Chapter 12: One night away from Onee-chan
Haruto stepped into the classroom, his movements slow and unsteady.
Without hesitation, Jun rushed to his side, gripping his arm to support him. "Damn, you’re really cool," Jun muttered under his breath, though his voice carried a hint of worry.
Right behind Jun, Miki quickly followed. Her bag was already open, and she was pulling out bandages and antiseptic with a practiced ease. Her hands, usually so delicate, moved with a surprising speed and precision as she started to tend to Haruto’s injuries. A split lip, a nasty scrape on his cheek – it was a mess. As she dabbed and taped, Haruto’s face flushed a deep crimson. He kept his gaze fixed on the wall, anywhere but her eyes. Miki, in turn, found her own cheeks heating up, a faint blush spreading across her skin as she concentrated on her task. The entire room had gone dead silent. You could practically hear the tension humming in the air, thick and suffocating. No one dared to speak, not even to whisper.
When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of the day, Haruto didn’t linger. A crowd of curious students had already started to gather, their eyes fixed on him, whispering amongst themselves. But Haruto ignored them all. He just adjusted his backpack straps, a little more gingerly than usual, and headed for the door. No backward glance, no acknowledgment of the stares or the hushed comments. He just wanted to get out.
It wasn’t until he was fumbling with his keys that the full realization hit him. Satsuki was going to be there, waiting for him like she always was. And if she saw the state he was in - the split lip, the bruised knuckles, the way he was favoring his left side - she’d immediately know something was wrong.
More than that, she’d want to know who was responsible. And if she found out about Kazuma...
Haruto pulled out his phone and texted Jun.
"Can I crash at your place tonight?"
Jun was stunned. Haruto never asked for help.
But before Jun could reply, Haruto added, "I can’t let my onee-chan see me like this." His knuckles were scraped, his lip split, and his uniform rumpled. If his older sister saw him bruised and battered, she’d panic—or worse, demand answers.