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Hase was, despite what the haters may say, very intelligent.
Okay, sure, his grades don't necessarily reflect that, but who the hell cares about grades?
No, Hase's intelligence was something different, something far more tactical in nature. A strategic mastermind, really, and that's not to mention his keen sense for people, for knowing winners and losers when he sees them. And yes, indeed, he has always been a winner.
And Takakura has always, always been a loser. The biggest loser of them all.
There's an order to these things, you see. A pecking order, a natural hierarchy. Sure, call Hase a social darwinist if you want to, but there was ample anecdotal evidence to prove him correct. Since they were first years, Hase has always been at the top of the school's interpersonal pyramid, and Takakura, waste of space Takakura, has always been at the very bottom. A nuisance. A scapegoat. A counterweight.
The lower Takakura would sink, the higher Hase would climb.
In that way, at least, Hase was always glad that the little loser existed. Fundamentally, Takakura was living proof of Hase's position, something he could rely on to be at the bottom of the totem pole. So long as no outside force interfered with the natural order of things.
But, against all odds, such an outside force existed.
Momo Ayase, the stuck-up gyaru that had taken Takakura on as a pity case. Such a sweet little story of an abandoned puppy, so graciously taken in by the magnanimous heart of one of the school's most popular girls. Just to then, in short order, also attract the attention of the school's most popular girl, Shiratori. Hell, that Enjoji guy is pretty well-liked too, and he hangs out with the four-eyed freak at every chance. Even Ayase's gyaru add-ons seemed to take to the loser.
All these popular kids, some more popular than Hase himself, all determined to disrupt the social order out of some lame desire to… what, feel good about themselves? Validate themselves as being morally superior, for rehabilitating the school loser?
Whatever their true motivations were, it represented something that terrified Hase.
Upheaval.
Seriously, did they not consider how this threw everything out of wack? How this could have cascading effects for the school's entire ecology? Why didn't they seem to take it seriously?
Well, he had to suppose that it was because their positions were secured. If their fun little pet project Takakura did manage to climb the social ladder, the people pulling him up the rungs would naturally be in good standing. Maybe that was why they took him in. A sorta social investment? But where would that leave everyone else? Where would that leave Hase?
And as loathe as he was to admit it, Takakura had been growing in popularity. He was fit now, something Hase learned after an unfortunate game of dodgeball, and ever since the student body had seen that Takakura had apparently been working out, he'd been hearing whispers. Just occasionally.
"Did you see Takakura in gym? Dude was a beast… always figured he was a wimp."
"He's smart, too! He's been helping Vamola learn Japanese!"
"Makes sense, I guess. He's always reading stuff."
"I heard he's dating Ayase-san."
"Really? I think they're just, like, close friends."
"He's single? M-Maybe I…"
Hase scoffs, tuning the girls' conversation out. Yet another pair of skanks, fawning over the loser-turned-legend in shy, giggly voices. This was an affront, really. The idea that the little, former bowlcut piece of shit could have anyone pining over him… it's patently ridiculous.
Or… it was all limerence.
Not an attraction to Takakura the person, because really, that wouldn't make sense. What is there to even be attracted to? No… no, it makes more sense that, for the layman, it was just a projection of traits they wanted to see. Sure, he was a bit athletic, but that didn't mean anything about his personality was worth a shit, people just assume it is because he's quiet.
Quiet people have an advantage over the real ones, like Hase. Anyone can project what they wanna see onto someone too quiet to challenge it.
So, all Hase really needs to do is find a way to challenge those perceptions himself. A way to remind everyone about the truth of who lurks beneath the cool-kid mask; a loser, born and bred. One doesn't just escape their nature so easily.
And, with the school festival coming up soon, Hase has a chance to do just that. A chance to show them all…
Surely, not even Ayase would touch him with a ten foot pole after all this.
"I have to wear…" the loser gulps, thickly, "…that?"
Hase holds the garments closer, the room around them buzzing with energy as their classmates prepared their event for the festival. A simple mochi cafe, nothing complicated, with labor being divided between those making the mochi, those serving as waitstaff, and lastly…
"C'mon, man. We gotta have someone in the hallway, you know that. A greeter," Hase says, impatiently.
Big, dumb eyes that serve as a window into his empty skull widen. "I-I mean, I… I d-don't mind b-being a greeter, but… d-do I have to wear that?"
"Yeah, dude. It's so simple." He can't really help his condescending tone, nor does he really care to. "It'll bring more eyes to our place! That way we can do better than we did last year, when we got practically ignored. I'm kinda banking on you here, none of the girls wanted to go through with wearing it."
Takakura hesitates, taking the garment from him, almost like it was radioactive. "I dunno… just seems like a lot."
His resistance was flagging. One more push. One more push, and he would be right where Hase wants him.
He sighs dramatically, feigning frustration. "Look, if you're that opposed, I could probably get one of the girls to do it even if they're a bit uncomfortable with it. Especially the class rep, or that Vamola girl you're always talking to-"
"I'll do it."
Little shit dropped any of the stutter or hesitation when Hase brought a woman into it. He was probably scared that his image as some sorta gallant gentleman towards women would be threatened, should they find out that he put them in a position to be embarrassed while he saved his own skin.
Sometimes Hase's genius was… almost frightening.
Watching the little shit pretend to lock in, pretend like this wasn't already mortifying to him, Hase had to fight the urge to rub his hands together and laugh.
"You're a real lifesaver, Takakura," he says, projecting all the sarcasm he can into his tone.
"O-Oh! I'm glad I c-can help!" And of course, the dumbass misses it completely.
Whatever. For now, he excuses himself to the bathroom to change, and Hase prepares for the beauty, the glory to follow.
Hase, for understandable reasons, was assigned to waitstaff. He more or less assumed he would be, a face like his was made to be public facing. Unfortunately, this prevented him from getting a front row seat to Takakura's humiliation, especially with their class being surprisingly busy. Pretty much ever since they'd opened their doors, there had been an influx of customers, and Hase's idiot classmates were struggling to keep up.
So focused was he, that for a time, he missed the whispering. The quiet, giggle-filled whispering of a nearby table, a group of girls from another class. Their eyes occasionally dart in his direction, standing near the door.
"Do you see him?"
"Too many people in the way… need to get a picture."
"Oh, do you think he'd take a picture with me?"
"Careful… think he's taken."
Hase straightened, smirking to himself. The suit they got him to wear, admittedly, he had felt to be way below his standard, but it seems that he still pulled it off well. Well enough, at least, to attract the eyes of some solid 7s. Also a bit below his standard, but hey, he could be generous.
"Worry not, ladies," he says, only honey in his tone. "You can take as many pictures with me as you like."
Four sets of eyes try to hide their blatant adoration. "Sorry. Who are you?"
"Ladies, ladies," he assures, leaning on their table., "you don't have to be shy. I am at your service."
Eight eyes blink blankly back at him.
"Oooookay," one of them says, before turning to the others. "C'mon, I wanna see if I can get a pic of Takakura!"
What.
"I'm gonna get that picture with him if it's the last thing I do."
"What."
One of the girls, in the middle of standing to leave, turns back to him. "Oh! You're in Takakura's class, right? Is he single?"
Hase could only stare back, dumbfounded. "Th-the. The loser outside? The dude I forced to wear a maid outfit?"
"That was your idea, Hase?" An intruder into the conversation. Rin, the class representative. "Genius! I think it's really drawn in a lot of-"
He has to turn away. The world has just twisted on its axis, and everyone is pretending like this makes sense. There's no way. There's no way.
Take a loser. Let him be adopted by the most popular kids in their grades. Give him the implication of popularity that lets those around him transcribe whatever the fuck they want to see in him. The poser can keep posing. Ken Takakura, it seems, is a convincing enough liar. An impostor, really. But the veneer of popularity, of being loved, of being accepted, it should be shattered. Shattered by the reality that Hase had just exposed.
So why…
So why is it that when he steps outside of the class (ignoring his classmates scolding him for leaving them), he turns to find… this.
A wall of girls (and a few guys, for that matter), all gathered in a circle. Some had phones in hand, cameras open, others seemed to be trying to shove their way through. A mob of godless, wretched, cooing and cawing creatures. And the object of their reverence? Of their desires?
He can only create the full image through a series of glances through the bodies, collaged together. Long white socks, polished shoes, a short, frilly skirt, black and white attire. Ken Takakura, dressed fully as a maid. A girl maid. The sight is an embarrassment, made moreso by his stupidly blushing face, practically glowing red. Fitting, as he truly does look stupid.
But somehow, miraculously, these idiots still don't see it.
Scrambling to get to him, there's already a few girls right up on him, trying to take selfies. He's sputtering some nonsense about "Oh, I don't know about…" or some bullshit, playing coy. He's so evidently loving the attention.
Where did Hase go wrong? It's more apparent now than ever before, what a fraud the little loser is. Yet everyone gathers around him so easily, so freely-
"Oi."
Never before has Hase been happier to hear Momo Ayase's voice.
It's odd. Despite the commotion that had been sounding up and down the hall just moments prior, Ayase's voice seemed to quiet everyone. The crowd parted, as though to let her eyes fall upon Takakura, and finally.
This was the moment.
Momo Ayase's type was well known, a byproduct of her many failed relationships. She always, without fail, went for the macho type. The man's man. The type that had bravado and masculinity oozing from them. It was odd, watching her pretend to be able to stomach the little loser for as long as she did, but seeing him like this? Vulnerable, emasculated, surrounded by girls… surely this would be what woke her up. What made her drop the act.
So why were her cheeks as pink as her sweater?
"Okarun don't like bein' crowded like that, asswipes." She walks forward as though the world completes the motion for her. "Can't you see you're makin' him uncomfortable? Get yourselves a sense of fuckin' boundaries."
"Ayase-san, i-it's okay-"
"The hell it is."
How could his calculations have gone this poorly? She should be swearing him off right now, freshly awakened from whatever delusions she's enforced upon herself, and yet… and yet…
She stops just shy of him, tilting her head to one side. "You look good," she says, her voice filled with a warmth Hase has to believe is not genuine.
"Thank you," he says with a laugh. It's then that Hase realizes, he doesn't even seen embarrassed now. The waver of his voice has disappeared, he's all smiles… what the fuck. "I don't think it's to my taste, but my class needed someone to, apparently."
"How odd that is," answers Momo, as she turns a dangerous eye over her shoulder, directly at Hase. "How odd that is indeed."
He was fucked. If looks could kill, he'd be dead already. Hell, he's half-convinced she'd find a way to kill him with looks alone.
"Yo," she says to the hall, though her eye lingers on him. "Fuck're y'all still doin' out here? You pestered Okarun enough, at least go inside."
A fact about Momo Ayase's reputation; her axe kicks were notoriously deadly. So much so that, out of fear of being on the receiving end, the flood of people all suddenly decide to pour into their classroom. Ayase clicked her teeth together, turning back to the loser, as if Hase wasn't even there.
"Didn't know you could rock a skirt like this," she says with a softness that makes Hase sick, a giggle that makes his blood boil. "Y'know, I think the cafe is hirin', if ya plan to-"
"Ayase-saaaan," the loser says in a pathetic whine. "I don't know how you deal with this… the shoes are so uncomfortable, and it's so tight."
"Allllright, ya dork," she snorts affectionately. "C'mon, go change 'n' I'll treat ya to some ramen."
"I really don't mind, especially if it… y-y'know, brings a crowd to my class."
"Oh, so you want girls to be oglin' ya?"
"…I'll go change."
She cackles at that, fondness in every breath she draws, even as the loser slinks back to the locker rooms. As she recovers, though, her eyes once again land on Hase, locked in place. Any fondness, any warmth, it drops immediately.
"Still here, huh?"
He shakes his pounding head side to side, in disbelief. "What's your angle, Ayase?"
Crimson-pink eyes narrow. "The fuck you mean?"
"With the loser. What're you playing at? I kinda got it, trying to play nice with the school punching bag paints you in a good light and all, but don't you think you've let it go on long enough?" She was stepping closer. Maybe realizing the truth in his words. "I mean, kind of a waste of your time. Hasn't he given you whatever you were after, at this point? I gave you a good chance to get out, just now. Why waste it?"
She stops a few inches from him, hair falling in her face, obscuring her expression. He could get through to her. It fell to him, of course. A woman like Ayase needed the leading hand of a strong, capable man.
"I get it, no shame in it," he says, going to lay a hand on her shoulder. "You just deluded yourself, at some-"
Huh?
Where was he?
Ugh. His head was pounding. It was… cold? But he was under sheets of some kind. Reclined. In bed? When did he get here? Why did…
Why did his jaw ache?
He blinks his eyes open, flinching as they adjust to the light of the room. The nurse's office.
Beside him, there's a heavy sigh.
"'Bout fuckin' time," came Ayase's voice. "Had to wait for your dumbass to wake up. Didn't think I hit ya that hard."
"Yough-" Ow. Talking hurt. She must have kicked him in the jaw. He couldn't even remember the movement, though. "You knocked me out?!"
"No," she says, having the nerve to flash a shit-eating smile. "You fell. And because I'm so nice, I carried you here. Got it? I made a promise to Okarun that I'd try not to go 'round fightin' assholes on his behalf, and I been tryin' real hard to make good on that promise, so he don't need to know about this lil slip up, yeah?"
"You fffffucking knocked me out?!" He tried to sit up, but the room was still spinning. "Why the hell?"
"You were talkin' shit about my Oka-, about my friend," she says, like it's the simplest thing in the world.
"What could there possibly be about him that's worth such a thing," Hase demanded. "Nothing about your relationship is natural, you're in different worlds. I don't get it, what the hell do you gain from it? I tried to give you an out, goddammit, just to find that you're, what, into that now?"
"I wouldn't say into per se-"
"You don't get anything out of it. There's no social benefit for you continuing this… this charade of a friendship," he spat.
She blinked at him once. Again. "Dude, what the fuck are you talking about."
"You don't get any-"
"Who the fuck talks like that? The hell?" She was… she was laughing. At him. At Hase. People weren't supposed to do that. Not when he hadn't made a joke. "'Social benefit,' 'charade of a friendship,' like dude. Shut the fuck up."
"Don't laugh at me, you-"
"Ayase-san, are you ready?"
Cut off, as always, by the stupid fucking loser. Ayase's eyes go to the door immediately, where he's waiting, in his standard uniform now. Stupid brown gaze lands on him, and he has the nerve to look concerned. "Oh, you're awake! Are you feeling better?"
"BETTER?! I-"
Before any other words can leave him, he practically feels Momo's wrath already. It's like a physical weight upon his chest, constricting him, as he remembers her previous words.
"Better. Yeah. Whatever."
"That's good," Takakura says cheerily.
"I'll be right there, Okarun," Ayase says, rising from her seat. As soon as the loser is out of earshot, she turns to face Hase. "Leave him alone, alright? He's a good guy. He deserves better than how you treat him, even if he's oblivious to just what an asshole you are."
"Tsk. What could you possibly even get out of being around him?"
"Look, I'm not gonna sit here 'n' talk feelings with you, of all people," she scoffs, already walking for the door. "But… if you think life's all about this wack ass social pyramid bullshit, or what you can 'get' out of relationships, then I'on' really know what to tell ya." She turns to face him with a shrug and a smirk.
"You just miscalculated. That's all there is to it."
Hase flops back into his pillow, staring up at the tile ceiling. Pondering, as much as he could, what Momo Ayase could possibly understand that he didn't.
Perhaps he will never know.