The bell signaling the end of lunch echoed through the cavernous school corridors, a sound that spurred a river of students into motion. Bradley and Kirby were swept along in the current, their stomachs full and their pace leisurely.
Blurp~
A loud, rumbling belch erupted from Kirby, cutting through the surrounding chatter. It was a sound of profound satisfaction and utter disregard for public decency.
Bradley shot him a look of pure, unadulterated disgust. "Must you? For fuck's sake, have some decorum. We're in public, not a barn."
A wide, unapologetic grin spread across Kirby's face. He patted his stomach, which was visibly distended, straining against the fabric of his school blazer. "Can't help it, man. Those cafeteria sandwiches just hit different today. They were that good."
[Bro looks like a pregnant woman, kekeke,] Spirit Bradley's voice snickered in Bradley's mind, a private commentary on the spectacle.
"I wonder how you're even going to survive PE with that blimp attached to your front," Bradley said, shaking his head. "You're going to be painting the gym floor with your lunch."
Kirby waved a dismissive hand, his confidence unshaken. "I'll manage. I have the stamina of a champion."
"If you say so."
They diverted from the main flow of students, pushing open the door to the boys' changing rooms. The air inside was thick with the smell of cheap deodorant, sweat, and damp concrete. Lockers clanged shut as boys hurriedly swapped their formal uniforms for the school's blue shorts and white t-shirts.
Kirby, already struggling with his belt, let out another low groan. "Man, I'm bursting."
As Bradley pulled his shirt over his head, Kirby let out a low whistle. "Damn, Brad. You've really lost too much weight. You look like a skeleton warrior straight out of Minecraft—hell, I think a skeleton might even look fatter than you right now." His gaze was fixed on Bradley's torso, where his ribs were starkly visible under pale skin, a roadmap of self-neglect.
Bradley didn't even flinch, pulling the white PE shirt over his head. "Yeah, well, I'm still stronger than you."
"Tsk, that's the part I don't get," Kirby grumbled, finally managing to button his shorts. "How the hell is a string bean like you stronger than all this?" He flexed a substantial bicep.
A faint, confident smirk touched Bradley's lips as he finished tying his shoelaces. "I'm just built different. Better, you could say."
"Yeah, right. Freak of nature, more like."
They joined the stream of students heading to the large training hall. The air here was different—scented with polished wood and the faint, metallic tang of exercise equipment. Their PE teacher, a burly man with a permanent whistle around his neck, was already barking orders, guiding the front rows through a series of warm-up gymnastics.
Bradley and Kirby slipped into the back, seamlessly integrating into the routine. For the next hour, it was a cycle of stretches that pulled at sleepy muscles, deep squats that burned thighs, and relentless push-ups that had Kirby's face turning a concerning shade of purple.
"I... I feel like I'm gonna puke," Kirby gasped, collapsing onto the cool wooden floor after the final set. He lay there like a beached whale, his bloated stomach rising and falling rapidly.
Bradley, who was still standing and calmly stretching his arms over his head, looked down at his friend with a mix of pity and amusement. "I told you, didn't I? You're not supposed to eat your body weight in sandwiches before physical exertion, you dumbass."
When the lesson finally ended, Bradley had to half-carry, half-drag a groaning Kirby out of the hall and down the familiar path to the infirmary.
The school nurse looked up from her desk as they entered, her eyes taking in the scene: a composed, if slightly weary, Bradley, and a deathly pale Kirby being deposited onto one of the crisp white cots.
After a quick examination, she smiled reassuringly. "He'll be fine. It's just metabolic stress and digestive strain. He exerted his body before giving it time to rest after a large meal. That's why he feels nauseous."
Bradley nodded. "Yeah, I did try to warn him."
A weak groan from the cot was Kirby's only protest.
"Now, he just needs to drink some water and rest. He'll be right as rain in no time," the nurse said, her voice gentle. She reached out to pat Kirby's head in a comforting gesture, but the moment her fingers made contact with his hair, she yelped and snatched her hand back as if she'd been burned.
"Ow!"
Bradley and Kirby both jolted, their attention snapping to her. "Are you alright? What happened?" they asked in unison.
The nurse was cradling her hand, rubbing a spot on her palm that was already blooming an angry red. She forced a pained smile. "I-it's okay. It's my fault. I hurt my hand yesterday and forgot it was still a bit tender. It's nothing."
"Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am," Kirby mumbled, looking genuinely contrite.
"There's no need for you to apologize, dear. It wasn't your fault at all." Her smile was back, warm and professional.
But Bradley didn't return the smile. His gaze had sharpened, fixed on the nurse with an unnerving intensity. He watched the way she held her hand, the slight tremor in her fingers that she tried to hide.
"Anyways," she said, deftly changing the subject and turning her attention to Bradley. "This is the third person you're bringing to my infirmary today. That's quite a record for a Monday morning."
Kirby, seizing the opportunity to lighten the mood, gasped dramatically. "Damn, Brad! You brought two other people here before me? Are you some kind of medical rescue hero in disguise?"
Bradley scratched the back of his neck, a sheepish gesture. "Well, you know... people were in need. I just did what any human with a shred of morals would do—help others."
The nurse's smile widened. "That's very kind of you. Keep up the good work. We need more people like you in this world."
*Like me?* Bradley thought, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. *Nah, the world would be doomed if there were more people like me.*
After ensuring Kirby was stable and sipping water, they were given the all-clear to leave. "Thanks, ma'am," Bradley said, slinging Kirby's arm over his shoulder again.
"No problem at all. You boys take care of yourselves," the nurse said, her smile still perfectly in place. But as she spoke her final words, Bradley caught it—her eyes, for just a fraction of a second, didn't match the warmth of her expression. They were flat, like polished stones. "It's a dangerous world out there."
Bradley held her gaze for a beat too long, his own eyes narrowing slightly. "We will," he replied, his voice low and deliberate. "Definitely."
Once they were back in the hallway, the heavy infirmary door clicking shut behind them, Kirby let out a dreamy sigh. "She's such a baddie, don't you think, Brad?"
"Who?" Bradley asked, his mind still on the nurse's strange reaction.
"The nurse! Duh! She's mad beautiful, looks like she's in her late twenties. She seems to be the motherly type, too. I love that in a woman."
"You're fifteen," Bradley stated flatly, resting his chin on his hand as they walked. "You don't stand a chance."
"Who decided that?" Kirby retorted, puffing out his chest. "You never know, man. I might just shoot my shot."
"Just say you like to be groomed and be done with it," Bradley deadpanned.
Kirby looked at him, utterly serious. "Who doesn't?"
Bradley stared at him in disbelief for a full second before shaking his head slowly. "You and your fetishes, I swear." He clicked his tongue, though a traitorous thought crossed his own mind. *Though, I wouldn't mind being groomed by a hot older woman either.*
Back in the classroom, with the next period yet to begin, they resumed their banter. They were deep in a debate about the merits of various anime fight scenes when the boy sitting in front of Bradley turned around in his seat.
He had a mop of ginger hair and thoughtful gray eyes behind a pair of thin-framed glasses. "Sorry for disturbing your conversation," he said, his voice softer than the noise around them. "But I've got a question for you guys."
Bradley looked at him for a few seconds, his brain scrambling for a name. *What was his name again? Hmmm. Fuck, I forgot. Me and my poor memory.*
The boy, seeming to read his mind, offered a shy smile. "It's Josh. If you were wondering."
*Oh, right. Josh.* The quiet guy who was always buried in graphic novels and manga in the corner of the class. He was one of the few who never seemed to cast judgmental looks Bradley's way, too engrossed in his own worlds. *Can't blame him; I get it.*
"Yeah, I didn't forget your name, Joshua," Bradley said with a wave of his hand.
"It's just Josh..." he corrected gently.
"Yeah, I know. I just felt like calling you Joshua today. It has a nicer ring to it," Bradley replied, shameless.
[Shameless until the very end, huh?] Spirit Bradley chimed in.
*Sybau,* Bradley shot back mentally.
"So what's up, Josh?" Kirby leaned in, a friendly but mischievous glint in his eye. "Why is the quiet guy breaking his silence for us? Are you perhaps..." he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "...interested in our highly intellectual conversation?"
Josh scratched the back of his neck, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. "Yeah, well, I couldn't help but overhear you were talking about the new school nurse... and I have to agree. She's definitely a baddie."
"You see!" Kirby exclaimed, slamming a hand on the desk triumphantly. "I told you, Brad! Even the quiet guy has impeccable taste!"
"I can hear you, you know," Josh said, the blush deepening.
Bradley leaned back in his chair, studying Josh with newfound interest. "I'm surprised, man. I pegged you as someone whose only interests were in the pages of those comics."
Josh adjusted his glasses. "Well, yeah... but those aren't the only *type* of comics I read, though..."
A heavy, knowing silence descended upon the three of them. Bradley and Kirby exchanged a long, slow look, their eyebrows raised.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, bro?" Kirby asked, his voice grave.
"Yeah, bro," Bradley nodded, his expression equally serious. "Our dihs are connected, after all."
[Gay,] Spirit Bradley provided the obligatory commentary.
"Yeah," Kirby declared. "He definitely reads erotic manga."
"And watches hentai, too, probably," Bradley added with a sage nod. "It's always the quiet ones."
"Great minds think alike." Kirby reached over and gave Bradley a perfectly synchronized dap.
"N-no! I don't read that kind of stuff!" Josh denied, waving his hands frantically, a sheen of sweat appearing on his forehead.
Kirby put a heavy, comforting arm around Josh's shoulders. "It's okay, man. You're a growing boy. It's normal. In fact, it just means you're a true man of culture."
"A true man of culture, my ass! He's just a gooner!" Bradley burst out laughing.
"I am not a gooner!" Josh insisted, his voice cracking.
"Sure, buddy. Whatever you say," Bradley said, wiping a tear from his eye.
"It's okay to goon from time to time," Kirby continued, adopting a wise, mentor-like tone. "Medical doctors even say it's healthy. The key is moderation. You know what they say, 'everything used in excess does not go well.'"
"I... I see," Josh mumbled, looking thoroughly counseled.
"Just don't be like my friend here," Kirby said, suddenly pointing an accusing finger at Bradley.
"Hey! What about me?" Bradley's smile vanished.
"He goons every single day! Twenty times a day, even! Look at him!" Kirby gestured dramatically at Bradley's slender frame. "That's where all his nutrients are going! That's why he's so skinny!"
"Hey! I do not goon! I'm skinny because I starv—" Bradley caught himself, cutting off the sentence abruptly.
"Because you goon!" Kirby finished triumphantly for him.
A visible vein throbbed on Bradley's temple. He took a deep, calming breath. "Josh," he said, defeated. "Please, just ask your question before I commit a murder."
"Okay, okay," Josh said, composing himself. He clasped his hands together on the desk as if he were about to ask a question of world-shattering importance. "Listen carefully. It's a short question, and I want you both to be completely honest." He looked back and forth between them, his gray eyes serious. "Motherly woman or 10/10 tomboy fineshyt?"
Their answers came simultaneously, two convictions clashing in the air.
"Motherly women," Kirby stated with the fervor of a preacher.
"Tomboys," Bradley declared with equal passion.
Kirby turned his head slowly towards Bradley, his jaw slack with betrayal. "Huh? You like tomboys?"
"You're supposed to be my bro! You should've known this!" Bradley clicked his tongue in disappointment.
"Yeah, right. So what you're saying is... you like to be dominated by women?" Kirby asked, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
"No, you little fucker!"
"I'm quite big, y'know," Kirby retorted, flexing again. "Bigger than you, for you to call me 'little'."
"Shut up. Just because I like tomboys doesn't mean I want to be dominated. I just find them attractive. I like their personality, their vibe. That's all," Bradley explained, crossing his arms defensively.
"Personality? Pfft, don't lie to us!" Kirby laughed. "You like them because of their thick, muscular thighs! Admit it!"
Bradley's defensive posture melted into one of pure, unashamed conviction. "Thighs save lives," he stated, his voice flat and matter-of-fact.
"He's... not wrong, though," Josh chimed in, nodding thoughtfully. "Thighs do, in fact, save lives."
"Women are the greatest creation from God, that's for sure," Josh finished, a dreamy look in his eyes.
"Facts. I can't deny that," Kirby agreed. "That's why they must be appreciated and cherished."
"Tomboys still clear motherly women, though," Bradley reasserted.
"Hell no! Motherly women win, no contest," Kirby fired back.
"Why? Elaborate," Josh pressed, playing the role of debate moderator.
"Because they are empathetic, caring, nurturing," Kirby said, counting the qualities on his fingers. "They treat you with a gentle, unconditional love that you actually deserve. It's comforting."
Josh nodded. "That's the natural instinct, right? To look for a potential 'mother of my children'."
"Exactly!" Kirby agreed, pointing at Josh. "It's not just about me. It's about the future, the family. You want that stability, that warmth for your kids."
Both Josh and Bradley found themselves nodding in agreement; it was a solid argument.
"Now," Josh said, turning his analytical gaze to Bradley. "Your turn. What is your reasoned, logical argument as to why tomboys are the superior choice for a straight man?"
Bradley leaned forward, his elbows on the desk, his expression turning scholarly. He steepled his fingers. "I will explain now, using irrefutable logic, why tomboys are the best and superior choice for a straight man."
"First," he began, holding up a finger, "we need to look at all the qualities that a 'normal' woman has: the melons, the pretty face. Great, right? But that makes it 50% gay."
"Fifty percent gay?" Kirby interrupted, bewildered. "How?"
"Because," Bradley explained patiently, "you have to put up with all the bullshit—buying unnecessary amounts of clothes, endless makeup, watching cringe Netflix romance shows. That's the 'gay' side of putting up with stereotypically feminine interests."
"Second," he continued, raising another finger, "we have the homosexual man. That also makes it 50% gay, because, hey, you've got yourself a bro! Best friend for life! But at the end of the day, you are still... well, fucking him."
"Third," he said, a triumphant gleam in his eye as he raised a third finger, "we have the tomboy. Here, we have all the good physical stuff about women, combined with the personality of a bro. You can hang out, play games, talk about real stuff. Theoretically, mathematically speaking, this combination results in a beautiful, perfect 0% gay."
He leaned back, letting his logic sink in. "Then, finally, we have the femboy. To put it simply, you are fucking a man and putting up with the bullshit side of women. That, my friends, makes the femboy a solid 100% gay."
A boy sitting to Kirby's left, who had been eavesdropping, let out a low whistle. "Oohhh. That's some whole scientific analysis right there."
"And he's lore accurate, too," Josh said, a smile of deep respect spreading across his face. "The math checks out."
"You know... you might actually be onto something," Kirby admitted, scratching his chin.
"Of course," Bradley said, puffing out his chest slightly. "Who do you think I am?"
"Someone who likes to be dominated by women," Kirby replied instantly, unable to resist.
In one swift, fluid motion, Bradley grabbed his own pen from the desk and stabbed it lightly into Kirby's thigh.
"Fuck! Okay, okay! I was just joking!" Kirby yelped, rubbing the spot as Josh burst into genuine, hearty laughter.
"You guys are so funny," Josh managed between laughs. "Hahaha!"
Soon, all three of them were smiling, the earlier tension completely dissolved.
"What do you think about a motherly tomboy, though?" Josh proposed, a glint of genius in his eyes. "The ultimate hybrid?"
Kirby's eyes went wide. "Shit... that'd be the perfect combo. For real."
Bradley slapped his own forehead with the palm of his hand. "Damn! Why didn't I think of that? That's the final evolution!"
"Josh," Kirby said, slinging a heavy, friendly arm around the ginger-haired boy's shoulders. "You, my friend, are a true man of culture."
"Thanks, guys," Josh replied, his smile brighter and more confident than they had ever seen it.
As Kirby and Josh continued to chat animatedly about this new archetype, Bradley fell silent. His smile faded as he turned his gaze inward, to the spectral figure only he could see. Spirit Bradley was floating nearby in a reclining position, hands clasped behind his head as if napping.
What rank was she? Bradley asked telepathically, his mental voice grim.
Spirit Bradley didn't even open his eyes.
[A higher rank evil spirit,] he replied, his tone flat and certain, confirming the dread that had been coiling in Bradley's gut since they left the infirmary.