Makoto Nishikado wandered aimlessly until, without realizing it, he'd drifted into the middle school campus of Shuchiin Academy.
Come to think of it, those absurdly overpowered protagonists from Prince of Tennis were all middle schoolers, weren't they?
Not only could they Dynamax themselves, but by the endgame they were smashing black holes and inducing hallucinations with a tennis racket.
If any of them existed in this world, he wouldn't mind a game of murder tennis on the court.
He was about to head back and regroup with the Akizuki mother and daughters when a scream tore through the silence from a classroom at the end of the corridor.
A boy's voice, raw and ragged.
"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Why?! Why?! Why?! I didn't do anything wrong! I didn't do a single thing wrong!"
Makoto's eyebrow twitched.
Another interesting one?
He pushed the classroom door. It wasn't locked from the inside, which meant this kid wasn't trapped in here the way Kotonoha had been. He'd come here on his own.
Inside, the floor along the wall was a disaster zone. A thin-framed boy crouched there, eyes bloodshot, tearing page after page to shreds with a frenzy that bordered on violence. Crumpled wads of paper littered the ground around him like snow.
His breathing came in harsh, ragged bursts, chest heaving.
Then the boy sensed it. A presence. His head snapped toward the doorway, and the moment he registered the dark silhouette standing there, his legs gave out.
He hit the floor with a graceless thud.
Makoto reached over and flicked the light switch.
Fluorescent white flooded the classroom, revealing them both in sharp relief.
"You're..."
Makoto's gaze had barely settled on him before the blue-haired boy on the floor seemed to recognize who he was looking at. Terror bled through his voice.
"N-Nishikado!"
Makoto studied him. His eyes drifted casually to the scraps of paper scattered across the desk, where three words were still legible on a torn fragment: self-criticism.
His brow arched. He looked down at the boy sprawled on the floor. "Name, kid."
The boy's lips trembled for a long moment before the answer came, barely louder than a whisper.
"Ishi... Ishigami. Yu."
The name deepened the amusement in Makoto's eyes. He pulled a chair over and sat down, legs crossed. "Got in trouble and they're making you write an apology, huh?"
"I didn't do anything wrong!"
The fury must have been stronger than the fear, because Ishigami's head shot up, red-rimmed eyes glaring straight at Makoto.
Thwack.
Makoto rapped his knuckles against the top of Ishigami's skull without an ounce of hesitation.
"Wrong target for that anger, kid."
Ishigami, who'd only just managed to stand, crumpled back down, clutching his forehead with both hands. "S-sorry..."
Makoto found him entertaining. He kicked out a second chair and jerked his chin toward the seat across from him.
"Let's talk."
On the other side of the city, Ran Mouri sprinted through the streets, heart hammering, until she reached the Western-style house where Shinichi Kudo lived.
The sheer scale of the place said everything about the Kudo family's wealth.
When she arrived, Shinichi was about to climb into a police cruiser parked at the gate.
"Shinichi!"
He turned at her shout, one hand still on the door handle, and blinked. "Ran? It's late. What are you doing here?"
"You're going to..." Her eyes locked on the cruiser, and her chest tightened.
He answered without thinking much of it. "The surveillance team picked up footage that might be Makoto Nishikado. They want me at headquarters to help with the investigation."
Makoto had never bothered to hide. Walking down the street in broad daylight, he was bound to end up on someone's footage.
"Don't go!"
The instant she heard Makoto's name leave Shinichi's mouth, panic surged through her. She lunged forward and grabbed his arm with both hands, voice cracking.
"Huh?"
Shinichi stared at her, completely baffled by the intensity of her reaction.
Ran opened her mouth, ready to pour out everything: the transmigration, the terrifying truth of what Makoto Nishikado was.
But the words caught in her throat as the system's rule slammed back into her mind. Players are forbidden from revealing their identities. Violation means immediate erasure.
Her eyes burned. All she could manage was a desperate, vague plea. "Sensei... Nishikado has supernatural powers. Stop investigating him. If you keep going, nothing good will come of it."
From the driver's seat, Officer Takagi nearly choked on his own spit at the words "supernatural powers." He pressed his lips together, fighting back a grin.
Shinichi's expression twisted into barely-contained exasperation. He waved a hand. "Ran, I'm busy. If you want to joke around, save it for school tomorrow."
"I'm serious!"
She stomped her foot, tears threatening to spill over. "He has real powers! You have to stop this investigation, Shinichi. You'll die!"
"Right, right. I've got powers too, actually. One kick and I can knock a meteorite out of the sky. Don't worry about me."
He brushed her off, clearly convinced she'd lost her mind. Then he pulled the rear door open, slid into the back seat, and called up to the front. "Officer Takagi, let's go."
The cruiser pulled away. Ran was still outside, pounding on the window, her voice breaking. "Shinichi, don't go! Don't!"
"Go home!" His voice carried through the glass as the car disappeared down the street.
Has she been doing karate so long it scrambled her brain?
By the time Shinichi arrived at the Investigation Division One offices at MPD headquarters, the place was alive with laughter.
Officers were practically doubled over, the air thick with barely-suppressed amusement.
In the middle of it all, one person was decidedly not laughing.
A woman in a sharp business suit, her figure elegant and her expression murderous, stood apart from the roaring crowd like a thundercloud at a comedy show.
Eri Kisaki. Ran's mother. The Queen of the Courtroom.
Shinichi flinched on instinct. A primal shiver of dread crawled up his spine.
Growing up, he'd had a habit of sneaking into crime scenes, and he'd dragged Ran along more than once.
Eri had never forgiven him for it. Every encounter ended with her tearing him apart so thoroughly he wished the floor would swallow him whole.
Years of that treatment had left a scar on his psyche that no amount of detective work could heal.
He hunched his shoulders and sidled up to Kogoro Mouri, who was wiping tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes.
"Uncle, what's going on?"
Kogoro jabbed a thumb toward Eri, his estranged wife of ten years, voice dripping with glee. "Eri came in here and told everyone that Nishikado kid has supernatural powers, and we should all stop chasing him. Can you believe it?"
"Supernatural powers? Again?"
Shinichi's gaze swung to Eri, whose face had gone stone cold. The daughter said it. Now the mother too?
Eri's expression could have frozen lava. She'd dropped everything the moment she got back, rushed here out of genuine concern to warn them about how dangerous Makoto Nishikado was, and not a single person in the room believed her.
The worst of it was Kogoro. Forget defending her. He was laughing right along with the rest of them.
Inspector Megure stepped forward, raising a hand to quiet the room. Even so, the stubborn twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
"Sorry about that, Eri. It's just... what you're describing is a bit hard to swallow. Maybe you've been working too many cases? Stress can do things."
Eri didn't dignify that with a response. She turned on her heel and walked out without looking back.
—
Meanwhile, in the empty classroom of Shuchiin Academy's middle school building, Makoto had heard the full story.
Yu Ishigami was a Pure student. Wealthy family, solid pedigree. But he'd never been good with people, never learned how to navigate the social battlefield.
In his class, he was furniture. Background noise. The kid nobody remembered to invite.
There was a girl. Kyoko Otomo, the most popular student in the entire middle school division. Warm, open, kind to everyone, including the quiet loner sitting in the back of the room.
Ishigami's feelings toward her weren't romantic. She was one of the only people who'd ever treated him like a human being, and for that alone, he wanted her to be happy.
Kyoko's boyfriend was Kou Ogino, another Pure student. Good-looking, smooth-talking, popular.
The kind of guy who moved through life collecting admirers the way others collected trading cards.
Their relationship was an open secret, and everyone agreed they were the golden couple. Ishigami included.
The school turned a blind eye. Shuchiin was full of students from powerful families, both in the middle and high school divisions.
As long as nothing got out of hand, the administration preferred not to interfere.
Then, by pure chance, Ishigami stumbled onto the truth.
Ogino wasn't what he seemed. Behind the charm, he was cheating on Kyoko with other girls, and worse, he'd been photographing his conquests in intimate situations and using those images for trades that belonged in the darkest corners of the internet. The kind of thing that only showed up in the most depraved doujinshi.
When Ishigami found out, rage hit him like a freight train. He confronted Ogino on the spot.
Ogino didn't even flinch. No shame. No guilt. He pulled out Kyoko's private photos and showed them off, then had the audacity to ask if Ishigami wanted in on the action. A smirk on his face the entire time.
Ishigami was timid. Awkward. Bad with words. But somewhere beneath all of that was a spine made of something harder than steel.
He snapped. Tackled Ogino to the ground and beat him bloody.
And then Ogino, with the silver tongue he'd honed in the drama club, flipped the entire narrative.
He told classmates and teachers alike that Ishigami had been harboring an unrequited obsession with Kyoko, and when she didn't return his feelings, he'd attacked her boyfriend in a jealous rage.
The story exploded across the middle school division. The administration demanded Ishigami write a formal apology and deliver it in front of the entire student body.
Ishigami stayed silent. If he fought back, Ogino might release Kyoko's photos. So he swallowed it.
His classmates didn't bother hearing his side. The entire middle school division turned on him.
Isolation. Exclusion. The cold, suffocating violence of being erased by everyone around you.
To them, he was a deranged stalker who'd attacked a fellow student. Nobody wanted to hear otherwise.
Through all of it, Ishigami refused to write the apology. He would not bow to something this unjust.
But time ground him down. The school escalated the pressure. His own parents believed the rumors over their son.
And today, his homeroom teacher had delivered an ultimatum: submit the written apology by tomorrow morning, or face suspension. Possibly expulsion.
Which brought them to the scene Makoto had walked in on.
"Scum like that exists everywhere," Makoto said, one leg crossed over the other, a cold smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
He'd known Ishigami's story from the anime in his previous life. But hearing the victim lay it out himself, in person, word by painful word, hit differently.
"So?" He glanced at the sea of torn paper on the floor. "You gonna write it?"
"Like hell I will!" Ishigami's jaw clenched, defiance flashing hot.
Then his head dropped. The fire guttered out, replaced by something hollow. Lost. He didn't know what to do anymore.
The whole world had decided he was wrong, and even his parents wouldn't stand with him.
Quiet people always drew the short straw. Always.
"What do you want to do about it?" Makoto asked, voice low and even.
Ishigami's head snapped up. His eyes met Makoto's. His mouth opened, the beginning of something forming on his lips, but hesitation and fear strangled it before it could escape.
Makoto's smile widened. "Don't overthink it. First instinct. Give me that."
"Kill him."
A beat of silence. Then the words came, ground out between clenched teeth.
Every trace of cowardice had been scoured from Ishigami's eyes, replaced by the hard, desperate resolve of someone who'd burned every bridge and had nothing left to lose.
Makoto's smile bloomed into something genuinely pleased.
"Good. Tomorrow, show me that resolve means something."
He stood and headed for the door.
"What... what are you trying to do?"
Ishigami had cooled down enough for suspicion to creep back in. He stared at Makoto's retreating back, disbelief written across his face.
Why would someone who murdered people in broad daylight stop to help him? What was the angle?
Makoto paused mid-step. He turned his head, just enough for his left eye to find Ishigami's.
"Nothing complicated. I enjoy watching scum get what's coming to them."
Ishigami held that gaze and felt something wash over him. A crushing, magnetic pressure that was equal parts terrifying and intoxicating.
In that moment, the way he looked at Makoto Nishikado was the way Vanilla Ice had once looked at Dio.
Even villains had their savior.
The next morning, Makoto woke to a soft, warm sensation pressing against both cheeks simultaneously.
He cracked his eyes open. Marina and Airi Akizuki were already dressed and ready, wearing the crisp uniforms of Shuchiin Academy, their faces hovering inches from his with matching grins.
"We're heading out, Makoto!"
Their voices were sweet and lilting as they nuzzled against him in farewell.
He waved them off with a lazy hand, still half-buried in sleep.
A rare morning for him to oversleep. Then again, he'd gotten back late the night before, and fighting a two-on-one battle in bed had taken its toll.
After dozing a while longer, he dragged himself out of the room and into the living room, where he nearly collided with Kayoko Akizuki on her way out to work.
"Good morning, Mrs. Akizuki." He pulled on his shirt with one hand and tossed out the greeting with the other.
"G-good morning, Makoto..."
Kayoko averted her eyes a beat too late, a flush creeping up her cheeks.
The glimpse of hard muscle beneath his half-open collar sent a dry heat through her that she tried very hard to ignore. She swallowed.
Last night, the sounds leaking through the wall from the next room had assaulted her ears for hours.
And if she counted the four-plus years spent in the other world, that made it nearly five years of this torture.
Five years. Five years.
Do you have any idea what these five years have been like for me?
Makoto bent down to put on his shoes, and Kayoko forced her voice into something resembling calm. "Going out?"
"There's a show I don't want to miss." He didn't look up.
A wave of his hand, and he was out the door.
Kayoko stood motionless for three full seconds. Then, as if possessed, she rushed into her daughters' room and shut the door behind her.
She drew a deep breath. The room still carried his scent.
Her gaze went unfocused. The last threads of restraint unraveled, and she threw herself onto the bed where Makoto had slept the night before, burying her face in the sheets, inhaling deeply, her body twisting restlessly against the fabric.