It was a sunny Monday morning, Slouched in the backseat of a white Mercedes S-Class, the kind CEOs ride in was the most pathetic boy in his class
Was Furuhiya Uzen, a normal high schooler!
At least so he wished, the truth though was far from it. Mentally and physically drained he was the punch line of every joke at his class.
"Hey, what am I—Furuhiya or something? Why am I the only one getting left out~?"
But that of course wasn't even the icing of a strawberry cake.
As he absentmindedly scrolled through Stargram on his phone, flashes of the casual bullying he endured flickered through his mind.
"Hey, hey, Furuhiya, I could seriously go for some sweet bread right now." He remembered a short red haired girl asking.
No.
Not asking.
Ordering.
Ordering him.
A hand had draped lazily over his shoulder from behind.
"Listen to the lady, Furu-ya~."
He turned his head to the side to see the disgustingly handsome face of the baseball team's ace Hajime Hayame. "O~ Hajime training's over?"
"Yeah more or less."
Hajime's expression immediately soured as his eyes fell on Furuhiya. "Tch. You're still here?"
He clapped his hands twice in mock urgency.
"Come on, come on–the bell's gonna ring! Chop chop."
His grin widened, sharp and unpleasant.
"What, did you go deaf on top of being stupid too?"
Next moment Furuya remembered he followed through the order.
The convenience store door chimed as Furuhiya stepped back outside, a small plastic bag dangling from his hand.
Sweet bread secured.
He checked the label again just to be sure.
Vanilla cream.
The shelf with chocolate had been empty. He had stood there for almost a minute debating whether to check another store, but the bell was already close to ringing.
This had been the only option.
Maybe they wouldn't care. But who was he kidding, of course they would.
After all, it was never about the bread.
The hallway was already loud when he returned. Shoes squeaked against the polished floor, lockers slammed, voices overlapped.
Furuhiya approached the group like a delivery boy arriving at the wrong address.
Not like he was far from it.
"H–Here."
The red-haired girl grabbed the bag first. Her little friend group secured her flanks like bodyguards of some sort.
She pulled out the bread.
For a moment, nobody said anything.
Then her eyebrow twitched.
"…Vanilla?"
The word hung in the air.
Furuhiya felt his stomach drop.
"The chocolate ones were sold out, so I–"
The plastic wrapper crinkled loudly as she squeezed it.
"Sold out?"
Another voice chimed in behind him. "You serious right now?"
Furuhiya turned slightly.
Hajime Hayame was smiling. He was smiling but not the friendly kind of smile.
"Man… you really can't do one thing right, huh?"
That's right.
It was never about the bread.
It was a reason, a convenience and an excuse.
A hand suddenly shoved the back of his head.
Hard.
"Wait–Grrgh"
The world lurched forward.
Cold porcelain slammed against his forehead.
Before he could react, another push forced his face down.
Water exploded upward as his head plunged straight into the toilet bowl.
"Oi, careful," someone snorted. "Don't drown Furu-bread before lunch break's over."
His lungs burned.
Instinct kicked in too late, his hands scrambled against the wet tile, slipping, useless.
The world blurred into muffled laughter and distorted echoes.
So this is how it ends.
Not even dramatic.
Shame.
Not even worth remembering.
Just… a joke that went too far.
His chest tightened, panic clawing up his throat as he tried to pull back.
But the hand on his head pressed harder.
Laughter now became longer, louder and more distant.
Or maybe he was the one fading.
Air.
He needed air.
"We're here."
The voice cut cleanly through everything.
Like a switch.
The pressure vanished.
The laughter gone.
The water gone.
Furuhiya jerked upright, breath catching halfway as cold air rushed into his lungs.
He inhaled again–too fast this time–then forced himself to slow down.
In. Out. In. Out.
His fingers twitched against leather.
…Right.
Car.
Still here.
A bead of sweat slid down his temple.
He ran a hand through his black, slightly brown-tinted hair, pushing it back.
From the front seat, his parents glanced at him. Concern, quiet but there.
The voice snapped him back to reality.
"Yeah, yeah. Im good."
Cold wind brushed against his cheeks through the half-opened window, grounding him properly this time.
"Valcrest Business Academy. Your new school."
Furuhiya turned his gaze outward.
Students walked past casually, talking, laughing, without sparing the car even a glance.
""I-If this one's also—"
Furuhiya started, but his mother, seated in the passenger seat, cut him off gently.
"Yes… If this one's also bad, we'll give up."
A small pause.
"You'll be permitted to drop out."
She didn't sound cold.
If anything, just tired.
The kind of tiredness that didn't argue anymore.
The kind that already expected the answer.
Furuhiya swallowed.
"…Okay."
Relief came first.
Then something else.
Something quieter.
After the last incident, the one where he had almost drowned, he had been the one blamed for it.
Hayame's father wasn't just some parent. He was part of the mayor's inner circle. That alone decided the outcome.
Asemblyman Deon Hayame.
Truth didn't matter. It never really did. Not when placed against influence. Not when placed against money.
His father's small-time used clothes business… his mother's neighborhood bakery…
They didn't even register on the same scale. Not enough to argue.
Not enough to matter. Furuhiya leaned his head back against the seat, eyes half-lidded.
He reached for his black backpack and pushed the door open.