Agrippa
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All right! Fine! I will take you! - Chapter 9
🕑 Added 2021-09-10 03:30:29 +0000 UTCSome may think that the phrase “Hell is other people” reflects a loner’s quintessential perspective. That is naïve.
If it was true, a loner would almost perpetually live in a state where he easily avoided Hell just by following his own nature, yet, as we all (whose chuuni phase have led us to study foreign religions) know, the nature of man is sin, and thus we are irrevocably led to Hell (and some priests may even rejoice at it, the wine-sipping, clearly homoerotic, weirdoes). Loners, then, are also sinful by nature, and prone to dive deep where angels fear to tread even if there are no traumatized robot pilots there (pilots, plural: the ‘masturbating over a comatose girl’ one is pretty likely to end down there). Then, if not others, what is Hell for a loner?
That question is easy to answer: himself.
Or, at the very least, inhabiting a body that is obviously a resentful, petty bastard. How unexpected, Body-chan; I wonder where you have learned this baffling behavior?
“Stop wincing like that, brother; it’s just muscle soreness. If you did more exercises than stretching on the couch, you would already be used to it.” Komachi’s utter lack of pity cuts me deep. Or, at least, I assume it does. It’s hard to tell at the moment.
“If more exercise just results in me getting used to unimaginable, excruciating pain, I am glad I have avoided it as much as possible.” The Monster of Logic has spoken.
“Don’t you bike to school?” The Monster Slayer deals a finishing blow.
“Gods, don’t remind me I have to pedal… uh…”
“What is it?” Komachi looks up at me while munching on her piece of toast like an anime girl about to crash into her destined soulmate while running late to class. Great, another pest to take care of.
“I… May have left my bike at school.”
“What? Why?”
“Because… I kinda left by car.”
“By car? What do you… oh. Oh. Oh.” Each ‘oh’ is accompanied by a different color going in succession through Komachi’s face. White. Red. Green. Is this some kind of code? Are you displaying how your whole being is primed and tuned to communicate your feelings to your older brother? I am touched, Komachi. Deeply touched.
Not like that. Perverts.
“So, I better get a headstart if I don’t want to be late! Later, sis!” And I flee like a coward from the dead look in her eyes that in no way at all signifies me meeting my premature end due to kitchen knife. That decisive maneuver is very praiseworthy of me: cowards are exceptionally intelligent beings, as is clearly shown by every hotblooded shounen protagonist ever being a braindead moron. Source: me.
And Shounen Jump, I guess.
I run up the stairs (by which I mean I hobble and hiss at a slightly hurried pace) to get the rest of my things, because I didn’t think to get everything in a single trip due to habit. Habit-chan, I think we have an unhealthy relationship, and we should reconsider it. No, I don’t care how many anime seasons I have finished due to your help, there are more urgent concerns in our near future.
Like checking my phone before I get down to eat breakfast. Because, like a moron, I didn’t think what being Shizu’s boyfriend implies first thing after waking up.
It is with dread and apprehension that I approach the ominous device lying by my bedstand, now that I am awake enough to remember the danger it entails.
‘Good morning!’
‘Hey, did you do your morning exercises?’
‘It also helps. Even if you already feel sore, it will feel worse if you stop exercising till it goes away.’
‘And remember to stretch.’
‘Don’t force it, though. It would do more harm than good.’
‘Try the dynamic stretches. The static ones may be too harsh.’
‘Are you already on the way?’
‘Hey, did you forget your phone at home?’
I carefully count the messages and a smirk that would probably have Yuigahama muttering ‘gross’ in a quasi-religious litany blooms in my face. Coincidentally, said blooming is heralded by the withering of something pure and innocent caught unaware.
Every time you masturbate, God kills a kitten, ya know?
So, with a look that would make a potato chip-eating mass-murderer flush with pride, I send my reply.
‘Eight messages. You know the rules.’
And so do I.
I sit on my bed to recover my flagging forces and ponder whether doing actual exercise is as bad an idea as it sounds. Before I have arrived at an answer, Shizu’s own does.
A single picture, showing a woman with a reddened face hidden by her hands, wearing striped dark blue and light gray button-up pajamas, except that the pajamas have been unbuttoned and the shirt lies open, showing the middle line of her body, including a hint of both nipples and a wonderful expanse of cleavage pushed up by her elbows.
Another ‘ding’ and another picture arrives, this one framing her bitten lip and a breast so tightly clutched her fingers leave visible indentations with only the very tip of a pink nipple escaping from between them.
…
All right. Fine. I will do my damn exercises.
***
A thing nobody tells you about forcing your body past your limits and then dealing with the crippling aftereffects is that it has some advantages. For instance, when having homeroom with your gorgeous Christmas Cake teacher whose almost naked body you have had the pleasure to sample the past couple of days, it is far easier than it should be to focus on your unbearable pain rather than on what, at any other time, would be cause for Standard Adolescent Male Gait Number Two. Thus, I have finally uncovered the secret behind the action shounen hero’s usual chaste demeanor.
The poor bastards.
I try, very hard, to communicate to Shizu with my eyes that we are in public and should restrain our desperate, mutual lust for each other’s bodies so as not to tip off any casual observers. It seems to work, because she barely looks in my direction, nor stutters when she says (without a hint of breathiness nor longing in her voice) my name during roll call, nor blushes cutely when I say ‘present’ with the tone of the deep-voiced bastard, nor spontaneously proclaims our forbidden love to the rest of the class during the long hour before the actual lessons start.
I am feeling a bit lonely, actually.
The rest of the morning goes by without any major incident. Yuigahama is sending me anxious looks throughout the lesson, but that’s perfectly normal after what happened yesterday and I don’t have anything new to share with her that would ease her anxiety, so, as soon as the lunch bell sounds, I drag my mangled body out of the classroom and head toward Iroha’s class, where I can share something new that will ease someone’s anxiety. Not mine, though, that’s for sure.
I am slightly surprised to see her halfway there, but as her eyes lock on mine with an intensity that from now on I will always associate with nosy, fate-tempting little sisters, the reason is made clear: Iroha was looking for me. How comforting.
Not.
Before we actually meet in the middle of the hallway, I gesture with my head toward the nearest stairs and, taking advantage of my legs treasonous disposition toward the rest of my body’s current campaign to depose me, I start climbing them with barely any more pain than it takes me to breathe.
Which is still a lot of pain. No, I am not exaggerating. I will have you know that it is a belief held far and wide that my judgment is wholly unbiased and never has been compromised by pettiness in any way. My notebook of names to kill is a testament to my impartiality and devotedness to the ideal of justice itself. I am a very admirable individual—Yukinoshita’s name is only mentioned about a hundred times.
Note to self: start burning stupid notebooks before ever letting Shizu set foot inside my house. He who controls the past controls the future.
When I finally reach the top landing, I turn around and wait for Iroha to catch up, which she does after a few minutes. Uh, she must be really out of shape, because her face is far too red and her breathing far too erratic to be healthy. Well, I shouldn’t call undue attention to it. I am known for my abnormal adherence to politeness and consideration, after all.
An utter lack of is also abnormal, you know?
“Iroha,” I greet her, hopefully masking my nascent anxiety attack at the incoming discussion.
“Sen—Hachi,” she replies, still out of breath, looking around the stairs’ landing with wild eyes. She must be afraid to be seen in public with me, as expected of my foxy junior.
“So, before you ask, I spoke with Shizu.” I say, cutting to the heart of the matter before I have a chance to run away. Yes, I am an idiot, why do you ask?
“You did?” And her eyes widen even more than they already were. Uh. She may need to lie down at this rate.
“Yeah. At first she wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but she finally changed her mind,” I try to shrug nonchalantly, but I end up wincing at the reminder of the rebellion currently keeping my movements in check. Body-chan, traitors are only fit for execution, you know? Or for becoming the right hand of the ninja dictator, I guess.
“Are you… are you all right?” It looked like she was about to ask something else, but I don’t know what. Whatever it was, the change of topic is more than welcome.
“Sorry, it seems I pushed past my limits yesterday and now I am paying the price.” Yes. Training montages. A far safer conversation than our arrangement for consensual voyeurism.
“Your limits?” Iroha seems to have picked up on my eagerness to change the topic and is faking an intent curiosity on my training routine. As expected of my foxy junior’s foxiness.
“Yes. Between the Herculean efforts I underwent and the outlandish postures Shizu taught me, it’s a wonder I can even walk.”
“Wha—you mean—so you… convinced her?” Dammit, I thought we had a silent agreement not to discuss that any further, Iroha. Such a sudden, yet inevitable betrayal. As expected of my foxy junior’s foxiness.
“Well,” I think about it. Haruno’s voyeurism (am I some kind of anomaly gathering attractive women with that fetish? I guess it beats having a crab steal your bodyweight, but it’s still weird) definitely played a part, but… “Yes, I guess you could say I convinced her after hours of grueling effort and manly sweating.” She definitely seemed to like my willingness to exercise, weird as that may be, so I am taking the credit. No, the cunnilingus as a spectator sports scene is definitely not the main motivator behind her change of heart, my agony is.
Damn sunk-cost fallacy…
“Hours?” Iroha is swaying on her feet and looking a bit pale. Geeze, she really does need to take better care of herself if the mere mention of exercise feels that imposing.
“I mean, almost two, but it sure felt longer.” No need to brag after all. Though Iroha seems to still be quite impressed, because she grabs the handrail as if desperate for a lifeline.
“Senpai is amazing…” she whispers, possibly unaware. Well, now it’s me the one who is blushing. Really, it’s not such a big deal.
“I wouldn’t say that much… This is only the beginning, after all. I need to improve my stamina a whole lot.” And her eyes go wide as she stares at me with an even deeper blush crawling up from her chest before she slowly drops down to her knees, panting with effort.
I guess she really is out of shape, after all.
Maybe I should give her Shizu’s training tips?
***
Iroha really needs to start exercising, because she was positively shivering when I managed to help her up. Though it was a bit weird that she then bolted so suddenly after I promised to contact her after I set things up with Shizu.
She must recover quickly. I wish I could say the same.
After thinking it over for a few minutes (that is, anxiously pacing up and down the stairs, because the landing is too narrow, while worrying at my lip with my teeth), I decide to bite the bullet and send a message to Shizu that should persuade her without putting her in any inconvenient situations if someone is nearby when she reads it.
‘Iroha’s “tutoring session” at your place after class?’
There. Noncommital, casual tone, putting the weight of the decision on her shoulders and letting her back off before this whole thing explodes in my face. Perfect.
Also, what the Hell am I even doing?!
Oh, an almost immediate reply. How unexpected. Not.
‘All right. You know the address.’
Uh, I guess it would be suspicious if she took us both in her car. Also, really, Shizu? Really? What even happened to “are you suggesting I have a threesome with two underage students?” That was only yesterday, you know? There’s a limit to how quickly you can change your mind.
‘And drop the quotation marks. I almost had a heart attack, you moron.’
Uh. Yes, that may not have been that smart. In my defense, I am not used to casually mentioning the possibility of having a pseudo-threesome with my teacher and junior via texting.
I think I need to meditate on how the order of the world has shifted and whether or not I am trapped in a reality where my current life makes sense. And, if that’s the case, what will it take so that they don’t extradite me back to my homeworld.
‘And stop using that voice in class. I almost had a heart attack!’
Ah, so it wasn’tineffective. Good. Now that my mood has been improved (and I have something to focus on other than my encroaching panic attack), I am feeling magnanimous enough to reply.
And my sudden smirk is not gross. Shut up, inner Komachi.
‘That was the third message in a row. Dangerous ~”
There’s a pause in her barrage. Weird.
‘… You are awful. Now I am blushing in the middle of the staff room for apparently no reason.’
‘Think how much worse it would have been if you had to strip to send me a photo.’
‘I would rather NOT think about that.’
‘Not now, you mean?’
‘… See you later.’
Heh. Score one for the deep-fonted bastard.
Now, to recruit Iroha. Something that will go smoothly and without any unpredictable sources of further stress. Mostly because it’s her own damn idea, and she should be the one stressed out of her mind rather than making me deal with it and act as a go-between like some kind of socially adept being who tends to say ‘Yukinon’ with a background of white lilies. Damn her foxiness.
‘Study session at Shizu’s place after school. I will send you the address.’
There. Direct. Concise. Informative. Completely devoid of any hint of inner turmoil at the growing realization that I have an active sex life and I am basically setting up a booty-call involving a teacher that is not a MILF only because of a slight obstetric technicality and a junior that is not a loli only because I am not a goddamn degenerate.
Despite all evidence pointing to the contrary…
‘Al7l rigHt’
Uh? What is that, some kind of secret code? Should I reply with ‘El Psy Congroo’ so she doesn’t learn I am part of the Organization?
‘I will be there. Sorry. Dropped phone.’
How weird. I wonder what she was doing with it; schoolgirls rarely put in jeopardy their foremost source of likes.
I mean, I could imagine some circumstances in which Iroha could be handling her phone with just one hand, maybe looking at certain pictures while her red face and ragged breathing are pretty much the same as when her senpai dragged her to the very place where she witnessed him being orally serviced by his older teacher, only this time the two of them are alone and—
Oh.
Oh.
I am a moron.
And I shouldn’t text her to ask what she’s doing and whether she has a good view from there.
Anyway, everything is set up (and I most definitely am not internally screaming at the sheer magnitude of everything I have set in motion), and now I just need to avoid Yukinoshita and Yuigahama for the rest of the day so I don’t have a heart attack while trying to weasel out of any unnecessary explanations. What could go wrong?
Said he, definitely repressing the memory of Komachi’s interrogation.
***
Obviously, what went wrong is that I find Yuigahama blocking my entrance to the classroom when I return to get my forgotten lunchbox. Because of course the day where every motion brings me untold amounts of physical agony would be the day where I become a cutely forgetful character. Look, how endearing, he has forgotten his lunch, so he is triggering an encounter flag.
Of course, that would be one of those visual novels where the protagonist’s face is more carefully hidden than his mosaiced genitals. Just so players can still keep that ‘cute’ impression in their minds rather than being scarred for life at my Hachiman levels Hachimanness.
Tee-hee. Not.
“Hikky, can we talk?” The anthropomorphized puppy asks me, fidgeting with the hem of her jacket and looking up into my eyes from beneath her bangs.
Oi, that’s a dangerous look, you know? A man can get the wrong idea if you whisper his name like that.
Or the right idea. Which is even worse.
“Sure. Do you want to get lunch outside?”
She looks at me with surprise before she nods and lets out an energetic “Uhn!”
… Don’t pat the Yuigahama. It’s still sexual harassment, no matter how much you want to. I mean, she wants to.
No, that doesn’t make any sense.
Before I can get caught up trying to decipher my own thoughts regarding Yuigahama’s petability, I grab my food and start walking to my spot beside the tennis court, trusting her to know my habits. It’s not long after that I hear hurried footsteps behind me.
“You could have waited up for me!”
“Yes, I could have. So?”
She looks at me with the most adorable angry pout I have ever seen that doesn’t belong to Komachi. I am sorry, Yuigahama, you are good, but you are fighting an unfair battle. Some people just have innate advantages that make light of anybody else’s blood, sweat, and tears to the point where only bleaching your hair blond and screaming at the top of your lungs would allow you to compete on their level.
Even shounen recognizes the caste system.
When we finally sit down, the slight breeze sends a shiver down my spine that, paradoxically, allows me to relax. The wind at this time and place is familiar, and that’s what’s been missing throughout my day since I woke up: something normal, something that doesn’t care about the colossal changes my life is currently undergoing. Something ephemeral, yet more constant than the current me.
Yuigahama hugs her arms beside me, and I take off my jacket and drape it over her shoulders with only a small wince at the forced motion of my shoulders.
And she stares at me, wide-eyed, almost fearful. Oi, what’s the matter, I just…
Oh.
Dammit, deep-voiced bastard, isn’t even utter agony enough to keep you away from my body? How am I even supposed to fight genjutsu of this level? Pain is supposed to be better than ‘kai!’
“Thanks…” she mutters, staring at the ground with cheeks flushed and clutching my jacket around her.
Oi. That CG better be in the Recollection Room.
“Don’t mention it,” I reply, and she mutters and nods, still trying to outcute Komachi due to her competitive streak. It’s futile, Yuigahama; I’m warning you not to waste your efforts.
“So, I guess this is about Yukinoshita?” I say after the silence stretches long enough that she should have said something already. Aren’t you the one who is able to manage people, Yuigahama? Where are your top-caste skills when I need them the most?
“I… Yes. Sorry, but… What are you planning, Hikky?”
And I look up at the sky, a single, greyish cloud drifting in the same direction of the intermittent breeze.
“I am not sure yet. But I will need your help for the final step.”
“You will?” she says, warm surprise on her face that squeezes my heart.
“Of course. Who better than Yuigahama Yui to handle YukinoshitaYukino?” Don’t answer that, Yui, please. Or, at least, lie when you do.
“I am not sure I am… But I will do it! If you need my help with Yukinon, I will be there!” And she smiles, radiant, as if I’ve handled her the most precious gift I could have offered her just by telling her I am counting on her.
And I wish I had, but…
I am such a bastard.
“Thanks, Yuigahama. I knew I could count on you.” This, at least, is the truth, because everything I plan on doing hinges on you being you. On Yuigahama Yui being the caring, self-aware member of our little trio, the one who holds us together even when we do our best to drift apart. And I will be taking advantage of that.
“Well, that’s it then. Let’s eat!” And now she’s cheerfully digging into her bento.
“Just like that?”
“Uh? What do you mean?” At least have the decency not to adorably bite down on the tip of your chopsticks when you look at me with head-tilted confusion!
“You wanted to know what I was gonna do, didn’t you? You just asked what I am planning.”
“Yeah, but why would I want to know about every complicated step? If you already know you will need my help, that just means you are already doing what you need to do, so I will just have to be there when you tell me.”
And she smiles, as if she has just told something so obvious it’s funny she has to even say it. And I can only look at her in wonder.
“You are amazing, Yuigahama.”
“Eh?! I don’t—I don’t think I am! Really, this much is normal!”
“There’s nothing normal about you.”
“And now you switched to bullying me?!”
“Just a little.”
“There’s nothing little about calling me abnormal!”
“To be fair, there’s nothing little about you either.”
Ah. I said it.
See what you did, deep-voiced bastard? Now Yuigahama is blushing like an affronted tsundere and refusing to meet my eyes. Is this what you wanted, to kick the human puppy to show how completely irredeemable you are to the audience?
“Hikky, gross…” she mutters after a while, her arms wrapped tight around her chest and under my jacket.
And I lean back, my body precariously supported by my rebellious arms as I look at the single drifting cloud.
“Of course I am, Yuigahama. Of course I am.”
***
The rest of the day is mercifully unremarkable until the end of the classes, when I walk out of the school like… Like I don’t know what, and that’s part of the problem.
Common male wisdom suggests I should be giddy at the prospect of handling two beautiful girls at once. That being said, common male wisdom has seen a steady increase in divorce rates in the past years, so it may not be that wise after all, so let’s try to think things through rationally.
Shizu is interested in doing sexual things with me. I don’t know what the limits of that interest are, nor how to test them without risking our current arrangement.
Iroha is obviously turned on not only by the situation but by me in particular. I almost have to slap myself to stop me from rationalizing away her reactions, but I know what happened yesterday at the rooftop and I realize at least a part of what may have happened today at the top of the stairs.
They both have agreed to this, but haven’t spoken to one another, just using me to set it up. Thus, the responsibility for the outcome is mine, because without me nothing would have happened. Or, at least, that’s what they will think if this ends up in disaster. And I better stop this train of thought before I get paranoid, cynical, and semi-cunning about it.
So, two willing women attracted to me, a nebulous agreement, and, I guess, a deciding factor that hasn’t yet been taken into account.
What the Hell do I actually want?
…
Besides that, Brain. You aren't helping.
I take my bike out of its parking spot and push it toward the entrance where, to my surprise, I find a wild Iroha waiting with a bag in her hands. As soon as I reach her side, she hands it to me.
And I take it. Without even considering it, without even realizing my arm has twinged with discomfort at the gesture and sudden weight.
And she shyly smiles up at me as she starts walking by my side, both of us heading to something unknown and new, that may be a little frightening but also a whole lot exciting. Something we will… share with one another.
Ah.
So this is what I wanted.
How sappy of you, Hachiman. How sappy.
