They say heroes always arrive at the last second.
They never tell you what happens after that.
Spoiler: Sometimes the hero is the one who gets arrested.
---
It was supposed to be just another meaningless day.
Class ended with the usual dull chime. My classmates swarmed out like rats off a sinking ship, but unlike rats, they carried expensive backpacks and hatred for things they didn't understand.
The sun didn't shine. The clouds were doing their dramatic grayscale cosplay again, and the wind blew like it had somewhere better to be.
I walked the long way home—behind the old gym. It was quieter there. No students. No judgemental eyes. Just silence. That silence was the closest thing to peace in my life.
Then I heard it.
> "Let me go—please! Stop!"
A girl's voice. Sharp. Scared. Not the kind of scream you hear when someone drops their phone. This was the type of scream that twists your stomach.
I peeked around the corner, mostly out of instinct. I tell myself I don't care, that I'm not that kind of person who gets involved, but... you'd be surprised how fast your body betrays you.
Two guys—upperclassmen. One was holding her arms. The other was trying to rip open her blouse.
My legs moved.
Even now, I wish they hadn't.
---
> "Hey!"
It sounded more like a hiccup than a threat. Predictably pathetic.
They turned. One of them, the spiky-haired one with his sleeves rolled like he thought he was a delinquent from some low-budget drama, sneered.
> "The hell is this? Stay out of it, pig."
There it was. The label.
Like a name tag, only with more venom.
Still, I rushed forward.
And let me tell you something about guys like me—fat, slow, useless in most situations. But when we decide to move, we move like a landslide.
I body-checked the guy holding her. We both crashed into a pile of old trash bins behind the gym. His elbow slammed into my chin. My vision went blurry.
He swung.
I ducked and bit his forearm. He screamed. The scream of someone who's never known desperation.
By the time the second guy pulled me off, Minako Airi had already stumbled to her feet, covering her chest with shaking arms. Her eyes were wide. Shocked. She looked at me like… like I was the monster.
---
> "What's going on here?!"
Of course.
That's when teachers arrive.
Like they're on some celestial delay timer. Always one beat too late.
You know what happens next, right?
The girl tearfully points at me. "He saved me!"
The bad guys panic. Teachers yell. Justice triumphs.
Yeah. That never happened.
---
> "This freak was trying to rape her! We caught him and beat his ass before he could!"
That was the story the upperclassman told. And he said it with confidence. Like he'd rehearsed it. Maybe he had. Guys like that don't panic—they adapt.
I opened my mouth to speak, but all that came out was air. The kind of air that suffocates you more than it saves you.
All eyes turned to Minako.
The teacher asked, "Is that true?"
She hesitated. Her lips trembled. She looked at me. Then at the crowd that had started forming behind the teacher. The boys from her class. The girls who'd whisper behind their hands. Her perfect reputation.
> "I… I don't know. I think so…"
My world cracked.
---
What followed wasn't justice. It was theatre.
Someone threw a rock. It hit my shoulder. Another punch. A kick to the ribs.
> "Disgusting freak!"
> "Die, pervert!"
> "Why would she ever look at you!?"
They beat me like I was a disease they could cure through violence.
The teacher barely pulled them off.
By the time the principal arrived, I was lying in the dirt, face scraped, mouth bloodied, the world spinning like some cheap horror film shot on a drunk man's phone.
No one said thank you.
No one even asked me what happened.
I was already guilty. Because monsters don't get trials.
---
They didn't expel me, not yet. But the look on the principal's face told me it was just a matter of time.
> "You need help, Yuuya," he said like he was doing me a favor.
Yeah. Help dying faster would be appreciated.
---
The walk home was quiet. That kind of quiet that makes your heartbeat sound like a war drum in your ears.
Every step reminded me of where I belonged: nowhere.
When I got home, my father was waiting. He didn't even look up from his newspaper.
> "Got into trouble again?"
No "Are you okay?"
No "What happened?"
Just that same disappointed sigh he's had since I was born.
> "I'm done with you, Yuuya. Maybe this time they'll lock you up."
He closed the door behind him.
Like I was already gone.
My mother? She was doing dishes. She didn't even turn around. Not even a glance.
Not even the silent kind that hurts more than words.
---
I went to my room. Sat on my bed. Looked up.
Ceilings are honest.
They don't pretend.
They don't judge.
They just stare back, empty.
---
When I was eight, I tried to draw a comic.
The main character was a fat kid who turned into a hero after finding a magic sword.
I showed it to my dad. He tore it in half and said, "There are no heroes who look like you."
I laughed.
He didn't.
---
Now I lay in bed, hearing his voice echo in my head.
I guess he was right.
No one wants a hero like me.
---
My name is Yuuya.
I'm fifteen.
And today, I saved a girl's life.
And they still want me dead.
---
The worst part?
Part of me agrees with them.
> To be continued...