Kihoru liked places where nobody looked.
Not because he enjoyed loneliness — he simply had nowhere else to exist.
Behind the old school building, just beside the rusted water tank, there was a narrow cement ledge where a single person could sit comfortably if they kept their legs pulled in. Students mostly avoided the place because it smelled like damp moss and old drainage pipes. But for Kihoru, it was quieter than any classroom, safer than any corridor, and more peaceful than any cafeteria filled with laughter that didn't include him.
It was his unofficial resting spot.
A place where he could breathe without having to pretend.
This afternoon, the sun was halfway gone and shadows were merging with the walls. Kihoru sat on the ledge, his bag pressed against his chest, his breath slightly heavy. He never had great stamina, and climbing even two floors made his lungs feel like they were on fire — but at least here, he could control his breathing without judgmental eyes flicking toward him.
He adjusted his glasses, wiped off the fog forming on the lenses, and tilted his head back.
Silence. Not the comforting type — but the kind he'd learned to live with.
He wasn't thinking about anything specific. Just the usual mess inside his head:
grades
humiliations
the disappointment on teachers' faces
his mother's tired smile
and the constant weight of being "that kid" everyone could push around
But today, something else broke into that silence.
Voices. Rough ones. Too close.
He stiffened.
At first, he tried to ignore it, assuming it was just another group of guys messing around. But the tone was sharper. Cruel. The kind of tone Kihoru knew too well — the one that made his stomach twist even before he saw what was happening.
He peeked around the corner.
Three boys —
one tall
one stocky
one smirking like he was born to ruin someone's day
And in the middle of them was a boy Kihoru had never seen this close before.
Shorter, thin, wearing circular glasses taped at the corner, clutching textbooks to his chest like they were the last barrier between him and the world.
He looked exactly like the stereotype people expected when they said "nerd."
But Kihoru… was a different kind of nerd.
Not studious.
Not brainy.
Just someone who never fit anywhere — not sporty, not academically brilliant, not socially capable.
A weird, quiet category that didn't even have a name.
The weak boy trembled as the tall bully shoved him again. One of his books fell to the ground, landing spine-first with a sickening crack. The boy panicked, reaching down to pick it up, but the stocky one kicked the book farther away.
Kihoru felt a burn in his chest — a familiar one.
That used to be him.
Sometimes it still was.
He wasn't brave. He wasn't strong. He wasn't anything special.
But watching this from the sidelines felt worse than being hit himself.
His fingers tightened around his bag.
"Don't get involved," said a voice inside him.
"You'll just get beaten again."
"What can you even do? You're outnumbered."
"Just stay quiet… like always."
But then he saw the terrified look on that boy's face — the same look he'd had countless times.
Something snapped.
Kihoru lowered his bag and stepped forward before his brain could stop him.
"H-Hey," he said, voice small but steady. "Leave him alone."
The three bullies turned simultaneously, as if mildly surprised something dared interrupt their game. Their eyes landed on Kihoru… and then they grinned.
"Oh look," the smirking one laughed, "another nerd."
"Great," the tall one said. "Combo pack."
The boy with broken glasses glanced at Kihoru — not with gratitude, but with fear. And then something worse.
He turned… and ran.
Just ran.
Didn't even look back.
For one heartbeat, Kihoru felt something collapse inside him.
Of course he ran.
That's what scared, powerless people did.
That's what Kihoru would've done too, if he weren't stupid enough to try to be helpful today.
The bullies approached him with slow confidence.
"You're alone now," the stocky one said, cracking his knuckles. "So how about you mind your own business next time?"
Kihoru swallowed, clutching his glasses tightly with one hand.
He wasn't worried about pain. He was used to it.
But his glasses… they were expensive. His mother had saved for months to buy them.
If they broke, he wouldn't be able to see properly in class, or anywhere really.
So he covered them and braced.
The first punch hit his side.
The second struck his shoulder.
The third nearly knocked him over.
They didn't even fight like they were angry.
It was casual violence — like flicking dust off a shirt.
Kihoru curled in, protecting his glasses, taking hits like a crash dummy. He winced but stayed silent — crying or screaming only made them hit harder.
The tall one raised his foot, ready to kick him again—
And then…
A voice cut through the air.
Firm. Calm. Mature.
"Who's there?"
Everything froze.
The bullies turned. Kihoru lifted his head slightly, eyes blurry behind his tilted glasses.
A man approached from the school gate — not a teacher, not a staff member.
A middle-aged man with sharp tired eyes, wearing:
a brown track suit
white running shoes
and a faint expression like he'd seen this kind of scene a thousand times
He didn't speed up. He didn't shout.
He just walked forward with a steady slow confidence.
"Mind telling me what you kids are doing?" he asked.
Before any of the bullies could answer, the smirking one stepped forward, trying to laugh it off. "Uh, sir, he—"
The man raised only his pinky finger and flicked it lightly against the boy's forehead.
It looked like a joke.
But the bully's head snapped back so hard he fell on his butt, eyes rolling for a second as if his brain got shaken.
The other two panicked.
"What the—?!"
The man didn't even fully face them.
A tiny tap with the back of his hand sent the stocky one stumbling three steps.
A casual shoulder bump folded the tall one to the floor like a broken chair.
It wasn't flashy.
It wasn't movie-like.
It wasn't exaggerated.
It was clean, fast, and terrifyingly controlled.
The bullies scrambled away, running without looking back.
The man dusted his hands softly, as if brushing off flour. Then he turned to Kihoru.
"Are you alright, kiddo?"
Kiddo.
No one had called him that since his mother years ago, when she stopped being able to worry like she used to.
Kihoru blinked. His throat tightened.
He forced himself to sit up.
"Y-Yeah. I… I'm fine."
"No, you're not," the man said honestly. "But you will be."
Kihoru felt his chest warm with something unfamiliar.
Kindness.
Genuine. Not pity.
He adjusted his glasses, embarrassed. "You… you aren't going to hit me, right? Since you saw me here with them…"
The man frowned. "Why would I hit you?"
"Because… you hit them?" Kihoru mumbled. "And I thought… maybe…"
The man's expression softened. For a moment, he looked less like a stranger and more like someone who understood things nobody else ever cared about.
"I hit them," the man said gently, "because you were outnumbered, and you needed help. That's all."
Kihoru's breath caught.
No one — literally no one — had ever said something like that to him.
He bowed his head, clutching his glasses, and whispered, "T-Thank you."
Not the dramatic crying type.
Just a quiet, raw thankfulness burning behind his eyes.
The man nodded. "Alright then. Stay safe next time."
He turned, about to leave.
But Kihoru's body moved before his mind did.
He grabbed the man's hand.
"W-Wait!"
The man paused, glancing back with a calm eyebrow raise.
Kihoru swallowed hard, voice trembling but determined.
"Please… please give me one chance."
He tightened his grip.
"Teach me. Teach me how to fight back… in fights… in life… everything. I… I don't want to stay like this anymore."
The air around them felt heavier.
Not dramatic — just real.
The man didn't speak.
Didn't smile.
Didn't frown.
He simply looked at Kihoru's desperate, shaking hands… and the fire burning behind his tired, humiliated eyes.
And the chapter ends there.