𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐔𝐓, BONTEN.

06. BEST SIDE

CHAPTER SIX! I'LL GIVE YOU MY BEST SIDE, TELL YOU ALL MY BEST LINES.

FIRST-PERSON
point of view,

SHUJI
shoulda kneed his dick while ur at it.

"Asshole," I muttered, stifling a grin as I read Shuji's message. Just as I was about to reply, the lunch bell echoed through the halls. I tucked my phone away, stood up, and dusted off my skirt, grabbing my wallet before heading out.

Lunch—the best and most aggravating part of the day.

Spending time with Bonten had its perks, sure, but lately, it felt like I was paying a hefty price. They were my closest friends, and because of them, I was almost untouchable on campus. But that also meant I was utterly alone. It was impossible to have a conversation with anyone outside of them—not without Bonten scaring them off, anyway. They didn't tolerate anyone else getting close to me, especially other boys, and they made sure everyone knew it. Even the girls didn't dare try to befriend me, afraid of their dark, mean-looking presence. I was the only person on campus who saw anything besides their tough exteriors, but it didn't change the fact that they'd essentially turned me into a social outcast.

If I'd known things would turn out this way, I would've drawn boundaries long ago. But it was too late now. I couldn't exactly tell Bonten—the people who had my back through everything—to stop "protecting" me, no matter how much it got on my nerves. They were enough for me, I was supposed to not need anyone else but them. Yet the irony of it all was that they were supposed to be my friends, and yet they were the reason I felt so isolated. Each time I passed a group of students laughing together, a pang of resentment twisted inside me of what it could have been if I hadn't depended on them so much.

I pushed open the cafeteria door, feeling eyes on me. I ignored them. By now, the stares were probably going to be a part of the routine.

As I scanned the room, the smell of freshly tossed salad hit me, bringing back a flood of memories from cheer practice before the Inter High Sports Festival. I used to order salads every day back then. Brings back memories somehow.

Deciding to try it for the afternoon, I placed my order and purchased it by the counter, telling them afterward the designated vacant table that I had found so they could deliver the tray later.

As the minutes dragged on, I pulled out my phone, scrolling through social media in a futile attempt to distract myself from the unwanted stares of my schoolmates. I glanced at the group chat where Chifuyu's relentless barrage of goofy snapshots kept everyone entertained, Takemichi's latest drooling face was the highlight. Others were also present. Draken, Mistuya, Hakkai, and even Shuji, are all on the rooftop. Most likely cutting classes.

Having the urge to contact them, you pressed the call button. Moments later, it rang.

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. Whispers slithered through the cafeteria, drawing everyone's attention toward the entrance. It was only a matter of time before things worsened, but I had already expected this.

Sano Manjiro strode in, unmistakable even in his disheveled state. His usually pristine uniform was a casualty of a long night, the collar askew and the necktie knotted haphazardly. Clinging to his arm was Himari Matsumoto, her expression a mix of pride and mischief. The marks on her neck were glaring as if she wore her latest conquests like trophies. They commanded the attention of the room, and my stomach churned at the sight.

I winced, an uncomfortable mix of anger and disappointment swirling inside me. This was the aftermath of what I had feared—the familiar faces I once cherished now intertwined with a new girl, flaunting a careless intimacy that stung deeper than I'd expected.

Just then, my salad arrived, a vibrant splash of greens and colors that momentarily distracted me from the chaos. I forced myself to focus on the meal, reminding myself that I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me unravel again. I had been through that once, and I was determined not to let their reckless behavior drag me down.

Instead, I took a deep breath, pushing away the memories of laughter and friendship that felt so distant now. I was stronger than I had been last year. I could handle this.

Later that day, the soft, dimly orange glow of the afternoon sun spilled through the classroom windows as the seniors finally heard the long-awaited dismissal bell. A collective sigh of relief escaped their lips, each one leaving the confines of the room like a deflated balloon, their weary bodies lacking any spark of enthusiasm for the plans that awaited them outside.

I couldn't blame them; my first day of classes had taken me by surprise. The hours felt like a marathon, each minute stretching longer than the last. My back ached, and I could feel the stiffness settling in as I sat through endless lectures. But given that this elite institution was gunning for top board rankings this year, I resolved to power through the fatigue, keeping my composure even as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm me.

"Did he go home now?" My brows furrowed upon not seeing Shuji by the parking lot. He was supposed to fetch me up on my first day of school, but now that I think about it, I haven't messaged him the time of my dismissal but I was pretty sure I told him my schedule just after getting it. It's either he forgot or he gave up waiting and rode away.

I tried to conceal my disappointment as my eyes still searched among a sea of flashy cars belonging to my fellow seniors. Maybe he's still here.

Noticing a group of girls practically fawning over a certain individual, my gaze narrowed as I squinted against the light, instantly recognizing that cheeky smirk that belonged to Hanma Shuji.

There he was, a beacon of mischief and allure, I could feel his playful energy from my distance, my heart now easing from the frustration of thinking he had forgotten or left me behind.

Rolling my eyes, I descended the small staircase, my leather doll shoes crunching softly on the gravel. My heart thudded harder with every step, a mix of admiration and irritation swirling within me. The grip on my shoulder bag tightened as I approached, noticing how effortlessly he basked in the attention.

I tried to shake off the jealousy creeping into my chest, but it was difficult when he radiated such confidence. Hanma Shuji was undeniably attractive—there was no escaping that truth. His tousled, blonde-streaked hair caught the dying light perfectly, the signature earring glinting like a mischievous star. He was sculpted, a living embodiment of what a bad boy might look like if he were draped in a classic leather jacket that seemed tailor-made for his shoulders.

It made sense why the girls gravitated toward him. He was like a magnet, drawing in admiration with every smirk and laugh. And yet, despite the throng of admirers, my heart pulled me closer, urging me to reclaim my place by his side.

"Hanma,"

"Not Shuji?" He teased, now coming closer to me.

I scoffed, "Enjoying the show?" I quipped, arching an eyebrow.

His signature smirk widened. "Not half as much as I enjoy your company."

"Whatever," I mumbled, sparing a glance at the girls who were now staring at us. Their phone in their grasp made me think they were asking for Shuji's number, and as if sensing my thoughts, Shuji reacted instantly.

"I didn't give them my number, I swear." His expression was almost too casual as if he found the entire situation amusing. My brow furrowed deeper, and I could feel my lips forming a tight line. The warning in my tone must have pierced through his carefree facade, for his smile faltered just a fraction, though the mischief in his eyes remained.

"You definitely did." I pressed, crossing my arms in defiance.

"Absolutely not," He replied, chuckling softly.

Yet there was a spark of mischief that lingered in his gaze as his fingers intertwined with mine, sending an unexpected jolt through me. I forced myself to ignore the flutter in my stomach, determined to stand my ground.

"Don't even think about pulling that stunt again," I warned, trying to keep my tone stern. "Or I might just have to punch you in the gut."