Obstinate Elitists

12

"I'm so sorry!" The beautiful girl stood there in front of you, teary-eyed and bowed down. Her lilac locks fell to the floor like a waterfall, soft and silky. You and Sakiko were in the empty nurse's office together, for you were slightly injured during martial arts. Laying down on the cool, plasticky bed, you could taste the scent of sterile that lingered in the air. Bruises lined the sides of your arms, compiled from the last two weeks. Damn, you didn't realize how much of a physical strain everything was.

The bruises weren't the reason why you were here though; no, you were here because you had hit your head against the wall when the girl swept her foot beneath you. The damage wasn't great and you were lucky not to get a concussion, but there was little bleeding on the back of your head.

"It's not your fault at all," you protested. Holding both a lump of paper towels and an ice pack to the wound, you placed pressure on it. "I shouldn't have been so clumsy."

"But still... I hurt you," she sighed, lifting her face up. She had genuine tears in her silver eyes, looking so guilty that you somehow wished to hug her.

Wiping them away, she took a deep breath and paced around the room in deep thought. She was still in her white martial arts uniform, too distracted by the current events to change out of it. The black belt tied around her waist caught your attention, a dig to your ego and a reminder of the humiliation that recently just happened. The students were busy with their own fights, so only a few nearby noticed what happened, but there was no doubt Ms. Fujimoto was going to have a even worse perception of you from now on.

Sakiko whirled around to look at you, an idea brightening her features. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

You were quick to shake your head. "You don't need to owe me anything. It's actually pretty good this happened," you said, grinning. She parted her lips in surprise, stilling in spot. "I get to skip class."

"Oh..." she murmured. However, she was confused by your words, as if it was strange to be happy about skipping class. It was probably because the girl enjoyed the courses at this school, considering how skilled she was in everything -- unlike you. Was her view of the world warped because of how different she was from all the other students? You wondered if she ever noticed the bullying that occurred at this school.

"You should head back to class. I'll be fine," you told her. She opened her mouth to argue, but you swatted her away. Having no choice but to follow your orders, she bid you farewell with one last heartfelt apology.

The door creaked open and you peeked through the curtains that surrounded your bed. In entered a blond male, his strides confident and a mischievous smile on his lips. Raising a brow in question, you realized it was Kouki, another elite. Since Sakiko hadn't fully left the room either, the two stopped dead in their tracks, staring at one another. Interesting. You couldn't help, but be curious about their relationship with one another. Were they friends like how Kouki was to Ginjirou? How did the elites function as a group?

"Kouki," she said stiffly, her jaw clenching.

"Ah, Sakiko. Haven't seen you in a hot minute. How are you?" he asked, his corners lifting up into a smirk. His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his trousers, and he was at a level of comfort unmatched to the other party.

Ignoring his inquiry, she took a few steps toward the door. "I should get going."

"How cold," he cooed. "Is that any way you should treat your childhood friend?"

Fury twisted her usual serene expression, daggers shooting from her hues. In silence, she whipped around and headed out of the nurse's room. Blinking at the scene, you tried to process what just happened. They were... childhood friends? If they were, then why was there such bad blood between the two? This interested you, but it also made your mind much more muddled than it was before. You were so lost without knowing what their backstories were like. Anyway, it wasn't any of your business; you had enough problems of your own to last a lifetime.

Also... fuck. You were alone with the annoying fashion elite. Where did the nurse go? She should hurry back so she could deal with Kouki's problem and have him leave. Hoping he wouldn't find out that you were here as well, you scooted away from the curtains, hoping to make the least amount of noise possible. Wincing at your attempt, your limbs shook and your palms grew sweaty. What game were you playing here? This was so, so stupid, but you truly did not want the guy to see you in such a state. He would make fun of you for days -- you were sure of it.

Laying back down onto the mattress, you stared blankly at the stony ceiling above you. Ugh, you hated anything that resembled a hospital. In your previous life, your mother went through phases where she got very sick. Sometimes to the point where she was submitted to a hospital. But because of financial issues, it was always so difficult to pay those bills. It was one of the reasons why you strived to work hard in school, so that one day, she wouldn't have to suffer so much.

You hated the smell of that place. The beeping monitor sounds. The people. The food. Everything. The entire building was a symbol of death, whether it'd be now or years later. It didn't matter how homely they made it to be... the cold reality lived there. It could never be home.

Your heart squeezing in your chest, you grew angry with yourself. It had been weeks since you first arrived into this webtoon world, but it still felt like you were lucid dreaming. It was so hard to accept the truth -- to think about your previous life without breaking down. Usually, you saved those moments when you were home and alone in your bedroom at night... not when you were injured in a nurse's office with an elite still in the room.

The curtain was propped open and you made eye contact with brown ones. They widened and the male sprinted up to you, his speed as quick as lightning.

"I thought the nurse was hiding, but instead, it's just you," he said, letting out a dramatic sigh. He tilted his head, analyzing you for a long moment, making you feel very uneasy. "Are you hurt?"

"No," you lied grudgingly.

He laughed for a minute as if he encountered the funniest thing ever. You knitted your brows together, unamused and agitated. Could you just go home? You didn't have time to deal with the likes of him. "You're such a bad liar."

"And what are you going to do about it?"

Without answering, he stepped up closer to you and warms hands were placed on your shoulders. He gently pulled you up to a sitting position and took the crimson painted paper towel from you. Tossing that into the trash, he grabbed new, clean ones and carefully pressed it against your head, his fingers brushing through your [h/c] strands. "Can't believe you made a mess on the bed. Tsk, tsk," he taunted, gesturing at the puddle where you recently laid. Heat poured into your cheeks and you felt ashamed.

What the hell was he doing? Was he helping you? Why? He was supposed to be this selfish prick who was so conceited he ate his own words. He was also too close to you -- too far into your personal bubble.

"I can do this myself," you snapped at him, reaching for the towels he held. Unfortunately, he was too fast and your reaction time was too slow. Every attempt to snatch the towels was a fail, to which he snickered at. Bullshit. Why couldn't he just leave you alone?

Finally wrapping your hand around his arm, you pushed him away as hard as you could. He paused in pure shock and for some reason, looked slightly hurt. "Fine," he said coldly. He returned the towels to you. "Sorry for just trying to help."

Wordlessly stalking away from you, he waited at the front for the nurse to come back. Tension hung in the air, swallowing you up inside. You felt bad, but you never asked for help. He should've asked for your permission first, right? You weren't in the wrong.

You were peeking through the curtains again, watching him from the distance. When the nurse finally came back from who knows where, the two conversed. The woman then handed him a small bottle, to which he took gracefully. A glass of water on the other hand, he opened the cap. Taking out a pill, he swallowed it down with water.

He gave one last glance to your direction and you dodged to be out of sight, heart racing. With that, he left the room, the door clasping behind him.

More questions filled your mind. What was that pill for? This whole encounter seemed like a daily routine.