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"Go on, Léa," Maman whispered to me with a small smile.
How did I end up here in the principal's office in the first place? I always tend to tell myself that I'm better than the person who treats me wrong. To remain quiet when people insult me since I read that excess of silence produces awe.
I'm a peaceful person, let's just say that, and I am capable of great violence. But I know my limit. I know that I should be soft, but not weak. And I know I should be strong, but not violent.
But as the boy sitting before me spoke to me as though I'm the worst being to walk on this Earth, I became blinded with rage. Not because of his pathetic words, but because I can't allow myself to be trampled upon. I needed to set an example to everyone of the outcome they'll receive if they were to ever treat me like... like I'm a villain, even though I've never done anything wrong in the first place.
I respect myself far too much to stoop to a level so low to ignore how harsh I'm being treated.
I gazed at the boy I punched, his chestnut hair wild and all over the place, his sapphire blue eyes boring into mine intensely, but not out of anger. I opened my mouth, ready to say sorry. But the boy, however, cut me off.
"Why should she apologize?" he asked, frowning at the principal.
This baffled everyone, for they kept on staring at his cheek that had faded over time to a shade of purple.
"Clearly, Mister Akame, because she had injured you," the principal replied.
"But it was my fault... Not hers," he said, then glanced at me. "I mocked her and said that she can't punch me, because she's a cowardly villain."
Ah. There it is. That word I'm growing to hate. Just what exactly would that dog get out of calling me a villain?
"But she proved me wrong, so she shouldn't apologize," he said, giving me a respectful nod.
I blinked, bewildered by how he owned up to his wrongdoings. People don't usually do that...
"Villain?" his mother murmured with a frown. "Why would you call her that?"
He squinted, probably thinking of the dog. "That girl kept on calling her one..."
As silence took over, while the boy's sister—who, unlike him, had jet black hair and dark brown eyes—turned to him with a glare, I couldn't help but feel my heart lift after how much it had been pressured due to everything that has been happening to me over time.
His mother then turned to Maman and me with a sigh, before humbly bowing. "I'm very sorry. If I had known this, I wouldn't have caused such an uproar."
"Oh, no," Maman uttered, surprised by the sudden turn of events. "I should be the one apologizing. Your son ended up hurt!"
"Well, it was his own fault," the boy's sister said, continuing to glare at him. "He shouldn't have questioned a girl's strength."
