“Shinsuke, wake up!”

I jolted and nearly rolled out of bed at the sound of mom’s scathing call.

“Haven’t I been through enough? just let me rest…” I whined.

“I’d love to, Shinsuke. But you have school today, remember?”

“I…what?” I asked, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

“I know you’ve been through a lot this weekend; I empathize. I was supposed to have a commission delivered yesterday, but we all know what happened there. Either way, regardless of what’s going on, it’s important that you keep up with your education. Besides, Mizuki is waiting for you outside.”

So much had happened to me since the accident that I had forgotten it had only been one day and a few hours. The weekend had been stolen from me along with the rest of my life. This would be the week that I would begin the process of taking it all back, and it was about to start with…school? Gods damn it.

“Shinsuke—”

“Okay, okay. I’m getting up.”

As promised, I rose from my bedsheet mausoleum and dragged myself to the bathroom. The zombie in the mirror groaned appropriately.

One dimly lit shower later, I thew on my uniform and stepped out, once again coming face to face with my mother.

“Here,” she said, holding out my school bag. “I thought I’d make your life a bit easier and get your bag ready for you. I even tossed that pudding cup you grabbed last night in there for you.”

I took the bag and slung it over my shoulder. “Thanks, mom.”

“One more thing,” she said with a nervous shuffle. “Your outburst from yesterday is all over the news. I just thought I should let you know…”

I sighed deeply and said, “can I—”

“No, you can’t stay home.”

Thrown to the wolves it is!

“Thought you’d say that. Well, I’d better get going, then. Good luck with the art.”

“Good luck with the…everything,” she replied, nudging my shoulder with hers.

Out the door I went, and, like mom said, Mizuki was there waiting for me. Her smile was warm, but an air of concern floated about her.

“Morning,” I greeted her.

“Not a good one…”

“That’s why I excluded the ‘good’.”

We shared a cynical chuckle and made our way down the steps of the building. As we trekked through the busy streets of Valport, we spoke about my dire situation.

“Your face is on every channel,” Mizuki said, irritably. “All the sock puppets are upset that you don’t want to marry the princess.”

“Such a shame that I don’t care.”

“I’m with you, but it seems I’m the only one…”

She motioned left and right with her head, pointing out the people around us. Everywhere I looked, people who hadn’t cared I existed just days ago were staring at me and whispering, most of them with not-so-pleasant expressions.

I can’t believe he said that stuff on live TV. What the hell is wrong with him?

I know, can you imagine how the poor princess feels right now?

I’d be relieved if he didn’t want to marry me, honestly. He’s so ugly!

“Ignore them,” Mizuki said, returning their glares and making them divert their eyes.

“Way ahead of you.”

I said that, but I was wishing I had a hood to pull over my face in the moment. I was used to odd stares and unkind remarks, but the level of attention I was getting was on another level and I hated every second of it. The entire way to the subway, not a single street passed us by without obnoxiously audible gossip and gawking that singled me out like a spotlight.

Mind your damn business, vultures.

***

It wasn’t long after getting off the train that we reached St. Cirelia High School.

Better than Valport High, but still not quite a school for rich kids, high grades were the only reason Mizuki and I were able to attend the middle child of Valport high schools. One would think the high grade level requirement would result in a more disciplined student body, but that was far from the case. Mizuki and I were often on the receiving end of ignorant venom from cockroaches looking to climb atop our heads to achieve a higher social status. In other words, it was high school.

Ah, poor Saint Cirelia gave her life in combat for the kingdom of Steylia, only to have a second-rate school filled with burnouts and bullies named after her. Spin majestically in your grave, Cirelia.

In predictable fashion, the stares and whispers kicked off as soon as we stepped through the front doors of the school. A visibly annoyed Mizuki marched forward through the passively hostile halls and implored me to keep pace.

“Let’s just get to class,” she said. “Don’t even give them a chance to say something stupid.”

“Yeah.”

Of course, it was much too late for that based on the snippets of sniping remarks that clipped my ears. At least the crowd were kind enough to part like the sea, enabling us to get to our destination much faster than usual. Though, naturally, that was only because they wanted to stand back and observe me like some kind of escaped zoo animal. But I would rather that than a blockade of more incessant questioning.

In contrast to our arrival at school, the class chatter fell eerily silent as Mizuki and I stepped inside. We claimed our seats beside one another quickly, but not even a second had passed before the winds of trouble graced my turbulent shores.

“Yo, demon eyes!” a boy in the back of the class shouted. “I got a question for ya.”

In the time it took for me to redirect my attention from the window to my side, he was already looming over me.

“We all saw you tweaking at the press conference yesterday,” he continued. “I gotta say, that was pretty funny.”

“Happy I could entertain you…whatever your name is.”

“Oh, that’s a good one. Not as funny as you making an ass out of yourself to get out of marrying the hottest, richest girl in the world, though. What’s the deal with that, anyway? You damaged in the brain or something?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Mizuki interjected. “Shut the hell up and go sit down in your little corner.”

The boy waved her off and remained fixated on me. “So, you’ve got your bestie fighting your battles for you now? Pfft. I guess that’s what happens when you save the princess’ life, people just tend to your every whim, yeah? First you get called a hero, then you reject the princess on TV. I bet you think you’re such hot stuff now.”

“Look, I don’t know if this is an insane projection of your deepest insecurities or something, but will you knock it off already? Today is not the day,” I said, receiving a snicker and a head shake in response.

“I bet you’re just trying to make yourself look good by saying you don’t want to marry the princess. I bet she took one look at your ugly face and said, ‘hell no’!”

Mizuki rose out of her chair and, sternly, said, “I told you to shut the hell up.”

“No one was talking to you!” he growled, shoving her to the floor.

A bolt of rage hit me, and the sound of my skidding chair as I rose was the thunder. He tried to say something, but by the time he parted his lips, I had already buried my fist in his cheek. He flew to the floor with a considerable thud.

Just as he collided with the floor, the teacher entered the classroom. His face shifted in horror when he noticed the unconscious boy, followed by anger when he saw me wringing my hand in pain.

“Is anyone going to tell him?” I asked the audience of my so-called peers.

Silence.

Of course not.

“What did you just do!?

“Well, he—"

“Detention, Watanabe. Now!”

Why even ask me?

I helped Mizuki back to her feet as the teacher checked on the boy and called upon one of my classmates to fetch the nurse.

“Thank you, Shinsuke,” she said with a guilty expression.

“Don’t thank me,” I replied. “No one touches you and walks away from it. I know you’d do the same for me.”

“Stop running your mouth and get to detention, Watanabe!”

I grabbed my bag and left out the door as I heard Mizuki protesting my punishment to the teacher behind me. I didn’t have the patience to plead my case after dealing with prying eyes all morning. To be honest, a quiet stint in the solitude of detention sounded like a relief, if anything. Besides, I was more than fine with claiming my prize for reading that jerk a five-finger lullaby.

I entered the empty classroom reserved for rebels like me and took a seat. The absence of voices was pleasant until my own crept into my mind, asking such enriching questions as: When she finds out about this, will mom kill me with her art knife or by poisoning my dinner? Or: Would getting expelled from school also void the White Knight Contract?

In the interest of not losing my mind, I unzipped my bag and extracted a plastic spoon and my ever-reliable friend—the pudding cup. Since we hadn’t had our reunion the prior night, I figured there was no time like the present.

But just as I was about to crack open the seal, the door opened and in walked a girl I didn’t recognize. She was definitely not a teacher or staff member. In fact, she looked no older than me. With a sinister grin, she said, “well, if it isn’t Mr. Popular! I’ve been looking for you~”