I slouched over my desk, not even pretending to listen to the teacher yap about something I knew I'd forget by tomorrow.
It never ceased to amaze me how none of these people realized that most of the stuff you "learn" in school becomes dead weight the moment you step into real life.
English class, of all things. Nothing Sensei could say would teach me more than what I already knew. Honestly… I probably spoke better than him anyway.
Whatever.
I scrolled through my phone under the desk, filtering listings, looking for anything that passed as cheap rent. I knew it wasn't something you could solve overnight—but I already had an idea.
And I had the connections to make it happen.
It was risky. Borderline stupid.
But as my mind ran through the possibilities, one thought kept circling back, ugly and persistent:
Even faking my own death sounded more reasonable than spending another day in that house.
The more I thought about it, the hotter my blood burned. I inhaled slowly, shoved my phone back into my pocket, and forced my shoulders to relax.
Not here. Not now. Don't make a scene.
It's not the time. It's not the place.
Chill the fuck out.
Naturally, the universe chose that exact moment to spit in my face.
"Shiba," the teacher called, eyes locking onto me. "Answer this question."
"I'm sorry, I was contemplating the meaning of my existence, can you please repeat the question?," I replied dryly.
The teacher arched his brow, visibly irritated. "Explain the meaning of 'burning the midnight oil,' and use it in a sentence," he barked.
The entire class seemed to lean in, as if holding its collective breath.
I shrugged slightly, letting my tone stay casual, almost bored.
"It means staying up late to work or study. Like… if you've got a report due tomorrow, you burn the midnight oil to finish it."
A pause. Then I added, effortlessly, sliding into my own flow without thinking:
"Last night, I've been polishing my craft, burning through the midnight oil.
Call me a farmer—I plant seeds, reap the fruits off the soil.
Are my veins a hot pot? 'Cause I can feel my blood boil.
You tryna be like me? Lil boy, you just foil."
My hand moved on its own—finger-gun loose, wrist bouncing to a beat that wasn't there. A dab, half-ironic, half-reflex. Like my body remembered something my brain hadn't approved yet.
The room froze. Eyes wide, jaws slack. Some students leaned forward, unsure if they should laugh or gape.
"Wait… did he just—rap?" someone whispered.
The teacher blinked, chalk halfway to the board. "Uh… correct," he said, his voice tight, a mix of confusion and reluctant acknowledgment.
Murmurs spread.
"Shiba… actually knows English… and… raps?"
"Bro, did he just roast himself with an idiom?"
"I feel like I just got hit by a lyric I didn't even see coming."
I leaned back, smirking just a little, pretending this was all casual. Inside… yeah, it felt good. The kind of satisfaction that made all the shit worth it for a moment.
From the corner of my eye, I caught Yamashita's faint blink of surprise, her lips twitching ever so slightly, and Suzuki's smirk, sharp enough to show she noticed.
It wasn't even an exaggeration to say I could've been a top student—if school hadn't broken me so early that I stopped caring altogether.
What a waste, right?
Still, that was way too much attention for one morning. Fatigue finally caught up with me; I let out a tired yawn and slumped forward onto my desk.
Come to think of it… I'd been in the spotlight a lot lately.
I yawned again.
Meh.
Time to sleep.
I was woken by the bell signaling lunch break. Damn. I'd managed to sleep straight through second and third period.
I didn't even know what to eat. I'd stopped touching the bentos Mom used to make until she stopped making them altogether, and I'd turned down every bit of lunch money she offered.
I didn't need gifts wrapped in poison.
But now I had my own money, so I headed straight for the school cafeteria.
The moment I saw the line, I grimaced.
Yeah. No way I was waiting through that.
I grabbed the nearest student by the back of his uniform and leaned in, voice low.
"Move."
He stiffened. "What the fu—"
Then he looked back. His face drained. "O-oh. S-Shiba? S-sorry—"
He stepped aside immediately.
Then another did. And another.
I cut through the line like a blade, ignoring the glares and half-whispered protests until I stood right at the front.
No one stopped me.
When it was my turn, I spoke plainly, like this was how things were supposed to be.
"A yakisoba bun. And an anpan."
I paid, grabbed the food, and didn't look back.
The rooftop door slammed shut behind me as I burst into the open air, finally breathing again.
To my surprise, I found Yamashita there, seated near the railing, quietly eating from her bento.
She noticed me almost immediately. Her expression softened, and she offered a small smile, lifting her chopsticks slightly as she gestured for me to come closer.
I walked over, the city stretching out beneath us.
"I thought you might come up here," she said gently. "You looked like you needed some air."
She shifted her bento aside to make space, her voice calm, unassuming.
"Is it okay if we eat together?"
"Yeah, no problem. I don't usually eat much, though…," I replied as I sat down beside her.
She nodded, accepting that without question.
"That's okay," Yamashita said softly. "You don't have to force yourself."
I tore into the pastry, the greasy sweetness of the yakisoba bun filling my mouth.
"It's not like I'm forcing myself," I said. "It's just… complicated."
Yamashita met my gaze—quiet, steady. She didn't ask anything. Somehow, that made my chest heavy.
"To be fair," I added, scratching the back of my neck, "I'd rather starve than eat anything my mom makes. Not that she's a bad cook. We just don't get along."
She didn't flinch, just listened. Then her expression softened.
"I'm sorry to hear that," she said.
She hesitated for half a second, then added, just as calmly as if she were offering a pencil:
"I can cook for you, if you want to."
The words landed quietly.
Before I could even answer, she picked up a piece of tamago with her chopsticks and brought it toward my face.
"Say 'aaah'," she said, far too calm for what she was doing.
Heat rushed to my cheeks, but I opened my mouth anyway. The moment I bit down, the gentle sweetness spread across my tongue.
It was… really good.
Without thinking, I caught her hands between mine.
"It's good…," I blurted out. "Really good! Yamashita-san, you're an angel!"
She froze.
"W—what?" she stammered, her face flushing bright red.
"N-Nothing…," I pulled my hands back like I'd touched a live wire, the realization hitting me all at once.
We stared at each other, equally confused. Then, almost at the same time, we burst out laughing.
"Yeah," I said once it died down. "If it's not too much to ask, I'd like you to cook for me."
"Hai!," she replied with a smile—
And for a moment, I felt warm.
…
Later that day, I was at work, lost in the fog of my thoughts. The bar buzzed with its usual rhytm—laughter slicing through cigarette smoke, the clink of glasses, and the low hum of drunken plotting filling every corner.
Tetsu stumbled up to the counter, already reeking of alcohol.
"Forsaken, my boy. A whiskey, if you will."
I poured the drink, sliding two ice cubes into the cup like clockwork. Tetsu liked his whiskey cold, no excuses.
"Yo, kid. You okay? You look gloomier than usual," he said, leaning on the counter, eyes narrowed like he could see right through me.
I exhaled, running my palms through my face in exasperation. "Just had a rough day at home."
"Rough day, huh? Is there anything I can do to help ya?" he asked, leaning a little closer.
I set the glass down, voice flat. "Help me move outta my home. I wanna live alone."
Tetsu blinked, then laughed—low, rough, like gravel sliding over itself.
"You serious, kid? You wanna vanish from the Shiba circus?"
I didn't flinch. "Dead serious. I can't… not another day."
Tetsu rubbed his jaw, thinking, eyes scanning me like he was measuring the weight of my words.
"Huh. Well… that's a tall order. You got the guts for it, though. Most kids would crumble before breakfast."
I didn't answer. The decision was already made. I wanted out. Waiting until adulthood wasn't an option—I'd lose my mind long before then.
Tetsu nodded slowly, a grin creeping onto his face. "Alright… let's see what we can do. First, we figure out the cash flow, then we get the logistics sorted."
"Sounds complicated," I said. "I was thinking something simpler."
Tetsu raised an eyebrow, amused. I went on before he could interrupt.
"You rent a place under your name," I shrugged. "I pay you the rent directly."
He stared at me for a beat, like he was recalculating who he was dealing with. Then he burst out laughing.
"Hahaha—damn. I knew this kid had balls," he said, shaking his head. "Alright. I'll see what I can do."
And just like that—no speeches, no promises—my plan to break free was set in motion.