Fighting Sounds in the Restroom

Kiryu Yume noticed that his pen no longer fell to the floor when he spun it.

He had spun it four times in math class and three times in Japanese class. Each time, the pen slipped from the web of his thumb, but his fingers automatically chased after it and caught it. His brain had not been involved at all.

He spread his palm, then clenched it. His joints felt looser than usual, their range of motion slightly wider. His whole body felt as though it had just been oiled.

Morishita Ran was copying notes beside him when she glanced over from the corner of her eye. "What's wrong with your hand?"

"Nothing."

When he went to pick up Sakayanagi Arisu, his stride automatically matched hers. His knees cushioned his steps better on the stairs. In the cafeteria, Morishita Ran said his eyes seemed busier than usual. Yesterday, he had not been sure and had assumed he had merely slept well. Today was different. Every joint in his body was awake, and the sounds and light around him seemed to have gained another layer of depth.

He used to have to squint to make out the small writing in the last row on the blackboard. Today, he did not.

He went over it twice in his head and thought of the pet cat bond.

It had been over a week since he started calling Sakayanagi Mom. Every day, Sakayanagi Arisu patted his head. Each time her fingers touched his hair, it felt as though some invisible string inside his body had been plucked. Once it accumulated to a certain point, something changed.

The panel only said, "Act like a cat around Sakayanagi; harder to avoid being patted on the head," but the actual effect was greater than the panel suggested—just like the coercion bond, the wording only described the outermost layer.

He drew a cat in a blank space in his notebook. Its ears were sharper than before, its tail curled upward. Then he added a small question mark beside it.

The morning classes passed one by one. During the third-period English class, someone in the back passed a note. The paper ball flew in from behind his right side. Without turning his head, he raised his left hand and intercepted it in midair. The movement was small enough that the people in front did not notice. He placed the paper ball on his desk and glanced at it—it had not been meant for him. It had been thrown in the wrong direction.

He flicked the paper ball back toward the rear and continued listening to the lesson. The force in his fingers was perfectly controlled, and the paper ball landed on a desk in the back without making almost any sound.

Lunchtime. The cafeteria.

A notice about weekend renovations was posted at the cafeteria entrance. It was operating normally today, but one serving counter was closed, making the line longer than usual.

By the time Kiryu Yume found a seat with his curry rice, Yamamura Miki was already there. A bowl of clear-broth udon sat before her, and she had not even unwrapped her chopsticks yet.

Morishita Ran approached from another direction carrying her tray. She sat beside him and set down a bowl of salad and an order of fried chicken bites.

The three of them ate their own meals, speaking a few words now and then. Yamamura Miki was quieter than usual today. After taking two bites, she would set down her chopsticks to check her phone, then pick them up again for another two bites.

"What's wrong?" Kiryu Yume asked.

Yamamura Miki shook her head, her voice very soft. "Nothing." Two seconds later, she added, "The washing machine in my dorm is broken. I'm waiting for someone to come fix it."

"Which floor?"

"The fifth."

"That's good." Morishita Ran picked up a piece of fried chicken and took a bite. "The ones on our fourth floor aren't affected."

Yamamura Miki gave a quiet sound of acknowledgment and lowered her head to continue eating her udon.

As Kiryu Yume ate his curry, he noticed that the pressure in his fingers was more even than usual when he picked up a rice ball with his chopsticks. He used to make things fall apart easily when he picked them up, but today his grip was steady. He filed that detail away without saying anything.

After eating, Yamamura Miki placed another piece of fried tofu into his bowl and softly said, "Good luck this afternoon," before carrying her tray away. When Morishita Ran stood up, she looked at Kiryu Yume.

"You didn't drop your rice ball today."

"What?"

"You drop one out of every three normally."

With that, she left. Kiryu Yume looked at his chopsticks and set them down on his tray.

On the way back, he tried taking two steps at a time on the stairs again. His knees absorbed a little more impact than they had that morning, and his footsteps were lighter. The changes were still continuing, like an engine warming up, not yet at its peak.

After the final class ended, Kiryu Yume packed his textbooks. As he stood, his chair slid backward, and his right hand had already reached where the chair back would be. Without looking behind him, the backrest settled perfectly against his palm. He pushed the chair back under the desk.

First, the restroom.

The restroom at the end of the hall was usually empty. He pushed open the door and had just started to relieve himself when a muffled crash suddenly came from the innermost stall.

It was heavy, like a large object slamming into the stall partition. The stall door shook violently. Its metal latch sprang free from the catch, and the door cracked open by half a palm's width. There was a muffled grunt of pain, followed by the sound of something striking the tiled wall.

Kiryu Yume's hand stopped.

Through the gap, he could see two figures struggling. The one with his back against the partition was enormous, his shoulders nearly filling the stall's entire width. His uniform had been yanked crooked, and part of his collar was torn open. Albert from Class C—Kiryu Yume had seen him twice in the halls. He always walked alone with his head lowered, and Kiryu Yume had never seen him speak to anyone.

The person pinning him down was a full size smaller, but his attacks were viciously precise. One arm looped around Albert's neck from behind, while the other pressed the back of his head against the wall. There had been no warning at all. He had clearly lunged at Albert from behind while Albert was using the restroom. Ryuuen Kakeru.

Albert clawed at the arm around his throat with one hand and reached back with the other to grab Ryuuen Kakeru's collar. His strength was tremendous. With a thrust of his shoulder, he dragged Ryuuen Kakeru stumbling forward, nearly throwing him into the partition. Ryuuen Kakeru cursed, released his chokehold, and drove his knee into Albert's lower back, knocking him out of the stall.

Albert staggered out, his shoulder knocking over a bottle of hand soap on the sink. The bottle hit the floor and cracked, splashing pink liquid everywhere. One of his feet stepped into it and slipped. His back slammed heavily into the opposite wall, making the tiles thud. He slid down the wall and ended up sitting on the floor.

Ryuuen Kakeru stepped out of the stall.

He was not in much better shape. His uniform collar had been pulled crooked, two red claw marks ran from his neck to his collarbone, and his chest rose and fell heavily as he breathed in rough gasps. The corner of his mouth was split, blood seeping from it. He wiped it with his thumb, looked down at the bloodstain, then rubbed his hand against his pants.

Kiryu Yume had already zipped up and moved into the corner beside the sinks. He could not be seen from the front at this angle, but the side mirror reflected half the area before the sinks. His phone was already in his hand, the recording icon lit up—his finger had pressed it on its own when he heard the first crash. He muted the volume and edged the phone slightly around the corner.

The shot was perfectly clear. Albert sat against the wall while Ryuuen Kakeru stood before him. Both were breathing hard.

Ryuuen Kakeru looked down at Albert and took two breaths before speaking. His tone was steady despite his panting. "You can fight pretty well."

Albert sat against the wall, his crooked uniform exposing part of one shoulder. He said nothing. He lowered his head and looked at the mixture of hand soap and water on the floor. His chest rose and fell even more violently than Ryuuen Kakeru's—not from exhaustion, but because he was recovering his breath after having his windpipe compressed. His breathing was as rough as a rusty bellows.

Ryuuen Kakeru crouched down, his posture unsteady. One hand braced against his knee to keep him from tipping forward. He grabbed Albert's soaked hair and pulled it back, forcing him to raise his face.

"No one in Class C dares say no anymore." Ryuuen Kakeru lowered his voice, so low that Kiryu Yume had to move his phone a little farther out to capture it clearly. "You're the last one. I'm in charge now. Blink once if you understand."

Albert's gray eyes stared at Ryuuen Kakeru. There was no expression on his face, and his lips remained tightly closed. He did not blink. A low sound rolled from his throat—the kind forced from the chest even with his airway constricted, like a bear pinned to the ground that was still growling.

Ryuuen Kakeru stared back at him. They held each other's gaze for several seconds. The only sounds in the restroom were water dripping from a faucet that had not been fully closed and Albert's heavy breathing.

Ryuuen Kakeru released his hair and stood.

He walked to the sinks, turned on the faucet, and splashed two handfuls of water onto his face. Bracing his hands against the marble counter, he looked at the scratches on his neck in the mirror. He touched the wound at the corner of his mouth with his index finger and sucked in a breath at the pain. He adjusted his collar in the mirror, tugging at the crooked neckline, but it did little good—one button was missing.

He turned around and looked down at Albert, who was still seated on the floor.

"Come find me yourself tomorrow."

Then he left without looking back. The sound of his leather shoes on the floor was crisp and decisive, gradually fading down the hallway.

Albert remained on the floor for quite a while. First, his fingers moved. Then he braced a hand against the ground and tried to stand, but his foot slipped in the hand soap and he sat back down. He changed direction, gripping the seams between the tiles in the corner of the wall as he slowly pulled himself up. His soaked uniform clung to his body, and his shirt showed the color of the skin on his back, darkened over a large area.

He walked to the faucet, tightened the one that was still dripping, then splashed two handfuls of water onto his face. Water ran over the red mark on his forehead—where he had struck the tiles, already swelling. He wiped his face with his sleeve and looked down for a while at the cracked bottle of hand soap on the floor. Shards lay scattered among the puddles, and the pink liquid had not dried yet.

Albert stepped around it and left. His steps were slow, each one heavy.

Kiryu Yume withdrew his phone from around the corner. The recording was two minutes and forty seconds long. He stopped it, his thumb hovering over the screen for a moment before he locked the phone.

He straightened and worked his stiff neck. He had not moved while pressed against the wall, and his shoulders had gone a little numb.

He locked the video in his album. Something he had recorded on impulse. It was an internal Class C matter. Ryuuen Kakeru was using physical means to bring his class's big man under control. It was not exactly a secret. He would keep it if it proved useful later; if not, he would delete it.

At the school gate.

Sakayanagi Arisu's cane tapped against the steps, with Kamuro Masumi standing beside her. The setting sun shone on the white columns at the entrance, stretching their shadows long. Kiryu Yume walked over, and Sakayanagi Arisu raised her eyes to look at him. Her violet pupils lingered on his face for a moment.

"You're more nimble than usual today."

Kiryu Yume gave a quiet sound of acknowledgment.

Sakayanagi Arisu did not press him. The rhythm of her cane against the ground remained as steady as ever as the three of them headed toward the dorms. As they passed the basketball court, Sudo Ken's shout came from afar. He seemed to be arguing with someone about whether a ball had stepped on the line.

They parted ways beneath the dorm building. Kamuro Masumi followed behind Sakayanagi Arisu, but as she passed Kiryu Yume, her steps slowed by half a beat. Her gaze rested on him for a second. Her lips moved, then she continued walking without saying anything.

Kiryu Yume returned to his room.

The single room was quiet. The instant the door closed, every sound from outside was cut off. He set his bag on the desk, fell backward onto the bed, and watched the video again. Two minutes and forty seconds—from beginning to end. Ryuuen Kakeru's breathing, the dull crash of Albert hitting the wall, the sharp crack of the hand soap bottle breaking, the tap-tap of a button rolling across the floor.

This was how Class C's rules were established.

He locked his phone and placed it beside his pillow. Outside, the sunset cast a long, thin band of orange light through the gap in the curtains, falling across the white sheets.

His body was more sensitive to surrounding sounds than before. The faint rush of air from the air conditioner vent, the low hum of the refrigerator compressor starting up, Sudo still arguing with someone at the distant basketball court—every layer of sound was clearly separated. A cat's ears.

He turned over. Tomorrow was the weekend, so he would not need to go to the school gate to pick up Sakayanagi Arisu.

His phone screen lit up. A message from Morishita Ran: The cafeteria's under renovation tomorrow. Let's go to the convenience store.