I Married the Girl Who Used to Bully Me - Chapter 10

“Ah, damn it! Not again.”

The LCD screen’s reach sequence ended anticlimactically, the glowing red numbers mercilessly tumbling down.

Another loss. No, I knew it was coming. There was no way I could win.

Right now, I’m sitting in some rundown pachinko parlor. Obviously underage. But nobody here gives a damn about age. Neither the customers nor the staff have any interest in interfering with each other. They just load their desires and regrets onto the steel balls and let them fly.

The money I squeezed out of Akiyama and his gang earlier today was already gone in the blink of an eye.

All that rose from the depths of my chest was an inescapable self-loathing and a hollowness that wouldn’t fade no matter how hard I bit down on it.

When stress builds up, I run to booze and cigarettes.

Maybe it’s pathetic for a damn kid like me to try drowning in that stuff. But it was all I had left.

Looking back, I’ve always been bullied. My desk scribbled on, my notebooks torn up, laughed at in class. And when I got home, my old man would beat me. Even if I did nothing. Like my very existence was a crime.

Was that when it started?

When the gears in my heart began to slip, when something inside me shattered with a sickening crack?

That’s why I don’t let myself remember.

The past won’t save me, no matter how much I dig it up.

So, all I can do is sink into the fleeting pleasure in front of me. The blurry vision from alcohol, the burning heat of smoke-filled lungs.

That’s the only thing that gives me the illusion that I’m alive now.

“Sir, could you not hit the machine?”

“Hah? Shut the hell—oh, sorry.”

Every time the staff’s words reach my ears, a small wave of disgust spreads through my chest. Lately, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m becoming more and more like my old man. Yelling, lashing out, drowning in booze. Every time his face flashes in my mind, I feel so sick I could puke. And then I realize I’m walking the same path, and the nausea hits me again.

Still, the vicious cycle doesn’t stop. The frustration of losing turns to anger, anger calls for more booze and smokes, and the booze and smokes dull my thoughts even further.

The money disappears, the night deepens, and by morning, all that’s left is regret. Even if the rational part of me desperately slams on the brakes, my body moves on its own.

I know. I know repeating this won’t solve a damn thing. But the moment another choice rises to my throat, I get scared.

The version of me that stays sane feels weak somehow and somewhere deep down, I think it’s better to just break than to show that weakness.

When I step out of the pachinko parlor, the cold evening air mixes with the sight of Misaki and the others.

“Hurry up!” Chinatsu’s impatient voice snaps. Misaki, as usual, is carrying everyone’s bags, walking awkwardly. A familiar scene—yeah, that’s my memory. An old, scarred memory stirring uneasily in my chest.

Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.

Next to the pachinko parlor’s glaring neon lights, a brightly lit karaoke sign glows out of place.

Misaki and Chinatsu stop in front of it.

“Ugh, just go home already. We don’t want our boyfriends seeing your ugly face.”

“Seriously.”

“And what’s with the eyepatch? Trying to be edgy? Just take it off already.”

One of the lackeys cackles as she reaches for Misaki’s face.

Misaki resists desperately, but her thin arms are no match. The eyepatch is ripped off without mercy.

“Ah—”

A brief silence falls over the exposed scar on her right eye. But the next second, dry laughter explodes.

“Ew, gross!”

“Put that thing back on! It’s disgusting. Just looking at it makes me wanna puke. What a public nuisance.”

Their jeers slice through the air like sharp blades, drawing the attention of passersby.

Misaki trembles as she tries to take back the eyepatch, but the lackey holds it high, taunting her.

“Come on, you can’t live without this, right?”

Chinatsu smirks in satisfaction before tossing the eyepatch aside and pushing open the karaoke’s automatic door.

The lackeys vanish inside with shrill giggles.

Left behind, Misaki picks up the eyepatch from the ground and puts it on, hiding her face with both hands.

Her shoulders shake slightly, but she makes no sound. Only her lips move, whispering something over and over.

“One chocolate, one happiness.”

—Save her? Don’t make me laugh. I’m not him anymore.