strangely light. If he went to the nurse’s office, he wouldn’t have to see those four again. That thought alone made him feel a bit of happiness. Momentarily forgetting the pain in his ankle, he rushed to the nurse’s office and knocked on the door.

No answer.

He looked more closely and noticed a “Not In” sign hanging on the door. His shoulders slumped, and he slid down to sit against the door. But then, a thought crossed his mind. He reached for the doorknob and turned it. The door opened without resistance.

“Excuse me…” he called softly, stepping inside. The room was dimly lit, and the soft sound of rain could be heard from outside. The faint smell of medicine filled the air. In the corner, he saw a bed. Slowly, as if drawn to it, he walked over. Slipping off his indoor shoes, he climbed into the bed, pulling the sheets over himself.

His right ankle throbbed. His stomach, his back, his temples—they all ached. But even with the pain, this place felt like a sanctuary. No one was going to kick him here, or curse at him. He closed his eyes. Tears welled up, but soon, the exhaustion took over. As he cried, he drifted into a deep sleep, finally letting go of consciousness.

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