Chapter 137 - My Uppercut for Your Sake (5) (1/2)

From the time I was in the upper grades of elementary school until I moved to this town, the world in which I, Kazamachi Kunpei, lived, was very small.

I’m not talking about the town where I was born and raised, but about the range of activities that a person like me can do.

No matter what I did, my reputation would follow me around, and my “true character” as a real person would be twisted and spread.

If I helped a classmate who was being extorted on the street, somehow it will become I asked for a larger sum of money after saving them.

If I reached out to a girl who was in trouble because of a persistent pick-up artist, a rumor quickly spreads that she was forcibly taken to a hotel in return for my help.

If I approached someone who was being bullied excessively, a rumor would spread throughout the school that I was overseeing the bullying in the shadows.

The reason behind the spread of such lies had a lot to do with my “overzealous” personality.

In any case, I’m not very smart, and the only solution I could come up with was to use my body, which was stronger than most people’s, and my muscles, which I had trained in vain.

Only in the world of shounen manga does the adage “yesterday’s enemy is also today’s strong enemy” apply.

The high school seniors who were beaten by the junior high school students were amplified in frustration and shame, the hoodlums who were defeated in one-on-one matches were amplified in shame and ridicule, and my wounded self-esteem was not easily healed, and I must have continued to writhe in pain every day.

In other words, all the infamy, abuse, and vituperation against me came from my enemies, and the ones who spread it had a wealth of connections.

It is said that a rumor about a person lasts for 75 days, but it is more correct to say that it keeps getting tuned up every 75 days.

The victims I’ve (unsolicitedly) helped are those who were spotted because they were too weak or timid and easily involved.

The perpetrators who are “big, arrogant, violent, and self-righteous” are much louder than them.

Ill weeds grow apace.

If I were smart, I’d stop all activities and focus on erasing their existence.

The right thing to do would be to endure until the rumors disappear and start fresh with a clean slate.

But the trouble was, my personality wouldn’t let me do that. I’m just so disappointed in myself for being such an extreme fool.

Every time I get into trouble, I regret it and reflect on it.

I’ve been lectured by my father as well as Shouhei, and I’ve received more painful fists than I can remember.

Even so, the fact that I can’t leave someone who’s crying behind when I see them is the result of my troubled “nature,” which is almost like a disease.

Or perhaps it is the result of my dead mother’s education.

My mother used to tell me that if someone was in trouble, it was cool to help them out.

My mother said that my father was such a man.

It was the most sinful part of my stupid mind that I interpreted it so broadly. I really can’t help it.

I now understand how scary, annoying, and stupid it is to oblige oneself to “help someone” without a sense of justice, a sense of purpose, and without meaning.

It’s probably wrong for a person to do that. I somehow think that people have to do it for some reason or for something.

When I walked the streets, I was met with scornful stares, I was isolated at school, and most of my conversations were with my family or my enemies.

That was the extent of the world to Kazamachi Kunpei until he graduated from junior high school.

◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Of course.”

At the back of the Paradise Sibling’s hideout. It was just me, Prince Atol, and Nanairo-san standing in the handmade ring.

My father was in the blue corner, and Kayone and Utai were standing by in the red corner.

This was a boxing-style duel. It was not boxing at all.

The prince and I were not boxers, we’re just amateurs.

There’s no way we can follow the rules strictly, and it’s obvious that there will be a lot of inconveniences when we’re from different races.

So, this duel is a “boxing-ish” style of duel.

Strikes to the back of the head. Strikes with elbows and knees. Strikes with the head. Strikes to the vital points. Strikes from the waist down. Striking with one hand while holding the opponent down.

Those were all forbidden, and gloves and headgear were required.

Well, it’s a lot better than a duel in an uninhabited wilderness like in a period drama.

If the rules become useless, there’s a big chance that it will be more than just an injury.

“Three minutes per round! Five rounds with a one-minute interval between rounds. We’ll have knockouts, ten-count, and technical knockouts, okay? If a fighter can’t strike a fighting pose within ten seconds of falling, or if he falls three times in a round, it’s a knockout! Or if we deem it impossible to continue, the fight is over! If Aniki or I deem it a foul, we’ll penalize you! It’s a point deduction system out of 10, but it’s not as detailed as real boxing, so we’ll trust in your pride and sportsmanship! When the score reaches zero, you are considered defeated. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.”

The prince and I nodded lightly at Nanairo-san’s explanation.

“Okay, corner in! Don’t forget your mouthpiece, okay?”

We stared at each other in the center of the ring, and with Nanairo-san’s words, we went back to our seconds.

For the record, we were wearing shirts and shorts.

We didn’t have boxer trunks.

The gloves and headgear were provided by Gasara and them to make things fair.

Well, we both know that we won’t be doing any petty tricks, so it’s just a formality.

If that premise wasn’t held, then I wouldn’t even know what the duel was for.

“Here, mouthpiece.”

“Ahm. Rhis fheels soh srange. (This feels so strange.)”