Epic race: Arrogant Warthog vs Akira

That bastard… he ended up being the one to forsake me. The memory stung, but it also clarified something I had long suspected. I don't need an ambition in life—I am life. My existence, my worth, is beyond the fleeting ideas of life and death. They are mere concepts. I am destined to ascend, to tower above all, untouched by even the gods—if they dare to exist.

This world was made for me to look down on. The looking-down is reserved only for my exalted self.

I gritted my teeth, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. The idiot's encouragement was still potent after all these years. Ma-chan…

"Ma-chan…" The name escaped me in a low murmur, and I hadn't expected a response.

"Hm? Someone's calling me?"

Startled, I whipped my head to the left. There he was—Makoto Murasame, the so-called "god of beauty and handsomeness," standing halfway up the staircase. His deep blue hair glinted faintly in the dim hallway light, and his gaze flitted lazily from his phone to me.

We locked eyes for a single moment of understanding. Then, without warning—

"...Ah!" he yelped, spinning on his heel and bolting down the stairs.

"Hey!" I roared, the sound echoing off the walls. "Why are you running?! How dare you!!"

He had the audacity to flee, as if this was some joke? My nails dug into my palms as anger flared in my chest.

Oh, no. If Makoto wanted to make it a contest, I would gladly oblige.

I lunged forward, the soles of my shoes slamming against the polished floor as I raced after him. The wind whipped against my face, and the once-quiet school filled with the rhythmic pounding of our footsteps.

We flew past empty classrooms, desks and chairs bathed in the amber glow of the sunset.

Makoto was fast—unbelievably fast. As expected of a warthog.

His legs blurred with speed that defied logic, carrying him around corners and down flights of stairs like a wild animal on the run. My breath quickened, my muscles burning as I pushed myself to the extreme to match his pace.

He's fast, but I'm faster… was what I thought.

Somehow, I couldn't close the gap. Every time I thought I'd gained on him, he shifted his momentum, twisting through the air like a ninja.

At the next stairwell, he spun, launching into a flawless somersault that carried him to the next floor.

"You've got to be kidding me!" I growled through clenched teeth, frustration bubbling over.

Fine.

If he wanted to play acrobat, I'd show him what I was made of.

Veering slightly, I sprinted toward the wall, using its surface as a makeshift stepping stone.

My body moved instinctively—legs coiling, muscles snapping taut as I leapt, rebounded, and hurled myself forward with raw determination. The impact jolted through my limbs, but I ignored the ache.

The world became a total blur of motion to my visage.

I was running too fast; I didn't even know I could.

My feet barely touched the ground as I dashed, vaulted, and twisted, each movement propelling me closer to my prey. Makoto was vexingly hard to pin down, but I wouldn't lose him. I couldn't.

"Makoto! Stop running, you coward!" I barked, the sharpness in my voice ricocheting off the walls.

He didn't even glance back.

"Makoto, please wait!" My pride crumbled as I uttered the word please, but desperation was a powerful motivator.

Still, THE BASTARD IGNORED ME.

My teeth ground together as I vowed to make him pay—physically—the moment I caught him.

We reached the third floor, and I saw my chance. Makoto was slowing, angling toward a nearby window.

With a burst of energy, I surged forward, my arm outstretched to grab his uniform.

But then… he jumped off.

"F-Fool! Stop!" I screamed, my fingers brushing the fabric of his sleeve as he dove through the open ledge.

Time seemed to slow.

Makoto's figure hung suspended in the golden light of the sunset, his body twisting gracefully as he plummeted toward the ground.

My heart lurched as I stumbled to the window, gripping the ledge with both hands.

He landed on the courtyard below with an effortless grace, the impact barely kicking up dust.

"Bakemono…" I whispered, stunned. He didn't even stagger. His legs absorbed the fall as though gravity itself had bent to his will.

For a moment, he stood there, his silhouette framed by the fading sunlight. Then he looked up at me, his expression unreadable.

"Makoto…" I muttered, my voice barely audible.

My nails dug into the windowsill, fury bubbling in my chest as I watched him disappear. That warthog! This wasn't over.

This guy was beyond surreal. Like something out of a fever dream. For a moment, I toyed with the idea of copying his reckless leap, but my instincts screamed louder than my pride: even if I managed to stick the landing without a single scratch, my legs would feel the aftermath.

He glanced up at me, his expression calm, almost calculating. The faintest dust swirled around his feet where he'd landed, the fading evidence of his impossible descent. Then, just as swiftly as he'd landed, that infuriating smirk of his crept onto his face—a silent declaration of victory.

Without a word, he turned and started walking away, his bag slung over one shoulder like he had all the time in the world. Where was he even planning to go? Home, perhaps? Or maybe just off to gloat somewhere in private? Whatever it was, his nonchalant arrogance burned hotter than the ache in my heels.

"You arrogant warthog," I hissed through clenched teeth, gripping the ledge so tightly my knuckles turned white.

Oh, he wasn't getting away with this. Not without consequences.

"I'll remember this… Ma-chan!" I declared, my voice ringing out from above with all the fury I could muster. "You traitor! I'll show you! I'll become the most powerful and abandon you too!"

Makoto stopped mid-step, turning back to face me. That same smirk lingered on his face, infuriatingly unshaken. Then, with deliberate slowness, he gave me a wink.

A wink. What an absolute idiot.

In retaliation, I stuck out my tongue, my cheeks burning with anger—or was it embarrassment?

Eh? But wait, what was that?

Sticking out my tongue? And calling him "Ma-chan" again?

"You're formidable indeed, Ma-chan—I mean, Makoto Murasam—"

"Here's your pudding, Akira-sama."

"EEK!"

I jumped, nearly losing my balance on the ledge.

"Geeeeeez, I told you to stop sneaking up on me!" I barked, clutching my chest to calm my racing heart.

Kowai stood beside me, holding a small bag with the promised pudding, her usual blank expression betraying no emotion.

"But Akira-sama," she said, tilting her head ever so slightly, "were you blushing just now?"

"Shut up!" I snapped, feeling the heat crawl up my face again. "If I weren't Akira the Great, you would've given me a heart attack ages ago!"

"I'm sorry, Akira-sama," she replied with a faint bow, "but I've been right here. You just didn't see me."

I glared at her. "Again with this mockery! And if you were here, why didn't you help me catch Makoto?!"

"Well," she said, her tone infuriatingly calm, "he was too fast. And you told me to stop stalking him, remember?"

Oh, for goodness' sake! This maid of mine! Sometimes I wonder if she's secretly an agent sent to test my patience. And honestly? I'd believe it.

I glanced back at the school entrance. Ma-chan—no, Makoto—was gone. Vanished into thin air like the enigma he was.

A long sigh escaped me as I crossed my arms. How is he able to affect ME this much? He's just a betraying, insufferable warthog.

Then, like a flash of inspiration, an idea struck me. "Wait, I just got a really nice idea!"

Kowai raised an eyebrow. "What idea, Akira-sama?"

A wicked grin spread across my face, one I couldn't hold back. "Shi-shi-shi-shi!"

(P.S. This is Akira's evil laugh.)

"Hey, Kowai," I began, still grinning like a devil, "you'll help me do something very important this evening. Understood?"

Kowai straightened, placing a hand over her chest as she bowed deeply—too deeply. "I am here to serve, Akira-sama."

Her exaggerated gesture made my eye twitch. "Stop bowing so low! You're pissing me off!"