The gloomy boy was an actively superficial and lovable person in the grand cascade of small pep-talks. He had it all – friends, family, foe, and even fleeting acquaintances to accompany in his shenanigans. Truth be told, that's obvious – given his bright personality, it wasn't as surprising for the circumstances to stack the odds on top of him with a huge advantage. What ember he had left in his youthful anticipation was not to be distinguished from its permanent and imminent cousin: pure excitement. It was comparative to the exhilaration and enthusiasm of a child's first contact with the world. Again, he was constantly exposed and bewildered with the wonders of fantasy, his true exaggeration of what's considered reality.

Confined in his own wildest perception, as the interpreter, he'd only seen the world through the lense of a teenager's well-reciprocated feelings. By that, he's yet to feel entirely distraught or depressed; yet to feel disoriented or trapped in mad trouble. He's also yet to feel confused and misinformed – to feel misunderstood and have people telling him he's not getting the hint. That, but ofcourse, may stem off and be the result from his life always being incurred with small problems rather than ones stressful enough to make him feel extremely sad and such. Maybe, he kept getting everything that he wanted.

Or that could be an exaggeration… who knows. After being enclosed in a fictionalized world – he might be entitled, soft, and for a lack of stronger emphasis… egotistical in a way.

The lesson or solution that could be brought upon seeing his situation from an awkward and outer perspective is: to harden up, no? That's easier said than done, really… but what about the impact it's inflicted upon the boy? Has what affected him, to the degree of depression and irreverence, really be worth the cruel and painstaking lesson? Can it even be considered a lesson if what it does is hurt rather than make one remember? Arguments can go far from here, but the questions that arise will always come to an ender once the suffering is too much to handle.

How do I face myself when I continue to live like this?

He began to thought, of what he thought that day.

I see myself, alongside my friends. I've been together with them for years now – most of my teenage life, actually. It was fun! I liked it, I really do. But something about them irked me. They… they – always felt like they're hiding a thing, something? – from me. And it's grinding me on my teeth, hard. Why can't they just tell me? I've tried asking them what's wrong and it's always the “get a clue.” or a look of disbelief…

He shook his head, memories gushing into his mind.

Then, was a day long-well he'd wanted to forget: around the starting month of March, he had what he thought was enough. In a class, in a time nearing its lunchtime and free time for the students to hang around the block. He was a bit… mad. He looked like he was keeping a lot in his mind, and struck off an obvious anger in something.

The bell rang, and the teacher went.

The boy, quick on his feet, stood up in unison with the others before the teach went to give their thanks as followed and referenced in Japanese culture. Once the door slid open, and then closed before them, he walked towards someone with ill-intent. He, metaphorically, seemed like he was steaming off heavy hot-air balloons. Anger stamped into his expression, and overtook his demeanors. He furiously grabbed this person by the shoulder, and swung her to face him.

She looked at him, first surprised, but in an instant – switched to pure, unadulterated annoyance. “What.”

He snickered. “You know what,” he replied in anguish and indignation in his voice. “Can't seem to get a clue?”

“Ohh, is this about me saying it's all your fault Mika's dad got into the accident?” She was quick on the uptake. Way, too, too quick.

“Yeah, and you should've said that months ago. Way to go, keeping it all in for months now and just giving me dead stares… but spreading it like wildfire now?”

“I was there,” she said. “And I saw Mika punch you in the face before running off, crying.” she grinned, thinking she's right. It was an obvious situation of who's in the right and wrong… 

“Yeah, ofcourse.. but –”

Except it wasn't.

“You'd say I misunderstood?”

He stood back, and took his step before crooking imbalanced. “Well, that's the thing –”

“Rito,” she looked at him dead-eyed. “I can't believe you'd even have the audacity to be mad when this is all happening…

“You tell yourself that it'll be alright as long as you apologize continuously, is that right? But then it irks you when people around you start to distance themselves from you because you think the problem is in the past now and will recover. That there's room to recover, no?” She cracked her knuckles and looked away, wanting to not look at his face anymore. “I'll admit, you might think I'm stupid” – Rito opened his mouth, but she continued hurriedly – “but based on your reaction right now to what I just said, although assumptions at first, they're actually correct, am I right?”

He was shocked. Beyond belief. He knew this, it happened months ago, and at first he'd tell himself it's all his fault and everything – that he's to blame. But as time went on and on, he began to grow accustomed to the grief and guilt, reassuring himself that he'd paid all debts by apologizing and showing how much he's genuinely sorry for that incident. But the more people kept bringing the situation, which is inevitably so, and the more people started hearing the rumors of his case – his reputation began to crumble. He was apologizing, but after so so long of a time and such a big amount of said situation being brought up again, and again… he began to feel annoyed. Surely, life has been easygoing for him: normal teenage life, and from his firstborn to only now has something this big of a detrimental problem occurred to him.

Outside of him stepping on poop and crying about being shunned from his classmates back in grade school, nothing else stands out.

Truly, he'd felt selfish.

He didn't really care about what Mika felt at that time… more that he did so only because he himself was involved. And even then, he was selfish to the point of being constantly annoyed at the nag of everyone blaming him. He assured himself with the heal of time that he's not at fault, that it was an accident. When in reality, he'd only care about what happens to him. Not once did he admit that he was really the cause and root of the problem. And it never, ever occurred to him up until now.

Because he was stuck-up, because he was thickheaded and egoistical, that he was stupid and his idiocy being bloated with his pride shafted a growing dislike for him by everyone. Soon, everyone's perception of him changes. And, in an instant, no one stood by him.

It would've been fine if from then till now, this very moment, he accepted his guilt and just looked down sober and sad about the whole thing. Atleast, by those standards, people would see he's extremely regretful of what happened.

But that's not the important thing, right?! I mean, why should you be entitled to accept each and every insult thrown at you? If they held weight, sure, but if they're over the board, perhaps even the perpetrator can get behind striking a counter, right?

Society's the one that is wrong here! I can't adapt, and I'll be forced to conform to whatever thrown at me!

That's… not the case here. That was what he had grown to think. When in reality, that's just selfish thinking. He was beyond selfish. Only caring for what he had to suffer through, and not Mika's problems. Sorry is not enough for everything, sometimes not for anything even.

So, any little remnant or miasma of rotten trash needs to be cleansed immediately.. or else everyone won't accept it. Even if it's.. been so long.

Even if it's been months —

or years, even decades —

even if I managed a change —

It still won't be enough.

After this occurred to him, his face was filled with gloom and murking ugliness. He was making a face that's akin to a manchild — a crybaby, of a person depressed and despondent.

He looked towards everyone else in class. They're all watching… he had thought. Fucking bystanders. 

“Does she even have any leads on this?!” he yelled.

“I'm not dumb enough to assume and instantly tell everyone. I contacted Mika and he told me everything,” she countered. “I'm entirely right in this situation.”

He then stared at him, the man of the group, Haru… please help me –

Haru was giving the same look towards him. He looked like he was about to cry, he looked like he didn't know how to help or reply… he looked as-if he had forgotten everything and anything that happened, and that he's trying his best to fathom but can't even understand anything. He wanted to help, maybe? But… he stood silent. He can't help him through this.

Haru.

Why are you giving me that look?

—he swayed his hands in disbelief and rubbed his eyes thereafter—

Stop looking at me like that! I don't want it!

Rito started to cry. He screamed and ran outside, going past everyone in the corridor and climbed the school gate. He didn't look at anyone when running, contrary to everyone looking at him. He knew what they'd say to him anyways, “Why are you crying? It's your fault. Don't try to act like the victim.”

It's true, though, even to some extent. Ofcourse, prolonging the bygone past is only a detriment to each and every individual's progression both mentally and emotionally, but to selfishly cast aside guilt in such a short timespan… that, was his fault. And because of his life of always being inside his comfort zone, this was as hard-hitting as it can ever get.

But, maybe now, he's truly tasted the outside world.