My Status as an Assassin Obviously Exceeds the Hero's

Thank you for reading.

March 23 — I made a small change to the status levels and the main text based on feedback (a few lines added).

I, the hero Tsukasa Satou, and Oda Akira have been in the same class since kindergarten. I only realized that when I was in sixth grade; back then I just thought I kept seeing the same faces. But after more than ten years together, it starts to feel like some kind of curse.

For some reason Satou regards Akira as an enemy, and Akira is indifferent to those around him — it’s hard to tell whether he notices anything at all. By some coincidence, we even ended up in the same high school class; after so long together it gave me the chills, but I decided to accept it as fate.

The first time Akira and I actually spoke was in high school. Neither of us had standout looks like Satou, so we didn’t talk with classmates; we each spent time alone, sleeping or reading.

I learned Akira’s secret sometime during the first year’s summer break.

“...Oda Akira?”

“Hm? ...Uh, the kendo club’s, um...”

“Oh, it’s Asahina Kyosuke.”

Our high school didn’t forbid part-time jobs. It didn’t particularly recommend them either, but permission slips were apparently granted fairly easily if you cited family circumstances. Grades mattered too. But I was pretty sure Akira was the only one actually doing a job. And he didn’t want anyone to know. Of all people, I happened to run into him sweating while working.

We parted ways that day — he was in the middle of a shift. But he still didn’t remember my name. After more than ten years together, you’d think he’d at least remember that.

The next day, Akira came right up to me as soon as I entered the classroom.

“Come to the library during lunch if you have time.”

“...”

I was secretly relieved it wasn’t behind the gym. Akira’s expression couldn’t exactly be called friendly; there were even rumors among some students suggesting he was a suspicious sort.

I nodded and took my seat. My heart pounded. Even though I knew it was unlikely, my mind ran cowardly scenarios like “what if he asks me for money?” Looking back, if either of us wanted to keep something secret, I’d be the one to accept money — but in my confused state I didn’t think of that.

At lunch, I ate my usual meal and, instead of going to sleep like I normally would, I stood up and headed for the library. Akira hadn’t returned after fourth period — probably off in the buying war for bread at the school store. It takes guts to head into a swarm of hungry high school boys fighting over the limited pastries.

Our library sat beyond the entrance hall, with the librarian woman always on duty. It was open all day, so you could come during breaks, but this was my first time coming there outside of modern literature class. It surprised me that Akira — someone who seemed detached from books — specified the library.

“Sorry for calling you out.”

He apologized the moment we sat down in the library. I almost apologized back, but kept my poker face and just nodded, taking the seat opposite him.

“So, to be blunt, about yesterday...”

“Yeah, you just don’t tell anyone, right?”

When I said that, Akira’s expression brightened instantly. He must be used to seeing his own deadpan face in the mirror every day, so I’d noticed the change.

“Let me ask one thing: why go to such lengths to keep it secret? It’s not forbidden, is it?”

“Oh, that.”

Akira suddenly looked bashful, turned his face away, and scratched his cheek.

“...It looks lame if I act all heroic by myself, right? Like I’m showing off that I’m working hard for my family.”

“Huh?”

“That’s what I mean — it’s lame. It goes against my aesthetics.”

I couldn’t see what was wrong with working hard for your family.

“No. I hate exposing my efforts to others.”

I understood that. I, too, practice swings and runs after club training without telling anyone, and I don’t want people to see that. Come to think of it, I’d met Akira while he was out running.