Chapter 9: Bullies
The following morning—
Kazama Chiba stood at the entrance, making final adjustments to his uniform collar before the full-length mirror mounted on the door.
"Hey, listen—"
A yellow fuzzy head struggled its way out from his bag's side pocket, stubby paws gripping the zipper edge while complaining indignantly.
"Why do I have to hide in this cramped space? This bag's packed with textbooks—I'm getting crushed! Can't I just perch on your shoulder? Like a cool familiar?"
Kazama expressionlessly extended one finger, unceremoniously shoving that head back down.
"If you want to get captured for dissection and research, or mobbed by shrieking high school girls who squeeze cute things, be my guest."
Muffled protests emerged from the bag, followed by rustling noises.
Several seconds later, Kazama felt his uniform jacket collar shifting. That soft little creature wriggled through gaps in his shirt, finally settling into a comfortable position.
It nestled right into the hollow near his collarbone.
"Much better. Nice and warm."
Kerberos's voice came through muffled by fabric.
"Though your heartbeat's kinda slow. Didn't sleep well?"
"Shut up. One more word and I'm tossing you in the trash."
Kazama grabbed his bag and stepped outside.
Private Sakigawa Union High School—this institution gathering countless young dreams throughout Kamimizu City—always displayed particular chaos in the mornings.
At the school gate, students in dark blue blazer uniforms clustered in small groups, laughter and roughhousing creating constant noise.
Kazama single-shouldered his somewhat faded bag, blending into the bustling student flow through the gate.
He tugged his jacket collar slightly higher. That yellow stuffed lion crouched at his collarbone, peering furtively through collar gaps.
The surrounding atmosphere seemed to drop several degrees as he passed.
Several boys who'd been loudly chatting suddenly lowered their voices, surreptitiously glancing at his back with sidelong looks before releasing ambiguous snickers.
A group of girls exchanging LINE contacts recoiled like they'd spotted something filthy, rapidly creating distance. Their eyes mixed pity with the disgust reserved for stray dogs.
"That guy's back again."
"Heard someone called him out yesterday?"
"Poor thing. Decent-looking, but such a gloomy personality."
Scattered commentary buzzed through the air like flies.
This sensation of world-isolation felt like Kazama's daily morning routine.
"Hey."
Tiny vibrations emerged from his collar. Kerberos lowered its voice, tone saturated with disbelief.
"Your social standing is absolutely terrible. Those girls just now looked at you like you're spoiled kitchen garbage. Did you previously burn down the school building or something?"
Kazama walked through the courtyard expressionlessly, completely ignoring the stares piercing toward him.
"Not that dramatic. Just boring herd mentality."
"Not fitting in? This is server-wide wanted criminal level!"
Kerberos complained. "Even I—a Beast of the Seal—can feel the malice in the air. Your human world is terrifying."
Kazama didn't respond.
Eyes forward, he cut straight through the crowd toward the first-floor shoe locker area.
The compartment labeled "Year 2 Class B - Kazama" stood out glaringly among the neat rows—so conspicuous you couldn't miss the shocking "masterpiece" even without searching.
Black permanent marker had left twisted scrawls across the metal surface:
"Drop dead," "Creepy loser," "Stay away from Eriri-sama," "Disgusting."
These words plastered the originally gray paint like curse sigils, dense and overlapping. Some areas showed indentations from excessive force.
Most egregious: someone had stuffed the keyhole with chewed gum.
A truly "comprehensive, three-dimensional" bullying scene.
Nearby students changing shoes immediately stopped, pretending to check phones.
However, Kazama—standing at the storm's center—displayed not even a ripple of emotion.
"Wow."
Kerberos poked out half its head, examining the devastated compartment.
"Quite the spectacle. Looks like 'terrible' doesn't begin to describe your social standing. You're practically a public enemy."
"Though these punks went overboard. Vandalizing someone's locker like this—how do you even clean it?"
Kazama nodded in genuine agreement.
"Indeed. Very difficult to clean."
Seeing his unruffled demeanor, Kerberos's beady eyes widened in astonishment.
"Hey! Aren't you angry? They're literally trampling all over you!"
Kazama gave it an odd look, countering:
"Why would I be angry?"
"HUH?!" Kerberos's voice pitched up eight octaves, staring incredulously. "They destroyed your locker! This is about dignity! You can tolerate this??"
Kazama didn't bother explaining.
He simply ignored the curse-covered compartment, turning toward the adjacent one labeled "Mishima Kini."
Under Kerberos's stunned gaze, he extracted keys from his pocket, skillfully inserting them into the lock.
The door opened smoothly, revealing Kazama's pristine indoor shoes inside.
"See? This is my actual locker."
Kazama calmly stuffed his bag inside, changing shoes.
"Yesterday after school, I predicted today would likely feature 'targeted activities,' so I swapped my nameplate with neighbor Mishima's."
He closed the door, dusting off his hands.
"So what they painstakingly destroyed was actually Mishima's locker. What does that have to do with Kazama Chiba?"
"You... you bastard..."
Kerberos struggled for several seconds before producing an authentic Osaka-accented complaint:
"Is your heart also black when sliced open?! What did Mishima do wrong? He's the real victim here!"
Facing Kerberos's moral condemnation, Kazama spoke casually:
"Mishima's also a core member of a bullying group. He regularly throws other people's shoes in toilets. He just happens to be absent today. Evil attracts evil, I suppose."
Kerberos immediately dropped the subject.
"Oh. Never mind then."
Kazama didn't swap the nameplates back, simply closing the door and heading upstairs. Mid-climb, Kerberos asked why he got bullied.
That story traced back to middle school second year.
Middle school Eriri hadn't yet learned proper disguise—a spoiled young lady whose excessive beauty and family background, combined with her secret "otaku illustrator" identity nearly being exposed, made her a target for delinquent girl cliques.
Back then, because of their childhood friend relationship, Kazama had employed somewhat dishonorable but highly effective tactics, redirecting all hostility toward Eriri entirely onto himself.
No magic. No violence. Just leveraging his understanding of human psychology and reckless calculations to thoroughly mess with those delinquent girls.
Result: Eriri emerged unscathed, continuing as the school idol receiving adoration while even gaining sympathy points as a "victim."
As compensation, all hatred transferred to him—the "conniving schemer."
Combined with subsequent instigators fanning flames, he became that "pervert who bullied girls through any means to curry favor with the young lady."
Kerberos bristled indignantly.
"You're really not handling this? If I recovered my true form, one roar would make these brats wet themselves!"
Kazama declined the offer. "Unnecessary. Waste of time."
"Tch. Humans are such troublesome creatures." Kerberos retracted its head. "But since you don't care, I won't bother either."
Kazama grabbed his bag, heading upstairs.
For current him, this level of malice couldn't even elevate his heartbeat.
Compared to bullying, he cared more about locating those Clow Cards.
Once possessing absolute power, what significance did this noise hold?
However, just as he reached the Year 2 Class G classroom's back entrance, a golden lightning bolt suddenly blocked his path.
"KAZAMA CHIBA!"
That voice—clear, imperious, carrying domineering authority—instantly silenced the noisy corridor.
Sawamura Spencer Eriri.
Today she remained that flawless young lady.
Golden twin-tails tied with expensive ribbons, azure eyes burning with fury, hands on hips blocking the classroom entrance—posture exactly like a little princess scolding disobedient servants.
Surrounding students immediately turned to watch the show.
After all, "Eriri berates Kazama" was one of Sakigawa High's regular programs.
But today, the script seemed different.
Kazama stopped, gaze calmly observing this doll-like exquisite girl.
"What."
Two curt words made Eriri freeze momentarily.
This cold attitude instantly lodged her prepared accusations in her throat.
She'd anticipated Kazama panicking with apologies, explaining yesterday's hang-up, then begging forgiveness as usual.
"What... what kind of attitude is that! What do you mean 'what'?"
She stamped her foot in humiliation, pale cheeks flushing crimson.
"Why didn't you answer yesterday's call? You hung up! Do you know how long I waited at the station? Tomoya already ditched me—my mood was terrible, and you DARED ignore my calls! Didn't I tell you to come help me buy art supplies? Do you know how long I waited outside the mall? And YOU asked ME for that limited movie ticket, then YOU stood ME up!"
The more she spoke, the more aggrieved she felt, voice involuntarily rising.
"Do you think because I've been too nice lately, you can just show me attitude? Or are you trying to get my attention this way? Let me tell you, Kazama—that's really childish!"
Kerberos inside his collar shrank back, muttering softly: "Wow. Textbook tsundere in action. My fists are clenching."
Kazama observed that face, extra vivid from anger.
"Finished?"
He cut off Eriri's output.
"Huh?" Eriri's eyes widened as if hearing impossible fantasy.
"If not, please move aside. I need to attend class."
Kazama stepped left, attempting to bypass this roadblock.
"STOP!"
Eriri grabbed his sleeve.
Instinctive action—she felt unprecedented panic.
Previously, no matter how much turmoil, she held the string. But now? The string seemed severed.
"You need to explain! If you don't clarify, you're not entering today!"
Kazama halted, glancing down at the slender hand gripping his sleeve before following the arm to Eriri's eyes.
"Sawamura-san, I believe you're mistaken about something."
"I'm not your butler, not your driver, not your servant, not your emotional trash can. Aki Tomoya stood you up—that's between you two. If you feel lonely or bored, find a hollow tree to cry at rather than seeking me out."
Eriri's eyes widened like she was hearing incomprehensible alien language.
"What... what are you saying? Are you feverish? This attitude..."
"This attitude exists because I'm tired of it."
Kazama circled past without allowing even shoulder contact.
"Next time you have such pointless matters, find someone else."
Without looking back, he walked toward the classroom's rear entrance.
Leaving Eriri frozen in place.
Her hand maintained its grasping posture, suspended mid-air.
Expression shifting from anger to shock, finally replaced by pallor.
"Spare... tire?"
That word struck her heart like a hammer.
Surrounding whispers surged like tides.
Those curious, mocking gazes all focused on her.
The school idol—for the first time before everyone's eyes—getting brushed off. And by that most unremarkable follower.
"Kazama Chiba... you idiot! HUGE IDIOT!! Who needs you anyway! Drop dead!"
She whipped around, tears brimming in her eyes before stamping her foot hard, covering her face while rushing toward the corridor's opposite end.
Inside the classroom, Kazama sat at his corner window seat, stuffing his bag into the desk compartment.
He felt every classmate's gaze flickering this direction, but simply extracted an English textbook, calmly opening it.
"Hey hey, wasn't that a bit harsh?"
Kerberos poked its head from the desk compartment, tone somewhat complex. "That girl almost cried. Though her words were pretty nasty, aren't you afraid of having zero friends later?"
"I already have zero."
Kazama examined vocabulary words without looking up. "Besides, only by pruning dead branches can trees grow taller."
Morning classes proved uneventful.
For Kazama—possessing two lifetimes of memories plus academic excellence—high school content was thoroughly memorized. He spent most time spacing out or mentally simulating Clow Card tactical combinations.
Every break, numerous people pretended passing Class G's entrance, wanting to glimpse this brave soul who'd made Eriri cry.
Until lunch bell rang.
Kazama had just extracted his convenience store yakisoba bread when the classroom's front door suddenly slammed open violently.
BANG!
Several boys in modified uniforms with dyed hair swaggered inside.
Leading them: a buzz-cut student—the judo club captain, also the core of the group that always despised Kazama. Yamada Tsuyoshi.
The previously noisy classroom instantly silenced.
Everyone recognized these people:
The school's notorious delinquent gang.
That lead boy's gaze swept the classroom before locking onto corner-seated Kazama.
His lips twisted into a cruel smile, striding over before kicking Kazama's desk hard.
CRASH!
The desk violently shook. That yakisoba bread bag hit the floor.
"Yo, Kazama."
"Heard you were pretty arrogant this morning? Actually dared make Eriri-san cry?"
"Since you're so gutsy, come to the roof and chat about life. I think you have plenty to confess, right?"
Surrounding classmates either lowered their heads pretending to read or evacuated the classroom early.
Nobody wanted attracting these delinquents' bad luck, especially not defending someone like Kazama.
Kazama stood. Those black eyes remained frighteningly calm.
Deep inside his collar, Kerberos tensed completely.
"Is this that... extortion scenario? Hey hey hey, really not using magic? Even blowing them away with Windy would work!"
"Don't move."
Kazama commanded mentally.
He observed this arrogant delinquent youth, lips curving slightly upward.
Perfect timing—he'd been wondering how to test Windy's precision control in actual combat. Free punching bags just delivered themselves.
"Sure."
"I agree. We definitely should have a proper chat."