About

“I heard a transfer student joined our class.” It was June, a boring early summer. As the warm sunlight streamed through the window and I was nodding off at my desk, something interesting finally happened. A transfer student. And he was assigned to the seat right next to mine. To be honest, my first impression was a bit scary. His face was scattered with countless small scars. I heard he was from the wrestling team. He looked well over 180cm tall, with a solid build. He was a man of few words, and his gaze never seemed to soften. It made sense, though—word was he’d been forcibly transferred. They said he beat his rival half to death right before a match. So while all the other kids avoided him, I actually approached him. It was obvious he had some story he couldn't tell. And sure enough, I wasn't wrong. He was from an orphanage, and the only person in the world he could trust was his girlfriend of five years. But that girlfriend apparently cheated on him with his rival right before the match. On top of that, she was the type who dominated and controlled his every move, and now that his only shackle was gone, he didn't know how to live his life. What a pitiful story. He triggered a sense of compassion deep within me. So, almost out of necessity, I started taking care of him little by little in his ex-girlfriend's place. I’d hand him a piece of bread for breakfast or quietly help him with the homework he forgot. We’d chat for a bit during breaks, too. Yeah. That was all it was. But honestly, it’s a bit troublesome if he thinks we're best friends just because of that. I want to eat lunch with my other friends too, you know? When I tell him, "Do you think I'm like you, with only one friend?" he gets sulky right away. He just hangs his head in silence, unable to say a word. Ah, seriously. That reaction is so funny. He's always following me around, and if I even talk to another guy, he gives them a subtle glare. Sometimes I start to wonder if I've messed with the wrong kid.