Yin and Yang
dark heroThe corridor was already crowded by the time Nezu arrived.
He had never understood why people needed to talk so much before class. Most of them had seen each other the previous day, would spend the next several hours in the same building, and would probably continue talking during lunch anyway. Despite that, every morning the corridors filled with conversations as if everyone had returned from a long journey.
Nezu moved through the crowd with his bag hanging from one shoulder, occasionally returning a greeting when someone directed one at him.
“Morning, Nezu.”
“Morning.”
A few steps later, another student raised his hand as they passed each other.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
A girl from another class simply called his name and gave him a small wave. Nezu nodded back and continued walking.
People knew him. He knew plenty of people too, at least well enough to recognize their faces and usually remember their names.
That didn’t make them friends.
Segu had somehow decided that this was a problem that required her personal intervention.
“Nezu!”
He stopped and looked toward the voice. There were plenty of people in the school he could comfortably pretend not to hear, but his sister had never been one of them.
Segu slipped between two groups of students and fell into step beside him, adjusting the strap of her bag as she did.
“You’re early.”
“So are you.”
“I’ve been here for twenty minutes.”
“Then I’m less early.”
Segu stared at him for a moment. “That’s not how being early works.”
“It is exactly how being early works.”
Before she could argue, someone passing in the opposite direction interrupted them.
“Morning, Segu!”
“Morning!”
They hadn’t made it another ten metres before someone farther down the corridor waved at her.
“Segu! Lunch later?”
“Sure!”
Another girl caught her attention almost immediately afterward and asked whether she was still coming somewhere after class. Segu answered with an enthusiastic yes without even slowing down.
Nezu watched her for a few seconds.
“What?”
“You already promised someone else lunch.”
Segu stopped walking. “I did?”
“Yesterday.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
She stared at him. “You remember that I promised someone lunch, but you don’t remember who?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“You were loud.”
Segu frowned while apparently searching her memory. The problem occupied her for all of two seconds before she shrugged.
“I’ll invite them too.”
“Of course you will.”
She started walking again, satisfied with her solution, and Nezu followed.
It hadn’t always been like this.
Segu had never been particularly shy, and she had always found talking to strangers easier than Nezu did, but over the last few years that difference had become increasingly obvious. Maybe she had simply grown into herself. Whatever the reason, Segu now seemed capable of making friends without consciously trying.
She knew students from their class, other classes and even other years. People Nezu was reasonably certain she had spoken to only once greeted her as if they had known each other for years, and walking anywhere with her inevitably took longer because someone always wanted to stop and talk.
Nezu had developed in almost the opposite direction.
He wasn’t disliked, at least as far as he could tell, nor did people actively avoid him. He simply didn’t feel the need to turn every familiar face into a conversation or every conversation into a friendship. He could spend an entire break sitting by himself and consider it time well spent.
Segu considered this deeply concerning.
Nezu considered Segu considering it deeply concerning to be the actual problem.
They were halfway to their classroom when Nezu suddenly stopped. Segu continued for another couple of steps before noticing and turned back to see what had caught his attention.
Three older students were standing near the windows. A younger boy was trapped between them while one of the older students held his bag above his head, moving it away every time he tried to reach for it.
“Come on. Give it back.”
“Ask nicely.”
“I already did!”
“Didn’t hear you.”
The boy holding the bag lifted it higher while his friends laughed.
Segu followed Nezu’s gaze and sighed.
“Oh, no.”
Nezu started walking toward them.
“Nezu.”
He didn’t stop.
“Nezu.”
Segu sighed again and followed him.
The third boy noticed Nezu approaching before the others did, and whatever amusement had been on his face disappeared.
“Oi.”
The student holding the bag looked at him. “What?”
The other boy nodded toward Nezu.
He turned.
“…Ah.”
Nezu stopped beside them and looked at the bag.
“Give it back.”
“We’re just messing around.”
“I know.”
There was no anger in Nezu’s voice, nor any attempt to intimidate him. He simply looked from the boy to the bag and waited.
“Give it back.”
The student hesitated for another moment before lowering his arm and handing it over. The younger boy immediately pulled the bag against his chest.
“Thanks.”
Nezu nodded. “Yeah.”
Then he turned around and walked away as if the entire matter had already ceased to interest him.
Segu remained there for a second longer, looking between the three older students. One of them scratched the back of his head when he noticed her expression.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She hurried after her brother.
Another student approached the group once they had moved away, apparently having watched the whole thing from nearby.
“What the hell was that?”
“What was what?”
“You just did what he told you.”
“So?”
The newcomer looked down the corridor toward Nezu. “You’re scared of him?”
“No.”
“You looked scared.”
“Fuck off.”
“He’s smaller than you.”
The older boy glanced after Nezu before looking back at him.
“Then go annoy him.”
The other student paused.
“…Why would I do that?”
“Exactly.”
One of his friends snorted.
“Fucking busybody.”
Segu heard that.
Nezu didn’t.
She smiled to herself.
By the time she caught up with him, Nezu was already opening his locker.
“You know, you’re making my job difficult.”
Nezu placed a book inside. “You don’t have a job.”
“I gave myself one.”
“That’s concerning.”
Segu leaned against the locker beside his. “I’m getting you friends.”
“I have friends.”
“Name three.”
Nezu stopped.
“Why three?”
Segu immediately pointed at him. “Because I know exactly what you’re about to do.”
“What am I about to do?”
“Count me and declare that one is enough.”
Nezu looked at her for a moment.
Segu’s expression became triumphant. “See?”
“See what?”
“This.”
“This isn’t evidence.”
“It’s plenty of evidence.”
“Of what?”
“That you need friends.”
“That conclusion doesn’t follow from the evidence.”
Segu groaned and followed him when he closed the locker and started toward their classroom.
“You could at least try talking to people.”
“I do talk to people.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I spoke to four people this morning.”
“Saying ‘morning’ doesn’t count as a conversation.”
“Why?”
“Because it doesn’t.”
“One of them said ‘hey.’”
“That’s worse.”
Nezu entered the classroom and took his usual seat. Segu dropped her bag beside him before turning the chair in front of his desk around and sitting backwards on it.
“I’m serious, Nezu. You never come when people invite us somewhere unless I drag you.”
“I come sometimes.”
“Because I drag you.”
“Then I come.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
Nezu began taking his things out of his bag while Segu watched him. Her expression gradually lost some of its teasing quality.
“You don’t dislike them.”
“No.”
“And they don’t dislike you.”
“I don’t think they do.”
“So why do you always stay by yourself?”
That actually made Nezu stop.
He looked around the classroom as he considered the question. Several groups had already formed while they waited for class to begin, their conversations mixing together into a constant background noise. Segu could probably walk into any one of them and be welcomed without anyone thinking twice about it.
Nezu had never felt the urge.
“I like being by myself.”
Segu’s shoulders dropped.
“You make this impossible.”
“You created the problem.”
“I’m trying to help.”
“I didn’t ask for help.”
“Exactly.”
Nezu frowned.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It makes perfect sense.”
“It objectively doesn’t.”
Someone called Segu from across the classroom before she could answer.
“Segu!”
“One minute!”
She turned back to Nezu. “Lunch.”
“What about it?”
“You’re coming.”
“I usually eat with you.”
“Not just me.”
Nezu narrowed his eyes.
“Segu.”
She stood and pushed the chair back into place.
“Too late.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Segu.”
“See you at lunch!”
She escaped before he could get an answer and joined a group on the other side of the classroom. Someone immediately moved aside to make room for her, another student started telling her something before she had even properly joined them, and within seconds Segu was participating in a conversation involving half a dozen people.
Nezu watched her for a moment before returning his attention to his desk.
His lunch was going to be loud.
Steve had continued training Nezu after the incident at the school.
At first, Nezu had assumed it would eventually stop. Steve had begun teaching him because he was physically weak, and the difference between understanding what someone was going to do and actually being capable of stopping them had been painfully demonstrated more than once.
Being clever was useful until someone twice your size grabbed you.
Steve had made that lesson very clear.
Usually by throwing him onto the floor.
So Nezu had continued training, and what had originally been something necessary slowly became part of his routine. Years later, Steve was still teaching him, although the lessons had changed considerably as Nezu’s body caught up with what Steve expected from him.
Segu had trained with them as well, enough that Steve had made sure she could defend herself, but she had never approached it with the same dedication. She enjoyed the sessions well enough until Steve made her repeat the same movement for the twentieth time, at which point she usually discovered that there were considerably more interesting things she could be doing.
Nezu didn’t mind repetition.
If Steve told him to repeat something until it became instinctive, Nezu repeated it until Steve was satisfied.
The training hadn’t transformed him into the largest or strongest student in the school. There were plenty of boys taller than him, heavier than him and naturally more athletic. What Steve had given him was something Nezu considered considerably more useful: the ability to understand what his body could do and how to use what someone else gave him.
Balance mattered.
Distance mattered.
Where someone placed their feet mattered.
A shoulder could betray a punch before the fist moved, and someone charging forward was providing most of the force required to put themselves on the floor.
Steve had spent years teaching him those things.
Nezu had spent years listening.
Which was why, later that day, the two students standing in front of him were considerably less intimidating than they probably believed themselves to be.
“This has nothing to do with you.”
Nezu looked past them toward the first-year student sitting against the wall. His books were scattered across the floor, and he was rubbing one shoulder while trying very hard not to look at any of them.
“I know.”
“So leave.”
“No.”
The second boy groaned the moment Nezu answered.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
The taller one glanced at him. “What?”
“Just leave it.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s him.”
Nezu frowned slightly.
The taller boy looked between them. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means I’m leaving.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“He’s one guy.”
“Wonderful. Have fun.”
He started walking away.
The taller student stared after his friend in disbelief before turning back to Nezu.
“We were talking.”
Nezu glanced at the younger student.
“He doesn’t seem interested.”
“Mind your own business.”
“No.”
The boy stepped closer.
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing, hopefully.”
He shoved Nezu.
Nezu moved.
One foot sideways.
His hand caught the wrist.
The other found the elbow.
Turn.
Pull.
The boy hit the floor.
Hard.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Nezu released him and looked down.
“You done?”
The boy stared at him, more surprised than hurt, before giving a reluctant nod.
“Good.”
Just like that, the tension disappeared from Nezu’s posture.
He crouched beside the scattered books and began gathering them while the other student, who had stopped several metres down the corridor to watch, shook his head.
“I told you.”
“Shut up!”
Nezu handed the books back to the younger student.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Your shoulder?”
“It hurts a little.”
“Can you move it?”
The boy rotated his arm experimentally and nodded.
“Then it’s probably fine. Go to the nurse if it gets worse.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Nezu stood and finally noticed Segu waiting farther down the corridor with her arms crossed.
She walked toward him as soon as their eyes met.
“I leave you alone for five minutes.”
“They were bothering him.”
“I noticed.”
“So?”
“So nothing.”
Segu looked past him at the older student still sitting on the floor, then back at her brother.
“You’ve gotten scary.”
“I’m not scary.”
“Yes, you fucking are!”
Nezu turned toward the unexpected voice.
The boy on the floor immediately found the opposite wall extremely interesting.
Segu covered her mouth, but the attempt to hide her amusement lasted only a few seconds before she started laughing.
Nezu sighed and continued down the corridor.
She hurried after him.
“You know what’s funny?”
“No.”
“People actually like you.”
“Who?”
“People.”
“That’s extremely broad.”
“I’m serious.”
“The one on the floor doesn’t seem to.”
“Not him.”
“Then your statement remains extremely broad.”
Segu bumped her shoulder lightly against his as they walked. “You know what I mean.”
Nezu wasn’t entirely certain that he did.
There were plenty of people who greeted him, plenty who knew his name, and apparently even a few who had learned to stop whatever they were doing when he appeared. None of that meant he was particularly close to them.
Segu seemed determined to change that whether he wanted her to or not.
“Anyway,” she said, “lunch.”
“No.”
“You already agreed.”
“I absolutely did not.”
“You said you usually eat with me.”
“That wasn’t agreement.”
“It is now.”
“Who did you invite?”
Segu smiled.
Nezu stopped walking.
“Segu.”
“Just a few people.”
“How many?”
“A few.”
“That’s not a number.”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Segu.”
She grabbed his arm and began pulling him down the corridor.
“Come on.”
“I can walk.”
“Then walk.”
“I was walking.”
“Not fast enough.”
Several students greeted Segu as they passed, and she answered every one of them without hesitation. A few greeted Nezu as well, receiving a word, a nod or occasionally little more than a glance in return.
Near the end of the corridor, one of the boys from that morning was laughing with his friends while holding another student in a loose headlock.
Then he noticed Nezu.
Their eyes met.
The boy released the other student immediately.
Nezu stopped and looked behind himself, apparently checking whether there was someone else responsible for the sudden reaction.
There wasn’t.
He turned forward again.
Segu had seen everything.
She was smiling.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are you smiling?”
“No reason.”
Nezu narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but Segu simply tightened her grip on his arm and continued dragging him toward lunch.
Her brother somehow remained an outsider despite making that increasingly difficult for himself.
He rarely joined groups unless she pulled him into them, almost never sought people out just to talk, and seemed perfectly content spending hours by himself. Yet he couldn’t walk past someone being pushed around without stopping, couldn’t notice a problem without getting involved, and had apparently spent enough time interfering in other people’s business that even some of the school’s troublemakers had learned to reconsider their behaviour whenever he appeared.
Everyone knew Nezu.
Almost nobody really knew him.
Segu intended to do something about the second part.
Whether Nezu cooperated or not.
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