What is karma?
It's defined as cause and effect. Simply put, your actions bring about a response based on what you chose to do.
Help an old woman cross the street, then stumble upon a 1,000-yen bill—that's positive karma. A good deed can bring good luck.
Ignore a child playing on the road who's about to be hit by a car, only to end up being hit by that same car yourself—that's negative karma. A bad choice brings bad luck—or in my case, death. Though, I don't exactly see that as a "bad action," but you get the idea.
Still, I don't know how much bad luck it takes to die and then reincarnate afterward, so let's just say my karma landed somewhere in the middle.
I think that should make clear what karma is.
So, can we call what happened to those four students last Friday karma?
My answer is yes. They bullied a timid, defenseless girl, and beat up a kind, innocent student who had nothing to do with it.
Their karma was receiving a one-sided beating, and for two of them, having their future dreams crushed. Karma is beautiful—especially when you're the one delivering it.
What can I say? They asked for it. I simply responded to their actions, a little late, but I did. I'm very fair.
Now, let's not ignore the giant elephant in the room: how the hell did I pull all of that off as if it were just another day?
Did some higher entity finally appear and grant me the ability to hand out brutal beatings? Did a blue RPG-style screen finally pop up, leveling up my skills for doing everyday chores? Is my life about to turn into flirting with every woman I see and seeing how many end up in my bed?
I'd love to say yes, but reality says otherwise.
That's why, knowing no one was going to hand me useful abilities for rare situations, I decided to earn them myself. Society isn't always kind enough to lend a hand when you need it.
Of course, learning those skills wasn't like taking a stroll in the park. It took years—eight to be exact—plus motivation, pain, perseverance, and even more pain. Maybe I'm a bit of a masochist…
I don't want to bore you with a long explanation of how I managed all that, so I'll keep it short.
As a kid, I started training on my own—basic exercises from gym class, along with my own modest routine inspired by a web manga. Maybe I'll end up bald. I was just a kid, so I couldn't follow every step to the letter.
When I turned ten, I asked my mom if she could enroll me in one of those training academies—dojos, I think they're called, but I just call them academies. To this day, I still don't understand why she signed me up for a Kendo school, the art of the sword.
I won't say I didn't enjoy it—it was interesting, and I learned a lot: how to maintain a firm stance, precise movements to close in or retreat, how to keep a calm mind at all times—since losing your cool always gives the opponent an advantage—how to analyze an opponent to predict their moves, and how the best strikes are clean and fast.
This is the part where I'd love to say I became the best and even won international tournaments, but that would be expecting too much from me.
After all, I only practiced Kendo for two years.
And honestly, I doubt I could walk around carrying a wooden sword everywhere just to gain the upper hand in dangerous situations.
By the time I turned twelve and was already in middle school, one day while talking with my father, he took me to another academy that trained in mixed martial arts. Apparently, a friend of his ran the place.
What can I say? That's where I got acquainted with pain.
Every sparring class ended with me flat on the ground. When your opponents are two or three years older, with better technique, there's not much you can do.
Still, I'll admit I made a lot of friends there. The best way to communicate is through fists, and I even had a senpai who loved "communicating" with me. I lost count of how many times he put me on the floor after the three-hundredth.
I learned a lot from constantly falling, and built up my physical endurance. So… does that confirm I'm a masochist?
Leaving aside the usual, you can learn both basic and advanced techniques, along with others our Sensei—once a lieutenant in the JSDF—taught us. But the truth is, the practical part is extremely limited.
It's not like you can go around beating your training partners to a pulp.
It was then that I began to understand Japanese society a little more—or at least my friends. I'm grateful to have excellent senpais; they showed me the rougher sides of certain streets in Chiba, along with all kinds of people. That confirmed to me that it really doesn't matter what country you're in—there are always people better off avoided. By that, I also mean them; the children of wealthy families truly have a different mindset.
Because of all that, breaking four students wasn't anything more than just another day for me. I mean, they asked for it.
And in case you're wondering, those four never came back to school. Recovering from those kinds of injuries doesn't happen quickly, so I doubt I'll see them again.
The following Monday, our homeroom teacher gave us a little lecture about how walking around dark places at night was dangerous. She implied that some students had been victims of robbery, and when they resisted, they were beaten. That was the version the teachers gave.
As a good student of my senpais, my actions ended up being classified as robbery. And since there were no cameras or witnesses in that area, there wasn't much to investigate. Of course, if the students had lost more than just their belongings, things would've gotten complicated. That's why I held back. Knowing how to fight isn't the same as being a reckless idiot without self-control.
That same logic was why I didn't beat up those two morons the day they tried to "teach me a lesson." Chances were, even if it had been self-defense, I'd have ended up suspended or expelled for injuring them.
Every action has a reaction, so the smartest thing is always to be cautious. Only an idiot reacts without thinking about the consequences. If the situation's against you, it's better to just go with the flow. You can always slip in a little self-defense afterward.
But putting that aside, nothing unexpected happened at school. Last week had already been a rollercoaster. It all started with the girl I met at the hospital, who I later found out goes to my school.
The last time I saw her was last Friday, when we had a short chat as we left the infirmary. Since then—up until today, Thursday—I haven't seen her again. Maybe she decided to transfer? I wouldn't blame her. Starting fresh is often the best; you can reinvent yourself, even change your appearance, and feel like someone new, trying to become a different version of yourself.
Does the same apply to me? Who knows…
Anyway, if we set aside everything that's happened, I can finally return to my routine school life. Speaking of school, the entrance exam for Sobu High is coming up, so I've been putting in some study hours. Honestly, I think one hour every two weeks is enough…
At first, studying came easy to me, and even now, I've managed to keep decent grades. But moving from middle school to high school, the level naturally rises, and I doubt I'll be able to keep up. If I want grades above average, I'll need to study harder, spend my nights grinding away—and honestly, that's not a goal I care for.
It's not like I'm aiming to become Prime Minister of Japan or anything. For someone who'll probably end up as an average office worker spending more time at work than at home, I already meet the minimum requirements. My future goals might sound bleak or even pessimistic, but I don't mind. If I manage to climb higher and improve my position over time, that'll be future-me's problem.
That's why, right now, I only study enough to pass the Sobu High exam. After that, I'll take it easy.
Even if I wanted to, the academic level will demand way too much studying just to get high grades—and honestly, I don't care about that. What can I say? After more than four years of university in my previous life, going back to study from scratch isn't exactly something I'm passionate about…
The sound of the bell pulled me from my thoughts. The teacher dismissed us and gave a few last instructions before leaving.
One thing I like is the self-study periods, when the teacher lets students study independently, only stepping in if questions come up. With just a few months left before the high school entrance exams, this has become the norm.
Since I actually brought lunch today, I took it out and started eating. On the days my mom leaves late for work, she makes sure to pack us lunch. I'm grateful she spends her free time doing that, though I also cook sometimes. I'm no expert, but as long as I know the recipe and follow an online tutorial, I can pull it off.
I really love my mother's cooking!
...After finishing, I packed the container back into my bag.
Time to grab a drink—something sweet is always welcome.
As I was about to rise from my seat, I caught the sound of my classmates murmuring while their eyes stayed fixed on the door.
It wasn't exactly unusual, but it was uncommon enough that I turned my attention to the person standing there as well.
In Japan, there are plenty of trends among girls. One of them is called Gal or Gyaru—a style where girls dress and wear makeup in bold, flashy ways, often dyeing their hair, painting their nails, and more.
Why bring this up?
Simple—because the girl standing at the entrance of my classroom is the very definition of the word.
Golden blonde hair cascaded in soft strands over her shoulders, and her green eyes shone with determination, radiating a natural elegance and charisma that's impossible to ignore. A sleeveless yellow vest hugged her figure, adding a spark of energy and vibrance to her look. Beneath it, a long-sleeved white blouse flowed gracefully, giving her outfit a delicate, feminine touch. A short skirt showed off her toned legs, adding just the right hint of allure to the ensemble.
In short, she was the most beautiful and striking girl I'd ever seen at school.
I'm certain the other guys in my class thought the same—their eyes hadn't left her for a second.
Although… I feel like I've seen her before. I just can't place where.
Then again, maybe that's just me. Descriptions like this can be pretty generic, after all. It's like protagonists in isekai stories—always the same black-haired teenager, kind-hearted, and insanely overpowered. I could describe a dozen of them and still not be done.
Bringing myself back to the present, the girl with the dazzling look scanned the room until her gaze finally landed on me.
With confident steps, she walked straight toward my desk.