For some reason, I've always liked the darkness.
I've loved it for as long as I can remember.
There was a time when I was little, where the light just felt... wrong. Too bright. Too loud. I didn't know how to explain it, not then. Most kids like sunshine and open spaces, but I always found it overwhelming.
I think it started the day I was left alone in a dark room.
My friends and I were playing hide-and-seek at my house. The rule was simple: hide anywhere, as long as it was inside the house.
It was my home turf—I knew every corner, every creaky floorboard. Same with my friends, honestly. We'd played there so often, they probably knew the cookie jar was behind the second cabinet from the sink.
When the seeker began counting, we all scattered. The usual spots were gone in seconds: under the kitchen table, behind the door in my room, even the bathtub.
That day, I hesitated. There were no safe places left. I panicked a little. Then I remembered the basement.
No one ever used it. It was cold, dusty, and always dark, the kind of place you'd expect to find spiders or ghosts. But I ran there anyway, opened the door, and slipped inside.
It was pitch black. I couldn't see my hands in front of me. At first, I waited for fear to kick in. But it didn't.
Instead, I felt... calm. Safe, even.
No voices. No footsteps. No one yelling at me to come out. Just silence and shadows.
That's when I realized something:
The dark doesn't lie. It doesn't ask questions or expect you to smile. It doesn't care if you're weird or quiet or tired of pretending.
It just exists.
And in that moment, I felt like I did too.
The classroom isn't dark. But sometimes, I wish it were.
At least then, I'd have somewhere to hide.
It was as uneventful as it could get. It was always like this.
The moment lunch break rolled around, people would start coming from other classes. I didn't bother with any of them since I didn't know who they were.
It's not like I knew anyone here anyway.
I kept myself isolated as much as possible.
Interacting with people has always been a problem for me. I didn't know when it started; all I knew was that around junior high, I just suddenly got worse at initiating conversations, unlike the average person.
And of course, I tried changing that about myself. I even went ahead and researched something as simple as that. However, that proved to be quite difficult.
Whenever I tried speaking with someone, the words just hung on my throat, refusing to go out. Before long, I would give up either by walking away or bowing my head to silently apologize.
I didn't like that about myself.
But I didn't know what to do about it.
It would've been fine if I had some friends. Of course, all of us have some friends, but mine was an exception.
I had four friends back when I was in grade school. We all loved playing at my house.
After graduating from grade school, two of them transferred schools. The other two stuck around until our second-year of junior high, when it was their turn to transfer.
During my third-year, I didn't have anyone to talk to. I spent the majority of that time just studying and studying all by myself. There was nothing I could do.
I was left here, all alone. When I graduated from my previous school, I immediately got enrolled at the nearest school from my home, Minamiyama High. I didn't even have a chance to pick one for myself, as my parents were incredibly strict with me.
I wanted to transfer to a school that was near one of my previous friends' schools, or, if possible, just transfer to their school altogether. The real world wasn't exactly as kind as people make it out to be.
After that, I just kind of gave up. I didn't try to improve myself, nor did I put any effort into doing so.
I got out my book and started reading it.
This was how I spent most of my free time. Actually, this is all I ever did in my free time.
It gets boring every day when you don't get to talk to someone. To cope with that, I started reading books on a whim, and it did great. Well, for a bookworm, at least.
I didn't consider myself like that, though. However, I was thankful for it.
Thanks to reading, I got more and more accustomed to studying. Whenever I had nothing to do, I would silently get a book and start reading, sometimes taking notes.
However, I wasn't exactly as perfect as you might imagine.
I could graze by the tests and would sometimes place on the top ten of my year.
But none of that mattered to anyone else.
No one cared if I got top marks or read more books than most of the class combined. If anything, it just made me stand out in the worst way.
Just as I turned the page, someone walked up to my desk.
"Hey, Hoshino-san," a guy said to me in a low and demanding tone. "Mind lettin' me see your homework? I only really need your math homework, y'know?"
The only people who ever did notice me were the ones that needed me. They're the type of people that only try to benefit from other's work, much like this guy.
I didn't know this guy. He was probably my classmate, but I never bothered memorizing their names when they were introducing themselves at the start of school, and I didn't even try to remember what they looked like.
I didn't respond to him, nor did I even try to look him in the eye. All I did was turn another page, feigning ignorance.
That seemed to rile him off as he grabbed the book and yanked it away from my hand, forcing me to look him in the eye.
"I asked nicely, didn't I?" he said, now in a more menacing tone.
The moment I saw his face, my muscles tensed up.
I didn't want to get involved with these types of people.
My breathing felt ragged. I couldn't get my mind straight, and I feel like I'm looking directly at the sun. It was nauseating.
However, even after all that, I could only manage to squeeze out a single word.
"N-No…"
That was enough to completely rile him up.
He threw my book on the ground, grabbed me by the back of my collar and proceeded to drag me away from my classroom.
"Why don't we have a nice talk?" he said while trying to hide his anger behind a smile.
Of course, that smile was as fake as it could get.
People saw me getting dragged away, but they didn't do anything. I don't know this guy, but I heard that he wasn't one to mess with. Despite me not knowing anything about other people, he's made a name for himself that even I know his appearance now.
He dragged me all the way to the bathroom and threw me inside, locking up the door behind him.
He turned slowly, cracking his knuckles.
"Next time someone like me asks for help," he said, voice low, "you say yes. Got it? Unless you want this to get uglier."
Without a moment's hesitation, he punched me straight in the face.
My head snapped sideways, and for a second all I saw was the sink. The cold metal, the faint smear of someone else's soap, a broken paper towel dispenser blinking like a busted tooth.
Warmth spilled down from my nose, thick and slow. A drop hit the floor with a soft pat. Then another.
"You think you're better than me, huh?" he spat, his voice sharp, angry. "Too good to share your homework?"
He didn't wait for me to recover. Another hit. This time to my stomach.
My breath caught halfway up my throat; stuck there like a word I couldn't say.
I didn't move. Not because I wanted to look tough, but because I wouldn't be able to do anything even if I did.
"You think anyone's gonna save you?"
Another hit.
"No one even looked your way."
He kept swinging. Fists, elbows, whatever he could throw. My ribs lit up like they were cracking with static. Blood ran over my lip and chin now, dripping onto my shirt, dotting it with red like rain on dry concrete.
"You better learn your place," he muttered between breaths. "Next time I ask, you hand it over. Or this'll feel like a warm-up."
I focused on the floor. A piece of chewing gum stuck to the tile. Someone scratched a name into the wall. "Daiki was here."
Good for Daiki.
A knee to the chest knocked me back into the stall. The metal door rattled on its hinges. I slumped down, arms over my head, legs folded like a broken chair.
I could taste iron. My mouth was filling with it—slow, metallic, warm.
He was breathing hard now.
Without a word, he wiped his knuckles on his sleeve, unlocked the door, and walked out like it was nothing.
It was nothing.
I sat there for a while. Not crying. Not moving. Just letting the silence settle back in.
A few more drops of blood hit the tile beside me. I watched them spread slowly, like they were in no rush either.
The pain would hit later. Right now, I just felt... heavy.
Like a punching bag that forgot how to swing back.
Without a word, he wiped his knuckles on his sleeve, unlocked the door, and walked out like it was nothing.
It was nothing.
I sat there for a while. Not crying. Not moving. Just letting the silence settle back in.
The pain would hit later. Right now, I just felt... heavy.
Like a punching bag that forgot how to swing back.
I don't know how long I stayed there.
Maybe five minutes. Maybe fifteen. Long enough for the blood to dry along my collar and my ribs to stop screaming.
I stood up, one hand pressed against my side, and quietly slipped out of the bathroom.
The hallway was empty.
No footsteps. No eyes. Just the low hum of lights overhead and the ache pulsing in my jaw.
I made my way to the infirmary, each step heavier than the last.
When I opened the door, Nurse Kisaragi looked up from her desk.
Her eyes narrowed the second she saw me.
"Oh my…" she said, already getting up.
She crossed the room quickly and guided me toward the cot with one hand on my back, the other grabbing a first aid kit from the counter.
"Sit. Slowly. Let me see that face."
I sat down without saying a word.
"Can you breathe okay?"
I nodded, though I did kind of falter.
"Anywhere feel broken?"
I shook my head, but it felt as though my ribs had shattered.
She knelt in front of me, gently tilting my chin up. Her fingers were cool and careful.
"You've been through this before, haven't you?"
I didn't respond. I couldn't remember.
"You don't have to tell me what happened," she said softly, dabbing at my lip with a wet cloth. "But I want you to know something."
She paused, looking up at me.
"You matter. Even if no one else shows it. Even if the world seems determined to ignore you. You still matter, Hoshino-kun."
Hearing my name made something sting more than the cuts.
"I see too many kids walk in here pretending nothing hurts," she continued. "But I'm not here to judge. I'm here to make sure you leave in one piece."
She applied ointment to the bruises forming under my eye, wrapped gauze gently around my wrist. Despite her statement, I still tried to hide the pain.
"That's going to be sore tomorrow. Ice it when you get home, alright?"
I nodded again, eyes focused on the floor.
"And if you ever need a place to catch your breath... this door's always open."
I looked at her for a second. Just a second.
"Thank you," I mumbled.
"You're welcome, Rokuro."
I stepped out of the infirmary, patched up but not whole.
The silence in the hallway felt louder than before.