Taming the Monster

As I trudged home, still thinking about everything Zaw had dumped on me, I somehow ended up taking the long way around the village, and by the time I reached the road near the woods, the last traces of daylight had already disappeared.

Then, just as I passed the tree line, something moved in the shadows.

I squinted and caught sight of a silhouette darting around behind the thicket.

Wait.

Wasn't that Amachi?

What the hell was that guy doing in the woods this late?

Curiosity got the better of me, so I slowed my footsteps and crept closer, but the moment I peered through the brush, my jaw nearly hit the ground.

There, beneath the pale moonlight, Amachi was training—and he wasn't holding back.

He drove his bare fists into a tree trunk again and again before sprinting across the clearing, throwing punches at empty air, then turning to attack another tree without so much as stopping to breathe. Sweat poured down his face, and the clearing around him looked like it had survived a small natural disaster, with several tree trunks battered and splintered, massive boulders covered in deep cracks, and the grass beneath his feet trampled into mud.

This wasn't training.

It was punishment.

...So that was it.

That's why the guy spent every morning sleeping at his desk.

But wait.

Had he really been doing this for four straight years?

Maybe even longer.

Probably since the day he arrived in the village.

The pieces suddenly clicked together, but before I could fully process them, Amachi turned toward a massive boulder and started hammering his fists into it.

Punch after punch slammed against the stone until his knuckles split open and blood ran down his fingers, staining the gray surface red, yet even though his face twisted with pain, he didn't stop.

He just kept going.

I stood there silently.

For once, I had nothing sarcastic to say.

It was easy to mock some loudmouthed idiot from the safety of a back-row desk, but watching that same idiot beat his own hands bloody against a boulder in the middle of the night was different.

It wasn't funny.

It was terrifying.

Amachi was destroying his own body just to make his wind ability compete with Shane's ridiculous four-element Core, and suddenly, Zaw's words started making a lot more sense.

This was what real ambition looked like.

As I stared at those bloody knuckles, a cold knot slowly formed in my stomach.

If someone who worked this hard could still get casually swatted aside by Shane... what chance did a lazy, talentless bystander like me have at Hilbert Academy?

Part of me wanted to run home, crawl into bed, bury my head beneath the blankets, and pretend the world was still some lighthearted story where everything somehow worked itself out eventually.

But with the sound of Amachi's fists striking stone echoing through the woods again and again, I knew better.

Amachi wasn't trying to act like a protagonist.

He was fighting for his life.

I didn't sleep that night, because every time I closed my eyes, all I could hear was the sound of knuckles striking stone, and by sunrise, I'd finally made my decision.

If I wanted that ticket to Hilbert—if I wanted any chance of surviving whatever monsters were waiting for me out there—I needed to understand the monster standing right in front of me.

🟡 🟡 🟡

The next morning, I was hiding behind a giant tree in the schoolyard while observing my target.

Yes.

Observing.

Definitely not stalking.

Amachi sat on a nearby bench, quietly eating an apple while staring blankly at the sky, completely unaware that someone with absolutely innocent intentions was watching him from behind a tree.

So... now what?

I pressed my back against the trunk and sighed.

I've always been terrible at making the first move, and now that I thought about it, throughout my entire fourteen-year existence, I'd only ever willingly started conversations with four people: Zaw, a homeroom teacher whose name I couldn't remember, the school librarian, and one neighbor kid who used to trade candy with me when we were toddlers.

His family mysteriously vanished the next day.

Don't ask.

"Damn it. How do normal people even start a conversation?" I muttered as I peeked around the tree again.

Clearly, relying on my natural social ability wasn't going to get me anywhere.

Time to put my brilliant main-character intellect to work.

Plan 1: The Romantic Comedy

This one seemed almost impossible to mess up.

All I had to do was casually walk past Amachi's bench, pretend to trip over something, hit the ground, and wait for him to help me up, at which point I'd say something smooth like:

"Ah, sorry! I guess I wasn't watching where I was going."

Naturally, Amachi would offer me a hand, ask if I was okay, and after I thanked him, I'd ask his name.

Friendship unlocked.

Airtight.

I even practiced a graceful, controlled stumble behind the tree before suddenly stopping.

Wait.

The school courtyard was flat dirt.

There wasn't a single root anywhere near his bench.

What exactly was I supposed to trip over?

If I suddenly launched myself onto the ground for absolutely no reason, I'd look insane, and somehow that wasn't even the worst possible outcome.

What if Amachi just ignored me?

I immediately pictured myself lying face-down in the dirt while he stared at me for three seconds, took another bite of his apple, and casually walked away.

...

Nope.

Plan abandoned.

Mission Failed.

Plan 2: Bribery

Easy.

Bake some cookies, walk over, hold out the box with an awkward expression, and say:

"I accidentally baked too many. Take them."

In my imagination, Amachi immediately smiled.

"Wow, thanks! What's your name?"

Perfect.

I'd introduce myself, hand over the cookies, and let the conversation naturally blossom from there.

Except there was one very small problem.

Amachi hated sweets.

Right.

If he rejected the cookies, what exactly was my backup plan? Stand there in complete silence and eat the entire box myself while maintaining eye contact?

Nope.

Plan abandoned.

Mission F—

Oh, forget it.

I'd been reading way too much comedy fanga, because apparently my brain had memorized every fictional method of meeting someone except the revolutionary technique known as walking over and saying hello.

I sighed and buried my face in my palm. "Great job, Fourth. You're completely useless."

While I was busy drowning in self-loathing, Amachi suddenly stood up from the bench and started walking down the path.

Straight toward my tree.

...

"Yeah, this is fine," I muttered.

He passed right by me.

"Oh, hey!"

The words escaped before I could stop them, but Amachi didn't even slow down.

Maybe he hadn't heard me.

That was possible.

Or worse...

Maybe he'd heard me perfectly and simply decided I wasn't worth acknowledging.

Alright, what the hell am I supposed to do now?

(Just open your mouth and talk to him, you absolute coward!)

A booming voice suddenly exploded inside my skull, making me freeze on the spot.

"...My other self?!"

Right. That voice again.

Around the time I started school, I apparently developed a second personality that loved appearing whenever I was doing something particularly stupid, and maybe because I had so few actual friends, my brain had decided to manufacture one specifically for the purpose of bullying me.

The guy had a terrible attitude, borderline malicious tendencies, and a favorite hobby that mostly consisted of showing up uninvited and insulting every decision I made.

(Hey. You done feeling sorry for yourself yet?)

Oh, and because he lived inside my head, he could read my thoughts in real time.

Absolute nightmare.

(You're pacing around a tree and arguing with yourself like a lunatic. Somebody has to step in and stop you.)

"Hey, isn't that a little harsh?" I muttered. "You and I share the same skull, so insulting me is technically self-harm."

(Who cares? Go talk to the guy already! Did your brain completely erase what Zaw told you last night?)

"Gah...!"

I hated admitting it, but the jerk inside my head was usually right.

I took a deep breath as Zaw's words echoed through my mind.

"Go make friends with Amachi."

Fine.

I forced my feet to move even though they somehow became heavier with every step, and after what felt like an unnecessarily dramatic journey of several meters, I finally stepped out from behind the tree and intercepted Amachi on the path.

"Hey!"

Amachi stopped and turned those crimson eyes toward me.

Up close, there was something strange about them, because although they looked cold, they weren't empty; there was a weight behind them, something heavy that I couldn't quite place.

"What?" he asked flatly.

"I just... uh..."

And there went my entire script.

"I wanted to... chat."

"About what?"

"Uh..."

Come on, Fourth.

Anything.

Literally anything.

I opened my mouth.

"Nice weather today, huh."

Silence.

...

...

(You absolute, unmitigated moron...)

For once, my inner voice and I were in perfect agreement.

"...Waste of time," Amachi muttered before turning around and walking away.

Cold.

Rigid.

Completely indifferent.

I stood there watching his silhouette disappear farther down the path.

(Hey! Your supposed protagonist is literally walking away! Move your legs and go after him, you clown!)

My mental freeloader immediately went into a full-blown panic attack, but unfortunately, my legs weren't cooperating and had apparently decided turning into stone was the best possible response to social failure.

(Did your brain stop working?! What is wrong with you?! Look! He's already gone!)

I took a slow breath.

Chill out.

(CHILL OUT?)

Yes.

If I chased him down like some panicked fanboy without a plan, I'd probably just stand in front of him making dying-animal noises again, which somehow sounded even worse than letting him walk away.

I'd look like a total creep.

Actually...

More of a creep.

I stared at the empty path.

I think... I need more time to observe.

My other self went silent for a moment.

(Observe? You mean stalk him.)

Research.

(Stalking.)

Strategic information gathering.

(That is literally stalking.)

I ignored him.

If walking up and talking like a normal human being was apparently beyond my capabilities, then I'd simply have to learn more about Amachi first—his habits, what he liked, what he hated, and anything else that could give me an opening without requiring me to intentionally throw myself onto the ground.

I nodded firmly to myself.

Operation: Befriend Amachi had officially begun.

...

And no.

It was not stalking.