PE class that afternoon felt like a simulation of social punishment run under the merciless scorching sun. The sun up there seemed to be working together with Shirayuki Madoka to roast anyone who didn't have social "protection."
To me, PE class isn't about physical health; it's the moment when Meiwa High's caste structure is as clear as the fading white lines of the basketball court.
Today's material was basketball. A game that relies heavily on trust, coordination, and most importantly: who you consider a friend. The popular kids, led by Akabane Kazuya who shone like a stadium light, immediately formed a team with incredible coordination.
They moved like a well-oiled machine, passing the ball and laughing as if life were just an isotonic drink commercial.
Meanwhile, me? As usual, I ended up on the "leftovers" team. A collection of students who had acute existential problems in class. There was a nerd who kept fixing his glasses every two seconds, and a boy who seemed to want to disappear into the ground every time the ball approached him.
However, the main focus of the court this afternoon wasn't on me. I was just an extra in a larger drama.
The focus of the court was on the left: the girls' team.
Minamikata Miwa stood in the middle of the court, wearing a gym uniform that looked a bit too big for her usually agile body.
Normally, in a regular scenario, she would be the center of attention. She would be the one catching the ball, laughing with Madoka, and maybe giving a small cheer for Kazuya on the next court.
But now? She stood there like an isolated red dot on a clean white paper.
"Pass it here!" Minami shouted. Her voice sounded a bit anxious, but she kept running looking for an open position. She moved earnestly, far more earnestly than when she was still part of Madoka's group.
The ball was in Shirayuki Madoka's hands. She dribbled with the confidence of a ruler. She looked at Minami for a moment (a cold, empty, and dismissive look) then deliberately looked away.
Madoka made a long pass over Minami's head to another student at the corner of the court, as if Minami were just a utility pole or a court decoration accidentally placed there.
It happened repeatedly. This was no longer just a basketball game; it was a systematic ostracization disguised as a school curriculum. Every time Minami was free, the ball never came to her.
If the ball accidentally rolled toward her, another student from her own team would rush to grab it before Minami's fingers could even touch its rough surface.
I saw Minami starting to run out of breath. Her hair, which was usually neatly styled, was now messy and wet with sweat. Her face turned red, not just from physical fatigue, but because she was swallowing an enormous amount of shame in front of the whole class.
However, there was something different about her today. She didn't stop. She didn't step aside and pretend to have a stomach ache so she could go to the nurse's office. She kept running, chasing the shadow of the ball that was intentionally kept away from her.
Until an incident occurred. An anomaly in Madoka's ostracization system.
Madoka tried to do a fast dribble to pass an opponent, but the ball slipped from her sweaty hands. The orange basketball bounced wildly and headed toward Minami.
With incredible agility, perhaps because of the hunger for recognition that had peaked, Minami caught it. It was the first time she had held the ball since the whistle blew twenty minutes ago.
The game suddenly froze. Everyone stopped moving, as if someone had pressed the pause button on reality.
"Minami, give the ball back," Madoka said.
Her voice was low, containing a threatening tone usually used by a predator before pouncing. "That's the team's ball. You don't know how to play it. Don't ruin the game."
"I know how, Madoka!" Minami fired back.
Her voice was a bit hoarse, trembling between anger and sadness. "I'm on this team too, right? I have the right to hold this ball!"
"You're nowhere," Madoka replied curtly. She stepped forward, closing the distance with Minami. Her eyes flashed with pure contempt. "You're just a parasite trying to get attention. Let go of the ball."
Madoka tried to take the ball by force. Minami didn't let go. They scrambled in the middle of the court, creating a spectacle that made even the boys on the next court stop playing. This was no longer basketball; this was a power struggle.
"Let go! You're ruining the team's mood, Minami! You're making everything awkward!" Madoka snapped her hand with full force, a movement that was more like an attack than just grabbing the ball.
Minami lost her balance. With a painful brak, she fell into a sitting position on the rough and hot court asphalt.
The ball came loose, rolling away toward the edge of the court, while Madoka just stood there, looking down at her with pure disgust.
"That's what happens when you try to be something you're not," Madoka said in a bone-chilling cold tone.
"You're just a follower, Minami. Without us, you're just a pathetic girl who doesn't know how to interact with normal humans. Look at yourself now... so pathetic."
I, watching from the sidelines, felt something hot and turbulent rise in my throat. All this time, I had always been proud of my apathy. I was always proud to be an observer who never interfered.
But seeing this sight, seeing someone who had just learned to stand tall then be trampled back onto the asphalt, made the "loner" logic I had built feel like trash.
This isn't about "being honest with yourself" anymore. This is pure oppression wrapped in a school uniform.
I walked onto their court. I could feel the confused looks and murmurs from my teammates, but I didn't care.
I stopped in front of the ball that had rolled earlier, picked it up with one hand, then walked slowly to the middle of the frozen crowd.
"Oi, Class Queen," my voice broke the suffocating silence.
Madoka turned, her eyes flashing with anger as she saw my face whichfield, to her, was disgusting.
"Nakamura? Don't interfere. This is women's business. Go back to your dusty corner."
"Women's business? To me this looks more like a cheap circus where an old lion tries to tear apart a kitten that just learned to walk," I stood right in front of Minami who was still sitting limply, blocking Madoka's view of her.
I threw the basketball toward Madoka. Not hard, but fast enough that she had to catch it clumsily and almost dropped it.
"You said she ruined the mood? What mood do you mean?"
I gave the most cynical smirk I had, the kind of smile I usually saved for facing the mirror in the morning.
"The mood where everyone has to kiss your feet and throw away their self-respect just to be considered 'existing' in this class? The mood where honesty is a sin that must be punished?"
"You—! You know nothing about our group!" Madoka raised her hand, her face crimson.
"I know more than you imagine, Madoka-san. Because someone like me spends his whole life observing people like you," my voice was now sharper, echoing in the quiet court.
"Listen. In my eyes, the Minami falling on the ground is far more dignified than you standing there with fake pride. At least she fell while trying to be a complete human, while you remain standing as a brainless mannequin who only knows how to follow the flow."
"You're really looking for death, Nakamura..." Madoka whispered. She was trembling, not because of fear, but because she had never faced someone who truly didn't care about her social hierarchy.
"Come on, get up, Minami," I said without looking back. I held out my right hand toward her.
Minami stared at my hand as if it were a foreign object that had fallen from another planet. Slowly, with hands scraped by the asphalt, she reached for my hand. Her hand felt very hot and was trembling violently. I pulled her up.
"We're done here. The PE teacher won't care either if we miss the rest of this hour. At most he'll just nag a bit about discipline, and I'm used to that."
I pulled Minami out of the court, through the crowd of students who made way as if we were carrying a contagious plague.
We passed Madoka who was still frozen in the middle of the court. Her beautiful face now looked terrifying because of unchanneled rage. Kazuya tried to approach her, but I didn't want to see the continuation of their drama.
When we were far enough from the court, walking down the quiet corridor of the school building, Minami finally spoke. Her voice was very small, almost drowned out by our footsteps.
"Thank you, Izumi... but now you're really going to be hated by the whole school. They'll consider you public enemy number one."
"It's normal," I replied while staring straight ahead, toward the quiet club room.
"Besides, being hated by a bunch of fools who have no principles is authentic proof that I'm doing something right."
Minami was silent, but she didn't let go of her grip on my arm. "Izumi... do you think I looked stupid earlier?"
"Very stupid," I answered honestly. "Scrambling for the ball with Madoka was the worst strategy I've ever seen. But, at least you held that ball. That's better than just watching it from afar."
Minami laughed a little amidst the remains of her sobs. She wiped the scrapes on her knees with her other hand. "Yeah... I held the ball. It felt... quite cool."
I just snorted. Being a sudden hero is really not my style. It feels very tiring and makes my back ache.
But as I looked toward the door of Kurokawa's room, I realized that this isolation wouldn't be as quiet as usual.
We entered the Service Division room. Kurokawa was already there, reading a French literature book as if nothing had happened in the outside world.
However, as soon as she saw Minami's bleeding knees and my face which looked more messed up than usual, she put down her book.
"It seems the 'plague' you brought today caused a bit of a riot, Nakamura-san," Kurokawa said in a flat tone, but her hand immediately took the first aid kit from under the table.
"It was just light physical exercise," I replied while dropping myself into my favorite chair.
Minami sat beside Kurokawa, letting the girl clean her wounds meticulously. The atmosphere in the room now felt very different from Class 2-B.
There was no mood to maintain, no caste to worship. There were only three strangers who, somehow, were beginning to feel comfortable in the solitude they shared together.
"Welcome back, Minami-san," Kurokawa whispered.
"I'm home, Reina," Minami answered with a smile that this time didn't crack even a bit.
I closed my eyes, listening to the sound of birds from outside the window. Tomorrow might be harder. Tomorrow I might find my shoes in the trash can or my locker filled with graffiti.
But for now, this silence felt far more precious than all the cheers on the basketball court earlier.
Our footsteps echoed in the quiet corridor of the old building, a contrast that was deafening after the cacophony of insults on the sports field.