Chapter 22: The Battle of the Heir

“Guh…!”

A heavy thud reverberated through the room as a guy was sent crashing into a locker, collapsing in a heap.

“Ow, damn it…” he groaned, clutching his side.

“What’s that?” I taunted, looming over him. “All that talk about being an athletic jock, and this is all you’ve got?”

The basketball clubroom was larger than I’d expected. Spacious enough to house lockers for the entire team, it offered ample room for over a dozen members to change and rest without feeling cramped. Yet, right now, that generous space felt like a battlefield.

On the polished floor, four male students lay sprawled, each groaning in pain, with no sign of rising anytime soon. Their labored breaths and stifled curses filled the air.

“You okay, Fujikawa?” I called out, my tone laced with mock concern. “Cause a scene in the clubroom, and it might stir up trouble for the basketball team, y’know.”

“K-Kiyomiya…” Fujikawa, the only other guy still standing besides me, stammered. He was doubled over, clutching his stomach, his face contorted in agony.

All it took was one clean punch to his solar plexus and a swift knee to his side. Nothing fancy.

“Are these guys all from the basketball team?” I asked, glancing at the others writhing on the floor. “Five of you ganging up on one guy, only to let him slip away so easily, and now you’re in this sorry state? No way you’re making the starting lineup with skills like that.”

After school, I hadn’t run or hid. I’d shown up to Fujikawa’s summons, just as he’d demanded. Waiting for me were five guys, Fujikawa included, probably thinking they’d rough up the pathetic loser, Kiyomiya Keiji, with ease. But things hadn’t gone as planned.

“K-Kiyomiya… how the hell are you so…”

I smirked, wiping a trickle of blood from my lip, grazed by a lucky punch earlier. “Look, you might play basketball every day, but you’re still a rookie at volleyball, right? Can’t even beat a weak volleyball team, huh? It’s the same with fighting. Just because you work out at practice doesn’t mean you’re any good at throwing punches.”

“W-Wait, have you been training to fight or something?”

“Yeah, I have.”

My answer was curt as I flicked the blood from my finger. Being the black sheep of the Kiyomiya family came with its own set of rules, its own way of life. And I’d learned to survive it, one way or another.

“Keep this between us, Fujikawa. I’m only telling you because it’s you.”

“Hah?”

“I’m pretty confident in most things, y’know,” I continued, my tone calm but firm. “Studies, sports, even housework if it comes down to it. I don’t go around flaunting it, so even my dad’s clueless. And, naturally, I’ve trained my fists too.”

“What the hell for?”

“Just preparing for situations like this. I used to shrug off annoying crap with a fake smile, but I’m not about to get killed by some moron who thinks their parents can bury any crime. So I trained for moments like this. Didn’t exactly plan on getting into some retro delinquent brawl, though.”

At the Kiyomiya Family Main Residence, I’d been learning hand-to-hand combat—not some polished martial art, but raw, no-holds-barred fighting—from a former Self-Defense Force paratrooper turned security guard.

The four guys sprawled on the floor? Each went down with a single, precise hit—to the head, jaw, stomach, or back. Barely a mark on them. People always say to aim for the body to avoid visible bruises, but you don’t even need to target the stomach to knock someone out clean.

What I’d learned from the old man wasn’t about flair. It was about subduing enemies with no rules attached.

“Fujikawa, I’m done playing the pathetic underdog.”

“Wha…”

“But I’m not here to pick fights with guys like you either. Winning a brawl isn’t something you can brag about.”

I grabbed Fujikawa’s collar, my grip tight but not cruel. He looked ready to collapse, and I was just keeping him upright, not trying to scare him.

“Hey, I’ve got a favor to ask, Fujikawa-kun.”

“A f-favor?”

“From now on, don’t mess with me, and stay the hell away from Sayaka. If the Fujikawa Group backs off, the others will fall in line, right? Like Iwakura and his lackeys. Oh, and spread the word that picking on a goofy guy like me is just boring. While you’re at it, leave Maki alone too. She’s… well, technically my friend.”

“Y-You bastard, who do you think you are, spouting whatever you want…?”

“As for Maritsuji… even you’re not dumb enough to tangle with the Maritsuji family, right? She’ll be fine.”

“…”

Fujikawa stared at me like I was some kind of extraterrestrial. Fair enough. The guy they’d pegged as an easy target had just bared his fangs. The question was whether he’d get the message. Fujikawa wasn’t an idiot, but pride was his weakness. Would he slink away, or come back with double or triple the muscle, too stubborn to learn his lesson?

“Ha…”

“What’s that? Why’re you laughing, Fujikawa?”

“Hahaha, you’re the best, Kiyomiya!” Fujikawa’s voice boomed, his laughter echoing in the clubroom as I held him up by his collar.

“Kiyomiya, you’re finally getting serious, huh!”

“Huh?”

“You’re right! A carefree, grinning you is just boring! Even after all that teasing, you didn’t fight back once—way too dull!” He stopped laughing, his face splitting into a manic, almost unsettling grin. “Man, it took forever! But I always believed you were a guy who could get things done! I was sweating, wondering if you’d keep playing the useless slacker until graduation!”

“W-What are you even talking about? You okay, Fujikawa?” I asked, genuinely wondering if he’d lost it.

“Yeah, the Fujikawa family’s second-rate compared to the Kiyomiya family. Even if you’re some unrecognized kid of a nobody woman in the Kiyomiya clan, you’re still above me!”

“Fujikawa, that’s what you thought?”

“That’s why it’s so fun! No matter how much I messed with you, you just grinned and let it slide. That alone made you different. I knew—I was the only one who knew—that you were actually a badass, Kiyomiya!”

“…” I stared at him, unimpressed. Getting hyped up by some loudmouth like this didn’t exactly spark joy.

“Taking down a guy like Kiyomiya and pulling off a giant-killing—that’s the only way my high school life’s gonna feel complete! Come on, hit me! Smash me down and declare war on the Fujikawa Group!”

Oh, crap. This guy’s completely unhinged.

“You’re freaking creepy, Fujikawa,” I muttered, tightening my grip.

This might’ve been a wild twist for Fujikawa and his crew, but it was just as much of a curveball for me. Nine years of bottled-up frustration simmered, all aimed at this guy.

Maybe, just this once, I could let loose without overthinking—right to his face.