Chapter Text
Karma glared at Koro-sensei in distaste from the back of the classroom as the frustration boiled right beneath his skin, subcutaneously – right where he couldn’t pick at. This octopus fucker is insane if the thought Karma was going to agree to something so outright insane, so ridiculous.
Because apparently the principal had called and bribed the yellow cephalopod with a meagre pay increase, but he was so focused on the money he was willing to sell his student’s soul to the demon king of Kunugigaoka himself.
He’d be marched in a beeline of others held prisoner straight into hell and then stripped of his talents – where they would then be used for another’s benefit.
“Karma-kun, you have to do it!” The octopus was waving his tentacles frantically, but still at a speed that wasn’t mach. Slow enough for the regular eye to follow as Karma eyes each of the eight suspiciously wriggling appendages with spoonfuls of apprehension.
The rest of the class watched on with a silent eye.
His feet were still on the desk. Koro-sensei had done nothing to get them down this time. He was trying to be nice so Karma would listen and go to the stupid academic decathlon.
“I don’t wanna go.” Karma said simply for the fifth time and began to wonder how much class time Koro-sensei was willing to give up for the sake of convincing him. “I don’t care if Jesus himself is on my team, nothing can make me room with a group of stuck-up Class A pricks for a whole fucking week.”
Koro-sensei must be desperate for the pay raise because he didn’t even correct Karma’s profanities, and he began to sweat as it looked like the prospect of getting enough money for sweets was shrinking smaller and smaller.
“But Karma-kun, think about the school’s reputation, it’ll benefit you when you graduate!!” Koro-sensei tried a last-ditch attempt at convincing him, but Karma remained firm. He hated the main class. He was not setting a foot near them.
“No.”
-
And the day of the competition finally rolled around. Karma found himself trekking down the hill after having to – of all the ungodly things that existed on this forsaken earth – register early, to make it in time for the bus that was going to bring him to a hotel in Yokohama with five other pricks for the Academic Decathlon.
All because he couldn’t keep his curiosity in check where it bubbled furiously out of his veins like porridge on a stove.
Because he’d also found out after the intense intellectual debate with Koro-sensei over the merits of joining the team, that the principal’s elusive son was joining the team too. The name Asano Gakushuu clashed with his on rankings throughout the years, even though Karma had never once seen the other. They were on completely different campuses, after all. He could have walked right past the devil’s spawn and never recognised him.
When the pick-up point of Kunugigaoka was finally in sight, he caught from the corner of his eye, the big white bus – unlike other school busses that tended to be rickety old tanks that threatened to croak any minute, this one brand new, glinting like a thousand worker bees and been paid to make sure it blinded the next unfortunate soul that set eyes on it. A shiny white that seemed even brighter than the mint on a candy cane – and Karma knew he was in for a ride.
Because only pretentious assholes who cared that much about appearances would bother preparing a vehicle like that which would only ferry them to and from the place, then proceed to get lost in the time in-between. There was no showing off superiority and sticking it in the faces of other schools when it wouldn’t even be there most of the time.
Karma only hoped that the school had put as much effort into training his teammates as they had thought into vehicular transport.
Karma spotted the principal with his orange hair in the distance. While most would probably recognise the dominating way he carried himself, Karma believed nothing was intimidating about that hairstyle, or that suit, and the shade his suit was in only served to stick out to Karma in a way that made it effective navigation. Kind of like a neon stripe around a bright orange traffic cone that you could see even from far away.
That atrocity was very visible.
The principal looked up and met gazes with Karma as he neared, and gripped a clipboard in a hand – pen in another – frowning, to which Karma returned a positively delightful smile. One that screamed ‘thank you for giving me this opportunity sir’ but melded in a strange mixture alongside saccharine fakeness that screamed Karma would rather be anywhere but here.
He’d rather be dragged away by a near-severed leg by an axe-murderer in the middle of the woods than be here.
“Akabane.” The principal said, his tone which had a wide range of emotions it could portray – just like that of a robot (or a capable lizardman) – took on one of monotony as violet irises flicked down to glance at the clipboard and tick off a name. To which Karma began questioning everything he knew of the principal’s greatest achievements considering he knew there were only six of them in total – so was there really any need for a name list? “You’re late.”
Karma noted the slight displeasure that quirked the principal’s lips, like an irritating tick the brought home with him that can’t be chased off – like the principal had found a fly he was trying to swat away but kept circling back around to annoy with each wave of the hand – like magic. Karma smiles and worked his charm. A special spell of his own: a song of impish vexation – one known to never miss a target.
“Maybe I wouldn’t be so late if it wasn’t someone’s bright idea to place Class E so far away from the main campus.” Karma drolled, hands still in his pockets as he faced off against the demon king in nothing but improper school attire and insufficiently done-up buttons and a sleazy cardigan over his shoulders that didn’t meet the dress code. “You need to consider my circumstances, principal. Otherwise, I’ll claim discrimination.”
The principal didn’t even look up from his clipboard, but Karma could see from the controlled tightening of the grip on his pen, that he’d done his job right and gotten on the nerves. With a clench of his steeled jaw, the principal, all stubborn and insane, refused to look at Karma as he spoke. “Karma, just get on the bus.”
The exasperation in the tone that hinted at the feeling of ‘this is going to be one very long week’ had Karma smirking at the bubble of victory as the hymn of vexation strikes again.
“Alright.” He said, hands raised in mock surrender as he made a show of taking a few backwards steps before swivelling back around and pulling himself up the dark sandy steps, steep and tall, into the pristine white bus that was all black on the inside.
The first thing he saw was the bus driver. A cranky old man that had a large mole – with two hairs (Karma counted) – popping out like a blister on his skin. The grimace in his expression as he regarded Karma’s attire told him everything.
The second was that most of the seats were empty – of course they were, there were only six of them and the bus could fit forty – but the ‘Virtuosos’ or so Karma was convinced they had dubbed themselves in a fit of arrogance sat packed together despite the wide space. He recognised quite a few of the faces just by stalking the school website but one –
They say the third time’s the charm.
Three is supposed to be a lucky number. Like if you tried something and it didn’t work the first two times, the third is bound to be a success. So the third thing Karma notices as he climbs onto the bus is something that would set the tone of the rest of the trip right? Be it success, failure, or difficulty –
The third thing Karma noticed – was that he was very gay.
Was that going to be the tone for the rest of the trip? The fucking rainbow?
It was no secret that the principal loved his son. Karma heard stories of the principal going around showing his staff pictures of his ‘baby boy’ and threatening to end their careers and destroy their lives if they ever hurt his little spawn – which eventually resulted in the collapse of any remnants of the terrifying image Karma had built of him based on word of mouth. So it made sense that despite managing to fish out what the rest of the Virtuosos looked like, Karma had never once seen one Asano Gakushuu.
Because it was also no secret at the principal was fiercely protective of his son, and had no pictures of him anywhere on the school website. He took his son’s internet safety to a whole other clearance level than the rest of his students – which showed gratuitous amounts of bias – but that wasn’t the point.
The point was that Karma didn’t know what an angel looked like before today. It was at this moment that he could say he did.
Because though some of the girls in the school had been driven so delusional by their studies that they would call Asano Gakuhou a DILF, all Karma saw was a psychopathic control freak with obsessive tendencies. But his son was beautiful.
Asano Gakushuu was a work of art.
The slope of his nose looked carefully swept by the tip of a brush from a famous, long-dead, renaissance artist, with a cute lilt that had the perfect mathematical angle, it peaked with the beauty of a mountain top – cheeks that were stained with a healthy splash of cherry-wine – only of the finest quality – full, round and youthful, giving his face a softness that contrasted with the dark on the canvass. The shadows that were carefully brushed onto the indent between his nose bridge and the inner corner of his eyes – his smooth complexion comparable to that of porcelain.
A jawline that had been carefully crafted through years of delicate work, a craftsman leaving a legacy in each of the tiny chips and chinks he’d made to reveal sharp and cutting beauty. His lashes were long and wispy – as they grasped around for the shadows around to dip into – a ghost-like elegance to their form, while freckled dots, like sparks of stars in the distance, graced his cheeks in stardust and even his lips were a perfect pink – the same colour as strawberry pocky.
It was at that moment that Karma realised he was completely and utterly gay. More than he thought he could be. And he was already pretty gay.
“Karma.” A voice sounded behind him, sonorous and imposing. “Get in your seat, we’re moving out.”
But Karma couldn’t see the principal as anything more than a joke, because who even said ‘moving out’? Did he think he was a spy or some shit? Karma was far closer to being a spy than he even would be – because he was an assassin, tasked with hunting a deadly takoyaki ingredient – but not for the week. The point was, that the principal did not scare him.
So Karma turned around and gave a toothy grin, watched as the dread pooled in the principal’s stomach as the words ‘what the fuck is this little shit up to now –’ flashed clearly across his face, and he was given little to no warning, neither was anyone else on the bus for that matter, to Karma’s next words.
“Hey, principal.” The man eyes him warily, like he was a feral animal that should be chained up and locked away but for some reason, the cage wasn’t locked.
Karma gave an innocent-looking smile – one that was deadly to all who knew him well enough to stay away – he noted with glee as each of the virtuosos paled into the same shade a toddler's ghost costume would be for Halloween.
“You didn’t tell me your son was hot!” He said, leering gaze never leaving the principal’s steely violet one. He could count the seconds – on his fingers – as he waited for the bomb to go off, to see the destruction he’d orchestrated, to stand in the wake of the hurricane and dance along the rubble.
Karma watched with delight as the bomb’s timer ticked to zero. As the bus fell silent enough to hear the principal’s hopes and expectations of him fall through the floor.
He watched as the principal showed some very interesting expressions, flickering through a few different ones like someone let an indecisive kid take hold of the remote. It went from disbelief – as the man was unable to process the words he’d just heard, like he’d never once considered the options that those particular words would be used together in that manner, in that context and in that order, to a chill look of contemplation – icy enough to plunge the entire bus by several degrees and leave everyone shivering.
To pretending like he didn’t hear it at all.
Which was the smart choice if the principal wanted to survive a week in Karma’s presence. Because a lot of the shit Karma did could be tolerable if you just chose to ignore it. So Karma watched with a vague sense of interest as the rest of the virtuosos had their eyes bulging and mouths gaping to catch flies – while the younger Asano’s plump cheeks had flushed up with incarnadine, blushing cheeks blooming from a carnation into a crimson rose.
A work of art.
“Akabane.” The principal said, stern voice making it clear that his patience was a hair’s thread away from ripping and giving way to the biggest disaster known to mankind – the overprotective dad. “Sit. Now.”
Karma smiled.
“Okay!” He chirped and sat down.
Right. Next. To. Asano. Gakushuu.
All hell broke loose.