Crossover Fan Fiction ❯ Dark Sarcasm ❯ It Takes All Kinds ( Chapter 3 )

Soubu is an academic feeder school. Most of its graduates go on to college because it prepares them for entrance exams, even though it remains traditional to spend the final year studying and taking those exams. Each college has its own exams though often the study material overlaps. Students interested in attending a particular college must take its exams and be approved entrance. Some of those universities also require recommendations and interviews with prospective students. Many high schools are the same, and entering Soubu required passing its strict exams. If they had interviewed me I probably wouldn’t have been allowed in. My Dark Sarcasm can put people off. Who needs Dark Flame when the right word at the right time can be just as brutal a wound?

The trouble with being a feeder school that’s inclined towards college entrance is the girls at Soubu want to go to college, not be housewives. So dating them is guaranteed to be short term. If you’re like Hayama Hayato, this is fine, because he’s a manslut that screws all the girls. I am reasonably sure he’s done Miura, who keeps pining for his Alpha Male attention. His beta followers hang around to try and sample his leavings second-hand, girls who think they can get Hayama’s attention through jealousy. Their Bro Code means that never works, but girls keep trying. Others are darker, wanting to get the issue out of the way and end up unimpressed and confirm their indifference to sex, marriage, motherhood, the rest. They want careers, and are going to college to get them. So the girls at Soubu are not there for real boyfriends. They have career plans. It makes for a cold environment for any male who hasn’t sipped from the fountain, and the anger towards Hayama by most of the boys in the school is pretty much constant, even if it’s just jealousy.

According to the blogs I’ve read from students, college will be worse. All the women in college are there for careers, and other than one night stands, men aren’t going to appeal to them much. They have career plans and every man who isn’t paying her the wage she wants deserves to be trampled down and out of the way of her ambitions.

Worse, any man who graduates from college is prime meat for women who want to be housewives to wealthy men. Many with good jobs end up as an ATM for the wife’s housekeeping needs, spending plans, and child rearing. He gets a small stipend for himself after she takes all his wages, an allowance that barely covers bar bills and hostesses who act like his wife did before marriage revealed her true darkness. Since the divorce rate in Japan is high and women get the house and all his money, a man who is married is trapped like a slave. This is just how things are in Japan. And I know this because I have eyes and I can read.

The jealous lonely boys all around me in my high school experience are the lucky ones, even if they will never believe this. This is why I believe all men should be good cooks, because few of us will get a happy or long marriage, and it is best to learn this early and accept the reality of life. But try and tell someone that happy girls are fiction, and you’ll probably be hit by Truk-kun in a crosswalk or pushed in front of an express train and sent to experience World War One as a small girl. These do not sound like good times, to me. And the disappointed rage of the average high school boy at Soubu is noteworthy. And now I was seeing their jealousy. If only they knew what girls were actually like. Sugar and spice? Hardly. More like poison and indifference.

I mention this specifically because once Yuigahama had presented me her carefully non-burned heart shaped homemade cookie, and been formally thanked for her effort… that was it. No more cutesy. She was back to studying and pretending to play nice with Miura, and interrupting Yukino’s cultural improvement efforts. Still trying to catch up to me, actually. I’d made first in Modern Japanese, and second in Japanese literature and history each. I’d been catching up on my reading in club, so I ended up testing higher. The arrival to club today, however, was marred by my female clubmates whispering outside the door, looking in through the window.

“What is wrong?” I asked. They jumped. Whether this is because they were surprised or thought it looked cute and distracting, I do not know.

“Hikki!” complained Yui. Yukino glared at me. Like this was my fault. She stepped aside, gesturing. I looked in. Ah. It is Zaimokusa Yoshiteru, from PE. The only friend I still have from Middle School, and the only student who came over here from my class, that I know of. Actually, there are probably some girls, but who makes friends with girls? I stormed in and interrogated him. He did some wild gestures, spoke in a ridiculous accent, and refused to talk to Yukino, which pretty much just made her angry.

“You are familiar with this… thing?” she asked me. I sighed.

“He’s got Chuunibyo,” I explained. “It could be worse. He at least is using historical references,” I pointed it out.

“How much worse could it get?” she asked in curiosity.

“Ever seen Bleach manga?” I asked her. “Remember when millions of fans rage quit? It could be like that.” She shuddered, remembering that damned double white page with the kanji for “heart” in the middle instead of the attack scene that had been building up for three issues.

“So we’re in good fortune then. He can be reasoned with, provided you’re talking to him. Do you think I scare him?” she asked, looking interested. I eyed her. I didn’t realize she was a sadist, but the signs were clear now. My goodness! She stalked towards her prey, now that she understood the situation. Poked his protruding belly.

“You seem to have a healthy appetite. Good… I like that in a man,” she teased out. Like a prey animal, Yoshiteru froze stiff in terror, uncertain if he was soon to be devoured. I watched this scene develop as she circled him, appraising his features. There was no lying, he was fat and out of shape and his personal style was a trenchcoat in summer and fingerless gloves. Yukino, for some reason, seemed to like this. I looked at Yuigahama, who was using her phone to shoot video of this meeting so I kept the comments to myself rather than spoil this terrifying moment where a skinny princess awakened into a man eater.

“Kneel before your mistress, and pick up this mess. Your art intrigues me. Tell me about your inspiration,” she demanded. He knelt, picking up the pages of his novel which had been blowing around the classroom thanks to the windows he’d previously opened for maximum dramatic effect. This is not something I would do. I liked the windows opened for the breeze. I have the sense to write on a computer, and use file attachments, not physical printouts. Shared documents and annotation marks are the way to go for editing with group assistance, but this isn’t how he’d done things. No, he’d printed out on paper and now he was staring hungrily up into Absolute Territory while Yukino leared down, letting him glimpse a place nobody else had seen before. Probably. Probably. She did hate Hayato’s guts, but so did most of the school that hadn’t been railed by him or wasn’t trying to get railed by him. I think he probably had frequent renter cards for the local love hotels, and alleyways probably had murals dedicated to his physical endurance and body count, as the girls liked to call it. Someday they’d do a DNA test and find out some small percentage of Chiba City were his kids, and his child support payments would prove astounding, but that was in the future.

For now I decided to back out of the room very slowly and leave Yukino and my PE friend become more physical in their acquaintance. I am not willing to witness that level of personal stuff between new lovers, thanks. Maybe she’d be a better mood after this? I can only hope.