Ijimeru Nara Watashi No Karada Ni Shite! |top| -

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.

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

The phrase echoed in my skull: my body, my body, my body. Not as a prayer. As a promise. ijimeru nara watashi no karada ni shite!

“Because someone did it for me once,” I lied. No one had. But someone should have. And now, someone would.

“Ijimeru nara watashi no karada ni shite.” That night, I traced the bruise forming on my shoulder blade

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.

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. But also—a shield

“If you’re going to bully someone,” I repeated, voice steady, “do it to my body instead.”