Yellow Diamond: Chapter 2 - part 6

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Mizusawa's mother, a slightly overweight woman in a white blouse and brown skirt, had a furious look on her face. Beside her, Mizusawa sat meekly, like a frightened cat. His face had been cleaned up, and aside from his unnaturally red nose, there was no trace of the blood that had once covered him. Only the cut on the corner of his mouth seemed to bother him, as he kept flicking at it with the tip of his tongue.

"How can the school leave such a violent student unchecked like this?"

The moment she entered the disciplinary office, Mizusawa’s mother glared at Shun’ichi and began speaking without any preamble.

"My son told me that he was suddenly attacked. If this student is so emotionally unstable, you need to be monitoring him more carefully."

Her red lips fired off words like a machine gun, and Fukiyama, the homeroom teacher, visibly shrank under her barrage, stammering, "Uh... well... you see," while pressing a hand to his forehead.

"Please, take a seat," Fukiyama managed to say. Mizusawa and his mother sat down across from Shun’ichi at a long table. The machine-gun-like tirade paused only until they were seated, and then Mizusawa’s mother started up again, like a broken faucet spilling words.

"This is why I hate public schools. I should’ve pushed harder to send him to a private school, even against my husband’s wishes. And now, in the middle of all this, the parents of that student aren’t even here yet!"

Fukiyama, like a broken doll, kept bowing his head and muttering, "I’m sorry, I’m sorry."

"I did contact Sanada’s guardian," Fukiyama explained. "But due to his work, it’s going to take some time for him to arrive. Please be patient."

Shun’ichi felt the blood drain from his face. He hadn’t expected Isamu to come. It made sense—Mizusawa’s mother was here, so of course his own parent would be called too. But it hadn’t even crossed his mind.

"Sensei, did you… contact my dad?" Shun’ichi asked. Fukiyama turned to him with a gaze colder than anything Shun’ichi had ever seen.

"Your father was quite shocked."

"Excuse me!" Mizusawa’s mother cut in with a shrill voice.

"Why call his father? You should’ve called his mother! I want to see what kind of woman raised him to be like this!"

Taken aback by her outburst, Fukiyama replied in a small voice, "Sanada’s family is a single-parent household. He’s being raised by his father."

A sneer spread across Mizusawa’s mother’s face. She glanced at Shun’ichi with condescending eyes, nodding as if she had just figured everything out.

"Ah, I see. Well, that explains it. It’s no wonder the child’s so poorly raised without a mother."

That logic was infuriating. If Shun’ichi was so poorly raised, then what about Mizusawa, who kicked people around like a soccer ball? He wanted to say something but bit his tongue.

There was a knock on the door, and a muffled voice said, "Uh, is this the guidance office?" It was Isamu. Shun’ichi wanted to run away but found himself frozen, trembling in his chair.

"Come in," Fukiyama called out, and in walked Isamu, wearing his blue work uniform with a name tag that read "Yoshihara Sanitation." He glanced around nervously as he stepped inside, his face pale.

"Sorry I’m late. I just couldn’t get away from work," Isamu apologized, bowing deeply as if he were a grade-schooler about to enter the principal’s office. "Uh, which one is the homeroom teacher?"

"That’s me. Nice to meet you, I’m Fukiyama."

"Ah, hello. I’m Sanada," Isamu said, bowing again.

"Where’s the kid my Shun’ichi hurt? Which hospital is he in? I want to go see him right away, but they told me to come to the school first. Is he seriously hurt? Like, about to die or something?"

At Isamu’s words, Mizusawa’s mother grimaced as if she’d bitten into something sour. Fukiyama, looking awkward, gestured toward Mizusawa and his mother, indicating that they were the "victims" in question.

“There they are—the student who was hit by Sanada-kun and his parent. I might have misspoken earlier and caused a misunderstanding, but as for the injury, it doesn’t seem like he needs to go to the hospital.”

Isuma, his face blank with surprise, exclaimed, “Eh?!”

“The office lady told me it was a ‘serious injury,’ so I rushed over here! I thought for sure Shun’ichi grabbed a steel pipe and beat the kid to a pulp or something!”

Relieved that it wasn’t a severe injury, Isuma spoke with a laugh. At that moment, Mizusawa’s mother narrowed her eyes and stood from her chair.

“Even if it’s just a kids’ fight, the fact is my child was hit and got hurt!”

Isuma stared at Mizusawa’s mother, who was squeaking like a monkey, with an intensity that made her hesitate. Then, all of a sudden, he clapped his hands.

“Oh, I knew I’d seen you somewhere before! You’re the lady who lives in that house with the blue roof in Sawara Ward, right? I always swing by for collection there.”

Mizusawa’s mother widened her eyes in shock.

“Uh, ma’am... what was your name again?”

Reluctantly, as if she had no choice, Mizusawa’s mother gave him her name. Seemingly oblivious to the tension, Isuma continued to chat casually.

“Near your place, the trash pickup is always late, right? It’s because the truck gets full at the previous stop, and we have to return to the incinerator. But you always take out your trash late too, so it actually works out perfectly, doesn’t it?”

As Isuma laughed without a care, Mizusawa’s mother flushed red and fell silent. At the urging of the homeroom teacher, Isuma sat in the chair to his right, bringing with him a faint odor of garbage. Sitting in a distant seat, Fukiyama twitched his nose, probably noticing the smell too. Awkward.

“What the hell are you doing, man? Wait, wasn’t Mizusawa... Mizusawa was your friend, right? You told me he became your buddy after starting junior high school.”

Isuma tilted his head, thinking.

“Well, being too close can lead to fights, you know. I’ve lost count of how many times Kunihiko and I fought. Stuff like that brings you closer as real friends. So... why exactly was I called here again?”

Listening to Isuma’s rambling, it was hard not to feel like the situation wasn’t that serious after all. Everyone seemed to be sucked into his slightly offbeat way of talking, leaving them dumbfounded. In the midst of it, Fukiyama suddenly snapped back to reality, clearing his throat with a serious expression.

“Fights between kids happen often, but the issue here is that it happened at school, and one of the close friends was beaten so badly that he bled. Even a minor disagreement can sometimes escalate into bullying, and that’s what we’re trying to prevent at an early stage. The school wants to address the causes and ensure this never happens again, with the parents involved in the discussion. Sure, this was a kids' fight, but these kids aren’t elementary schoolers anymore. They’re growing up, their bodies becoming like adults’. If they start solving problems with violence now, it’ll cause them trouble down the line.”

Isuma kept tilting his head, offering a weak “Ah, yeah,” the way a child would when being scolded. The teacher’s speech had parts that seemed beyond Isuma’s understanding, and there was a moment of tension as everyone wondered if he’d embarrassingly ask for clarification. But he didn’t.

"Sanada, why did you hit Mizusawa?"

Fukiyama posed an unpleasant question. Shun’ichi clenched his hands tightly on his lap. I won’t say anything, he resolutely decided. The reason he hadn't reported Mizusawa's bullying to the teacher was that he didn't want Isuma to know. He didn't want all the time he'd endured being hit and insulted to go to waste over something like this.

“Sensei, when this guy’s holding something in, he always grips his hands tight, like that. He’s done it ever since he was little. Did you know that?”

Startled, Shun’ichi quickly opened his hands on his lap. Isuma laughed at the sight.

"Sanada-san, excuse me, but are you understanding what I’m saying?"

Fukiyama couldn’t hide his irritation toward Isuma, who kept talking about irrelevant things, like childhood habits, completely off-topic. Noticing the rising tension, a hint of nervousness flashed across Isuma’s face.

“Ah, yeah. I get it. So, um… what I’m saying is, this guy’s probably holding something in. Like, even if he hit that guy, he must’ve had a reason. That’s why you called the parents to talk it out, right? Am I saying something wrong?”

Though roundabout, Isuma was trying to simplify Fukiyama’s carefully laid-out words into something more basic. He wasn’t wrong, so Fukiyama was left with nothing to say.

“There’s no reason!”

Suddenly, the normally quiet Mizusawa burst out.

“He just hit me out of nowhere! He’s never liked me. From the start, he’s been messing with me, hitting me from behind or playing pranks... It’s been awful.”

To Shun’ichi’s surprise, Mizusawa’s eyes were brimming with tears. He hadn’t known it was possible to cry so convincingly, even if it was all a lie.

“See? There’s no reason at all!”

Mizusawa’s mother, fueled by her son’s tears, regained her anger. She embraced her tearful child like soothing a baby, stroking his head.

“You poor thing... But it’s okay now, Mama’s here. I’ll take care of everything.”

With eyes full of hatred, Mizusawa’s mother glared at the offending student and his father.

“Let me say this clearly. The reason your child turned out to be so violent without any cause is because, as a single father, you’ve failed to properly discipline him.”

“Ah, but…”

Though taken aback and leaning back under the force of Mizusawa’s mother’s words, Isuma still spoke up in defiance.

“His mom, Riku... she was an amazing woman. But when this guy was two or three, she got sick and died.”

Mizusawa’s mother furrowed her brows and kept silent.

“She really wanted to live, but in the end, she didn’t make it.”

Isuma, lost in thought for a moment, narrowed his eyes in reminiscence. At that point, Fukiyama hesitantly spoke up.

“Excuse me, but I don’t think that has anything to do with what Mizusawa-san was saying, or with this situation...”

Isuma, now confused, looked around at the others.

“Huh? But Mizusawa-san mentioned it being a single-parent household. If Riku had been alive, we could’ve raised him together, but since she passed away, it can’t be helped. I mean, even if you tell me that’s bad, I don’t know what to do about it.”

Mizusawa’s mother clenched the handkerchief in her trembling hand.

“What I’m saying is, it’s not about whether the mother is present or not. The problem is that as a single father, you haven’t disciplined him properly.”

Isuma, growing more frustrated, shifted restlessly in his seat.

"That's why I'm saying it's inevitable that I'm raising him alone. I never remarried. Sure, Shun’ichi probably felt lonely without a mother, but..."

The conversation wasn’t making sense. Even Shun’ichi, watching from the sidelines, could painfully tell. Isuma was trying his best to explain, and he wasn’t wrong, but something about it felt off. Mizusawa’s mother, who had initially been confused, now looked exasperated as the conversation went in circles. She let out a sigh.

“So, why did you hit him? I get it, sometimes things get frustrating, but even that frustration has a reason, doesn’t it? Everyone here just wants to know that reason. Talk it out, then apologize to your friend.”

Isuma’s dirty hand gently patted Shun’ichi on the head.

“I won’t get mad, so just tell us.”

The room fell silent. The quietness, with everyone waiting for him to speak, felt like a slow tightening noose around his neck. Shun’ichi just wanted to escape the suffocating tension. He didn’t care if he was seen as the bad guy anymore; he just wanted it all to end.

“Mom, I don’t feel well.”

Mizusawa muttered. His mother hurriedly turned to him, patting his cheeks anxiously.

“What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

Watching the exchange, Fukiyama let out a sigh.

“It’s common for kids at this age to lash out and hit others without reason. However, from what I’ve gathered, Sanada-kun has been harassing Mizusawa-kun regularly, and this time, it escalated into physical violence. As their homeroom teacher, I’ll make sure to keep a close eye on things and discuss this with the class. For now, I believe having the parents strictly caution their children should suffice. We’re running out of time for the next class as well…”

“Yes, understood.”

Mizusawa’s mother stood, nodding. The sound of chairs scraping the floor echoed, but Isuma remained seated. Noticing this, Fukiyama bent down and peered into his face.

“Sanada-san?”

“Hey, is that it? Is the discussion over?”

Fukiyama, slightly taken aback, hesitated. “Well, uh... yes, more or less…”

Still seated, Isuma rattled his chair in frustration, his face angry. Mizusawa’s mother furrowed her brow at his strange behavior.

“This doesn’t make sense. We’re supposed to talk things out so no one gets hit or hits someone again, right? But we haven’t figured out anything yet. Shun’ichi hasn’t said a word. Even if there’s no reason, he hasn’t said there’s no reason. And that kid too—aren’t you mad about being hit without knowing why? Don’t you want to understand why you got punched?”

“But, the time…”

Fukiyama glanced quickly at the clock on the wall, but Isuma dismissed it with a single sentence.

“Yeah, I get that you’ve got work, Sensei, but I left my job to be here too. We’re already short-staffed, and this is causing a lot of trouble for everyone. Since I’m here, let’s have a proper discussion. If we don’t, I won’t even know why I took the day off in the first place.”

Mizusawa’s mother shook her head and sighed, clearly troubled.

“Sanada-san, I understand your point, but if the teacher doesn’t conduct class, it’s an inconvenience for the other students. I don’t think it’s appropriate to hold the teacher back for the sake of just one child.”

Isuma wasn’t about to give up.

“But the teacher called me here for this discussion, right? Bullying sometimes leads the bullied kid to the point of suicide. I don’t want that either, so let’s talk this out properly. If we find out the reason, I’ll make sure Shun’ichi apologizes. Otherwise, how could you feel at ease, ma’am?”

“That’s enough!”

Shun’ichi yanked hard on his father’s sleeve. In the brief silence that followed, Shun’ichi bowed quickly to Mizusawa and his mother before they could say anything else.

“I’m sorry for hitting you.”

Before Shun’ichi could even fully bow his head, Isuma pulled it back up roughly.

“Apologizing comes last. You’ve got to explain yourself first, then apologize from the heart. Just bowing your head quickly like that doesn’t mean anything.”

Mizusawa tugged on his mother’s hand.

“Mom, can I go home now?”

Isuma turned around and said, “Hold on a sec,” before staring intently at Mizusawa. Uncomfortable under the scrutiny, Mizusawa averted his gaze.

“Hey, haven’t we met somewhere before? I feel like I’ve seen your face before. I’ve been thinking about it, but I just can’t remember.”

“I don’t know you,” Mizusawa flatly denied, but Isuma kept furrowing his brow, deep in thought, until suddenly he shouted, “Ah!”

“You’re that brat from the other day! No wonder I didn’t recognize you—acting all quiet and polite like that. You’re the kid who mocked me during the bulky waste pickup, right? You pointed at me and laughed, saying something about me not being able to read kanji!”

“Th-that’s a lie!” Mizusawa yelled, his face pale. But Isuma kept talking.

“I remember now. You were making fun of me, saying I smelled bad, just like a little kid would. I remember thinking, ‘Ah, this jerk goes to the same junior high school as Shun’ichi.’ Yeah, it pissed me off, but whatever. What really got me was when you spit your gum on my clothes—stuck so hard I couldn’t get it off. My boss even chewed me out for it.”

Mizusawa’s mother, her face red with fury, stepped forward.

“Hold on, Sanada-san. I know you’re trying to protect your child, but stop making these baseless accusations. My son would never do something as vulgar as spitting gum on someone’s clothes!”

Isuma smiled gently at her, completely unfazed by her anger.

“Oh, sorry. I guess that had nothing to do with today’s topic, huh? And don’t worry, ma’am, I’m totally over it. It was just a kid’s prank. No need to get mad at him for it.”

Mizusawa’s mother, trembling and biting her lip, turned to her son with a terrifying look, her face like an enraged demon.

“Is what Sanada-san is saying true?”

Mizusawa, his face filled with fear, shook his head vigorously.

“No! No! It’s a lie! I didn’t... I didn’t spit gum…”

Relieved, Mizusawa’s mother immediately turned her fury back toward Isuma.

“Yoshimi says it’s a lie! Sanada-san, stop saying things that could lead to misunderstandings!”

With his hands on his hips, Isuma let out a long sigh.

“I get it, it’s embarrassing to admit the truth in front of your mom, but lying is bad, kid. It’s the first step toward becoming a thief, you know? Kids always get forgiven if they say, ‘I’m sorry,’ so it’s smarter to do that.”

“I told you to stop making such ridiculous accusations!” Mizusawa’s mother shrieked, her voice high-pitched with anger. Isuma blinked in surprise.

“Wait a second, are you doubting me? Do you think I’m the one lying here?”

Tilting his head, Isuma stared straight at Mizusawa’s mother.

“But my child…”

Mizusawa’s mother mumbled, her words faltering.

“Don’t you think your kid could be lying? Kids lie all the time. When I was his age, I lied about everything. I understand how he feels. I’d probably lie too if I were in his shoes. But I’m an adult now, so I don’t do sneaky things like that anymore. I don’t lie. So why are you doubting me, Mizusawa-san?”

Mizusawa’s mother let out a sharp, frustrated breath. “Enough already!”

"My son said he didn't do it, so there's nothing more to say. He's never lied to me, not once. He's a really good boy."

Isuma slowly lowered his gaze.

"...The guy I usually work with, he was there when I got mocked. If I brought him here, would you believe that I'm telling the truth? But honestly, I don't think it would really matter."

Mizusawa’s mother turned her head slowly, staring intently at the bowed head of her son. The room was thick with silence until Fukiyama spoke up.

“Excuse me, but I’ll go inform the class to have self-study for the third period. Please wait here a moment.”

As Fukiyama left the guidance office, the atmosphere grew even heavier. Sighing, Mizusawa’s mother sat back down, with Mizusawa shrinking beside her.

“By the way, how’s your leg doing?”

Isuma pulled out a chair and peered under the desk.

“It’s still swollen, isn’t it? Does it hurt? Maybe I should get crutches from the hospital?”

“No need to make a big deal out of it,” Shun’ichi muttered.

Isuma slowly raised his head again. He stared at Shun’ichi for a long moment before reaching out with his dirty fingers to tousle his son’s hair.

“Don’t bottle things up, okay?”

It was probably advice meant for the pain, but it felt like Isuma was telling him not to hold back in general. That made Shun’ichi’s chest ache with a prickling pain.

“I-I’m the victim here!”

Mizusawa suddenly spoke, his voice breaking the tension.

“I got hit, and it hurt! I was bleeding a lot! So why do I have to sit here like this? I’m being accused of something ridiculous, and I have to just sit and take it! Mom, I want to go home already!”

“Be quiet,” his mother snapped, her voice sharp, but Mizusawa, flushed with feverish anger, continued.

“I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t! It’s all his fault! I—”

“I said, be quiet!”

Finally, Mizusawa fell silent. The only sound left in the room was the heavy drumming of rain against the windows.

“…This is my first time meeting him, but I think I might not like your teacher very much,” Isuma mumbled.

“Huh? Why?”

“Dunno. Just a feeling. You ever get that?”

“No, not really.”

“I see.”

The sound of the rain continued to echo, but the silence didn’t last for even five minutes. Footsteps approached, and soon the door to the guidance office opened with a noisy clatter. Following Fukiyama were two students—Akimori and Yamashita. Shun’ichi tilted his head, confused as to why the two had been brought in.

“Oh, it’s Akimori-san’s son!” Mizusawa’s mother exclaimed in surprise. Akimori nodded, saying, “Hello.”

“I’ve brought students who witnessed the fight,” Fukiyama explained, turning to the two boys.

“Yamashita, you said you saw Sanada hit Mizusawa, right?”

Yamashita, who had been hunched over awkwardly since entering, nodded slightly as he glanced at Mizusawa.

“Mizusawa claims Sanada suddenly attacked him. Is that true?”

“Well, uh... yeah, I guess…”

Though his response was halting, Yamashita confirmed it. Next, Fukiyama turned to Akimori.

“Akimori, you saw the fight too, right? What did you see?”

A bad feeling ran up Shun’ichi’s spine. Akimori took a small breath and began speaking slowly.

“Sanada-kun and Mizusawa-kun were fighting.”

Fukiyama, arms still crossed, widened his eyes slightly.

“Fighting? So it wasn’t that Sanada suddenly hit him?”

“Yamashita-kun is Mizusawa-kun’s friend, so I think he’s trying to cover for him.”

Akimori stated this confidently.

“That’s not what I was told. Hey, Sanada, what was the reason for the fight?”

Shun’ichi felt a sharp pain at his temples. Why did Fukiyama have to bring Akimori here? This was supposed to end with me being the bad guy. Why drag it all back up?

“Sensei, Mizusawa-kun said to Sanada-kun’s...”

Before Akimori could finish, Shun’ichi shot up from his seat. The sudden movement caused the chair to topple over with a loud crash.

“Stop saying crap and get out of here!”

Everyone’s eyes were suddenly on Shun’ichi.

“What’s got you so worked up?” Isuma asked, confused, reaching for Shun’ichi’s blazer. But Shun’ichi angrily shook his hand off.

“Akimori, I told you to get out!”

Mizusawa’s mother furrowed her brow. She probably thought he was a foul-mouthed kid now, but Shun’ichi didn’t care. No matter how much he shouted, Akimori remained still. Shun’ichi took a shaky step forward, his leg throbbing in pain, just wanting to drive Akimori out. But before he could, Fukiyama grabbed him from behind in a bear hug, as if thinking Shun’ichi was about to hit Akimori.

“Let go! Let me go!”

Trapped at a distance, unable to approach or chase him away, Shun’ichi was left to just glare as Akimori stared back, unflinching.

“Mizusawa-kun told Sanada-kun that his father couldn’t even read simple kanji and should start school over from elementary,” Akimori said calmly.

“Shut up!” Shun’ichi shouted, his voice desperate. Akimori’s tone sounded smug, as though he was satisfied with what he was revealing. Even with Shun’ichi screaming at him, Akimori didn’t flinch and kept his chest puffed out in confidence.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?”

Akimori’s anger seemed to come from the injustice of seeing the bully now playing the victim. His eyes burned with self-righteousness. Shun’ichi knew that if he just spoke the truth, he wouldn’t have to be the bad guy anymore. But even though he knew this, he stayed silent.

“This morning, Sanada-kun’s desk had a funeral wreath placed on it, and someone wrote ‘funeral’ on the blackboard.”

The truth that had been carefully erased. Shun’ichi saw Fukiyama’s shocked expression, but Akimori kept going.

“Mizusawa-kun and his friends did it. A classmate said they saw Yamashita-kun and Tsutsui-kun drawing on the board early in the morning. Why didn’t you say you were being bullied, Sanada-kun? There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I don’t care about that stuff, so just drop it!”

The truth was finally out, and Fukiyama, his face stiff with tension, turned to Mizusawa.

“Akimori, is what you’re saying true?”

Mizusawa shrieked, his voice high-pitched.

“It’s all lies! Akimori’s trying to frame me! He’s bullying me!”

“The liar here is you, Mizusawa-kun. We’ve been in the same cram school since elementary, and you’ve always lied. You badmouthed your friend Sanada behind his back, too.”

Akimori’s words were relentless.

“That’s enough! Please, just shut up!” Shun’ichi’s voice cracked, pleading. Mizusawa being a liar, the fact that he was being bullied—none of that mattered anymore. He just wanted it to end.

Isuma tilted his head, watching him. Meanwhile, Akimori took a deep breath.

“Mizusawa-kun insulted Sanada-kun’s father, calling him dumb. At first, Sanada-kun kept his cool, but then Mizusawa said, ‘It’s not even a matter of good or bad. Both you and your dad are a burden on society.’ That’s when he snapped and hit him. Honestly, Mizusawa deserved it.”

The room fell dead silent. The quiet was broken only by Mizusawa’s protests—“It’s not my fault,” “I’m the one being bullied”—repeating over and over like an alarm clock that someone had forgotten to turn off.

Shun’ichi saw Isuma’s hands clench into tight fists. He was biting his lip, his face twisted like he might cry any moment. Shun’ichi realized it. All the hardship of being hit and kicked over these weeks—now it felt like it had all evaporated in a single moment, like a bubble popping. His knees gave out, and he sank to the floor.

Isuma moved toward him, kneeling down beside him. His large but gentle hand came to rest on Shun’ichi’s head.

“I’m sorry.”

That hand was warm, but it trembled ever so slightly. The ache in Shun’ichi’s chest made it hard to breathe. He wanted to scream, to shout out all his pent-up feelings, but instead, tears silently fell from his eyes. He tried to wipe them away with the back of his hand, but they wouldn’t stop. Hiding his face against the dirty floor, he wept.

“I’m sorry for being so dumb.”

Why did Isuma have to apologize? Why did he have to feel this way? The unfairness of it stung deeply. No matter how much Shun’ichi tried to say it wasn’t true, Isuma would probably still end up blaming himself. I’m stupid, he’d think, punishing himself.

Time seemed to freeze. No one spoke, no one moved. The only sound in the cramped guidance office was Shun’ichi’s sobs, echoing painfully through the room.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

While Shun’ichi was crying, Mizusawa's mother quietly left the guidance office with her son. Neither of them offered a single apology. Maybe they thought it wasn't necessary. As Isuma knelt beside his weeping son, he kept apologizing over and over. The more he apologized, the harder Shun’ichi cried. But Isuma didn’t seem to realize that. Shun’ichi rubbed his leaking tears away with force, and he gently pushed his father’s hand off his head.

“Just go back to work already.”

Even though he tried to act tough, the trembling in his voice betrayed him, and that frustrated him.

“I’m fine. I already told everyone I’d be taking time off. But…”

“You’re worried you’ll get fired, aren’t you? And if that happens, we’ll get kicked out of the apartment in no time.”

Isuma’s face grew serious as he muttered, “Yeah, that’s true…”

“If you’re so worried, just go back already. I’m fine.”

“Quit nagging. Just go back.”

Shun’ichi gave his father’s shoulder a firm, exaggerated pat, as if to shove him away. Looking troubled, Isuma finally stood up and put some distance between them. As he made to leave, Fukiyama hurried over.

“Thank you so much for coming today.”

“Ah, yeah,” Isuma mumbled, still unsure if anything had really been resolved. Then, before leaving, he turned back to Fukiyama.

“Uh, Sensei…”

Fukiyama’s expression stiffened.

“Please look after Shun’ichi. I don’t really understand how things work in school, so... please keep an eye on him for me.”

Isuma bowed deeply, like a sales clerk in a department store, and left the room. As soon as his figure disappeared from view, Fukiyama’s shoulders slumped, and he let out a long sigh.

“You guys can head back to class now.”

Yamashita darted out into the hallway the moment the words left Fukiyama’s mouth. Akimori walked over, offering his hand to help Shun’ichi, likely out of concern for his injured leg. Shun’ichi hated it. He wanted to snap at those insufferably helpful fingers.

“Akimori, you go back to class too. Sanada, stay for a bit. I need to talk to you.”

Akimori hesitated for a moment, glancing at Shun’ichi, but eventually left the guidance office. Facing Shun’ichi, Fukiyama let out a small grunt.

“I’m sure what happened today will be discussed with the class, but before that… if you’re ever being bullied, you need to tell me before it gets serious. Keeping it to yourself won’t solve the problem.”

It was as if Fukiyama was reprimanding him for staying silent, as if keeping quiet had been wrong. Mizusawa, who claimed he’d been hit, had been shielded by his mother and left without facing any consequences, yet Shun’ichi was the one being blamed.

“So it’s my fault? For being bullied, for keeping it quiet… all of it’s my fault?”

“That’s not what I meant—” Fukiyama started to explain, but Shun’ichi cut him off abruptly.

“I didn’t mind being the bad guy.”

Without giving Fukiyama a chance to respond, Shun’ichi bowed his head, directing his words toward his teacher who was trying to shift the blame onto him.

“Thank you for today.”

Shun’ichi spoke slowly, deliberately separating each word. He didn’t feel sorry at all. Every word was drenched in sarcasm, and he knew it.

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