Throughout Heaven and Earth, I Am...

The day had been nothing short of a grueling marathon. I had been running around like a headless chicken, putting out fires and juggling tasks that seemed specifically designed to break my spirit. Never in my life had I been forced to work this hard. And for what? Recognition? Appreciation? Those were distant concepts, as alien to me as the idea of genuine social interaction. I gained nothing from it beyond the back pain.

The roof of the school was a sanctuary. A place where I could finally breathe, if only for a moment, away from the suffocating mess below. As I leaned against the railing, a rare sense of accomplishment washed over me. Despite my monumental distaste for effort, I had done my part today. Not that it mattered. The effort was a cruel joke, a punchline to a joke no one laughed at.

Just as I closed my eyes, the faint creak of the rooftop door jarred me from my peace.

The voice cut through the silence like a blade, cold and clipped. "You."

I froze, my muscles instinctively tensing as I turned toward the source. The moment my eyes met hers, my suspicions were confirmed. Horikita Suzune stood by the rooftop doorway, her posture as rigid as ever, her sharp gaze boring into me. Great. Just the person I didn't want to see.

My first reaction was a scowl, annoyance flickering across my face. "Of all the places in this school, you had to pick here to haunt me?" I muttered, exasperation dripping from every word.

Her expression didn't waver, but there was something off. Subtle, almost imperceptible—like a crack in a perfectly polished mirror. Her usual air of impenetrable composure felt forced, stretched too thin.

"I could ask you the same thing," she said, stepping closer. Her voice was as firm as ever, but I caught the faintest hesitation in her words, a slight falter she probably thought I wouldn't notice.

I turned back to lean on the railing, deliberately shifting my attention to the sky. "I think my presence here bothers you more than yours bothers me. Or is that why you're here? To complain?"

Her lack of an immediate retort was surprising. For a moment, the only sound was the faint rustle of the wind against the fence.

"I'm not here to argue," she said finally, her tone quieter but no less firm.

That was definitely new.

"Could've fooled me," I said. "You're not exactly the poster child for amicable conversation."

"Neither are you," she shot back, quick as ever.

"Fair point," I conceded. "But if you're not here to argue, then why? Didn't I already shatter your worldview enough the last time?"

Her lips tightened at my words, her fists clenching at her sides. For a moment, I expected one of her usual sharp comebacks. Instead, she took a step closer, and for the first time, I noticed it—pain. Not the kind you show on your face but the kind that lingers beneath the surface, hidden behind layers of pride and restraint.

Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out. She stood there, fists trembling, her gaze locked on me as though forcing herself to stay rooted in place. Finally, she took a breath, though it seemed to cost her.

"You…" Her voice faltered, barely above a whisper, and she swallowed hard before trying again. "You were…"

The words hung there, heavy and raw, as if each syllable scraped against a wound she was trying desperately to keep hidden.

I straightened slightly, the usual quip dying in my throat. Whatever this was, it wasn't her usual self. Mocking her at this moment would've felt cruel, even by my standards. Unnecessary as well.

"'I was' what?" I asked, careful to keep my tone even, though curiosity gnawed at me.

Her gaze didn't falter, her eyes locking with mine in a silent battle of wills. Her fists were still clenched, her knuckles pale, but there was no mistaking the internal war playing out in her mind.

"You were… rig... You were...right."

The words were barely audible, forced out through gritted teeth. Her voice trembled, each syllable laced with bitterness.

I stared at her, my mind catching on to one absurd question: How the hell can it be this hard for her to admit something? Was it physically painful? Did her pride have an alarm system that started screaming every time she approached humility?

I blinked, momentarily stunned by the absurd effort she was putting into this. "Right?" I repeated as if testing the word for myself, half wondering if saying it aloud would make her combust.

Her jaw tightened, and for a second, I thought she might snap at me. But instead, she pushed forward, her voice shaking despite her best efforts. "About the way I handle things. About how I… isolate myself."

Her gaze didn't leave mine, but her fists tightened further, her body rigid as if bracing against the vulnerability spilling from her lips. "I thought if I worked harder than anyone else and relied on no one but myself, it would make me better. That it was the only way to succeed. But…" She paused, her voice cracking slightly. "You were right. All it's done is… isolate me."

Her confession hung in the air, heavy with unspoken suffering. For a moment, the proud and unyielding Horikita Suzune seemed unbearably human, and the weight of her words pressed against the silence between us.

"But don't think this changes anything," she glared, her voice shaper than before now that these shameful words left her mouth, "I absolutely abhor people like you!"

That was it.

I could feel something snap in me like a string pulled too taut for too long. I clenched the railing behind me, my knuckles white as I fought the initial surge of anger. She's unbelievable.

"You have got to be kidding me," I muttered, my voice low but trembling with restrained irritation.

"Wha—!"

Her eyes narrowed, but before she could speak, I cut her off. "Do you even hear yourself? You just admitted I was right—which, let's be honest, probably felt like peeling off your own skin—and then in the same breath, you turn around and throw that crap at me? What kind of delusional logic do you run on, you uptight, self-absorbed—" I exhaled sharply, barely catching myself before finishing the sentence.

Her glare deepened, and her fists unclenched slightly as if preparing to counter. But I didn't give her the chance.

"Listen, bitch—" The word slipped out before I could stop it, sharp and cutting, fueled by the simmering frustration her entire attitude brought out in me. "You can't have it both ways! Either you admit I was right, take the L like a normal person for God's sake, and move on, or don't say anything at all. What the hell kind of mental gymnastics is it to half-apologize and then insult me in the same sentence?!"

Her eyes widened, a mixture of shock and indignation flashing across her face. For a moment, she seemed at a loss for words, her lips parting as if to respond, only for nothing to come out.

"Unbelievable," I said again, running a hand through my hair as I turned slightly away, trying to temper the lingering fury bubbling in my chest.

"You—" she started, her voice laced with equal parts fury and something else—something closer to humiliation.

"What?!" I snapped, turning back to face her. "What could you possibly have to say now?"

She froze, the sharp retort I expected dying on her lips. Instead, she took a step back, her expression faltering as she clenched her fists once more. "I…" She hesitated, visibly struggling to find the words.

For a moment, the tension between us felt suffocating. Neither of us was willing to back down and I didn't know how to proceed.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her shoulders tensed as if bracing for another blow. But instead of snapping back, her voice came out cold and deliberate, like a dagger that was about to stab me.

"I didn't come here to argue!" she shouted, though the fire in her glare betrayed her words. "I came here to have a normal discussion. But your gorilla-like behavior is… revolting."

The sheer absurdity of her response made me laugh. Did she even learn anything?

"My behavior?" I repeated, pointing a finger at myself before gesturing wildly in her direction. "You're the one who started this whole dumpster fire! You show up here, out of nowhere, barge into my peace, drop a half-apology like it's some life-shattering revelation, and then top it off by insulting me? And I'm the problem?"

Her expression twisted slightly like she wanted to argue but couldn't fully refute my words. "You—"

"No," I cut her off sharply, raising a hand. "Don't even try it. I'm not going to sit here and play referee while you pretend you're the victim in this."

She stiffened, her glare sharpening. "I'm not pretending—"

"Oh, give me a break!" I growled, pinching the bridge of my nose. "You know what this feels like? It feels like I'm arguing with a kid who got caught doing something stupid but is too proud to admit they were wrong. Every word you say just proves how allergic you are to accountability."

Her jaw tightened, but she stayed quiet, her eyes burning with suppressed emotion. It wasn't just anger, it went deeper, somewhere raw and messy that she clearly hated letting anyone see.

And honestly? It pissed me off even more.

Because somehow, her childish stubbornness had dragged me down to her level. I wasn't supposed to care about what she thought, yet here I was, snapping back like an idiot who couldn't keep his emotions in check.

"You know what's even worse?" I said, my voice lower but no less biting. "The fact that I'm even letting this get to me. I'm not supposed to care about your tantrums or your pride. But no—here I am, wasting my time and losing my temper like a damn kid. So congratulations, Horikita. You've officially managed to make me hate this day even more than I already did."

The stillness loomed over us, heavy and brittle. I could see the storm brewing behind her composed exterior, but I didn't care anymore. I let out a sharp breath and straightened, the frustration boiling over.

"You know what really gets me, Horikita?" I said, my tone sharp enough to cut. "You're sitting here acting like the world owes you something while your entire class is a burning plane headed straight for the ground. And here I am, trying to stop it from crashing, even though I have zero reason to care about any of you. Meanwhile, you're doing absolutely nothing except whining and clinging to whatever delusion keeps you thinking you're better than everyone else."

Her eyes widened slightly at my words, the tiniest crack in her stoic mask.

"You're so wrapped up in yourself that you can't even see how much of a liability you are. And honestly?" I leaned closer, lowering my voice. "I don't need someone like you. Someone so self-centered, so out of touch, that they'd rather drag everyone else down than admit they might be wrong."

I could hear that voice of reason telling me to stop, to not stoop to her level even further. But I ignored it.

Horikita's lips parted slightly, her composure finally starting to crumble.

And yet, seeing her like that didn't feel satisfying. If anything, it just made me feel worse. Pathetic.

At that, her entire demeanor shifted. Her face twisted, the carefully controlled front of the cold princess shattering completely.

Her voice rose, raw and trembling. "Why is this happening to me?!" she nearly shouted, her fists shaking at her sides. "I've done everything right! I've always been at the top of my class, and I've studied harder than anyone else. I've passed every test like you! So why—why is this happening to me?! Nii-san!?"

Her voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment, she looked less like the proud, unshakable Horikita Suzune and more like a lost, desperate child.

"It's n-not fair..."

The sight of her like this made my chest tighten in an uncomfortable way. I opened my mouth to respond but couldn't find the words.

Because as much as I hated to admit it, I understood exactly what she meant.

I stood there, watching her crumble before me. Her pride, her cold exterior, all of it had shattered in the face of whatever twisted reality she'd been holding onto. The trembling of her fists, the desperation in her voice—it was a far cry from the sharp-tongued Horikita I had known. And in that moment, for a fleeting second, I found myself almost... understanding her.

I knew what she must felt like right now.

Horikita Suzune had spent her life in the shadow of her brother, Horikita Manabu who was blind as well to her pain. The pressure to live up to his impossible standards, to escape his shadow while always being compared to his achievements. I could see it now, how she had tried so hard to be better than him, to prove that she could walk alongside him. But all that effort, all that work, had only buried her deeper in his shadow.

In the end, she had spent so much time trying to outrun her brother's legacy that she had become trapped in it. The more she fought, the more she lost herself. And now, standing there, broken and desperate, I could see the toll it had taken. Her pride was a mask that had cracked under the weight of her own failure, and all she was left with was this hollow shell of a person who didn't know what to do with herself.

It was pathetic, really. A girl who had spent so long trying to live up to some ideal, only to watch it all crumble away like sand through her fingers.

And yet, there was something about her that made me feel... pity.

My stomach churned at the thought. Pity for her? That miserable, self-absorbed, prideful girl who had caused me nothing but hardship? Why? Because she was broken now? Because she couldn't even see how far gone she was?

As I watched her kneel, her face pressed to the ground like she couldn't even look at the world anymore, something twisted in my gut. She was a mess, utterly destroyed by her own ideals, and she had no idea where to go from here. She was in a sorry state.

I could feel the impulse in me—the urge to step forward, to reach out. To be the one to pull her out of this mess, to show her the way forward. I could feel the manipulation creeping in, and it repulsed me.

The thought of guiding her, of taking control of this situation, made me want to vomit. To make her dependent on me? To become the one she looked to for validation and guidance? That idea was sickening. The very thought of having someone like Horikita lean on me, to make her feel like she owed me something, was so revolting that I couldn't even bear to think of it for long. It felt wrong like I was sinking into something dark and dangerous.

I was disgusted with myself.

I couldn't help but think, as much as I loathed to admit it, that no one truly deserved this kind of ending.

We were all caught in our own webs of pain, trapped by our expectations, our failures, our endless battles with ourselves and the world. It wasn't just Horikita, or me, or anyone else for that matter. It was a cycle, an endless chain of people trying to climb out of their own misery only to drag themselves further into it.

No one was exempt from this suffering, no one was free from the crushing weight of their own unresolved feelings. It was like we were all prisoners of our pasts, trying to escape the walls that we ourselves had built, even if it meant tearing ourselves apart in the process.

But still… to see someone like Horikita, someone who prided herself on her strength and perseverance, crumble like this—it just felt wrong. Like she had given up on the only thing that kept her going: the belief that she could be better. That she could stand tall, above the mistakes, above the pain.

And now, here she was, broken, her mask cracked, unable to stand on her own. I couldn't even begin to understand how far gone she must have felt. But in some sick way, I did. We were all drowning in the same darkness, trying to find a way out but only sinking deeper.

I hated that feeling.

But what really twisted my insides was the fact that, despite all of it, I still couldn't bring myself to reach out to her. Even though I understood, even though I could see what had driven her to this point, I couldn't bring myself to offer her anything. It wasn't sympathy or compassion that pulled at me—it was the urge to fix her, to make her see things from my perspective, to make her bend to my will.

Darkness tried to pull me in because my endless search for something genuine seemed useless.

It was sick, and I knew it.

But it wasn't just her.

I hated seeing people like this. Seeing them break, seeing them cry, seeing them fall apart before me. And I hated even more that they were doing it in front of me as if I were the one they had to lean on, the one they were turning to for answers. I hated it with a passion.

Because when you saw someone break, when you saw someone so vulnerable, so open, it made you realize just how much of yourself you were hiding. Just how much of you was also broken and buried beneath the surface, hidden away. That's what really terrified me.

I couldn't stand seeing someone cry, to be honest. But the worst part was that I couldn't stand it because it reminded me that, deep down, I wasn't any different from them.

I didn't want to be like them.

I hated the idea that anyone would see me as someone they could break down in front of, someone they could lean on. That wasn't me. It would never be me.

And so, as I looked at Horikita's broken form, it became clear to me, more than ever before:

Hikigaya Hachiman hated seeing others cry, hated seeing them crack, hated seeing them break.

It was easier when they were just pieces to observe. Pieces of a puzzle that I had no interest in putting together. But the second they fell apart in front of me, it was like they were pulling me into their chaos. And I couldn't stand it. I couldn't handle it.

It was just easier to walk away. To shut my eyes, to turn my back, and pretend I didn't care. That I was as indifferent as I told everyone.

Honesty may be cruel at times but I can't let it go.

I stood there, still staring down at Horikita's broken form, my mind swirling with thoughts that I didn't want to entertain. The disgust I felt for myself was overwhelming, but in some twisted way, it gave me clarity. It was clear now: I didn't want to be the one to fix her.

I didn't want to be the one to pull her out of this.

I took a deep breath, and an idea came to me. Something cruel, something ugly, but maybe... maybe it would force her to wake up. Not because I cared, but because I couldn't stand seeing someone fall apart like this, unable to help herself.

I let a smile spread across my face—a smile that was as cold and repulsive as the thoughts in my head.

"You know," I said, my voice mocking, "I have to ask. Are you really that weak, Horikita? Are you so pathetic that you can't even fix your own class? After all the effort you put into keeping up appearances, after all the work you've done... you really can't handle something this simple?"

I watched her face twist in confusion and hurt. My words were cutting, but I didn't care.

"Do you really need someone else to pick up the pieces for you?" I continued, my tone biting. "Because if that's the case, you're done. You'll just keep falling, over and over again, waiting for someone to catch you, to pull you back up. But that's not how the society works. If you want to make a difference, if you want to matter, you need to stop this accusation on others. You need to figure out how to fix this yourself."

I could see the internal struggle in her eyes. She was torn between hurt and anger, between wanting to hold onto the facade and realizing that it was shattering in front of her. She wanted to fight back, to prove me wrong but deep down, I knew she was terrified of failing.

I couldn't help but picture it: her bitterness, her resolve, all fueled by that same drive to show me that she wasn't weak. Maybe, in the end, that would be her saving grace.

I'll be nothing more than a faceless bastard in her memory, the one who humiliated her. She'll remember me, but only as someone who made her want to prove herself even more.

The only way to save this girl—without hurting her even more—was to leave her with this harsh truth. And yet, as I thought about it, I felt a twinge of pain.

Horikita stood there for a moment, her body trembling as she fought to hold it all together. Then, without a word, without any sign of weakness, she finally pushed herself up. Her form, broken just moments ago, now stood tall, defiance gleaming in her eyes. The glare she shot my way wasn't one of defeat—it was a challenge.

I watched in silence as she walked toward the rooftop exit, her steps determined, each one filled with the weight of a promise. "I'll show you," she muttered under her breath, her words carrying the fire I had just lit in her.

As the door slammed behind her, I stood there, frozen for a moment. And then the silence hit me. The absence of her presence was like a vacuum, sucking all the life out of me.

I fell to my knees, the weight of it all crashing down.

The thoughts that I had buried deep within me—the guilt, the disgust, the twisted satisfaction of having pushed her to this—broke free. I couldn't hold them in any longer. A quiet chuckle escaped my lips, low at first, then growing, until it turned into a full-fledged laugh. It was hollow, desperate, and entirely unbecoming of me.

What a mess I've made.

I was laughing at myself, at the absurdity of it all. Here I was, trying to act like I had it all figured out, but the truth was, I was just as broken as everyone else.

Tears stung my eyes, though I didn't know if they were born of amusement or regret. I shook my head, my laughter dying down into a pitiful chuckle.

"Dammit," I muttered through gritted teeth, wiping my face, "Hikigaya Hachiman can't stand to see a girl cry. What a joke..."

It was pathetic.

Here I was, the one who prided himself on being detached, on not caring about anyone but the truth was, I couldn't escape the fact that I did care.

And I hated myself for it.