The first thing I felt was a sensation as cold as metallic ice.
"—Ah...!"
A single gasp escaped from her. Though it was little more than a breath, that one sound of shock was exactly what I needed to propel myself into the next action.
A scalding heat surged through me.
A second heavy impact drowned out the groan that spilled from my lips. The repeated clattering sounds were as unpleasant as ever, easily wiping away even the sense of accomplishment that had been trying to take root in my mind.
In a twist of irony, the cloth shears she had brought in were returned to the Young Lady. Their tips were now stained the very color she must have envisioned from the start.
"...Hah... Gh...!"
For a moment, I heard the sound of fine bubbles fizzing. Droplets began to pitter-patter onto the dry floor, which looked ready to soak up any amount of moisture in silence. To prevent any further mess, I used my free right hand to tightly grip my left wrist, stabilizing the arm as it hung heavy with gravity.
I held my breath and endured for several seconds. Once the initial, white-hot agony settled into a persistent, dull throb, I finally found the breath to speak. I swallowed the saliva pooling in my mouth.
"...Damn... that hurts way more than I expected...!"
It was an intense stimulus from the inside that I had never experienced before. I couldn't deny that I had underestimated it, foolishly thinking I could shrug it off if I just put my mind to it. But I couldn't let my actions from a few seconds ago go to waste—not if I had any pride left.
"...Hey, Young Lady?"
"Hiih...?!"
You don’t want to end up like this, right?
As I appealed to her with my eyes, the utility knife slipped from the Young Lady’s fingers. The blade, extended to its limit, snapped upon hitting the floor and skittered into a corner of the Student Council Room. Her face went deathly pale as the blood drained from it, and she collapsed where she stood, her back against the door. For me, that was a victory.
"...Ugh...!"
Strangely, neither anger nor sadness welled up. Deep beneath the surface-level thoughts screaming about the pain, a part of me remained detached and utterly appalled.
Seriously... what the hell am I doing?
I was creeping myself out.
Even if it was to stop her from doing something rash, punching a hole in my own hand was insane. Which one of us was the one acting out of desperation? There had to have been a better way.
As regret started to set in, my brain finally began to function again. Looking at my hand, I saw my precious iron supply still dripping steadily, though the flow was slowing. I had to do something about this. If I recalled correctly... I was supposed to keep the wound higher than my heart.
With a trembling hand, I grabbed a wad of tissues from a nearby shelf and pressed them against my left hand, wrapping them from the palm to the back. I didn't have the courage to check if the shears had gone all the way through. I layered more and more tissues over the blooming red stains. It hurt. It wouldn't stop hurting.
"A-Ahh..."
As I suppressed the urge to scream, a ragged, panting voice reached my ears as if to cry out in my stead.
"Aaahhh..."
"..."
Apparently, having someone nearby who was more panicked than I was helped me stay surprisingly calm despite the injury. Either that, or the adrenaline high was miraculously balancing out the pain.
"...Ngh..."
The Young Lady stared at my left hand with a look of pure agony, her brow furrowed as tears began to dampen her cheeks. What she had intended to do, and how she felt about it now—I could only guess.
But if that expression was born from kindness, then the dark emotions she had poured into those cloth shears must have been truly immense for someone like her to be driven to such lengths.
"—It wasn't a lie, you know..."
"Eh...?"
"The Fashion Show... I would’ve voted for you even if I hadn't been asked to. You were easily the coolest person there..."
"...Ngh..."
I didn't intend to comfort her, but I couldn't leave that misunderstanding unaddressed. It was her choice to wallow in her persecution complex, but I didn't like her deciding what my thoughts were. More importantly, if saying this would stop her from trying something like this again, it was worth it.
I'd hardly ever interacted with her, and I had no idea what kind of effort or schemes went on behind the scenes, but looking at her now in her ordinary school uniform, it was clear she had achieved a level of perfection that didn't happen by accident. I wasn't an expert on makeup or fashion, but you don't reach that level of quality on your first try. There must have been a mountain of trial and error behind it.
"...But, saying I was envious because everything suits you... maybe that was a bit off," I managed to say.
"Eh...?"
"I mean, I'm sure things do suit you, but..."
Every time I breathed through the pain, my voice grew sharper. I had tried to offer gentle words, but my own irritation was winning out over kindness.
She could do it because she was rich. She could do it because she was beautiful. She could pull it off because of her grand title. She had confidence. She stood tall. And that was exactly why she was so easily crushed by misfortune. Why her hatred exploded. Why her reason vanished. Why she tried to throw her life away so easily. Whether I had the right to say that was one thing, but...
The reason I couldn't empathize was that we lived in different worlds. I knew such a thing was possible. It was because I had accepted that reality that I was who I was now. That was exactly why...
"—You don’t need to make even tears look good on you."
"Ah..."
Sympathy wasn't an option for me. I couldn't help but let a spiteful remark slip. I tried to give her a grin at the same time, but I doubted it looked very natural. Beneath the surface, I could feel the blood rushing to my head.
It was irritating how much she looked like a tragic heroine. I hated that even her crying face suited her. Here I was, doing my best just to find a decent angle for a photo, and yet she had a face that looked beautiful even when it was falling apart.
"If you don't like me saying that, then stop crying."
"...Ngh..."
It was infuriating, as if I had nothing at all. She had the luck of her birth and her looks; she had charmed hundreds of people just hours ago, yet she was acting as if she had lost her family, her friends, her home, and every cent to her name.
"If you’re frustrated, then stand up."
Why had she come here with a weapon in the first place? Wasn't it because she had a pride she refused to yield to anyone? If that was the case, I wanted her to show enough spirit to get angry at being told her pathetic state "suited" her. She was a haughty young lady, after all.
"—If you can't manage that, I'll lend you a hand... I guess?"
"...Ngh...!"
I put as much pressure as I could into my gaze as she looked up at me, silently ordering her to stand. The pain had caused some of my own restraints to snap. For someone with a mangled hand to offer help was beyond ironic—it was an insult. Even I knew I had a nasty personality.
At times like this, having the same coarse blood as Nee-chan came in handy. In a head filled with too much logic, simple "guts" settled in well. This overbearing hot-bloodedness created a selfish sense of exhilaration that helped mask the throb in my left hand.
The tissues weren't enough; blood was running down my arm and into my sleeve, making the fabric stick to my skin. Even if the pain eased, I was hit with that disgusting sensation of being drenched in sweat while wearing a uniform. If she stayed slumped in front of the door, this hell would never end. This was bad... I really needed to get moving.
"Uuu... hic...!"
"Eh..."
Just as I started to feel a sense of urgency, the Young Lady reached out a trembling hand with a suppressed sob. It was such a departure from the ending I'd expected that I let out a flat, surprised sound. For a fleeting moment, I almost forgot the pain.
Wait... I did say I'd help her up, but do you seriously let someone with a hole in their hand pull you up? For real? Our worlds really are different, aren't they? Fine, I'll help you up, but still...
"Guh...!"
I firmly gripped her small, slender hand with my right hand and pulled her up using almost entirely my own strength. I felt a flash of genuine irritation—bordering on murderous—at the fact that she didn't help at all. My left hand throbbed even harder because of the effort. My mood was peak Vegeta.
Once she was on her feet, the Young Lady finally managed to keep her balance on her own.
"Hey..."
"...!"
"Wait, hold on..."
Even though she was standing, she wouldn't let go of my right hand. I couldn't use my left to pry her off, and then she leaned her entire weight against me. She released my hand only to cling to my chest with both of hers, leaning in the opposite direction of where I needed to go. I couldn't hide my agitation at this sudden clinginess. This girl was way too much to handle...!
"...Will you let me go to the Health Room now?"
My voice came out deeper than it ever had in my life.
The walk to the Health Room felt like it took an eternity. My left hand, held up in front of my chest, felt hot and agonizing. I caught a glimpse of a senior I didn't know staring at us with wide eyes as we passed. Perhaps because I was so focused on the idea that I’d be saved once I arrived, I didn't even think to ask anyone else for help. I was terrified that the commotion of being noticed would only make the pain worse.
"Guh..."
The sliding door was perfectly maintained. Normally, I could have opened it with a pinky finger, but now it felt like I was prying open a massive iron gate. Compared to the red mess of my left hand, the beads of cold sweat dripping from my chin felt bizarrely healthy.
"E-Excuse me...!"
I called out with all the strength I had left. A carefree voice drifted back from the inner room with a casual "Yes?" It definitely wasn't the voice of the middle-aged school nurse. A female student peeked out from behind the curtain of the bed area, her footsteps light on the floor.
"—Who is it?"
"..."
The person who appeared was a girl who looked like an older, gal-type student wearing the mask of a "Pure-type" girl—and she looked like she was definitely skipping class. She was clearly an upperclassman. She had long, wavy black hair, a short skirt, and colorful scrunchies on her wrist. She didn't look like she was here for medical reasons. Though her style was different, her vibe—like a student who hadn't quite outgrown her gal phase—reminded me of Nee-chan.
"Oh, it's a boy."
Don't "it's a boy" me. Can you not see the blood-soaked hand?
The moment she spotted me, the perennial gal's face went blank. I considered demanding she show some respect, but I was in no position to be picky. The color of her loosely tied necktie was green. Just as I thought, she was a third-year like Nee-chan. I couldn't afford to get on the bad side of a troublesome senior right now.
"U-Um... is the teacher here...? Ms. Shindo, the school nurse..."
"Reiko-chan? She’s out right now."
"Ugh..."
...It was over.
Something inside me finally snapped. I sank onto the sofa near the door. I didn't even have the strength to keep my hand elevated anymore, so I rested it gently on my lap. I could feel the heat rushing down toward my lowered hand.
Ms. Shindo... so her name was Reiko...