[Volume 2 | Chapter 45: There and Back, Again and Again]

"Gkk—!"

Pain lanced through Acacia's arm again—sharp, deep, precise, a thunderclap of agony that radiated from bicep to fingertips.

"Flinched! Double points for me!" Pierce's voice cut through the haze of hurt, his smile almost as painful as the punch he'd just delivered.

March 21st, 417 E.V.

Acacia bit his lip, tasting copper as he fought to steady his breathing. Heinemann Academy's courtyard stretched around them, bathed in midday sun that seemed to mock his suffering with its cheerful sheen. In this secluded corner, shadowed by old oaks, their "game" continued unobserved by faculty or other students—not that most would intervene if they saw. The sleeve of his uniform had been pushed up, exposing skin already mottled with bruises that told the story of previous "rounds." Blues and purples painted a canvas of cruelty to his pale flesh, some fresh, others fading to sickly yellows and greens. He'd stopped counting the blows after the first dozen.

"T-That's...not fair..." Acacia protested weakly, rubbing the spot where different colored bruises layered upon each other like geological strata. "....You used [Sturm] that time... I felt it."

"Prove it, Irregular."

With a sneer, the word hung in the air like poison, reminding the boy exactly why he endured this daily torture.

Irregulars didn't complain.

Irregulars didn't report bullying.

Irregulars took what they were given and thanked the Convergence—to God—it wasn't worse.

"Your turn, Acacia. Rock, paper, scissors against Todd."

Giovanni Copernicus Narma lounged against a tree trunk, his admittedly handsome features arranged in an expression of benevolent boredom. His uniform—crisp white shirt and navy slacks—stayed pristine despite the afternoon heat that left the others sweat-stained and disheveled.

Todd Amato—six feet of muscle and malice—cracked his knuckles ominously, a grin stretching across his face. His smile revealed teeth too large for his mouth, giving him the appearance of an enthusiastic predator.

"C'mon, cripple... don't waste our lunch break."

Acacia's stomach churned with hunger and dread in equal dimensions. Gio and his two lackeys "invited" him to join their circle when he'd been heading to the cafeteria, his paltry allowance clutched in sweaty fingers. Now that money sat in Gio's pocket—"protection rackets," he called it—Acacia's meal would be whatever stale bread remained when this "game" concluded.

This pointless, pathetic, game.

He raised a trembling fist for another round of rock-paper-scissors, knowing that whatever he chose, the outcome was predetermined. This game, called "Flinch" by the boys and nothing by him, was as much about humiliation as it was about pain. He'd long given up trying to understand why he'd been chosen as their punching bag. Perhaps it was because he was an orphan with no surname, or an Irregular, or because he looked so delicate and feminine that he might break if another spoke to him harshly.

No matter the reason, Acacia knew he had no recourse. This game was nothing more than a reminder of his place in society.

"Rock, paper, scissors—shoot!"

Acacia opened his palm flat: paper.

Todd kept his hand balled: rock.

A flicker of surprise crossed the larger boy's face.

"Paper covers rock. The Irregular wins." Pierce Gerson mocked before clapping his hands slowly and sardonically.

Gio straightened, brushing unseen lint from his sleeve. "Well, well... looks like you get to take a swing, Acacia. Better put some oomph into it, or we'll be here all afternoon."

Acacia swallowed hard, flexing his empty hand which he'd left hanging in a clenched fist at his side. The circle tightened as Acacia faced his tormentor. Todd was nearly twice his size, all broad shoulders and thick limbs, a testament to generations of noble breeding and thaumaturgical enhancement. Next to him, Acacia felt like a half-formed shadow—all bones and angles, with skin so pale it bordered on translucent.

He hated his body. He hated how short he was. How his hair was blacker than others which made him look like a foreigner. How his uniform was so loose on him. He hated how people would mistake him for a girl. He hated how his body made him look like a punching bag. He hated how frail he was. He hated how his chest would hurt when those monsters would pick on him. He hated his life. He hated his weakness. He hated his loneliness.

But most of all, he hated himself.

"So shy? Why is that? It's just a game among friends~" Gio cooed at him with that sickly sweet voice of his.

Friends. The word twisted in Acacia's gut like a knife. Is this what friendship meant in Ocarina? In the Tachyon Empire? This ritualized cruelty dressed up as camaraderie?

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He made a fist, remembering how his father had once shown him the proper way to throw a punch—thumb outside, wrist straight, connect with the first two knuckles. That had been in another life, before fire had erased everything. Before he'd become this—a ghost trapped in flesh, a walking reminder of his own inadequacy.

"Holy shit just get it over with!" Pierce hissed.

Forfeit meant penalty. Penalty meant all three would get free shots with no chance to retaliate.

He swung, a wild, graceless arc that probably made his father wince in the afterlife.

"GAAAH—!"

The scream came not from Todd, but from Acacia. When his fist smashed against Todd's arm, his knuckles crumpled and broke with a sickening crunch. Acacia's knees gave way beneath him, his body folding in on itself like a puppet with cut strings. Tears sprang unbidden to his eyes, blurring his vision of the sky. The impact from his fist hitting Todd's arm was akin to a collision between a feather and an iron wall. He was certain that he'd shattered the bones in his hand from the punch. He couldn't care. Not at that moment. The pain was too great. The pain was too unbearable.

And the humiliation, oh the humiliation was far worse.

"Oh my God, what an idiot! You tried punching Todd head-on! HAHAHAHAHAH!"

"Look at the cripple, crying on the ground like the little bitch he is!"

"...Aah... it hurts... it really hurts..."

"Todd... I can explain his bruises, but how are we gonna explain this?" Gio looked down at Acacia's mangled hand, a mix of amusement and apprehension on his face. "If he goes to the doctor, they're gonna wanna know how an Irregular managed to break his entire hand..."

Pierce shrugged and grinned. "He can say he fell or some shit. No one's gonna ask questions. Who gives a damn about an Irregular anyway?"

"He's the one who hit me! Why should I get in trouble? That little cripple should just suck it up," Todd grumbled, deactivating [Flieben] as the impromptu green circuits of prana receded from his body.

"Well, whatever..." Gio nudged Acacia's prone form with the toe of his shoe. "Get up, game's not over."

"I-I can't..." Acacia whimpered, cradling his broken hand to his chest as he internally recited prayers in a foreign language. "Please... just let me go..."

"Let you go?" Gio's voice turned dangerously soft. "After all the kindness we've shown you, inviting you to hang out with us, play our games, eat lunch with us every day? Isn't that right, Todd?!"

"Right as usual, Gio," Todd sneered.

"Very right, Gio," Pierce nodded.

"This is how you repay us? By whining and crying like a little bitch? Huh?!" He charged up a [Sturm] in his foot before kicking Acacia in the stomach.

"GGHH—!" Acacia cried out in agony, curling up into a fetal position. It felt like a bomb went off in his guts. The world swam in his vision, black spots blooming at the edges of his consciousness. All breaths became a negotiation with his broken body—the price of inhaling paid in waves of agony that radiated from his abdomen. Still, he forced himself upright, swallowing back bile and the metallic tang of blood. His left hand, a twisted sort of purple flesh and misaligned bones, throbbed in time with his galloping heart that knew neither mercy nor respite.

He didn't want to die.

Even if Litore was waiting for him, he didn't want to die. He wanted to live. He wanted to live and find his place in this world. He wanted to live, even if the world hated him. He didn't want to die.

"Y-Yes... thank you, Gio... for being my friend..."

The word was bitter ash on his tongue, but what else could he say? There was no mercy to be found in the Tachyon Empire—not for him, not for an Irregular. To them, he was subhuman, a creature only good for entertainment. A toy to be broken and then discarded.

"There we go. Good boy. Now we can continue." Gio happily smiled.

Acacia blinked rapidly, desperate to clear the tears that betrayed his weakness. One escaped despite his efforts, carving a warm path down his cheek before dropping silently to the courtyard stones. He prayed they wouldn't notice.

"I think I'll sit this round out," Gio announced, examining his manicured nails while pulling out a mirror. "I can't afford any bruising, not when my Vanguard application's coming up next year. Besides, Princess Seraphina doesn't want a consort who looks like he's been in a street brawl." A self-satisfied smirk played across his lips.

Todd and Pierce exchanged glances before bursting into laughter.

"You and the Princess?!"

"Man, you must really like daydreaming, huh?"

Gio's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"What? You don't think I have a shot? My family goes back twelve generations of nobles, and we were once a Sovereign House! When she sees me at the Spring Gala in two years, you think she won't recognize quality when she sees it?!"

"Of course she will," Todd backpedaled quickly, shooting Pierce a warning look. "You're a Narma. Blood speaks for itself."

"Exactly. So, you two go ahead. I'll supervise~" Gio nodded, appeased by the validation.

As the two lackeys faced off, Acacia retreated into the hollow space behind his eyes—the private sanctuary he'd built brick by brick over months of similar "games." This was only his first year as a second-year transfer student at Heinemann Academy, but he already knew the routine. The pain. The degradation. The isolation.

The guys didn't want to hang out with an orphaned Irregular with no surname, and the girls didn't want to be seen as the type to associate with such filth despite how feminine and inviting he looked.

"Rock, paper, scissors—shoot!"

Rounds in Flinch were a death knell, inevitabilities that marched forward with the grim determination of the Reaper's scythe. As Todd's victory became apparent—Pierce extending an open hand, a gesture of surrender that would be met with another blow—he wondered if this was all life was.

"Take it like a man, big guy!" Pierce cackled, driving his glowing red fist into Todd's shoulder.

Todd grimaced, [Flieben] flaring across his torso in defensive green lightning. The spell absorbed much of the impact, but not enough to prevent him from staggering back a step.

"Damn! That actually hurt, you little shit!"

"That's the point, dumbass!"

Their barbarism unfolded before Acacia like a familiar nightmare. How could they inflict such pain on each other and call it entertainment? How could they laugh as their spells left bruises that would linger for days? What broken thing inside them found pleasure in this ritualized cruelty?

The question echoed unanswered in his mind, lost among countless others that had accumulated during his fourteen years of existence:

Why was he born Irregular in a world where such a condition was worse than death?

Why had flames devoured his home, his family, his past?

Why did God—or the Convergence, as it was used nearly interchangeably here—allow such suffering?

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