The BadBoy Type | OHSHC •Writer's Block•

Prologue

BOLD+UNDERLINED TEXT: FRENCH
ITALIC+UNDERLINED TEXT: ENGLISH
NORMAL TEXT: JAPANESE

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"And the winner is KIN!"

The crowd goes wild, throwing money on the stage.

Tch. They waste money so much. Somebody seriously needs to show them how important money is, and it's better to preserve it.

Leaving the stage, I have to walk through the crowd and that means a billion squealing fan girls.

I laugh inwardly. They have no idea, how ridiculous they look, thinking that I'm a boy. Well, I have to be. Mother and I live alone. There's no male in the house. Not anymore. So, to protect her, I have to be a boy 25/8. I'm not complaining, though. If it means that mother is safe, then I'm content.

Besides, grandmother is the one at fault. If it weren't for her, I would've had my father and brother, and we would've been living a content and happy life.

Just thinking about her, makes me set on edge.

"OH MY GOD. HE TOUCHED ME! JUST THERE!"

"HE DID!? Oh, I'm so jealous!"

"Kin! Over here!"

"CAN I FUCK YOU!? MY LEGS ARE READY, AND SPREAD WIDE APART!!"

The last one throws me into a serious coughing fit. Cringing and scrunching my nose in disgust, as hands try to touch me, I walk through the door, entering backstage, only for fighters.

Yes, I'm a girl, known as a boy, and a legal, underground fighter. My stage name is Kin. My real name is a taboo. No one is allowed to call me that. It's Izumi Suoh.

Sighing, I unwrap the bandages on my hands. I also unwrap the bandages wrapped around my torso, which flattens my chest. People think it's just so I don't lose a lot of blood, if I land myself with a hit. Today, however, I most likely have gotten myself a bruise.

My suspicions are marked correct, once I see the huge, blue-purple patch, on the right side of my middle torso. I groan. This is not only going to be a pain in the ass to heal, but also, will be an advantage to my opponents in future matches, until it's completely healed.

7:23 flashes on the digital clock, fixed on the wall. I better get going. It's late, and all sorts of people are out in the night. Mother's home alone. I can't let anything happen to her. I won't let anything happen to her.

With these thoughts, I hastily pull on a black hoodie. Pulling the hood up, I take my gym bag, and leave the locker room, using the back exit, only for fighters.

My home, is a good twenty minute walk away, thirty if traffic. I groan, as I see I made a red stop. I press the pedestrian button, waiting impatiently for the car's traffic lights to stop.
Soon, I'm running faster than Flash, crossing the road. 

Twenty minutes later, I'm standing in front of my house. If you could call it one. It was run down and ancient, and I'm not exaggerating when I say ancient. It was like a shoe box; box like structure. It had only one floor; a door in the middle, on the front with two wooden, historical windows, that had those ventilator like shutters, on the left and right if The door. The left window's shutters had been broken, and was nailed closed. These windows were the only one in the 'house', and with one gone, the humidity inside was like stepping into a box with moist walls that hadn't been dried from the rain two months ago, with absolutely dry, warm air inside. The house itself was painted in cardboard brown paint. The paint had to be at least fifteen years old. But at least I have a roof over my head.