Tada, Sore Dake de Yokattan desu Chapter 6: Murder

Allow me to briefly recount this upheaval. It may be a bit taxing, but I must ask you to bear with me.

During the break after consuming meals that were neither particularly pleasant nor unpleasant, everyone would indulge in their own pastimes. I, invariably found in a classroom corner engrossed in reading, never paid much mind to my classmates. A closer observation, however, revealed them engrossed in various activities with apparent enjoyment. Masaya, Ninomiya, and Watabe were engaged in a game of poker with a few girls, while Ishikawa looked on, visibly pleased. Komuro was diligently attempting to copy Masaya's homework, and other girls conversed in the corridor, casting irritated glances at Katou and his companions who were discussing rather unsavory topics. Those more inclined towards otaku culture debated the anime scheduled for that evening, while calmer individuals, much like myself, were reading.

What I wish to convey is that, at that point in time, I was not overcome with rage. When I struck Masaya with the water-filled bottle, my agitation was not at its peak.

Thus, upon steeling myself, I struck Masaya with a swift, smooth movement as he turned his head. Naturally, as one might expect, had genuine anger fueled me, I would have resorted to using a chair, and even Masaya would have ended up hospitalized. With my limited physical strength, this would have been entirely feasible.

In any event, it was out of a sense of kindness that I opted to strike him with a water bottle, leaving nothing more than a bruise on Masaya's face.

“What is the meaning of this… Sugawara?”

Every one of my classmates froze, and an immediate silence descended upon the classroom. Only Masaya remained outwardly calm.

This composure truly struck me.

And so, I declared, “This is truly a wonderful day.”

In the early days of November, my revolution commenced.

Once my preparations were complete, I confronted Masaya, just as I have recounted. And then, chaos erupted.

I explained the situation to our homeroom teacher, Toguchi-sensei, who was also Masaya’s mother, and to the parents of the other three boys. Their subsequent reprimands were so severe they nearly deafened me. On several occasions, Masaya’s mother seemed on the verge of physically assaulting me.

In the center of the classroom, several adults surrounded me, their agitated emotions palpable. Like a frightened hare that had stumbled into a lion’s den, I was subjected to a terrifying and pitiful ordeal.

Yet, I offered no apologies.

Giving up easily was not an option; this was, after all, a revolution.

Everyone subjected me to ludicrous punishments. During the noon break, I was compelled to visit every classroom in the school and kneel before each assembly. That day, I did not return home until 8 p.m.

And before I retired for the night, I finally encountered my father, who had returned home.

He removed his heavy coat, retrieved a can of beer from the refrigerator, and simply told me, “Don’t do anything foolish.”

That was all. He never inquired about anything further.

Masaya’s mother flew into a rage akin to an Asura, and I was suspended from school for three days. Including Saturday, I found myself on a five-day break. During this period, I visited the school a few times and also went to the residences of Masaya, Ninomiya, Watabe, and Komuro. A few of them shouted, “Get your parents here!” but I could only respond, “Please tell my parents yourselves.” I was not attempting to deceive them; my intention was sincere. However, I was subjected to further scolding and appeared utterly bewildered.

I could grasp this much.

The crux of the issue was that following my suspension, I was forced to kneel before everyone.

(Is this some kind of Edo period punishment!?)

During the noon break, I proceeded to kneel before every classroom, irrespective of the grade level. Is such a practice permissible in education? MEXT, please provide an explanation!

...Well, such a consequence was perhaps to be expected.

After the first day of kneeling concluded, I grumbled inwardly, finally finding a measure of peace. I roughly patted my soiled knees and hair, and declared.

The lingering sense of pity and condescension emanating from strangers remained with me. Everyone was enjoying their lunch, and I appeared alongside the teachers, my head bowed low. All were stunned into silence; their curious gazes morphed into expressions of condescension. Though I couldn't see their faces, I sensed the atmosphere that pervaded each classroom.

It is imperative that all students understand that bullying is wrong; simultaneously, it is vital for everyone to recognize that I am worthless.

I suppose this school will no longer experience any bullying. Congratulations.

(Masaya’s mom is genuinely terrifying…)

I sighed and then heard the voice of Toguchi-sensei. He was my homeroom teacher, the adult who accompanied me during my kneeling ordeal.

“Hey, Sugawara.”

The young teacher, perhaps around thirty years old, scratched his head.

“You don’t seem to be taking this particularly hard…”

“Really?”

“No, it’s not that I intend to increase your punishment, but I am curious. What exactly are you thinking?”

“It’s nothing. I’m merely reflecting on how I bullied Masaya.”

I had not anticipated Toguchi-sensei deciphering my true intentions, so I put on my most arrogant demeanor, offered a mocking smile, and averted my gaze elsewhere.

At the very least, until this revolution reaches its conclusion, I cannot bring myself to confide in Toguchi-sensei.

And so, I taunted him,

“Can it get any worse? If I just kneel, everything will be fine. Are you planning on calling Masaya’s mother over here? I did go see her during my break, but her anger only intensified.”

“...Well, that’s true.”

Toguchi-sensei appeared to have conceded, letting out a sigh as he hurried back to the staff room. This teacher was known for being spineless and conflict-averse, highly disliked by the students, but at this moment, I genuinely felt a sense of relief.

Upon returning to my classroom, I discovered my pencil case had been tossed into the trash bin.

It was an obvious act, and I understood immediately. Everything inside was spilled out, discarded along with the pencil case itself. Several mechanical pencils protruded from beneath the grey plastic bag.

I hadn't anticipated it would start this soon.

I felt gazes from all around the classroom, a stark contrast to when I had gone to kneel before each room. There was a palpable sense of smug satisfaction. The proof was in the numerous stares directed at me, unwavering and unabashed. They showed no shame in their base instincts, believing that discarding my pencil case was an act of righteousness.

It’s sickening.

“Is the Human Power Test really that significant…?” I murmured to myself.

I thought this as I met their glares. I had so much I wanted to convey.

You lot have no right to be such garbage. You’re pathetic. Do you crave validation? Do you want Masaya’s approval? Or perhaps to blend in with the crowd? You discard other people’s belongings for such trivial reasons? How many people have you harmed over the past 14 years, clinging to a notion of friendship you don’t understand?

But it was futile to voice these thoughts. Firstly, I don’t truly care about these matters. Even if they are foolish buffoons, so what? It’s merely my pencil case that was thrown away. It’s a minute’s inconvenience, nothing more.

True trash doesn't get hurt.

And that’s precisely what I witnessed during the initial phase of my revolution.

This revolution is proceeding more smoothly than expected, you see?

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh, I’m so worn out!”

Regardless, once I reached home, I let out a yell.

I confronted Masaya, faced his mother in the staff room, visited the victims during my break, knelt before everyone, and endured the judgment of my class and the entire school. It’s easy to recount these events, but each one inflicted immense stress on my mental state.

I munched on some snacks in the living room, attempting to soothe my weary spirit. The baumkuchen I’d surreptitiously bought behind my parents’ backs turned out to be surprisingly delicious. I began peeling off the layers and savoring them; it was a unique way of eating I’d devised. I slumped onto the sofa, groaning, “Uuu.” Even someone as worthless as me can experience a mental breakdown.

“I suppose I haven’t done anything commendable in a long time. My head aches. They are cruel. They’ve subjected this weakling of the Heisei Era to such torment!”

Even so, I could not surrender.

If I gave up now, I would forever bear the infamy of being ‘the guy who bullied four classmates and assaulted one with a water bottle’.

The dice have been cast.

I have no choice but to press onward.

Deciding to grumble a bit before heading to bed, I heard a “Beep.” It was a sound from the computer. I approached it and saw a message from Sou. It’s his usual greeting.

“Hello, can you hear me? Did anything interesting happen today?”

I had no intention of confessing, “I was forced to kneel during lunch break as punishment.” So, I concocted a harmless lie. Fabricating a lie is incredibly simple. My day is essentially the same routine, almost a ritual. Go to school, disengage during classes, frequent the library, and then head home.

While I couldn't confide in Sou about the bullying and the incident, I did want to discuss something a bit more frivolous with him.

“Oh yeah, I discovered that cooking meat buns in soup is quite nice. It’s an easy way to complete a Chinese dish.”

At this point, all I craved was a change of pace, so I indulged myself and made a nonsensical joke.

For the record, I’ve never actually had meat bun soup. This should suffice to create a Chinese soup dish, right? I have no idea.

Our conversation continued for a while, and we chatted amiably.

“So, in that case, if you use a red bean bun, it would become a red bean soup, wouldn’t it?”

“Really? That sounds like it would be incredibly bland.”

“Try making it. I’m curious to see your results.”

“You should experiment with it yourself, Sou. That’s a vile idea.”

I quipped, awaiting his response.

After a brief pause, Sou sent another message,

“Anyway, why did you beat up Masaya Kishitani, Sugawara?”

At that very moment, my mind went blank.

I reread the message, then scrolled through my chat history with Sou. There was undeniable proof that I had never divulged any personal information to him.

My throat suddenly felt dry, and I was rendered speechless.

But Sou continued to send me messages on the computer.

“I apologize for asking so abruptly, but would you mind sharing this with me? I might be able to offer some assistance. Why did you strike Masaya Kishitani? Why did you act so arrogantly before Masaya Kishitani’s mother? How did you manage to dominate the four students?”

What is happening? I inadvertently blurted out,

“I know you, I have high hopes for you, and I am concerned about your well-being, so kindly divulge your objective. Taku Sugawara, that classmate you referred to as ‘I’ is none other than Kotomi Ishikawa, correct?”

My fingers instinctively shut down the computer. My breathing quickened, and in a panic, I yanked the internet cable from the machine before fleeing the living room. How could that person possibly know me? Who exactly was he? A sense of ruin washed over me, accompanied by an unsettling premonition.

Just then, the doorbell chimed. It couldn't be my parents; they wouldn't be home at this hour. Someone was at the door. With my heart hammering against my ribs, I crept towards the window and cautiously peered out at the entrance.

The individual standing outside was entirely unexpected, someone I desperately wished to avoid. (Masaya…) Masaya stood at the door, a bandage adorning his face. The sight of him made me recoil, an urge to flee overwhelming me.

“Taku, are you in there?” he called out through the window. “Why did you do that? What was your intention?” Masaya’s voice reached me, and I instinctively covered my mouth, suppressing my breath.

However, a genius’s perceptiveness is truly frightening, and Masaya seemed to have sensed my presence. He tried the door handle, found it locked, and then stated, “I know you’re hiding behind that door. It’s perfectly fine if you don’t want to face me. But please, tell me, what is it you’re trying to achieve?”

I remained speechless. And Masaya continued, “You don’t need to kneel anymore. I don’t expect that from you. I’ll instruct everyone in class not to be so inconsiderate and to stop throwing your pencil case. That’s all I came to tell you. Hey, please say something already.”

Despite his kindness, I found myself unable to respond. Only the oppressive silence filled the space between us, separated by a mere three-centimeter-thick door. “Hey, Taku…” Masaya murmured, “We’re still allies, aren’t we? Friends, right?”

“Yeah… but, I’m sorry,” I finally managed to say. Yet, in my mind, I pictured a future where, once all this was over, we could go out for a meal together. Of course, I couldn’t simply invite him right now. He was a fellow member of the TakuMasa alliance.

But at this critical juncture, I couldn’t afford to be his close friend. Thus, I chose to maintain my silence. After several minutes, Masaya lingered at the door, appearing on the verge of speaking multiple times before ultimately giving up. He kicked the door in frustration and turned to leave.

I closed my eyes, remaining in the corridor. I had to continue this torment of Masaya until the revolution was complete. For the sake of my own future happiness. Exhausted, I slumped down at the entrance. Just then, the doorbell rang once more.

Perhaps about ten minutes had passed. Wariness returned, and I wondered if it was Masaya again. Curiosity about the visitor's identity compelled me to return to the living room and peer through the window. I spotted the distinctive deep blue bag of our school, adorned with a grey ribbon. Was it just the ribbon? Something else seemed to be attached to it. Yes, I caught a glimpse of it.

To get a clearer view, I leaned my head towards the window, accidentally bumping the glass. The visitor startled at the sound, turning around, and our eyes met. It was Kotomi Ishikawa. This was the worst possible timing. She was the one person I least wanted to see, even more than Masaya. Things were rapidly deteriorating. The grey ribbon was a remnant from that doll. I couldn’t feign being away. Instead, I nodded and proceeded to the entrance. In the dim entryway, I flicked on the white fluorescent light, unlocked the door, and it swung inward with an almost eager push. She disregarded the entrance I typically kept tidy and began questioning me directly,

“Why did Masaya visit you, Sugawara?” she inquired. Her tone was unusually harsh, like an interrogation over the sins of a past life. I averted her intense gaze and replied, “Did he? I wasn’t sure.”

“You’re lying. I saw Masaya leaving your residence, Sugawara. Please tell me. Why did Masaya come here?” “...I didn’t see him,” I attempted to answer with utmost caution. “I ignored him. He was shouting outside the house, but I couldn’t make out his words. Probably something about the New Testament.”

“Masaya isn’t Christian.” Ishikawa’s retort was undeniably characteristic of her, leaving me momentarily stunned. “Then perhaps it was the Old Testament.”

“Still with that attitude… you’ll find yourself bullied again, Sugawara.” There was a mixture of pity and anger in her voice. In all my fourteen years of life, never had I encountered such an unusual way of speaking. “Everyone detests you, Sugawara… because you physically assaulted Masaya. So, please, tell me truthfully. This is my only request… did you actually bully Masaya?”

“…I did. Komuro exposed what I did on the internet, and Masaya had to bear the consequences, so I beat him up. That’s the situation.” My voice was colder than I had intended. However, the words spoken could never be retracted. Ishikawa shook her head before me.

“That’s another falsehood. Even though I’m not particularly bright, I know Masaya isn’t the sort of person who would be bullied.”

“Then why did Masaya not refute it in front of the teachers and parents? If he had said ‘I wasn’t bullied,’ I wouldn’t have any issues. He never denied it because he couldn’t; it’s the truth. You should have asked Masaya, right? What did he say?”

As I pushed back against Ishikawa with my words, a sharp ache pierced my heart. An overwhelming urge to instantly apologize and hold her washed over me. I had braced myself for emotional fallout, but the pain of becoming enemies with Ishikawa was far beyond my expectations.

While I pondered if I had brought her to tears, she unexpectedly slapped me. It wasn't a hard hit, but it was enough to send my weaker self tumbling to the floor.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, like a cornered animal, as she gazed down at me.

“Why… wouldn’t you tell me?”

Her eyes, swimming with tears, lashed out at me.

“Please, be honest! What should I do!? Whose words do I believe? Please tell me the truth… otherwise… I’ll have to bully you too… Sugawara…”

“Shut up—!!!”

From my position on the floor, I threw back my words with every ounce of determination I possessed, pushing back against Ishikawa, my first love, with resolve.

“Stop pretending to be so good and saying such sweet things already. What you experienced is just your perspective; you don’t hate me, do you? You’re simply afraid of being treated cruelly again, wanting to be accepted by the other students. Stop judging the transgressions of others with such intentions. Stop running away from reality!”

“—!!”

A choked sob escaped her lips at my words, and she looked down at me, tears streaming. It seemed she had something to say, but the words wouldn't come.

I suppose I was right. Such an obvious reaction was all the confirmation I needed; it was precisely because of this that I initiated the revolution.

This is fine, I told myself. Even if it meant Ishikawa hated me, I couldn't drag her into this. This way would be fine.

I felt the chill of the marble floor seep through me. To avoid her gaze, my eyes drifted to the potted plant near the entrance. Its dark green leaves fluttered as I continued to wait for Ishikawa to leave.

Finally, Ishikawa spoke, her voice laced with pain,

“Please, be quiet… You don’t understand the suffering of others. You never will.”

“Perhaps.”

“You’re not reflecting on this at all, are you, Sugawara? You spilled ink on Masaya’s textbook… just like you cut up Masaya’s gym clothes back in September… you kept bullying Masaya… you’re truly awful.”

“…Huh?”

I turned back, intending to question her further, but she had already departed.

I wanted to chase after her, but my thoughts were too jumbled, and my body refused to move for the moment.

Once again, I was left alone in the corridor.

But this time, unlike before, I h