"Look, I understand you're confused, but I legitimately can't help you make a comparison between Japanese grammar and English. I know literally nothing useful about Japanese." I frustratedly explain to Silver. She apparently couldn't understand how to construct a sentence with nothing denoting part of speech. Whatever the fuck that means.

"You are speaking Japanese right now. How do you know if something is a noun or not?" She said. Uselessly.

"One, I am unable to perceive Japanese. Two, the subject of the sentence, the thing or person or othersuch that you are talking about, comes first in the sentence, usually. Three, I don’t know what to tell you if you can’t figure out if a word’s a noun.”

She stared at me for 20 seconds then said “1a, then where did you learn to speak it. 1b, then where did you learn to write it. 2a…” before Obi cut her off.

“Alright, nah, those two were good enough. Conversations can’t go fractal like that for people who aren’t robots, and I’m not letting you,” he turned pointing to me with a stern look, “get away with just saying stuff like ‘I can’t perceive Japanese’ and ‘I’m only fluent in English’ and then go toddling by trying to make advances in machine learning. You haven’t even proven you can speak English with how poorly you’ve taught it, idiot. And earlier wh-”

I felt my face screw up. This guy, I've spent all of five minutes explaining to a brick wall the very foundations of my native language, without which I can't even expand on anything… and he has the audacity... “Fine, fucker, feel like falsifying my fluency? Wanna see how it feels to be on the second day of a wacky trip to anime wonderland? Step to me about my proficiency in my mother tongue one more time, Otaku-kun, and I'll make yo mama wish you were born. Nerd.” I make sure to rant sotto voce, because the only other person who knows English is right over there, and I don’t want to get in trouble for swearing. Though I have been doing that a lot while in Japanese, so maybe that ship has sailed. I lean back in my chair and look over to Silver, ignoring the surrounding eyes and Obi’s flabbergast, and sigh.

“Sorry, so, basically stop trying to worry about what part of speech a word is. If you’re talking about if it comes first. If it is doing something it comes second. If it is being done to it comes last.” Last ditch, my friend. If this doesn’t help you understand basic word order I can't help you.

Her face actually twitches. “So something like ‘is the duck purple’ is a sentence, that works, and makes sense to you.”

I consider, I really don’t understand her frustration here, but, “Well, that would be a question, but yeah.” I offer.

Her face breaks, actually breaks, into a mask of confusion, before flashing through worry, then sorrow, before settling on anger. Rocketing up, flipping her desk over to land on its top, 180 degrees. She shouts, ups her volume, really, and I shit you not, “Go die, English. ‘is the duck purple is a question,’ my ass. Keep your stupid A, this language is unsalvageable.” In the angriest monotone to ever grace the air. Then she stands there, looking at the mess she made with the papers flying through the air, and her stationary scattered. Her bag has fallen open, its contents scattered to the side of the desk.

The rest of the class chatter has stopped, even the Gal is looking over with, I presume, amusement. Mr. Yamamoto walks over and asks Silver if she would like to go to the nurses office, to which she slowly shakes her head, “It is almost lunch time, I’m going to the roof. After I clean up. Thank you, Sensei.” and bows.

I get up from my desk to start helping her pick up her things. The first thing I notice, though, is that her lunch, which was stored in her bag, has spilled. It looked pretty sparse too, just rice, those omelette rolls you see in anime, and an unidentifiable brown substance that I assume was edible. “Ah, dude,” I catch her attention, “your lunch’s fucked.” She paused in her picking up and looked over.

“Ah.” she said, defeatedly, “I do not have money to buy food. Please try to salvage what you can, the floors here are clean enough that my food should not be too contaminated. ”

Like, she doesn’t have any money on her? Not everybody could be rich in this school, and with this fare she might be one of those secret poor people. Infiltrating our vaunted institutions with their grubby hands and lack of disposable income. Or her parents just didn’t give her an allowance, and she doesn’t work.

Fucking anime, this is one of the reasons I hate uniforms, other than my natural american-flavored distaste for conformity, of course, it made it so much harder to tell if a person’s family couldn’t pull themselves up by their bootstraps, and therefore harder to look down on them and their economic inferiority. Snrk. I guess that’s another reason Silver is bullied by the Gal.

Setting aside class discrimination, I started using a piece of notebook paper to scoop her food up off the unnaturally clean floors, seriously, there wasn’t even any hair, and into her lunch box. Then a shadow loomed over our hunched forms.

Oh great, more drama, I bet. Looking up I see her, the gal’s, bleached blonde hair, that wasn’t frizzy or damaged because anime hair physics is bullshit. She sneered down at Silver.

“You’re just going to eat off the floor like a pig? What sort of person can’t even afford lunch, huh?” then she does that upturned-nose-and-arm-in-front-of-your-face expression that’s usually accompanied by an- “Ohohohoho!” welp, there you have it. Admittedly, I am surprised at how well executed it was.

I’m surprised on multiple levels. The first being that she’s doing this in front of a teacher, the second that she’s being so obvious about it, like calling someone a pig? Old school. The third, she’s doing this when she already knows Silver has someone to stand up for her, as bullies tend to be cowards, or at least not idiots. She didn't even get any sycophants to stand behind her, she’s got no social power backing her up, here. Why’d this class need to have the token dumb bully? Couldn’t she have been put somewhere she could at least be effective, and we wouldn’t have to deal with her? Like with Steve, he seems perfect to tame someone dumb and mean.

And finally, I’m completely unsurprised. Someone had to react to Silver’s “outburst,” if you can call a slightly louder monotone an outburst. Though maybe the action of flipping her desk counts. And she actually made an expression for a second.

I just realize that was total anime physics. The universe enables melodrama. Exaggerated reactions are apart of the very mathematical underpinnings of my surroundings. What’s next, a boob string?

Fucking anime...

Anyways, since Mr. Yamamoto didn’t really react to the desk, obviously the only other “important” person in the room had to come over. Said VIP lording it over the most stoic of anime girls not for their sudden and ridiculous mental break, and instead for the fact that they’re going to eat food off the immaculate tiling is just typical of such low effort bully caricatures. Poor writing I tell you. It’s affecting so many of the youths these days, why even ten years ago the bully kids were brought up with tragic backgrounds of abuse, but now they’re just mean for no reason, with poorly thought out jabs and limp-wristed snipes. Tsk tsk tsk. Soon you’ll see malcontents be excluded for merely one bad prank, I tell you. What’s the world coming to these days.

Looking over, Mr. Yamamoto is reading a newspaper and ignoring the situation. Ah, he’s also that sort of teacher, nevermind, I rescind my teacher of the year point from you.

There are also whispers from the onlookers. Fuckers, what are we to you, free entertainment? I’m not here for your benefit. I’ve already graduated high school, I’m in this is exclusively for… some… huh. Well fuck you, I’m not here for your entertainment, butt outta my business.

I’ve also graduated from high school. Recently graduated, but I still feel conflicted about dating high school students.

Ha! Let’s not think about that. To deny the whims of the forces that put me here like that seems much too dangerous. I'd not be surprised if the plot found me even if I ran off to be a woodsman.

What completely surprised me was Obi, “Hey! Didn’t Akio-kun already scare you off? What makes you think we’re just going to let you say that and get away with it?” He remembered me doing something, sniff. I’m glad that my efforts receive such recognition. That we aren’t just caught in disconnected comedy skits with the same actors like some sort of big-titted genderbent Monty Python episode. Well, we don’t have enough shrill voices for the legal quota for the female characters to have the Python Seal of Authenticity, but maybe we can make the Gal angry enough to get a portion of it up. Moving on, it’s time to double team and bring in the artillery.

“That, and Yamamoto-sensei is right there.” I point out, the mention of his name causes the ruffling of paper as he drops it to see what’s going on. He gives me a short look, then tells the Gal to go back to her seat and wait until lunch to talk to Silver. The Gal looks positively outraged at this totally milquetoast and slap-on-the-wrist admonishment and goes storming off back to her seat, where her clique starts talking to her again. I mean, it was basically an open invitation to start with the pig comments again once it wasn’t on his time.

I’d take away another point if it wasn’t so obviously effective at pissing her off. You’re on neutral ground, sensei, tread carefully.

Silver is sitting there, clearly absolutely astonished, completely stock still with shock that we would come to her aid. “Thank you, Obi-kun. I appreciate your help.” She says with a heartfelt gush, her hands by her side, and her eyes staring into his dead-on. It’s a lot more fun to impose emotions on her than trying to find fifty different ways to describe a statue over and over.

Interpretation is in the eye of the beholder, and Silver is a literature teacher’s favorite poem.

That might be unfair, Silver actually has something to her, having proven that she can at least feel ungodly rage at the maltreatment the universe offers her. I hold up her lunchbox as the bell rings, “I believe it is time for you to eat your mildly contaminated floor food. Or, it would be, if the floors weren’t suspiciously clean. Mildly contaminated, that is.”

She takes it from me and bows forty five degrees with thanks, ecstatic at my proofferance. “Thank you.” She says, eloquently. Her very self overwhelmed by my generosity for returning her meager meal, as she pours out her soul to get out a barest sliver of what it means to her.

“No problem, dude. So, it’s lunchtime, y’all wanna go to the roof? That’s the classic lunch spot, and I don't want to eat in the classroom.” I suggest. “And, well, Silver said she was going as well.”

“Yeah, I’m good with that.” Obi replied begrudgingly. What’s wrong with the roof dude, it’s not like we’re going to get sunburn. That only happens in a beach episode if at all.

The walk to the roof was quick and uneventful, probably due to the fact that we were in the middle of a scene change. Shows never show all the walking, to and from places.

Well there was that one fantasy college fic that was real time, it had an entire chapter of walking along a short path. Wait, that’s fiction not shows. Are there any shows that have done the no-cuts thing? I know there were movies like that Birdman one… Oh look, the roof!

Wow, it has the suicide fences and everything! I’m all for health and safety, but these things are literally called suicide fences. That’s like calling railings at a steel factory… well, suicide fences.

The literalness of the naming convention does not lend itself well to metaphor. They are meant to stop you from killing yourselves. They protect against suicide. And are fences. Maybe you could fit in an allegory, but who has the time for that? Leave that to the literature types to make up.

Allegory is never good unless it’s completely accidental on the author’s part.

Fucking anime. Or Japan, I guess, since this is a Truth in Fiction moment. It’s still in anime, so it counts, damnit. If your solution to mental health is to build fences to stop people from killing themselves, perhaps you have other things you need fixing.

As we sat down at a bench with a gorgeous view of the woods surrounding the building, all bright green with bits waving in the wind and everything. Still blurry, though, so maybe let's not pay too much attention to it. It’s just the background, after all.

“Alright.” Obi starts, looking at me, hunched over to my right, elbows on knees. Please dude, I know your elbows aren’t damaged but that’s really hurting me. In my soul. “I said I’m not letting you get away with saying strange stuff. So explain.” You know, perhaps I could have kept the metastable relationship I had with just talking like a weirdo. I may have complicated things by being… too straightforward about my weirdness. Silver, on my left with impeccable posture, drew a breath.

“Yes.” She paused for a couple of seconds. “How is ‘Is the duck purple’ a question?”

She’s still on that?

“You’re still on that!?” Obi challenges, “He said that he can’t perceive, that he is literally unable to process Japanese, and all you care about is if is is the duck purple?”

What?

“It is categorically not a question, and that he believes it to be is more concerning than if he can’t speak Japanese, seeing as he can both understand us and we can understand him, when he is speaking Japanese. ‘Is the duck purple’ should not be a question in any language.”

“But it is, though?”

“Shut up!” “Shut up.” They both speak at once.

Obi starts once again, “You’re fixating on something immaterial, just because he talks weird doesn’t mean that he can get away with saying stupid stuff that would mean he can’t even interact with society! He needs to justify that first and foremost.”

“It is you who’s fixating on something immaterial.” Silver rebutts, “It doesn’t matter if he says he can’t speak or read Japanese, because the very fact that he can disproves himself. The real stupid claim he’s made is the crime against linguistic integrity that is the false question of ‘is the duck purple.’ Such a nonsensical declarative statement being misinterpreted as a valid interrogative is the only subject of import in this conversation.” Where is she getting this verbosity? She’s spoken more passionately about this than she has about… literally anything else she’s talked about, including the desk outburst. And she’s still monotone! She looks and sounds like she feels nothing about anything! But she’s so goddamn chatty about a single god damn question!

“How is that a declarative!?” I shout. I’m so lost. I can’t even get a translator's note to help, cause I'm the one in-scene!

“You said the first word of the sentence is the subject, yes?” Silver clarifies, “So ‘is’ is the subject.” That's completely wrong. What part of speech is is? I’m looking it up, goddamnit. Is is special so it gets to do weird things. “The second word is the verb, so ‘the duck’-”

“That’s tw-”

“Shut up. ‘The duck’ is the verb. The third word is the object, which is ‘purple.’ so is is the duck to purple.”

“It- eh- wha- no-” stuttering grunts spill out of my mouth like my tongue has acute onset cerebral palsy. Silver draws up her posture even straighter and says “I'm glad you agree.”

“No! Fuck you!” I say in pure desperation, “Is is the copula, if it comes first it’s a question, so ‘is the duck purple’ is therefore a question.” I declare while setting my phone face down, case up, and then point at her.

“I didn’t ask if a duck was purple, I said is the duck purple. They are two completely different statements. One of which makes no sense. And what does the ‘copula’ have to do with anything?”

“No you did say ‘iz teh ducc pureple’” I mock, “I said it exactly as I heard the words. Is the duck purple? No! No it fucking isn’t! Fuck, even with your horrid misinterpretation of English grammar, it would be ‘is ducks purple.’ I don’t know how you’d throw purple at is, but fuck you!”

“That’s two verbs in a row.” she loudly monotones. “That’s not how you explained it to me.”

“Your ducks aren’t in a row, bitch!” I exclaim. Rationally.

“Shut up! Both of you!” Obi intercedes. We both stop suddenly. “He hears you in English, right?” he asked, looking to me for confirmation. I nod, panting with exertion. “And you’re trying to clarify English grammar in Japanese while he hears English. It probably confused whatever is translating for him.” Obi deduces, “Or... something.” confidently. I grunt in the affirmative. You've got an astute mind there, Obi.

God damn it, this whole thing has been translation fuckery? Of course it has, all this stupid, unneccesary shouting, because of me? You stupid fucking asshat, got so caught up in shouting at someone confused because you forgot that you aren’t speaking the same language, even though that’s literally what the conversation was about. You thick-witted, dense-skulled, dunder-headed, confrontational ass-clown. The universe didn’t even have to try to fuck me over cause I did it myself. Again. “Fuuuuuck. It’s like the stuco president all over again. It hasn’t even been half a day.” I admonish myself wearily.

That got me an incredulous look from Obi interrupting his explanation to Silver. He turned back to Silver, “Anyway that’s why it’s more important that we talk about the whole ‘can’t perceive English’ thing than one weird sentence. I get you don’t like it, but he’s essentially a native speaker you can understand. From what I’ve heard, native speakers suck at teaching their languages.”

Silver nodded, and pivoted towards me, “I apologize. I got fixated and could not let it go.”

I waved it away, “Nah, dude, if anything I should have been paying more attention to the fact you didn’t speak English. Sorry for that.”

Obi clapped, “Let’s say it was a team effort and call it a day.” He picked up his lunch, it having been ignored during our little spat.

That reminds me, lunch, leftovers. Yummy aesthetically pleasing, but gustatorially mediocre leftovers made by my aesthetically pleasing, but temperamentally mild mother.

The universe has so many wonderful parallels. I bet there’s even an allegory there, but who knows what allegory really is?

I don’t, I didn’t do that project.

“So what did you mean by the student council president?”

“I accidentally got her to ask me out on a date.” I reply absently. The tribulation I've doomed myself to only occurring to me a few seconds afterward, halfway through lifting my chopsticks to take a bite.

“Wait, fuck. No, don’t-”

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhhh!?” Obi shouts for fifteen seconds, drowning out Silver’s equally long, but tonally deaf, confusion. “Fucking, damn it all” I mutter, we just shot through all the shrillness for the quota by a long shot, I’d say, where’s my concillitory spam and eggs?

“You got the School Council President, the Black Rose, to ask you out on a date!?” I said it was an accident. Let me eat my meal in peace. I start grumbling and stuffing my face so I don’t have to answer.

Ok, maybe I'm a little salty about my surrender with grace. I better not get a fucking nickname from that.

It was still a good line. I had to use it. I had to. I swear, officer. I didn't plan to be seduced, it just happened. I’m not a suave surrender monkey. I’m a regular, burger monkey, with extra mayonnaise. I look down at my very smooth and creamy skin. I used to be so pale.

“What do you mean by accidentally?” Silver, with the priorities, alright dude.

Sigh, might as well go all in. “I tried insinuating her spy-ring-cum-lesbian-smut club, heh, was full of passionate literature, heh, and she said we should have a look together after school.” At their dumbfounded looks I elaborated, “look, I wasn’t expecting her to be immune to innuendo, when she had admitted to being a part of, and I’ll quote, ‘the Romance Research Club.’ Who joins that and isn’t horny?” I questioned, infusing my fullest skepticism.

That… didn’t seem to help their state of confusion, or assumed confusion in Silver’s case.

The tension in the air started straining, as if a cat was pulling on a rubber band hooked on it’s claw with its teeth. And just as I felt it would snap, with more ridiculous noises of incredulity, like a cat that had just been hit by a rubber band, the door to the roof smashed open with a loud and distracting bang.

“Oh, what a well-timed, and dramatically convenient entrance. Whoever could it be?” I asked with casual flippancy, turning around with expectation.

I don’t actually know who it’ll be, but if I'm placing bets I'd say… new character!

Indeed, as we turned around the shock of short blonde hair drew my eyes. She looked back and forth on the roof, before spotting us and coming over. Oh, dear, she knows what we look like.

“Oi, you alright?” she says to our group. She has green eyes and is looking at us with a… stern, pensive expression? “Uh, sorry, is everything well?” She sounds a bit stiff, like the words don't flow easily. I know how it feels, my dude.

“Uh, I guess.” I answered. So, I meet a transfer student. One who can speak, and judging by the accent, is English. “My elbows and head hurt, and I’m constantly fighting off existential anxiety. But all things considered, I could’ve been murdered by my sister yesterday, so I’m fine.” Obi gives me another look. Hey, if you want to question me on the weird things I say, go ahead. It takes five minutes to pick apart five seconds of my bullshit!

“How can you just say these things?” He asks steadily.

“My existential anxiety has stack-overflowed. I’ve looped around to being zen.” That or perhaps I'm suppressing it a bit too hard. “That and we’ve just been approached by a British tomboy, who probably can’t understand Japanese as well as I can, so as long as my sentences are convoluted I can keep on the front foot. Or off the back foot I guess.”

“You talk weird enough anyway that you can do that with simple sentences.” Thanks, Obi.

“I can speak Japanese well enough, I was here when I was a toddler, assholes. Don’t say stupid shit in front of me.” Ah, so your voice actress didn’t want to sound like a blithering idiot in either language, then. “Are you Aoki?” she glared down upon me, leaning forward to make herself seem bigger, with an underwhelming amount of strength.

The unexpected life perks of living with a yandere. You can’t scare me, Tomboy, the air around you isn’t even purple.

Obi jumped in shock, “Do you know her?”

“I don’t know fucking anybody, my dude. I know a total of six people by name.” I drawl. Glancing over to Silver, she seems to be stuck processing the unexpected entrance of a new person, staring straight forward at the new arrival. “Can I just say I dig the bob-cut. I don’t think I've seen a girl with hair above her shoulders since I've gotten here, and I have to say, it’s refreshing. Are you apart of the lesbian spy ring? That would be awfully convenient.”

“The What? No! How would that be convenient?” she staggers back in shock, pulling up an arm in defence of her… dignity? I’m not even standing up, let alone menacing her. Glancing over to Silver she seems to catch up to the present.

“How do you know it is a lesbian spy ring? Wouldn’t it be hard to get that many in one place?” Silver brings up.

“Good question. The ring is centered around the Romance Research Club, which apparently is a club dedicated to researching literature about romance for the young ladies here’s husbands. I refuse to believe that’s what they’re actually concerned about.” Silver repositions her hand to cup her chin thoughtfully, considering. Eldritch processes churning in her head.

“You said that you were going to meet up in their club room right?” Obi asked in an avaricious tone to my right. I nodded, “can I come?” ah, here comes back the perversion. Even if you have depth the surface still colors you.

“Dude, it’s a date! One I was asked out on!” I said scandalized. I put my arm on his shoulder to communicate my sincerity, “Of course you can. I need someone to help me protect my virtue.” He would definitely be able to help me look for the smut, perverts have a sixth sense for this sort of thing. In anime. Maybe I won't even have to go looking myself, I can just send him off with marching orders.

“Do you have any virtue to protect? And why would you care to, I don’t believe The Black Rose would be a danger to you.” Silver asked dubiously.

“I'm right here…” Tomboy mutters as I speak over her.

“Gasp!” I exclaim, drawing a hand over my wounded heart, and not wincing at the ache it caused my elbow, “Do you think of me so slatternly? That such a virtuous and moral and high-minded and righteous thinking gentleman such as myself would have no virtue? Why, I am of such upstanding, and moral, and virtuous virtue that the Black Rose of Umehana academy herself has taken it upon her shoulders to try and deprive me of it.” I never would’ve gotten off a monologue like this in real life, I’d stutter over my words, or think too far ahead and forget what I was saying now. Perhaps, the universe is helping me keep up with my lines?

Was that a thing, the only time that I misspoke was when I sort of went off character and minced my swear talking to the Stuco Pres. And even then, it wasn’t bad and I didn’t focus on it and all my other speech.

I hate how ‘The Black Rose’ fits so well into that speech, it’s so ostentatious, but it just slipped in like it was a debutante at a masquerade courting ball. How apropos. That might be a plot point. If this is a rich girls' school, there’s going to be a dance, right? Hopefully not. That doesn’t seem right for an anime plot.

Hmm… has being in an anime improved my social skills? No, it can’t be. I have to start being awkward and self-deprecating, I can't validate the neckbeards! Anime doesn’t make you suave by being in it!

Fuck you, anime! Get me back to being self-conscious and annoyingly exact again!

Wait, no nevermind, that was a bit too hasty. Just annoyingly exact would be fine.

“You accused her of having a lesbian spy ring that looks at d-dirty books all day.” Silver, did you just stutter? That’s your weakness, isn’t it. The one thing that gets past your emotion-scrubbing algorithms is talking about porn.

“She’s the one to invite me to read them.” I refute, informatively, “I told you, she’s horny. You should’ve heard it, she said ‘passionate literature’ and everything. She also said something about her ‘destined’ but unless there’s some prophecy I’m unaware of, I’m fairly certain she’s just lonely and deranged.” As are most anime harem girls.

“I’m still right here!” Tomboy shouts, stomping the ground, Silver turning to stare at her once again.

Ah, yes, now we can acknowledge the interloper, having firmly confirmed that she’s coming into our conversation, and not making her own, “And I’m very grateful, your earlier distraction was necessary for my audial health, what was your name again? Asking who someone is before introducing yourself is rather rude, or so I’ve been told.” I pause, and mutter, “Though so is being held by your throat, but I guess there were extenuating circumstances.” And far be it from me to call a yandere rude. To her face at least.

Her eyebrow twitches, and she smacks her fists together, a soft pomf of dust leaving her knuckles. “My name’s Elizabeth Ellin Bailsey” A more British name couldn’t be found in a thousand miles. Nah, probably could be, but it’s in the top hundred and three, at least “Are you Aoki Akio?”

I draw myself up and assume my best aristocratic air, “So I’ve been told, it’s only been two days, but it’s already fitting me like a glove.” I drop myself, and my mannerisms, down a few levels. “so watcha here fer? You sure you ain’t one dem lezbean spies? I’ll have you know, I ain't done nothin t’y’all. I’ll have you know I have a great grand ant on my mama’s mama’s side who was buried next to a woman.”

“What? Wait a minute, please.” She asked bewildered. “What did you just say?” Ah, so the weakness of the translation is, indeed, accents and colloquialisms. On their side, at least. For me it’s crimes against grammar, apparently.

Obi, my man, jumped on the opening, “So you’re a spy then right, do you have a contact you could introduce me- I mean- us to?” Ok, so it was for his own agenda, but it lined up with my own, and war makes for strange bedfellows.

Mental note not to use that phrase in relation to anybody here, ever. I’m blanking on a different phrase, but that one’s not it.

Anyways, I pat him on the shoulder and give him a thumbs up. Elizabeth’s eyebrow twitched, The Vein popping up on her forehead, yet again suspiciously triangular. Well not triangular, since the corners are open, and the sides don’t meet, so like the antithesis of a triangle. Inverted triangle? There has to be a mathematical name for it. Maybe it’s hyperbolic? I should watch more Vsauce, if he even exists in anime.

I lean over to Silver and whisper, “Is it just, like, a part of humanity’s biological schema to have a vein like that on every forehead, or is it just people with anger issues?”

Silver looked over towards me and asked “What?” In response I tapped my forehead and pointed over to Elizabeth’s. Silver turned her head to look, then turned back and just tilted her head a couple degrees.

Alright, good talk. I'm honestly surprised I got that in.

“Stop fucking ignoring me!” Having recently become surprisingly well-versed in getting hit by women, I threw myself to the side. Unfortunately, Obi was in the way so I fell to the ground, and while the punch missed me, bracing from falling on my side with my arms caused horrible aching shocks in my elbows and in order to curtail that I pushed onto my back. The positioning also, predictably, caused me to see up her skirt.

They were union jack panties. I guess she wants to keep a special place in her heart for England. “Huh, panty shots usually precede the violence. Universe, I commend you on your originality, even a simple reversal is appreciated.”

Why did I say that out loud? All my mental problems are compounding, I blame pain and anime. At least I didn't say something like, ‘huh union jack.’ So I can keep my ability to say I’m not a voyeur. Or something like that. I’m sure my reputation will be fine.

Fuck you, anime.

With the expected yell of “Pervert!” the tomboy tried to stomp on my face. I, of course already having recognized the danger in my words, had started rolling away under the bench for cover. Being laterally oriented, and being subject to the laws of physics and geometry, this caused me to roll over my elbows.

Horrendous agony! The angular momentum, the small surface area, and the weight of my body compounded into such pain that it felt like it literally went through my nerves into my neck “Why-y-y-yyy does everything have to use use my elbowwws!?” I sob out as I cower behind my friends legs. Kick me now, bitch! I have shin guards!

“Asshole! Get out from under there!” hah, as if. My vision is sort of woozy.

“I mean, I plan to, but I'm not very mobile right now. Can the excruciating pain I'm in now suffice as revenge?” I mumble weakly. I’d do the good ole duck and cover exercise, but that requires moving my arms, and that’s not in the cards at the moment. Right now I’m just face down and staring at the ground.

What did I do to deserve this torture? Is Ms. Nanjo upset at my refusal to join class? Is Silver still upset at the duck being purple and sent a message to take me out? Are the lesbians trying to assassinate me?

I don’t see or really pay attention to what happens next, most of my processing power being uselessly expended telling me that my elbows and everything they’re connected to hurt. Eventually Silver pokes my cheek, which prods me to swivel my head her way.

“Did you convince her friend that she has a crush on him?”

I take a minute to process that. “Does... this friend have an angry redhead following him around? Perhaps punching him for no reason?” A quick confirmation by Silver tells me that they indeed do. “God fucking damn it. I have nothing to do with his poor decisions or misconceptions.”

And so, the source, the instigation of my torment is revealed. I expected an anime protagonist to have tact, or the ability to talk without his foot not only going in his mouth, but out his ass. Apparently the first thing he did after seeing his childhood friend was ask if she had a crush on him, except he did it so badly that it seemed as if he assumed she did. After thoroughly disabusing him of this notion, Elizabeth came to look for me. Finding me through her RRC contacts I bet. Or something.

I, being the asshole I am, didn’t like her just barging into the conversation. So I did my thing, and made her angry, and then we got this absolutely stupid action scene, right after I got through with an absolutely stupid argument.

At this point I’m fairly certain that the universe has a quota for my suffering, everytime I flip the script something bad has happened. I put my face back to the floor to stave off my burgeoning probably’ migraine as my wonderful friends negotiate with the irate tomboy for me.

After she leaves Obi crouches down and pokes my cheek. “Are you going to come out of there?”

“No. My arms hurt to much for my legs to move.” I sniffle. “I’m just gonna lay here for a while.”

“We’ll get you up when lunch is over.” Silver informs me. “Then we can talk about that. Invalid.”

“Thanks. Good one.” And I return to my convalescence. Yeah.

Fuck you, anime.