Katya Edition: Second Edition

Fifty Second Corpse: What Happens When Fire Freezes

"You didn't question me."

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Fifty-Second Corpse | What Happens When Fire Freezes

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[ISSM: Day 1 | October - Year 1, Term 2 | Final Clash]

Just as I suspected, they really did blatantly rig the face off, placing the three first years from Fujimi, myself included, against their two third years and a second year. Their remaining second year and third year fighters went up against the Second Years while they left their first years to face off against our third years. I saw three familiar faces among the participants. The female goon who attacked me outside, the lazy silver-haired girl, and the mocking blonde-haired girl. Silver hair was the second year and was no doubt deliberately matched against me. The blonde was actually a third year despite her small stature, and she was matched against Hisashi, while the female goon was matched against Hiro, our Third Year best.

Despite voiding the year-based match-ups, they ironically still went in order when announcing the line ups. All of our first year matches were listed first, then our second years and finally our third years. It was sickening that I could read their intentions so well but I just knew they did this to demoralize our fighters. If things went as they planned, our first years would lose miserably, starting a losing trend that carried on until the end.

If things went as they planned.

"You two," I called out to my fellow first years, whose names I still didn't know. The duo were pale with fright, seemingly close to mental collapse from the psychological pressure of facing one-sided odds. One was a tall, dark-haired girl with wide brown eyes that made me think of a deer with her anxious expression which looked close to tears. The other was a buff boy with average height and pale, unruly brown hair which fell across his forehead and obscured his eyes. His apprehension wasn't as obvious as hers but it was still pretty obvious—a thin sheen of sweat hung on his slightly tanned skin and his fists kept clenching and unclenching.

I held in a heavy sigh and only told them impassively, "If you don't want to get hurt when the time comes, pretend that you're sick—I'll handle the rest." My tone was slightly sharp going onto the end.

Both of them blinked, exchanging confused glances.

I clicked my tongue and said in mild irritation, "I'm saying I'll sub in for you, so act like you're sick."

By the time I finished speaking, the announcer had arrived at our area to double-check participant names, so I went silent and sat in my place with a blank expression, no longer paying attention to the duo and missing the awed and reverent look in their eyes as they peeked at me from the side. Those two ended up making me rather famous among their classmates, but that was a story for another time.

Right now, the announcer had called out for Iwo Jima's first fighter, Aki-something or the other—I didn't care to listen— along with our first fighter, Junko Watanabe—the tall, doe-eyed girl. She stood, looked back at me once with a misty-eyed expression I didn't notice, then walked onto the mat. As she and Aki-whatever faced each other and bowed, she suddenly cried out, falling onto her knees and clutching her stomach.

There was an uproar in the crowd as the Fujimi teachers rushed forward onto the mat, like a herd of elephants protecting their young from a pride of hungry lions. The other Fujimi participants joined up as well and I tailed behind them rather leisurely, pushing my way through the crowd without haste in time to see Watanabe lowering her flushed face in either shame or embarrassment, explaining that she was having 'lady issues' and the cramps had become unbearable.