22 - Hikigaya Hachiman Was Born With Wings
"Juraku Sachiko... it's her..." Hikigaya Hachiman murmured, his expression distant and unfocused.
Jabami Yumeko noticed something was off and asked with concern, "Hikigaya-kun, are you alright? Are you feeling unwell?"
"No, I just ran into an old acquaintance." Hikigaya waved his hand and his gaze sharpened. "Continue."
"Alright…" Sumeragi Itsuki stiffly swallowed and avoided Hikigaya's gaze.
That look in his eyes again—he was serious now. Sumeragi still vividly remembered her crushing defeat that day. It was when Hikigaya Hachiman had shown that very same look that he toyed with her as though she were in the palm of his hand, dragging her into a pit she couldn't escape.
"Miss Juraku is, aside from the vice president, the most mysterious member of the student council. She's a third-year and is graduating this year. But even among second- and third-years, very few have ever seen her in action. Even those who have don't dare to speak about it."
"Oh? Why's that?" Hikigaya asked, intrigued.
Sumeragi's expression turned fearful. "Because Miss Juraku… she likes treating people like dogs. Real dogs."
Afraid that Hikigaya wouldn't understand, Sumeragi mimicked the posture of a begging puppy, wagging its tail submissively.
"Girls become her private pets, collars strapped around their necks. They turn into her personal playthings, even being ordered to lick her shoes in public, completely losing themselves. They spend their high school lives dazed and broken as her 'female dogs,' only able to regain their freedom after graduation."
"As for boys... she forcibly appraises them, and according to the content of the Life Plan Document, sells off their lives outright. There's no coming back from it."
"She's every bit as dangerous as the student council president. According to upperclassmen, she once had the chance to become the president herself, but for some reason, turned it down."
"In short, she's an extremely dangerous individual."
Juraku Sachiko...
After hearing Sumeragi's explanation, Hikigaya fell into deep reminiscence. When was it again? Third grade? Fourth?
.
.
.
Back then, Hikigaya, even with those inexplicable memories in his head, was still someone who thought, "If no one else gets hurt, that's good enough." He was gentle to a fault.
He didn't know how to fight back. Didn't dare to take.
Looking back now with the eyes he had today—he was nothing but a fool who only knew how to be kind.
Just to fit in with the boys, he had been overjoyed when someone casually said, "We're friends, right?" and then willingly cleaned the entire classroom for them.
Because he wasn't liked, the teacher called him: "That Hikigaya boy everyone hates."
He attended a classmate's birthday party, bringing an expensive gift bought with his New Year's money… and didn't even get a single piece of cake.
During cooking class, he had curry soup poured all over him by the class bully. From then on, classmates nicknamed him: "Curry-flavored Hikigaya."
.
.
.
It was a sunny afternoon during an art class.
Influenced by those memories, Hikigaya had developed remarkable talent not just in writing but also in art—transferring knowledge across fields effortlessly.
That day, he was painting the scenery outside the window.
Young Hikigaya used vibrant colors and a child's perspective to turn a very ordinary view into a picture full of vivid, magical hues.
"Like the candy Komachi gives me," he said with a smile.
But then, shadows fell over his canvas.
"Really?"
"Looks like it. I mean, look at this—it doesn't even look like paint!" another voice added with a laugh.
The leader of the group roughly shoved Hikigaya aside, grabbed his brush, and smeared paint across the artwork.
Then, holding the paintbrush, they stepped in front of Hikigaya.
Towering over him, they spoke in a tone utterly devoid of warmth:
"Come on, lick it. If it's candy, it must taste sweet, right?"
"Who knows? Might even taste like curry," one of the girls accompanying them sneered, covering her mouth with a mocking laugh, her eyes filled with a chilling cruelty that made one feel utter despair.
Mockery and fear surged toward Hikigaya like a raging black sea, crashing down upon him.
Endless terror engulfed him, and as always, he could only curl up in the corner of the classroom, hugging his knees tightly.
"Rather than resist, it's better to be obedient. That way, they won't bully me as badly." That's what Hikigaya believed back then. After all, even if he fought back, the teacher would just say, "That unpopular Hikigaya kid," and nothing more.
What followed was an even more unbearable wave of bullying.
Just endure it, he told himself. As long as I don't resist, they'll get bored eventually and let me go.
"I know, I know… I swear I'll become strong. I swear I won't be bullied again…"
"But… they get along with all the other classmates. Not a single person ever spoke up for me."
"If those few people represent justice, then I'll become the enemy of the world. Who's wrong here? Is it… me?"
Hikigaya spiraled into an endless loop of self-doubt and a desire to become strong.
At that time, he buried his head deeply into the crook of his arm, letting those few students scribble on him freely with paintbrushes.
He had no hope in anyone. What did love feel like in his memories? What shape did friendship take? These questions haunted him daily, like a scorching sun high in the sky—so bright and painful that one couldn't look directly at it.
The once colorful candies had become shattered, dim, and dull—just like the paint that had been used up and discarded.
Outside, the rain poured heavily.
They finally left.
Hikigaya numbly dragged his heavy body toward his locker. Lying on the floor was his umbrella, trampled by that group. It was a special gift from his mother, bought so he could enjoy rainy days—decorated with characters from his favorite anime, ones he fantasized about becoming, like a chuunibyo hero.
Now, it was full of holes, pierced several times. Someone had scrawled across it with paint: "This suits you better."
Hikigaya picked up the umbrella in a daze, stepped outside into the rain, letting the downpour soak him entirely. He walked toward the garbage shed, intending to throw the umbrella away.
"When I get home, I'll just tell Mom it fell in the water and got washed away."
"Then I'll smile and tell my family nothing happened. Everything was fine."
That was his plan.
But it was at that moment—the gears of fate began to turn.
A sixth-grader: Juraku Sachiko.
Long legs wrapped in white stockings, stepping through puddles in low-cut leather boots, sending ripples splashing. She held a transparent umbrella. In her red eyes shimmered a maturity far beyond her age.
Hikigaya couldn't remember exactly what they said to each other that day.
But he would never forget the poem Sachiko gave him:
________________________________________
"You were born with potential.
You were born with goodness and trust.
You were born with ideals and dreams.
You were born with greatness.
You were born with wings.
You are not meant for crawling, so don't.
You have wings.
Learn to use them and fly."
From that day on, Hikigaya swore to win.
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