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Shirabu was the model student, getting his work done and staying focused on his studies.
Shirabu was a model student, had one extracurricular which was very popular.
Shirabu is the model student, getting into the prestigious Shiratorizawa Academy through the entrance exam.
Staring at his midterm marks, Shirabu gritted his teeth.
98, 99, 94, 98
Not a single hundred in sight. Some told him he wasn’t supposed to get upset over this, his grades were good .
But there was a voice that whispered to him. Ever since he was a child. He’s always been the ‘gifted’ kid. He strived for those marks, defined himself by simple numbers. Constantly he was praised, and he felt the one way he would ever be loved was if he had a number high enough to qualify.
Being ‘gifted’ wasn’t enough. He had to adapt how to study, pulling all nighters just to keep the front up. Strict, steady, stubborn; that was his routine, who he was.
He was the worst kind of good since he wasn’t even great. He was no longer a straight hundred student. Always he just managed to grab onto the ledge of greatness, unknowing to what was holding him back.
Why not a hundred? He was capable. More than capable. Why couldn’t he just get a hundred?
Perfection.
The one thing Shirabu could never achieve. Hard work, talent? All of that was worth nothing. He couldn’t get the perfect marks, he couldn’t achieve it.
And everyone made sure he knew that.
He wasn’t going to stand for this. He was going to take it up to his teacher. No matter how much he scoured through his work, he couldn’t find the question that deducted him by two whole marks.
What deducted him by one? By six? The six he could understand, there were a few errors in his math calculations and his method skipped a few steps. He could accept that. He would grow from that experience.
What made him worth 98 and not 100? Why did a number define who he was as a person?
“Sensei.” Shirabu flipped his paper over, revealing his mark in that class. “May we discuss why my mark is a 98 and not 100? I have reflected and reviewed and I can’t seem to find why?”
His teacher picked up the paper, squinting at it. “Ah, Shirabu-kun. I appear to have mixed your mark with someone else’s, I’ll fix it now. You are correct, you are doing perfectly in my class currently.”
Warmth filled Shirabu’s chest as he nodded humbly. I knew it.
There was nothing on there that would have pointed to his reduced score. Finally, three digits. Life was once again going straight.
Bringing up the topic with his second teacher, it appears the same issue had occurred. He had summed it up to the stress building up on the teachers as well, and simply bowed in thanks.
Now, for the 99. What reason was his grade deducted by a single point?
“Sensei.” Shirabu bowed slightly as he entered the room. His teacher's large wooden desk stared right back at him.
“Shirabu-kun.” His teacher put down her pen. “What is it?”
“I would like to discuss my mark in this class.”
“Ah yes, you are the top student after all. What about it?”
Shirabu looked down at his paper. 99. “Why is my grade 99 and not 100? May I have the reason?”
His teacher took off her glasses, giving him a scrutinizing look. “Oh that. Yes, I found absolutely no mistakes in your exams, and your other assignments were quite spot on. I just believe no one is perfect, and that is why you did not receive a 100.”
No one is perfect.
What kind of reason?
“I apologize for my tone but,” Shirabu forced a smile, tight on his face in a painful sort. “ What exactly do you mean by that?”
“No one is perfect. I don’t give 100’s because children are not 100. They aren’t perfect. Nothing is perfect.”
“You just told me that you found nothing wrong with my work? How is that justified?”
“A 99 is the same as a 100. It’s one point. You’re a good student Shirabu, just accept the 99.” His teacher shrugged, looking back down at her desk. Shirabu was furious.
“One point? ‘ Just one point?’ One point is everything! You’re a teacher, what do you mean ‘ no one is perfect’? You know what the difference is, so why won’t you–”
“Shirabu. I do not like the tone you are using with me, young man.” His teacher glared at him. “You will accept this mark because this grading system is fair. Know your place, and do not speak to your elders that way. Very disrespectful, your parents should have taught you better.”
Shirabu seethed. “My parents taught me that 100 is the goal and you’re the one being difficult– ”
“Detention. Now.” Shirabu’s eyes widened.
“But–”
“No ‘but’s. Detention. You will reflect on your actions. Understood?” Shirabu knew he shouldn’t fight her any longer, simply bowing his head.
“Yes sensei.”
He tried not to storm out the room, but rushed to the next class without properly checking his surroundings. Not like he could, considering his eyes were watering. He always got like this when he was frustrated. Angry tears.
He accidentally bumped into another student, one who was much taller than he was. He murmured an apology, ducking his head down. Now I have a witness for how pathetic I am.
He opened the door, shutting it behind him before moving to one of the desks closer to the window. Losing composure was the least of his worries, his arm jerkily moving the chair away and sitting into it.
I’m supposed to be the good kid, now it’s on my record. Detention.
Shirabu’s vision went blurry as he pressed his palms to his forehead, shoving his bangs to the side. All he did was try to bargain for his grade. He just needed that number to be enough.
There was a pull on his hair, grounding and sharp. Each individual strand, tugging at his scalp while his fist ripped it out.
He’s a good student. He doesn’t get in trouble. Shirabu was a model student. Shirabu was supposed to be perfect.
Why couldn’t he believe that himself though?
Now he was in detention. They were going to call his parents he was going to get in so much trouble he can kiss volleyball goodbye–
The train of thoughts was spinning, repeating like a mantra while he tugged his hair even harder to try and silence them. He couldn’t do this. He was a model student, he was a good kid. He had just wanted to know what was stopping him from being perfect.
Kenjirou, snap out of it.
A sting in his cheeks, tingling as his hands moved to hold his head. His vision was still blurry as he stared at the desk, his bangs obscuring his vision from whatever was around him. He needed to even out his breaths.
In. Out. In. Out.
He could explain to his parents he had simply been bargaining for a better mark. Yes, that could work.
In. Out. In. Out.
His heartbeat decreased, the pounding in his head going away.
In. Out. In. Out.
He was fine.
Wiping his face with the edge of his sleeve, a pack of tissues was thrown at his desk. Taking a glance to his left, Shirabu frowned.
“Seriously?” he croaked. “Since when did you get here?”
“Few minutes ago. You were having a moment so I figured you should sort that out.” Taichi shrugged, leaning back into his chair. His friend had the same placid look on his face as always, but Shirabu could tell from the slight slouch in his shoulders that Taichi was relieved.
“Why are you in detention?”
“Oh? Detention? Talked to sensei while she was in a real bad mood. Didn’t hold my tongue.”
Sensei was in a bad mood after she talked to me.
“I see.” Shirabu let out a shaky breath. “You’re always here at the most embarrassing times.”
“Endless blackmail, forever safe.” Shirabu chucked the pack of tissues back at his friend, glaring.
“Ow!”
“Oh please you’ve taken serves to the head and this is what makes you say ‘ow’? Weak.” Silence fell upon the two once more as they listened to the ticking of the clock.
“I don’t think what sensei said was fair. You had a good point.” Taichi started, voice slower than normal.
“Don’t. Thanks but I don’t want to think about it.”
“Roger that.” Another silence. “You… okay?”
Shirabu sniffed. “No.”
The sound of a chair dragging against the floor made Shirabu look up again, seeing that his friend was now sitting directly beside him. Taichi’s face was flat as ever, but his brow was ever so slightly raised. An unsaid question. This okay?
Taichi was odd in the sense that he was a bit too emotionally repressed. Once, Taichi had confessed to him that sometimes it was tiring, always trying to figure out how to make people feel better. He wasn’t one that was good with words, and physical affection was daunting to him. According to him, comfort was a secret everyone in the world seemed to keep from him.
Shirabu had told him that caring didn’t always have to be public, it didn’t have to be showy or something that was easy to see. He knew that Taichi showed he cared by sticking around. The middle blocker was always nearby, always there to cling on, to vent to. And he always listened. Taichi was like a helping hand against all the pressure he was put under. Even if he didn’t always know what the normal was, he did it his way.
Somehow, that made Shirabu feel a lot warmer knowing that Taichi was trying for him.
“Kenjirou…” Taichi nudged his arm. “You know you don’t have to base your worth on a number right?”
Shirabu sighed. “Sometimes it feels like that’s the only way people will love me though. If the number isn’t high enough…” he trailed off. Then I’ll be all alone.
An arm rested on his shoulders, pulling him into a side hug. “I still love you, I don’t care if your number is low or not. I care about you even if you’re an asshole.”
“Jackass.” Shirabu scoffed, letting his head fall onto the other's shoulder. “Thanks, Taichi.”
“Anytime, Kenjirou.”
Maybe detention wasn’t all bad.