See, Karma was full of quirks - some odd, and some relatively normal. For example, his penchant for collecting exotic spices was relatively normal. His tendency to allow himself to be bashed to a pulp, though, was definitely odd in most people's view. Karma knew he was rather eccentric; considering his upbringing, how could he not be? He didn't mind being labelled strange or abnormal. To him, normal was boring. The popular notion of fitting in had always baffled him. Why would he waste time trying to mold himself into what society considered acceptable when he could be doing whatever he found entertaining? He had his own likes and dislikes, and screw whatever society thought.

That was why, when the class requested his participation in the baseball game, he had to protest, even if it was only a token one.

"Eh?" he muttered, chin propped in his hand. "Do I have to?"

Korosensei stood before him in a flash, tentacles flailing. "Of course you have to, Karma, your kinetic vision and reflexes are among the highest in the class! These skills are crucial in sports!"

"Flattery will get you nowhere, sensei."

Almost the entirety of Class E was gathered in the classroom, focused on deciding a roster for next week's exhibition matches. Terasaka and his buddies had already bailed, choosing to forgo the almost certain public humiliation, which Karma couldn't really blame them for. Who wanted to be put on display for the entire school to laugh at? Besides, he couldn't imagine Terasaka being a team player - and where Terasaka led, Yoshida and Muramatsu followed.

The rest of the class seemed unexpectedly enthusiastic, even knowing who their opponents would be. Karma guessed they were looking forward to using their newfound assassination skills to knock the student body down a peg, as Kataoka put it, though he wondered how assassination would translate over to baseball of all things. Sure, the stamina and reflexes would give them a boost, but what about hitting, fielding, and catching? Those weren't covered in the standard assassin training, nor were they things you could be fluent in after only a week of practice. Going against the baseball club, who practically lived and breathed all things baseball, would be tough, regardless of Class E's enhanced physical state.

Now, Karma enjoyed going against tough opponents. To be more precise, he enjoyed annihilating tough opponents, especially the delusional, arrogant types who thought themselves untouchable and invincible. Even though the baseball club fit that description inordinately well, he couldn't muster more than a paltry amount of interest in the match. Sports were never really his thing, and therein laid one of Karma's more acceptable quirks: his absolute indifference to any type of sport.

Karma didn't hate sports. He just found them rather boring and - well, pointless. Why should he care which team ran around a diamond more times? Why should he spend his time bouncing a ball when he could be doing something worthwhile, such as studying or fighting? Academic competition he understood; it pushed you to study harder and learn more, which usually led to a brighter future. As for fighting, well, fighting kept him sane. It kept him from tearing his own hair out in frustration, from burning his house or this cursed school down to the ground and dancing in the ashes. Thus, studying: good. Fighting: good. Sports? Not so much.

That wasn't to say sports couldn't be beneficial for other people. Karma knew that plenty of people made millions from playing professionally, and it gave others a chance to attend college at no cost. Karma held no contempt for those people; kudos to them for pursuing their passion! Nonetheless, Karma had about as much interest in sports as he did in astrology: minimal.

Korosensei seemed keen on him playing, though.

"Without Terasaka's group, we have only eleven boys left," Korosensei informed him, as if he wasn't capable of basic subtraction. "We need more players than that!"

Karma waved a hand dismissively. "You only need nine players, Korosensei. You'd still have an extra with ten."

His blasé response sent Korosensei into a tizzy. "Karma, we must stand together as a class if we wish to beat such formidable opponents! You can't be lazy at such a crucial time as this! Don't you want to show the main campus your strength?"

"I already did that," Karma replied, bored. "Don't you remember midterms?"

Korosensei spluttered. "Of course I do! Your results were quite impressive, but now you can prove your strength on a different stage."

He yawned. "No thanks."

"I didn't want to do this, but . . ." Suddenly, Korosensei was staring directly into his eyes, encroaching on his personal space as he pleaded frantically, "Please, Karma, your favorite and most beloved sensei is begging you!"

Now he was really scraping the bottom of the barrel.

Karma stared back, unamused. "Oh? I don't see Karasuma-sensei anywhere."

Karma fought the urge to grin as Korosensei burst into dramatic, tear-filled wails. You made that one too easy, sensei.

"Karma," Sugino said, interrupting the intense (and noisy) display of emotion. "I want you to fight with me." His voice was steely, blue eyes holding his own resolutely. One glance told Karma he wouldn't take no for an answer.

He sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah, yeah, okay."

Sugino nodded, and that was that.

Karma stood hunched over, hands planted on his knees, as he panted for breath. His calf muscles screamed for mercy, wobbling legs barely keeping him upright. Everything hurt. His entire body felt like it'd gone through the wringer. All his strength and stamina - things he'd been training in for months - had been squeezed out, leaving his body more exhausted than he could ever remember being. He would definitely feel this in the morning.

He's a monster, Karma thought, struggling to breathe through the burn in his lungs. He's actually a monster. Is he trying to kill us? Is this payback for the dead octopus? Or the stolen gelato? Or for stealing his - disappointingly small - amount of pocket money?

Karma realized, quite ruefully, that the intense training could be payback for a number of things, most of which were his doing.

For the past few days, Korosensei had put the boys through what Karma referred to as Korosensei's Killer Baseball Boot Camp. They received a crash course on all things baseball, like batting, fielding, catching, and throwing, as well as improving their basics, like running and hand-eye coordination. It had sounded easy at first. Karma thought it'd be a cinch.

He'd never been more wrong.

Korosensei's preternatural abilities made even the simplest tasks unreasonably difficult. He challenged them at every turn. Between pitching at 300 kilometers per hour and using his duplicates to create an impenetrable defense, the class - Karma included - didn't stand a chance. It was a miracle if they even managed a hit, much less reached first base. Korosensei made Karasuma's training look like a gentle workout.

I'm going to kill him, Karma decided. As soon as I can move my arms.

The source of their agony stood smiling down on them, completely unaffected. He looked like he'd just taken a brisk stroll through the forest, rather than torturing and taunting his students at every turn for days. Those beady eyes (or were they nostrils? Karma could never tell) gave no hint of what he might be thinking. If anything, he seemed amused.

Definitely killing him.

After Korosensei explained his teaching methods, Karma was marginally appeased. He understood his teacher's reasoning, at least. It was like learning Latin before Spanish or driving a manual before an automatic. Everything else came easier afterward. So while he understood, and even appreciated, Korosensei's logic, his sore limbs still inspired a need for petty revenge.

I'm thinking wasabi, gelato, and anti-sensei BBs, he mused. That should make me feel better.

Finally giving up on his trembling legs, Karma took a page from his classmates' book and collapsed in an undignified sprawl on the ground, groaning wearily. As he stared up at the sky, squinting from the sunlight, he wondered if this was all worth it. He'd always thought sports were a waste of time, so why was he wearing himself out for a measly exhibition match?

"Sugino, I hope you appreciate this," he said. "And you better not complain the next time I ask you to do something."

Sugino snorted. "You ask me to do illegal things, Karma. I think that's a little different."

"Whatever."

Sugino didn't speak until several minutes later. "Karma?"

"Hm?"

"Thanks."

Karma felt that now familiar warmth spread throughout his gut, and he thought, oh yeah, that's why.

Friends help friends.

He didn't complain again.

Karma hummed quietly to himself as he played his Nintendo. Every now and then, his eyes would dart up to check his team's progress in the baseball match, but they mostly stayed focused on his game. He hadn't spent much time gaming lately, too intent on studying and learning assassination techniques, so it was nice to relax and do something mindless for once. It's not like he was needed at the moment, anyway.

Sitting on the bench is so boring, Karma thought. Why would anyone want to do this?

"Seriously, Karma?" Karma looked up to see Sugino watching him for a few feet away. He was clearly trying for annoyed, but he just managed to come off amused. "Are you going to play that for the whole game?"

Karma blinked. "I can do that?"

"No!"

"Kidding," Karma said, grinning broadly. "Really, Sugino, I'm hurt you think so little of me."

Sugino just rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he said, grabbing a bat and slipping on his helmet and batting gloves. "Try to show some team spirit, would you?" He exited the dugout.

"Sure thing, Captain," Karma teased. In a loud voice, he called out after him, "Goooo, Sugino! Aim for that elitist snob's face!"

Sugino shot him a death glare over his shoulder, and Karma couldn't help the snicker that escaped. Reigning in his amusement, he watched as, to the crowd and opposing team's shock, Sugino switched from his bunting stance and hit a base-clearing triple. The main campus students could only watch in stupefied silence as Sugino rounded the bases.

The crowd might've been silent, but the Class E boys roared.

"Yeah, Sugino!"

"Way to go!"

"You showed them!"

Even Karma joined in the celebration, hooting and cheering and applauding with the rest of them. Sugino beamed at them from third base, triumph clear in his eyes. He'd faced Shindou, the one who'd replaced him in the baseball club and totally eclipsed him in academics, and won. The game wasn't over, but now they knew victory was possible. They could actually defeat the so-called 'chosen ones' in a game that was rigged for them to fail.

The crowd was in a state of shock, murmurs of disbelief and confusion fluttering through the air. None of them had expected Class E to score a single point, much less three of them, and especially not in the first inning. They'd expected three up and three down, not all the batters to get on base. And why shouldn't they? It wasn't like Class E had ever scored before.

"It's so much fun tearing down the powerful," Karma said, eyes gleaming with delight. "As soon as something doesn't go their way, they panic and break down. This will definitely be a blow to their pride." He laughed. "If they're especially weak-minded, they might even quit! Those are always the most fun."

Isogai flashed him an exasperated look, though it didn't have the effect he probably intended since he was still smiling. "Is there anyone you don't enjoy tormenting?"

Karma thought of his brother, of adoration twisted into bitter resentment, of a once playful sibling rivalry that had devolved into cruel words and crueler competition, of a bond that had been steadily poisoned until only a sour, acerbic taste remained, and he somehow managed to smile. "Just one."

Isogai looked surprised, but he didn't say anything. Karma returned to his game, the picture of boredom, while inwardly he pondered whether Gakushuu was watching Class E outwit the elite 'chosen ones', and what he thought about it.

Ne, onii-chan, do you still think we're scum?

He swore he only glanced up for a split-second, just long enough to determine why everyone had fallen into a tense, strangled silence, and he was about to lower his eyes once more when a familiar suit caught his attention. He sat frozen, gaze fixed on the man walking onto the field like he owned it, his stomach twisted into agonizing knots. He couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe through the panic welling up in his chest because he knew this man, knew him painfully and intimately well, despite the towering wall that had always stood between them. His Nintendo fell to his lap, forgotten, and the mutterings of his team went unnoticed. That distance, less than a hundred feet, was the closest he'd been to that man in five long, bitter years. His heart felt like it would burst out of his chest, and he couldn't help but think, morbidly, perhaps that would be fitting considering that man had always been so adept at effortlessly tearing and crushing his heart without regard to the mess he left behind or to the boy he tossed aside, and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe.

"Karma? Are you okay? You're looking a little pale."

He must have nodded, or somehow managed to speak around the lump in his throat, or maybe whoever asked just chose to leave him be, because nobody tried to speak to him again. All this passed through his mind without a second thought, with barely a first one, because all of Karma's attention was focused on the man talking to the opposing team. His vision had tunneled; he couldn't tear his eyes away. His mind refused to stop, thoughts racing at speeds capable of challenging Korosensei. Perhaps, though, thoughts wasn't quite accurate. No, it was more like one thought dominated all the rest, simply repeating itself over and over and over until Karma truly believed he would go insane.

That's my father.

Karma stared, dumbfounded, as his father assumed command of the opposing team (of the strong, the worthy, the chosen, of which Karma had never been apart of) and casually wreaked havoc on Class E's strategy. He watched as his classmates went up to bat and, unable to counterattack, were declared out. He could feel the rising tension in the dugout, the dismay of his teammates as they watched their best (and perhaps only) strategy fall to underhanded tactics that only succeeded because they were Class E, and the rage and indignation such a defeat incurred. Dread had begun to creep in, wrapping its icy fingers around his heart in a vice-like grip and squeezing, and a sour taste, not unlike bile, filled his mouth. He thought he might choke on the lump in his throat. He didn't even need to watch the next batter because he knew, he knew, he knew, without a fraction of a doubt, what the outcome would be.

You're going to win again, Karma thought, burgeoning hysteria threatening to overwhelm him. You're going to win again, and I can't stop you.

Unwilling to be a passive spectator to another of his father's triumphs over the powerless (like you? the voice whispered, venom dripping from every word. Like you like you like you like youlikeyoulikeyouLIKEYOU?), he fled. He slipped out of the dugout, unobserved by his teammates, and ran.

He didn't give much thought to where he was running to, only concerned with who he was running from. He just had to get away, away, away. He realized, in the far corners of his mind, that he must be running through the forest because branches were tearing at his clothes and his face, fabric ripping and blood dripping. He couldn't feel it, though. Not the branches smacking his face or the blood trickling down his cheeks or the pounding of his feet against the ground - he didn't feel any of it. The physical pain might've hurt, but the memories playing through his mind were agony.

Karma was seven years old, and he hated the game his father made him and Gakushuu play. He would sit in his leather armchair, which looked more like a throne to the young boys than anything else, and the two boys would stand before him. He would ask them questions about math, science, kanji, and whatever else he must've thought the boys needed to know. He always started with Gakushuu. He would ask him a question, Gakushuu would answer it correctly, and then he would turn to Karma and do the same. This would go on and on, sometimes for over an hour. As the questions became more and more difficult, the boys would begin to sweat, wracking their brains for any forgotten piece of knowledge and stumbling over their words when they answered.

Eventually, though, one of them had to break, and it was always Karma.

He father asked Gakushuu a question, some obscure science fact that neither of the boys should know yet, and then it was Karma's turn. His heart pounded, his hands were clutched behind his back, fingernails digging into his skin. He tried to put on a brave face like Gakushuu always did, but the knowing glint in his father's eyes told him it was for naught. His father always knew when he was faking.

His father asked him a question, what it was Karma didn't even remember, but seven year old Karma felt his heart freeze in his chest because he didn't know the answer. His mouth fell open, just a little, but nothing came out. He searched his brain frantically, desperate not to lose, but it was futile. He didn't know, and his father knew it. He probably knew before he even asked.

"I don't know, otou-san." The words felt like lead in his mouth.

Gakuhou remained impassive. He turned to Gakushuu and asked him the same question, and his brother answered correctly. Karma couldn't help it: in that one, brief moment, he hated his brother. Hated him for always being perfect, for always answering correctly, for having just a fraction of otou-san's approval - a fraction was more than Karma had, anyway. Of course, the hatred was fleeting and quickly followed by shame and self-loathing. How could he think such things of Gakushuu, his best friend and fiercest defender? His brother loved him, he knew that.

His father didn't, he knew that.

Gakuhou stared down at Karma, eyes cold and disapproving, just like always. He felt like a bug under a microscope when otou-san did that, like he was nothing but a pesky fly for his father to swat down. His father looked at him like he was nothing.

He wished he would hit him instead. That would hurt less.

Karma gasped for breath as he sprinted through the woods, lungs burning and sweat stinging in his eyes. The pain was still hazy, not fully realized yet. He dreaded the moment it would all crash down, but he knew it was inevitable. Still, he'd rather feel anything, even pain, than what he felt as long-suppressed memories flooded to the surface, leaving him shaky and vulnerable.

His mother - still Mrs. Asano, though not for long - ushered him into the car. Her hands, always so gentle, were shaking as they guided him into the back seat. He crawled inside, she shut the door, and when she moved away from the car he saw his father standing in the front doorway, watching.

He didn't look any different, even though his wife and youngest son were leaving him. He seemed just as calm and composed as usual, and Karma felt tears pool in his eyes. Didn't he care? Didn't it hurt to know his wife and child were leaving and would never come back? It hurt Karma. No matter how distant or detached Gakuhou was, he still loved him. How could he not?

His mother opened the driver's door and slipped in. She placed her hands on the wheel, and Karma could see them trembling. She leaned back against the seat as sobs wracked her body, hands leaving the wheel to cover her face. He wanted to say something to comfort her, but he couldn't find the words. What do you tell someone whose world has fallen apart, whose marriage has crumbled to dust, whose family has shattered like glass?

Karma didn't know, so he said nothing.

She managed to calm herself, eventually, and turned in her seat to offer him a wobbly, tear-stained smile. "We'll be okay, Karma, I promise. We're still a family, you still have me."

He wondered if it was selfish of him to want more.

His mother started the car and pulled out of the driveway, and Karma realized, panicking, that he might never see his house again. He twisted around in his seat, ignoring his mother urging him to fasten his seat belt. She drove slowly, so he could still see his father. He'd moved from the doorway to the mailbox and was watching them with some unidentifiable expression.

Do something, he begged wordlessly. Don't just stand there and watch! I'm not asking you to collapse in grief or to scream at the sky, but I need something. A tear, a frown, a look of regret or sorrow - anything! Please, don't let us go with that same blank expression. Please, give me something that proves you still love us, that you still love me.

Soon, they were too far away for Karma to see him any longer. He turned back in his seat, fastened his seat belt, and managed to smile at his mother. She saw it in the mirror and smiled back - shaky, but there. He turned his attention to the window, leaning against it and watching big houses and neat yards fly by, all while feeling his heart break.

Did we really mean so little to you?

He didn't know how long he'd been running. Sensation had crept in once more, leaving him sore and bruised and painfully aware of his shredded skin, but he kept going. He ignored his lungs crying for air and forced his wobbling legs to move, to run, to take him far, far away. He didn't want to be anywhere near that man, not when flashbacks of his father were fighting for his attention, each seeking to torment him with his most traumatic memories. He'd spent so long ignoring them, forgetting them, repressing them that now, when he was caught off guard, they threatened to bury him. Old wounds that had never healed had been ripped open, suddenly and without finesse, and were now bleeding and aching and clamoring for his attention. He had to keep running until they scabbed over again.

Gakuhou crouched down to Karma's level, those soulless eyes gazing directly into his. His mother - no longer Mrs. Asano, but not Mrs. Akabane yet - stood directly behind him, gripping his shoulders hard enough to bruise. Court had just ended, and so had their family. Officially, anyway. Everyone knew their family had reached its end a long time ago.

"This will be good for you," Otou-san said, expression as empty as his eyes. "You're not like Gakushuu and me. You've got more of your mother in you." He sighed, and, for just a second, Karma thought he saw some unknown emotion leaking into his eyes, but it disappeared before he could identify it. "You just aren't meant for this." Gakuhou stood, staring down at him one last time. "Be good for your mother." His father turned and walked away without a second glance.

Karma looked at Gakushuu, eyes wide and terrified. The reality of the situation sunk in, and he realized he might not see his brother again for a very, very long time. He tore himself from his mother's grasp and launched himself into his brother's arms, sobbing, pleading for him not to go. Gakushuu hugged him back, trembling from his own tears. They clutched each other for a long time, each unwilling to let go and lose the other.

"Don't go," Karma cried. "Please don't go. I love you, don't go."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I love you too. I'm sorry."

Eventually, the two parents separated them, leading the heartbroken brothers away. Karma wanted, more than anything, to rip his hand from his mother's and run back to Gakushuu, but he knew he couldn't. His mother had her own grief to deal with, and he knew it devastated her to leave her eldest behind. Still, he couldn't help but glance back, desperate for one more look at his brother.

Gakushuu had looked back at the same moment and, when their eyes met, he shouted, "I promise, Karma! I promise!"

They held each other's gaze as long as they could, each unwilling to look away, until they disappeared from each other's sight.

They wouldn't meet again for three years.

Karma ran until his chest ached and his lungs burned and he dripped sweat in the hot, humid air. His limbs had a limit, though, and he finally stopped, hunched over and panting for breath. His muscles cried for relief, and his eyes stung with blood and sweat and tears, but he couldn't concentrate on the pain, not with his thoughts taunting him like they were.

The voice shrieked laughter in his head. Coward! You were the closest you'd been to him in years, and you ran away? I thought you were brave; I thought you were strong. You just proved how weak you are, coward! He tore your family apart, and you can't even face him! You're weak! You're a failure! You're nothing!

Karma snapped.

"Shut up!" he screamed. He located a branch on the ground, about the width of his forearm, and he snatched it up, gripping it in both hands. He turned to face one of the trees, madness in his eyes and fury in his veins. He raised the branch, lip curling in a vicious snarl, and swung hard. The impact jarred his hands and sent tremors up his arms, but he didn't stop. He hit the tree again and again and again, ignoring the splinters digging into his palms and the ache in his shoulders.

Oh, are you throwing a tantrum now, after all these years? The voice sounded amused. Have you finally broken? And all it took was seeing him, being near him, and being defeated by him.

"Shut up!" he roared back, hands clenching in a white-knuckled grip on the branch. "You don't know anything!"

I don't know anything? I don't know anything?! I've been with you through everything, you ungrateful brat! Your parents' divorce, the bullies at school, your mother remarrying, you being abandoned, all your defeats, all your failures: I've been here for everything! You would've gone insane without me, understand? You need me.

"I don't need anyone!"

Really? it asked, scornful. Then why are you at this school? Why are you so desperate to beat Gakushuu? Why are you so disappointed when your calls go to voicemail? Why did you fight so hard for your father's love? You don't need anyone, huh? Liar.

The branch broke, snapping in half and sending fragments everywhere. He tossed the branch aside, hands sticky with blood, but he paid them no mind. His eyes darted around wildly, searching for another. He found one, grabbed it, and resumed his frenzied attack.

"You don't get to criticize me!"

WHAM.

"I don't care what you say!"

WHAM.

"I don't need him!"

WHAM.

"I don't need her!"

WHAM.

"I hate him!"

WHAM.

"And I don't need you, either!"

WHAM.

"You're just a stupid voice!"

WHAM.

You're nothing, you hear me? Nothing, nothing, nothing! You'll always be a coward, a weakling pretending to be strong so someone will love you. They never will, you know! You will drown in your misery and despair, and they'll all be better off for it. So go take a swim, brat, and show the world just how worthless, how weak you truly are.

"I-" WHAM "-told-" WHAM "-you-" WHAM "-to-" WHAM "-shut-" WHAM "-UP!"

CRACK!

Still clutching the shattered, bloody stick in his hand, Karma lifted his face to the sky and howled a wordless cry, voice filled with rage and anguish. He screamed until his throat was raw, until the ear-splitting sound tapered off into a near-silent rasp, until he'd completely flushed the voice out of his head and was left with sweet, blessed silence.

He collapsed against a tree, branch falling from his fingertips as he slid down the trunk, gasping for breath. The voice might be gone, but it seemed Karma was just as adept at torturing himself. Panic held his lungs in a vice, constricting the air flow and sending his head spinning. He couldn't breathe, even though his lungs heaved desperately for oxygen, and the terrifying revelation just heightened his panic. Darkness crept in around the edges of his vision, and he faintly realized he would pass out if this continued much longer.

He scratched furiously at his face, nails scraping against still-bleeding scabs. The sluggish flow of blood soon quickened to a steady stream, leaving Karma with a vicious sense of satisfaction. I'm not like you, he thought. I don't want your face. I don't want your face. I don't want your face. Don'twantyourfacedon'twantyourfacedon'twantyourstupidface-!

Yellow tentacles gently pulled his hands away from his face.

"Breathe, Karma," Korosensei's said, voice calm and soothing. "In an out. There's nobody else here; it's just you and me. Nothing's happening. Just try to breathe."

"C-can't," he managed between gasps.

"Yes, you can. Do it with me: in for four seconds, out for four. There, that's it. Keep going. In for four, out for four. Now again."

He didn't know how long they sat there, Korosensei encouraging him as he fought for each spluttering breath. Eventually, the darkness receded from his vision and Karma could breathe again, even if it sent spikes of pain through his chest. He was vividly aware of every ache, every bruise, and every scratch that littered his body, as well as his sweat-soaked clothes that stuck to his skin and the blood trickling down his face.

He was also aware of Korosensei studying him, a mix of concern and curiosity etched into his still-smiling face. "Karma," he began, voice hesitant. "Are you feeling better now?"

He gazed dully at the ground. "Yeah."

"Do you think you can tell me what happened? You just disappeared. Nobody knew where you were, or where you went, or even when you left."

"I-I couldn't face him. Not again. I couldn't. I couldn't." He sounded near hysterical. His breathing had begun to pick up again; his heart thumped frantically in his chest.

"It's all right, Karma, he's not here. Just breathe." Korosensei was still holding his hands, he realized. When was the last time someone held his hand? He couldn't remember. "That's better. Now, who could you not face?"

"The chairman."

He looked puzzled. "Why not?"

"Because he's . . . he's my father," Karma whispered.

Korosensei remained silent, so he rambled on, anxiety leaking into his words. "I didn't really know him, he was always so distant. A-and when my parents divorced, I went to live with my mother and my brother stayed with him. He's a year older than me, but I skipped a grade so I could be in his year." And so he continued, babbling about not seeing his brother or father for years, about his mother being strictly opposed to him attending Kunugigaoka, about meeting Gakushuu again after so long, about struggling so desperately against his father's expectations and his mother's apathy and his brother's genius intelligence, about the panic he felt at being so close to his father after so many years of hatred and distance. Korosensei listened to it all, not interrupting or leaving, and Karma was so relieved, so grateful someone was willing to sit by him and just listen for once. He had Korosensei's undivided attention, and he couldn't remember the last time someone deigned to bestow that upon him.

When his words reached their end and his voice trailed off, Korosensei finally spoke. "Have you told anyone else?"

He shook his head.

"I think you should."

Panic surged through his veins, elevating his heartbeat to a rapid thumpthumpthump. "No!" he burst out. "No, I can't. My father is the one who started the Class E system; he's the one who enforces the discrimination against us. They'd hate me, Korosensei. Please, please don't say anything."

If I tell them, they'll leave me. I'll be alone again, despised and rejected and isolated. I've only just learned what it's like to have friends, don't take them away so soon. I can't be alone again. Please, I couldn't bear it. I can't watch from the outside while everyone else finds happiness and moves on, leaving me behind in my misery and bitterness. I'd rather die.

"If that's what you want, I won't tell anyone," Korosensei said, slowly, like he knew he would regret it but was going to do it anyway. "But I don't think they'd take it as badly as you think. They're your friends, Karma, regardless of who your father is."

Karma nodded, mumbling a quiet thanks. They sit there in silence for a while, both pondering the events and revelations of the day, both curious about what the other was thinking, neither daring to ask. Some time later, Korosensei heaved a loud, dramatic sigh before standing, offering Karma an outstretched tentacle. He grinned, faint but there, remembering the last time he'd gripped that tentacle in his hand. Korosensei's twinkling eyes told him the octopus remembered too, so Karma just huffed a weak laugh and accepted the boost to his feet.

His legs wobbled, but they didn't buckle, so Karma took that as a victory, albeit a small one. He dusted the wooden shards off his clothes, scowling at the numerous tears and the scratches that peeked through. He'd have to ask Karasuma for another gym uniform, and he dreaded the dark glare the request would bring him.

"So, Karma," Korosensei said, a mischievous look overtaking his face. "Would you like to walk the three miles back to school, or would you like a ride?"

He quirked a small, relieved smile. "I think I'd like a ride."

During the incredibly brief trip, Karma tried to apologize for ditching the game, but Korosensei waved him off.

"No, no, it's fine! We put Chiba in. Of course, your talent for provocation would've been highly useful, but it all worked out. We beat the baseball club, three to two."

Karma was so stunned he didn't even notice they'd landed. His father had lost? That was impossible! He father never lost. It simply didn't happen. In Karma's mind, Gakuhou was incapable of losing. He didn't think the words Asano Gakuhou and lost even belonged in the same sentence. Not unless there was a never between them.

Korosensei must've noticed his bewilderment. "Your father isn't as invincible as you think. He's faced defeat before, too."

Karma remained silent, still disbelieving.

Karma sat quietly in his seat the next day, listening as the guys celebrate their win and congratulate each other. He felt his shoulders tense and his smile freeze when they mentioned the chairman. His heart sunk lower and lower in his chest with every word about his father's vicious, underhanded strategies and his intimidating aura. That wasn't even him at his most terrifying, he mused to himself. Really, they got off easy.

"Hey, Karma, where did you go yesterday? You totally disappeared!" Sugino grinned at him, but he could see the disappointment in his eyes. He'd promised to fight with him, to win with him, but instead he'd run away like a coward. His shame intensified.

He faked a smile. "Sorry, I got sick and had to leave. Looks like you pulled it off without me, though. Congratulations!"

Sugino clapped him on the back cheerfully. "Thanks! But I wish you would've told someone you were leaving; we were all really worried when you just vanished."

"Sorry."

"Nah, it's fine. Just something for you to remember next time, okay?" Sugino tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he studied his face. The sudden change in expression unnerved Karma, as well as his scrutiny, and he fought the urge to fidget. "What happened to your face? It's pretty scratched up. Did you get mauled by a cat or something?"

"It's nothing," Karma said. "Don't worry about it."

Sugino frowned, concern evident in his eyes, but something in Karma's face must've told him to drop it, because he did. Rather than pester him with more questions, he went off to chatter with Nagisa, much to Karma's relief. He didn't need someone asking questions they wouldn't like the answer to. Better to remain silent.

Karma looked around the classroom, studying each student and wondering what they would think of him if they knew. Okaa-san can't even look at me because of him. What would they do? Would they loathe me as much as they do him, or would they hate me even more because I didn't tell them? Does it matter that I don't live with him, that I haven't spoken to him for years, that he doesn't even like me, much less love me, or is the fact of my blood enough? It's funny, we both rely on underhanded strategies and we both want total domination over our enemies. Like father, like son, I guess.

Karma smiled sadly at his friends before slipping out of the classroom and disappearing into the woods, unnoticed by his classmates. As he trudged through the familiar trees, the voice's taunts echoed through his head: weak, weak, weak, weak.