Crossover Fan Fiction ❯ To Be The Villain ❯ Coffee Is Power ( Chapter 3 )

THREE: Coffee is Power

Bzzt. Bzzt. My phone vibrates me awake. Its normal time to get up anyway, so I see its Haruno and answer it.

“Come to the Master Donut shop downtown. I want to talk to you,” Haruno orders. She’s imperious like that. I wish I didn’t respond to her when she’s like this, but I still want into her panties. Even now. You never forget your first sexual crush.

“Fine. Twenty minutes. I have school this morning,” I warned her. I rushed to put on clothes, grab my bag and make sure the homework was in there, then headed out with my wallet and bus pass. It was 19 minutes when I arrived at Master Donut, nodding to Haruno and ordered a black coffee, the day’s fresh roast, and a maple twist. I made sure to get a napkin for this. They were messy. Normally you’d get chocolate, but I’m feeling ambitious, so went with maple. This place uses real maple syrup in the icing. I sat down beside my worst girlfriend ever and smiled to her, meaning it.

“Haruno dear! How are you this morning!” I announced loudly. I sipped my coffee to enjoy her glare at me. May as well give it back.

“You’ve really done it this time,” she huffed.

“Is Yukino-chan feeling special?” I asked her, getting a big bite of donut. Yes, the maple was excellent. I sipped coffee, getting perked up by the caffeine and sugar. Wow. This hits FAST. I feel 100% more awake now.

“Special? Is that your idea of a joke?” she snarled. “She’s met a boy, someone you forbade her from pursuing, so she’s pursuing him as hard as she can to spite you.”

“If she hasn’t grown a pair of C-cups since lunchtime I think she’s probably falling behind in this race,” I taunted, looking down at Haruno’s D’s pointedly. She huffed in annoyance.

“What’s gotten into you?” she complained.

“You’d never believe me. I was asleep when you called. I’m having my first donut in two weeks, and strong coffee without contaminants to ruin its perfection. And this maple donut is made with real maple syrup. Taste it!” I insisted, shoving the end into her open mouth. She froze, then bit down. I returned the end to my own mouth and continued to eat it like I cared about saliva. She stared at me, chewing, face considering making a big deal of the childish virtues of students, then visibly moved on.

“Fine. Don’t tell me. I’ll tell you that she’s fit to be tied, and she called me to yell at me about you and that boy you know,” Haruno complained.

“I only sorta know him. I actually know Yui, who likes the boy, and I warned Yukino not to get in the way of their romance. Actually, you know him too. He was the one you hit with the limo?” I reminded her.

“Oh.” Her expression soured with thought. She sipped her coffee and opened her mouth to indicate wanting another bit of my donut. I bit about half of it and then shoved the rest in her mouth to get it over with. She licked the ends of my fingers, as expected. Haruno is a sexual being, if she can get away with it. This was one of those times. She wore disguises in public at times like this. The soft purple knit hat covered her identity well, and the oversized sunglasses covered the rest. She could be a housewife, an office lady, or a seiyu hiding from her manager. It doesn’t matter because we were just a couple sharing a conversation and a donut. I finished eating and wiped the sugar off my hand, finished my coffee and pointedly waited for her to say something more. She didn’t.

“Fine. It was nice to feed you, Haruno. Keep in touch. Yukino will certainly be entertaining for the next couple years.”

“See you, Hayato,” she murmured, staring off into space with thought. Her little sister had found a boy to chase, and she wasn’t first in line. I laughed to myself, walking the rest of the way to school. It wasn’t far. I was early, very early, but the doors were unlocked and I dropped off my bag at the classroom, then wandered the hallways, dropping into the school cafeteria, where a few breakfast items were present. My donut would get me to lunch. I returned to the classroom and broke out that history book to read ahead. Lots of stuff about warlords, Buddhist monk armies, and how the two were tied together. How an entire clan drowned after losing a series of battles that culminated with inferior Japanese ship designs at sea, the emperor and his mother drowning together rather than be captured. Someday there would be a full anime about this history and it would be glorious. They had it coming. Foul people.

For all Haruno’s unflattering character traits, I still found her energy, her banter and whimsy, highly attractive. As much as her rack. She would make a terrible wife, of course, and any man who accepted her would be beaten into submission. She wouldn’t find him fun anymore, thus cheating would result and her kids would be anyone but his own. Sane men knew not to approach her. Men who spoke to her quickly realized just how mad she was. Yukino praised Hachiman for seeing through Haruno’s mask of nonsense, but any adult man or woman could do that in an instant. She wasn’t hiding very hard. She was too rich to be a hobo screaming under a bridge, but that’s the kind she could be under worse circumstances. Is it wrong to stare at her rack and taunt her? Hell no. She wants that kind of attention. She feeds off that energy. Haruno is that kind of woman. Loud and damaged.

The clock relentlessly moved towards the hour and students arrived, including Kawasaki, on time for once. She stared at me, so I smiled back, waiting to see if she’d say anything or not. Is it wrong to be amused by a lovely woman tongue tied and confused by a random act of generosity they can’t possibly repay? I am the villain of this story. One of them. There’s that hands-flippy guy, and the dimwit bimbo Sagami who sits a few rows to my right. Yet another narcissist who reveals a poor work ethic to the entire school, and would probably walk into traffic out of shame a year from now. She was exactly the sort of nothing-girl Japan didn’t need, and she knew it. She wasn’t even fit to be a mother, because that is hard work, and she’s weak in every sense of the word.

“Thank you for the help,” Saki finally said.

“You’re welcome, Kawasaki. I hope it helps,” I offered, Miura entering then. Saki noted me staring at the doorway and Miura’s glare, turned to regard her. They humphed to themselves, and went to their seats. Miura would be in a bad mood until she was distracted by something else.

This happened to be Ebina opening her mouth to spout gay porn fantasies and an eruption of her bright red blood. One of these days I’m going to bring a UV flashlight to class and see if I can clean up the blood spray on my desk. Her fear and fascination with the male organ will probably turn her into either a cam-whore or one of those girls who films herself crouched in a bathroom stall gloryhole at some shady nightclub. I don’t know how long she’ll live. As long as Miura keeps defending her, she’ll keep acting out rather than face and get over her fear of half the species. I suspect that if Tobe did actually screw Hina Ebina, she would cry rape and he’d end up in jail, which he doesn’t deserve, even if it’s for a short time with the typical Japanese disregard for women’s sexual rights and the Judge likely recognizing Hina needs foreign medical treatment, something Japan pretends doesn’t exist. Japan is one of the weirdest countries on Earth, because it thinks that mental illness is a personal problem so has no facilities or funding for treatment, leaving the madmen to wander the streets, kill themselves, or commit serial murders until captured or killed. Serial rapist in town? Not a serious problem according to Japanese authorities. Give him a little fine and a couple years in Jail for aggravated sexual assault, no matter how traumatizing it is for the girl in question. Or how young the victim. They just don’t care. They take bribes to cover things up, and the police never prosecute judges. And utterly corrupt system of sexual exploitation. And don’t even get me started on compensated dating of schoolgirls who were prior victims of sexual assaults. Just don’t. Fuckin Japan, man.

Hina is crazy, and she’s made no effort to get better. Maybe a book recommendation? Something anonymous? And something for Tobe, about detecting red-flag girls, and how bad things can get if you fall for their traps? I could explain about Haruno to him, privately. That would probably do it. He’s not as dumb as he pretends, of course, and even though he and Ooka aren’t really friends, some effort could be made to bring them into friendship sooner than the workplace field trip.

Is this the act of a villain, to smooth the sailing waters by removing debris from our course? All so I could have a pleasant time with friends in High School, with all the drama under control rather than naturally evolving? Probably. Villainy by friendship.

Thinking of this I ran a web search on anonymous fiction writing review forums. Add result to TinyURL page. New tab in browser. I then searched for fiction writing templates. Add to TinyURL page. New search for fiction writing resources. Add to page. Create TinyURL, copy and send to Hachiman via anonymous email address. Subject fiction writing for next Service Club client. A moment later his head rose and he looked around, confused, then peered at his phone. He looked both confused and disgusted. Clicking the link and looking at the non-porn addresses. Confusion on top of confusion. Points for evoking a new expression from the naïve loner in class. Go me!

There’s a certain amount of fun in doing things before they are needed. That poor fat kid would have help and Yui wouldn’t have to pretend to have read a truly terrible book. She looked bemused today. She’d baked cookies, bad ones, and given them to her crush, who didn’t reject them and made excuses about how important it is to have a girl’s attention rather than the quality of her food, which would naturally incense Yukino… and her rage would not be directed at me, for once. She had a new target. Better, Yukino was faced by a genuine female friend who was cute, huggy, had big boobs, and no ulterior motives beyond capturing a Wild Hachiman as a husband. That will be the true kicker. Yukino put into the position of being a thieving cat and betraying a first female friend who wasn’t jealous or mean to her. Fit to be tied, that will be Yukino.

“What are you up to, Hayato?” Miura murmured into my ear, glaring at my smile.

“Solving a few problems before they become drama, my dear,” I answered in English. “Speaking of, are you aware of any kind of self help books for fujioshi so they can recover into normal people?” I asked. “Some drama might arrive there that nobody wants. I’ll try and prevent it from my side, but I’d appreciate if you would work on yours too.” She eyed Hina and Tobe, eyes narrowing. She’d noticed too.

“If we just let it happen, what’s the worst case?” she asked me in English.

“Jail and suicide, probably. Scandal. I can’t have that, and he deserves better. She’s your friend. Make an effort!” I insisted. She frowned, but nodded. At least this rational concern got through her jealousy.

“What’s with you and Saki? You cheating on me already?” she asked. “I thought you don’t really go for gyaru.”

I sighed. Miura is more perceptive than people give her credit for. This doesn’t prevent her being a hormonal mess of rage and jealousy that’s barely contained by her lower rank in society, and her struggle with the gyaru style when her natural maternal tendencies kept surging to the fore. If ever there was a case for early marriage with parental approval, she was it. The thing is, she’s not my type, and our agreement keeps off the unwanted attention. Every time I show interest in a girl, she worries she’s about to lose her shield and descend back into the social climbers mosh-pit of infamy, just another gyaru that once dated a famous guy, me.

“You know my heart is set on that One. You play your part well, and we both keep off the climbers. If you find someone who really suits you, I’ll publically back off so we can satisfy family honor for the both of us,” I reminded. It was our deal.

“Speaking of, did you know that Saika is the school’s tennis ace? He’s looking for a singles practice partner that can help him keep in shape for matches. You’re really good, and would challenge him. Even one day a week would probably be enough to help him,” I pointed out. She tched her tongue at me, looking at the back of the girlish Totsuka Saika, considering.

“Yeah, I could do that. I’ll speak to him later,” she admitted. There, distraction and solution. It is true what they say. When you have one problem, you have a problem. When you have two problems, you have a solution.

Class roll was called and I answered at the usual place, then we began lecture on Modern Japanese. Sensei looked smug, having disrupted Princess Yukino’s tower of solitude with Friendship. If friendship solved anything Japan’s economy wouldn’t be tanking for the entire duration of Abe’s control, and the corruption of the Chiba shipyards wouldn’t be a multi-billion yen a year scam I benefitted from.

Lunch rolled around and I descended to the cafeteria to choose a lunch. Ignore the soups full of salt and sugar, and the bread full of noodles, salt, and sugar, and pick out something with at least protein in it. I chose egg salad sandwich. Biting into it, I noted the sugar and sodium. Sigh. Eat it anyway, and drink lots of water to avoid kidney stones later in life. I picked up a black coffee from a vending machine and let the can heater do its thing for a minute. My handkerchief folded to insulate the can and keep it from burning me is a key still Japanese learn, much like carrying a handkerchief because Japan doesn’t have paper towels in bathrooms to dry your hands. Third world country with first world delusions of grandeur. Lots of money to be made, at least.

Saki is looking at me. I was under the impression she went somewhere to smoke during lunch, probably the roof like some anime protagonist with light blue hair… wait. She does have light blue hair. And so do her siblings. Ugh. I’m so stupid. This really is an anime world. How can I forget this is someone else’s story? I’m such a dumb villain.

I make eyebrows at her and look to the cafeteria exit. I dump trash and mouzy… mozzie? How do I spell that word? Dammit all. I’ve been to Houston. I’ve been to San Diego. I’ve been to Phoenix and Albuquerque.  Why can’t I spell mouz… moas…mouszie… nope. My confidence takes a dive. This is why Hachiman keeps beating me in the Modern Japanese exams. Even though this word is English, which he doesn’t actually speak any more than he thinks he’s clever and subversively honest about the true nature of people. This amateur approach is almost cute. It’s probably what appeals so strongly to Yukino. Saki appears as I’m struggling to look up that word on the internet.

“How do you spell mouzzie?” I ask her. She blinks, not expecting that question.

 “Do you mean mosey?” she asks. “Like from Westerns? It’s m-o-s-e-y.”

“Yes. YES! Thank you. You’ve done me a huge favor. That was going to drive me crazy all afternoon.” I quickly hugged her before she could get away and enjoyed a brief contact with her surprising cleavage. A fast release and moment to compose myself. “Sorry. I was overcome with emotion. Is there something I can do for you?” I asked her as she reddened. It’s this sort of bashful sweetness that men find so entrancing. This is one of the reasons men like younger women. Watching her try to overcome her emotional turmoil was an entertainment in itself.

“Ah.. ah, yes. Umm. Thank you for the information. I… I wanted your help filling out the forms. I’m not very comfortable with such things and I could use the advice,” she asked me.

“Umm. Sure. After practice today, say 4 o’clock? The city library has all the information and a computer lab and various copy machines. Bring coins for copies and print outs.” It was a safe offer, not a home visit or somewhere sketchy that would start rumors and cause her grief. Saki is a nice girl who cares a great deal for the younger siblings she’s helped raise. Much like Miura, without all the emotional problems. So my type. A calmer and kinder Haruno.

“Yes, that would be helpful. Thank you. I’ll meet you there?” she offered.

Practice and showering with a mousey, not mosey, yelp from a spying Iroha filling her spank bank for later use eventually lead to drying, uniform back on, and a bus ride downtown to the library. I found the computer lab and messaged Saki via LINES. She turned up a few minutes later with damp hands and a faint smell of tobacco.

“Great. Let’s get started,” I suggested and we used the search to find the various scholarships and grants for attending cram school. There were a few for Soubu students, in particular, so she applied for them, and I walked her through the process, saving the forms online in an account she created, then printing and pointed to the spots that would need a Hanko stamp to make official.

“So then you just mail them to the various addresses and wait for processing. Some only do this once a year, others are more frequent. This one is handled by a legal team as a bequest, so you’ll probably hear back in a week or two,” I said, pointing at one I recognized. Saki looked very happy and quickly hugged me in girlish excitement. I am not opposed to this, though witnesses from other schools beeped with pictures taken.

“Ah, thank you, Saki. You’re welcome for the help. Scholarships can be life changing. Are you sleeping better now?” I commented, noting the prior bags under her eyes were gone once more, and the tobacco smell wasn’t as strong. I wonder if she’ll quit smoking if the stress is gone from her life?

“Oh, umm, yes. Yes I’m sleeping better. And getting my homework done. And Hiratsuka sensei has stopped badgering me about homework assignments and tardies. I have a few makeup assignments to do, but I have time now. This will help me so much, Hayato,” she bubbled. It was a lovely look on her face. She was a genuine beauty, a nadesico with light blue hair and gyaru style, sort of like Marin Kitagawa… who won’t become known for 8 more years.

“What?” she asked.

“Did you know you’re the third cutest yankee?” I blurted out what I was thinking. She blushed, then turned a different shade of red.

“What do you mean third?” she asked, outraged.

“Eh, well, Echizen is first, from Tanaka-kun Is Always Listless. She even trips on the long skirt, and she’s a proper yankee, not a gyaru. Second would be Hibiki Sakata, from Kumamiko: Girls Meets Bear. If we include Gyaru you’d be sixth, but I’d be including manga for comparison.”

“No woman wants to be told she’s less pretty than another woman.”

“Even fictional women?” I prodded. She laughed.

“Even them. You can make it up to me if you buy me a coffee,” she offered. Master Donut was only two blocks away, towards school. We walked together, enjoying the late afternoon Spring air and blustery wind blowing in from the Pacific, heading for Tokyo.

We drank fresh roasted coffee and laughed together at the absurdities in our classroom, and the ridiculous things we’d heard claimed by the various teachers. It became dusk and lots of traffic circulated in the streets outside. The evening crowd came in for coffees, mostly college students and rich housewives.

“I’ll escort you home,” I offered, calling a taxi with my phone. I don’t often splurge like this, but it was appropriate rather than risk a groping on a city bus. I like this girl, and won’t see her stripped of her innocence by some rotten salaryman.

“Umm. Thank you,” she offered and quickly kissed my cheek before fleeing from the cab.

“Where to, sir?” requested the driver, professional detachment as expected. I gave him my address and was home shortly.

My parents were there and we ate dinner together.

“So, son, anything to tell us about your day?” asked Mother with a smirk.

“Several women seeking my help since before dawn. A few acts of heroism, and solving several problems before they became dramatic disasters,” I explained.

“And the lipstick on your cheek? Do we need to have a talk with Miura’s family?” Father asked.

“Ah… that was Kawasaki, actually. Did her a favor, and probably saved her a lot of trouble later.”

“Must have been some trouble. So who’s this Kawasaki? Anyone we should know?” Mother inquired. This could be awkward. I think her family are fishmongers? Or maybe run a liquor store? I don’t actually know. Not from our class, is the thing.

“I’m not sure. Saki is from my class at Soubu, and needed help with filling out scholarship forms for cram school. I’ll ask about family if it becomes important,” I promised.

“Just so,” Father decided, returning attention to Mother, who put this out of her mind. If it’s not a scandal, it doesn’t matter.