Ijimeru - Nara Watashi No Karada Ni Shite!

So aim it here. I’ve got the scars to prove I’ll survive. And the silence of one saved kid is worth a thousand bruises.

They didn’t know what to do with that—with a target that volunteered, a body that refused to flinch the way they wanted. After a few more muttered insults, the pack dissolved, drifting back into the current of students who never noticed the small violences happening in plain sight.

Silence. Then a snort. Then a shove. My shoulder hit the lockers with a hollow clang. It hurt—but hurt was familiar. Hurt was something I could measure, map, endure. What I couldn’t endure was watching someone else shatter under the same weight I’d learned to carry. ijimeru nara watashi no karada ni shite!

The smaller kid stared at me, eyes wet and wide. “Why would you—”

“Probably,” I said, straightening my spine. “But I’m also standing right here.” So aim it here

“Ijimeru nara watashi no karada ni shite.”

The hallway stretched endlessly, fluorescent lights humming like trapped flies. At the far end, a smaller figure was cornered—backpack straps pulled, glasses askew, laughter like broken glass echoing off the lockers. They didn’t know what to do with that—with

That night, I traced the bruise forming on my shoulder blade. Purple and green, ugly and tender. A map of someone else’s anger. But also—a shield. Not for me. For the kid who went home unbroken.