Daichi had lost Surya early in the game, and now sort of meandered around the second floor before becoming insanely absorbed. This building had turned into a battlefield, with Kaoru students running amuck inside it, and he defeated one student after another.

He was, quite frankly, dominating the game.

After instigating an all-out war on the second floor, he went to wreak havoc on the third. He rooted out four first-years crouching in the bathroom, and caught two making out in the cupboard. He picked them all off like flies, going out of his way to give them a fright.

While he was combing through one of the dimly lit rooms, an odd scraping noise caught his attention. He straightened, turning, and squinted across the room, but his eyesight was just horrid. With his flashlight in hand, he prowled closer to the trunk at the foot of the bed. The lid was latched shut with a card wedged between it.

After an incredibly delayed pause, the card vanished inside, and Daichi nearly rolled his eyes.

He opened the trunk and stared down at Akira of all people, who was stuffed inside like a crumpled jacket. The beam of his flashlight had Akira raising a hand to shield his eyes, and though Daichi was sorely tempted not to, he pointed it away.

“Care to explain?” he asked, his voice dry.

Akira propped himself up on his elbows, curls sticking up at odd angles. “Thanks for releasing me,” he said.

“You were very subtle with the card.” He tilted his head. “Aren’t you getting out?”

“Of course! I just, right now, I can’t feel my legs.”

Without much thought, Daichi reached down, taking him under the arms like he was a child, and lifted him into the air. His fingers dug into Daichi’s forearms, his eyes rounding, until he was set down on the trunk’s edge.

Who’d stuffed him inside this thing? This wasn’t as vicious as being force-fed Erik’s paint, but it was just as outrageous.

Daichi was somewhat accustomed to being bullied himself. Should he suggest that Akira fight back? But he was a lot smaller than the other basketball players. It might be better to talk to a professor about this.

“Sticker, p-please,” Akira blurted when the silence grew unbearable, and he threw out his arms like he expected Daichi to arrest him in handcuffs. “I-I’ve been found.”

Daichi looked at him. “I don’t want to give it to you,” he said, waving his sheet of stickers. “This was too easy.”

“Want me to run away?” Akira offered.

“Someone else might catch you, and I’m not giving up my point.”

To Daichi’s surprise, Akira grinned crookedly up at him. “You’re more competitive than I thought.”

It didn’t make sense that this muddled boy was being bullied. He struck Daichi as harmless, with his clumsy energy, slightly oversized hoodie, and curls flopping into his eyes. What did he do to become a target? Spilled juice on the captain’s shoes?

Footsteps and whispers drifted closer to the door, and Daichi held a finger to his lips. He crept toward the doorway, and when a few first-years came skulking by, he leapt out to smack his stickers on them. They protested loudly, but he waved them off before they noticed who he was obscuring behind him.

He turned to find Akira standing, now busy rolling his ankle, and crossed his arms. “Were you really going to break out of that trunk with a card?”

Akira proudly whipped it out. “Oh, yes. If you swipe it a certain way, you can flip the latch.”

“What, seriously?” He moved closer. “You’ll have to show me.”

Akira happily began to explain it to him. Then, utterly clueless, he climbed back into the trunk for a demonstration that Daichi encouraged. He even shut it on himself, and Daichi bent to latch it. The card appeared, scraping vigorously, and the latch really did flip. He tried lifting the lid, but it didn’t budge an inch, and he went very quiet.

Finally, he asked, “Are you sitting on it?”

Daichi stretched out his legs. “That I am.”