Her Sword: Classroom of the Elite

Funaki's Monologue (Rewritten)

"I'm a weak person

How else could you explain my life?

I live by every day in the slums by stealing grains of food.

I have no family.

I have no education.

I can't even speak.

My lungs barely work.

So the conclusion that I have come to, is that I am weak."

- Is what I used to believe, but I changed my perspective on the matter after meeting a few people.

It was because of these people, that I am strong.

Rather, I was able to become strong because of these people.

Funaki Hiroji, this man had taught me how to be strong.

The narrow alley embraced me like a cold, lonely mother - shadows clinging to every damp crevice. My eyes strained against the darkness as I waited, my hunger clawing at my empty stomach. The baker's shouts and haggling pierced the heavy air, the transaction providing the perfect cover. Prey never sees the predator approaching when preoccupied with their own hunt.

"A scrap...just a scrap of bread," my mind begged silently, fixated on the basket brimming with loaves.

My bony limbs and sagging skin slid along the rough bricks, moving strategically between the strips of light. I poked my head around the corner of the stand, wild eyes darting, ensuring the baker was thoroughly distracted.

"Perfect," I thought, as I reached my shaking, dirt-encrusted hands towards my prize.

The biggest loaf, round and golden brown, called to me. I wrapped my spindly fingers around it, the coarse crust abrasive against my cracked skin. Lifting it slowly, carefully, I slipped it from the pile, fresh bakery scent flooding my senses.

"This could feed me for a week!" I thought, nearly weeping at the loaf's perfection - more beautiful to me than any jewel.

I scurried back to my alley, my precious sustenance secure in my grasp. As I went to take the first liberating bite, melancholy stayed my hand.

Will I ever escape this hopeless cycle? Staring at the bread, I couldn't imagine my prospects improving.

I shook the thought away. Survive now, philosophize later. Today I would eat.

Just as I opened my mouth to taste the heavenly bread, a crushing blow struck my cheek, pain exploding through my face.

My vision went white, senses reeling. "What...what happened?" I thought in shock.

"Thought you could steal from me right under my nose?" the baker growled, clutching the offending bat.

I looked up at him weakly, realization dawning. "Well, shit."

"Thought I wouldn't notice someone taking my best loaf, eh?" Spittle flew from his mouth with each enraged word.

"My greed doomed me," I thought, resigning myself to culpability.

"I'm done with your thieving! You die today!" He charged me like an enraged bull, murder in his eyes.

So this is how my pathetic life ends. I closed my eyes, body going slack, fear transmuting to serenity.

But behind my darkened lids, a specter appeared - a boy with flat, golden eyes peering from under wispy brown bangs.

"Who are you?" I thought, puzzled by thephantom.

"Why do you embrace death?" His voice echoed eerily in my mind.

"What reason could I have to cling to life?" I replied, bleak and broken.

The boy grabbed my throat with an icy grip, face betraying no emotion. "Do you not want to live? To win?" His questions probed my mind.

"I suppose I do want to live I guess," I admitted begrudgingly, thinking of my drive to survive.

"And what of winning?" His stare cut into my core.

"But how does one win in my position?" Victory was an alien notion to me.

"Still, you wish to win, no?" He pressed mildly.

No. I had no concept of this "winning" he spoke of.

"Then tell me, what do you want?" His eyes narrowed, seeking my truth.

What did I want? The answer came like dawn's first light.

My eyes shot open. The baker's bat cut through the air toward me.

Reading his shoulders, I predicted his move - a sloppy right-left swing, predictable and amateur.

I ducked left smoothly, the gust from the bat breeze against my cheek.

Remember, I was just a half-starved child. So how could I possibly fight back?

I focused every ounce of my anger, pain, and desperation into my bony right arm and unleashed it squarely into the man's groin.

"Crush your opponent, and they're trash," I thought with savage satisfaction.

"You filthy rat!" the baker bellowed, collapsing against the alley wall, hands between his legs, murder in his eyes.

My chest exploded in fiery pain, but my limbs still obeyed.

I leapt onto his shoulders, my fingers curling into claws, ready to gouge flesh from bone.

"I've crushed you," I thought as I plunged my dirty nails into his eyes, seeking the softness within.

He screamed an unearthly scream as he fell, clawing at his face, blood and fluid leaking between his beefy fingers. I watched coldly, numb inside.

"Meaning you're now trash." I finished.

My gaze drifted and landed upon a brick, lying discarded in the muck.

You wanted to know what I desired, yes?

I crouched down and picked it up with both hands, hefting its substantial weight. I approached the whimpering man casually, like a child going to school, but my hands held no ordinary book.

"Please! No more!" the baker begged pitifully between his cries.

But my purpose was clear.

I stepped atop a nearby crate and lifted the heavy brick overhead. My eyes were as empty as the specter's, devoid of pity or remorse.

What I want is...

I let the brick fall from my tired arms. Its impact resonated through my body like a mallet on a drum.

Silencing him utterly with a nauseating crunch.

In that moment, I felt energy course into my weakened form, allowing me to do something I never could before.

I spoke.

"I want to be strong."