In the corner of the classroom, Kaito Narumi's desk gets kicked again. His textbooks hidden, his indoor shoes thrown away, and the usual words: "Read the room, loser." At Meikyo Academy, a prestigious private high school in Tokyo, Kaito is invisible. Nobody cares. Nobody helps. He's just the bullied kid.
But nobody knows the truth. After school, in the empty classroom, Kaito's phone buzzes nonstop. "Amane-san, do you have the past midterm papers?" "How much for dirt on that teacher?" "Can you i
Laughing Behind the Scenes - Front and Back — The Mask of the Bullied Child
Chalk dust danced in the air of the usual classroom.
That guy had scrawled huge, ugly characters across my desk first thing in the morning.
"DISGUSTING"
The black oil-based marker glinted dully on the cheap desktop surface. It wasn't even dry yet. The one who'd drawn it twirled the marker around his fingertips and shouted loud enough for the whole class to hear.
"Check it out, you guys. Narumi's desk is seriously gross, right? This graffiti's probably an improvement!"
Snickers leaked out from all over the classroom.
When I looked up, a massive frame stood before me. Kurokawa Tatsuya. 185 centimeters tall, yet vain enough to fuss over his center-parted brown hair. His upturned eyes were always searching for his next target, and right now, they were looking down at me with glee. His father was the vice president of this school's PTA. That alone meant no teacher, no one, could defy him.
That's why he always wore that face. The face of someone who believed he was the strongest here, that he could do anything and get away with it.
Without a word, I headed for my seat.
"Hey, don't you wipe that off, Narumi. That graffiti suits you perfectly."
Kurokawa snatched away the rag I was about to pick up.
Behind Kurokawa stood Tanabe Kenta. The 168-centimeter guy scratched his head as if self-conscious about his frizzy brown hair. His eyes were narrow, always looking like he was afraid of something. He was Kurokawa's lackey, always hanging around him. But he didn't have the guts to bully me directly.
The moment Tanabe's eyes met mine, he quickly looked away.
At the back of the classroom, our homeroom teacher Miyazono kept writing silently, his back turned to the blackboard. Pretending not to hear. No, he was actively making sure he didn't hear. In this school, that was the most correct way to handle things.
I stood there rooted to the spot, head bowed.
The morning light streaming through the window was painfully bright.
---
This private Meikyo Academy was a mid-tier college prep school with a deviation score of 62, located in Setagaoka City, a fifty-minute train ride from central Tokyo. On the surface, it passed for having a calm, gentle school culture.
But the reality was a simple hierarchy where parental power and connections ruled everything.
Teachers couldn't stand up to the children of PTA board members. Even when bullying happened, everyone turned a blind eye. Because if you just hid the troublesome stuff, it would all go away.
Four years ago, I was in middle school.
Back then, something similar happened in the junior high division. A senior named Nikaido reported bullying. But the school did nothing. In fact, they made Nikaido out to be the bad guy for complaining and ended up forcing him to transfer. Since then, I've known. Asking the school for help is pointless.
I have to manage somehow, with my own strength.
But for now, all I can do is stay silent, keep my head down, and endure.
"...Can I wipe it off now?"
I muttered, still looking down.
Kurokawa laughed with satisfaction and tossed the rag onto the floor.
---
Fourth period: Japanese class. The classroom was filled with the languid pre-lunch atmosphere.
I was in the very back seat by the window, half-heartedly pretending to take notes. The text in the textbook, seen through my black-rimmed glasses, felt utterly meaningless. From the seat in front of me, I could see Kurokawa's back. He sat around the middle of the classroom, always acting like he owned the place.
*Clatter.*
Suddenly, something flew out from under my desk.
My textbook. It hit the floor, its open pages crumpling. Kurokawa had stretched his leg back and kicked it. The textbook slid all the way to the trash can in the corner of the classroom.
"...Ah."
From the neighboring seat, Tanabe let out a small sound. But he didn't move. No, he probably couldn't. Tanabe's narrow eyes glanced at the textbook for just a moment, then immediately returned to Kurokawa's back. His face said he wanted to help pick it up, but was too scared to.
Our homeroom teacher Miyazono glanced my way. But that was all.
"Alright then, next paragraph. ...Kurokawa-kun, please."
As if nothing had happened, the teacher simply instructed him to read from the textbook.
I stood up quietly.
I walked across the classroom floor. No one looked at me. No, they were looking, but they quickly averted their eyes. Looking at me in this class was the same as defying Kurokawa.
I picked up my textbook from the trash can. Something sticky was smeared on the edge of a page. A curry stain. Probably from someone's garbage yesterday.
Without meeting anyone's eyes, I returned to my seat.
Head bowed, I rubbed at the stained page with my finger. What was sad wasn't that my textbook got dirty.
What pissed me off the most was that I'd already gotten used to this kind of daily life.
---
Lunch break. The cafeteria "Mirage" was wrapped in its usual clamor.
A line had formed at the serving counter where the yakisoba bread was laid out. The six-seat table by the window was already occupied by Kurokawa's group. Tanabe sat at the edge of it too, nodding vaguely along with the laughter.
I sat down at the furthest corner seat, near the entrance.
Curry on my tray. The school cafeteria curry was 400 yen and pretty good. But today, I couldn't taste much of it.
"Here you go, Narumi-kun. I'm throwing in a croquette for you today, on the house."
When I looked up, the cafeteria's veteran staff member, Inaba-san, was smiling. She was in her sixties, and I'd heard she'd been working here for twenty years now. With a wrinkled hand, she secretly placed a croquette onto my curry plate.
"You're always alone, it must be tough. Don't hold back, make sure you eat properly."
"...Thank you."
"No need to apologize. Here, eat up, eat up."
Before I knew it, Inaba-san was always giving me extra side dishes. I noticed, but no one pointed it out. Probably because they understood how I was treated here. But even she couldn't get deeply involved. Because this school was that kind of place, in the end.
Still, the hand that silently placed extra food on my plate felt warm.
I gripped my fork and brought the curry to my mouth.
Outside the window, the zelkova trees in the schoolyard swayed in the wind. The Zelkova Slope leading to the school gate would soon begin its autumn colors. On that slope after school, in sections with few streetlights, Kurokawa and his gang would sometimes lie in wait. I always chose my route home while calculating the flow of people.
I was already used to that kind of life.
---
The after-school chime rang.
Everyone stood up at once, bustling about with club activities or heading home. Amid the noisy classroom, I slowly picked up my bag and started walking towards the library.
I blended into the crowd climbing the stairs of the main building. Second floor, third floor.
With each flight of stairs, the number of people dwindled. By the time I reached the fourth floor, the hallway lined with special classrooms was completely silent. The faint smell of oil paint from the art room drifted through the air.
At the very end of the hallway. The furthest room.
There, a plate read "Second Reference Room."
This room, no longer used by anyone, sat quietly gathering dust at the edge of the main building. I took a spare key from my pocket. One I'd swiped from the custodian's shelf last year and secretly duplicated.
*Click.*
The old cylinder lock opened with a light sound.
I entered and closed the door. Instantly, the noise of the hallway faded away.
Before me stood six old bookshelves. Two hundred volumes of an encyclopedia no one read anymore, packed tightly together. By the window, an old-model projector, no longer in use, sat abandoned under a layer of dust.
This was my castle.
Behind the bookshelf, in the gap against the wall. I reached out and touched a Ziploc bag. Pulling it out revealed a secondary smartphone. Along with a small laptop and several USB memory sticks.
I took off my black-rimmed glasses.
My vision instantly cleared. I straightened my back and turned on the smartphone.
On the screen, the icon for the encrypted messaging app "Veil" glowed. This app, protected end-to-end, also had a function to delete sent messages after a set time. No matter who sent or received, all they knew was each other's anonymous handle names.
I opened the screen.
Seven unread messages.
*'Amane-san, do you still have the past math exams for midterms?'*
*'Is there any evidence that Yoshimura-sensei, the PE teacher, is two-timing despite having a fiancée?'*
Requests from classmates. They were sending them to "Amane," the anonymous information broker I operated.
I typed replies matter-of-factly.
"Math past exams: 5,000 yen. Regarding Yoshimura-sensei, photographic evidence available: 15,000 yen."
Price negotiations, payments—everything was done through Veil. The clients had no idea who I was. Only the name "Amane" was whispered around school as an urban legend. An information broker who knew everything. From past exam questions to teachers' weaknesses, to student scandals—if you had the money, they'd tell you anything.
Over the past six months, I'd had about forty unique users. Sales were close to 500,000 yen. With that money, I'd covered the cost of this secondary smartphone, a small voice recorder, and VPN communication fees.
"...Alright."
Having finished processing the requests, I opened my compact PC.
I plugged in a USB memory stick. Files lined up on the screen.
* K_cheating_01.mp4 (Video of Kurokawa's habitual cheating)
* T_shoplifting_cam.mp4 (Convenience store shoplifting footage of Tanabe)
* ura_account_log.txt (Evidence of slander on a secret account, and suspected compensated dating)
I'd spent half a year collecting them. Seizing the moments when those guys got carried away, I'd piled up the evidence, piece by piece.
I opened a file.
Footage of Kurokawa glancing at his smartwatch during an exam. The screen glowing on his left wrist. The moment of cheating. This video alone would finish him in one shot. But that wasn't enough. Shoplifting, secret accounts, suspected compensated dating. I'd gather all the group's weaknesses and dump them all at once.
The stage was already set.
Two more weeks. The culture festival, "Kyoka-sai."
All 720 students and 500 parents gathered at the main stage in the gymnasium. I'd project these videos onto that giant 150-inch screen. Right in the middle of the opening ceremony, which Kurokawa was set to MC.
Imagining it, the corners of my mouth relaxed slightly.
But there was a problem.
The AV equipment room in the gymnasium was too strictly managed. The only ones with the key were the vice principal and a student council officer named Shiraishi Rinka. If I couldn't connect to the terminal used to play the videos, the plan was just a pipe dream.
I walked over to the window.
From the window of the Second Reference Room, I could overlook the schoolyard and the gymnasium. Now, during club activities, I could see the track team running on the field. The gymnasium's shutters were still closed; no one was inside.
I leaned my elbows on the window frame.
The setting sun was beginning to dye the western sky orange. The Zelkova Slope leading to the school gate also stretched out quietly in the autumn sunlight. I couldn't count how many times I'd seen this view from here.
"Fourteen days left, huh..."
I let it slip out.
As long as that screen was in the gymnasium, that was my battlefield. But alone, there was no way I could get to the key. I needed someone's cooperation. I had to drag someone into this.
For the first time, impatience showed on my face.
The setting sun reflected off the gymnasium wall, painfully bright. I still hadn't decided on a plan.
But I couldn't afford to stop here.
Four years ago, when Nikaido asked for help, no one moved. So I'll end this with my own power, in my own way.
Narumi Kaito, the one who just kept
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