Reincarnated Into A Dead Woman's Body In Another World-Chapter 115: Arc 3, - 25: Burdens of the Gifted

"Yes, he’s shown quite the spectacular performance for his age. Your son is truly gifted. We can offer higher level exams and make him skip a grade or two," the head of the elementary school spoke.

Jotou, chubby as a bunny, around the age of six, listened in through the office doors. "So, can he get scholarships and such?" his mother’s voice.

"If he continues working hard, then he’ll get into any university he wants in the future..." the headmaster’s words to his parents; Jotou smiled at the thought.

_

"Wait, we won’t be in the same class?" Daiyu, slightly taller than Jotou, equal in age.

"I can still see you at lunch. I’m just too smart," Jotou shrugged, "All the older students are gonna be so jealous when I get A’s and beat them."

"No need to act all smart, you don’t know everything."

"I do though! I can do anything I put my mind to; my dad told me so."

Daiyu surveyed the schoolyard, next to the parking lot, "Where’s your mom anyway? The bus will be here in..." she checked the bright pink, digital watch; she pressed a button to make it glow, "E...leven minutes."

Jotou peered over, "Actually, it’s thirteen minutes. You know there’s only sixty minutes in an hour, right?"

Daiyu blinked, "Yeah... I, of course know that..."

Jotou hummed, looking over the parking lot, swinging his legs on the bench, shorts and a schoolbag on his back. "Maybe I’ll just walk back."

"Aren’t our houses like, really, really far?"

"I can do it!"

"Oh, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then," Daiyu waved as Jotou hopped off and walked away. Down the road, alone, past the traffic lights and across the busy road, watching all the cars go by...

_

Jotou was soon where he started, Daiyu gone and standing in the school parking lot with his head held low... His mom, sharp brown eyes, long straight hair tied back and in a t-shirt and jeans.

She had a hand to her hip, "Do you know what could’ve happened if the school staff didn’t find you!? You know how worried I was!? How humiliating it is to tell the teachers and parents I lost you!?"

The deadly glare was followed by a pinch to Jotou shoulder, "Ow! Ow! I’m sorry! You didn’t come yet and I thought I could walk home!"

"Jotou, I was five minutes late!" she then muttered something in Japanese... Jotou frowned, sitting in the car in silence the whole journey, playing with his fingers.

_

Moments, time skipping through barely connected memories, like a knife was being stabbed deeper and deeper into the mind...

"You need to stop talking back to people like that. They’re older than you and you need to show them respect," his dad, black hair and dark hazel eyes; full beard across his face.

"But dad! The timetable literally was at lunch time and the teacher was going on and on. And she said class wasn’t over, so I went to the headmaster and told him!" Jotou pleaded, about ten years old or so.

"That’s not the problem Jotou, you scolded your teacher; you’re not an adult. Don’t talk back like you are one. Keep quiet and come tell me or your mom; we can handle it," the car braked to the traffic lights.

"Why?" Jotou knitted his brows, "She was clearly in the wrong! They make us buy a rulebook for the school and I went through it and everything!"

"Because I said so. You have no respect," his dad shook his head, sighing, "You know how many times me or mom have talked to your teachers? You know how embarrassing it is every time?"

Jotou pouted... turning his head out the window on the rest of the ride home.

_

’Report Card Day’. Written on the banner above the school, parents funnelled into classes at night with their kids.

The controlled rage on his mother’s face may have fooled plenty of people, but Jotou sitting right next to her, could tell that smile was one tick away from absolute rage... Jotou feared what he would have to face at home.

His teacher showed the report cards, filled with B’s, one C and two A’s. Perhaps more importantly, the infamous ’F’, in History.

"Jotou, often talks with others during class. We tried pairing him up with more quiet students, but a week in and Jotou would influence them to talk too.

So, we kept him separated for disrupting class and he stares out the window a lot. His attention is high in the clouds not in class. He just needs to put in the effort. He’s clever, just very lazy."

Jotou held the report card, staring at the streetlamps passing over. Never having gotten an F in his life, Jotou truly worried for his future. "What happened?" his mom asked, brows furrowed.

"Mom... It’s midterms, it doesn’t even matter..."

"When you’re applying for a job they’ll check all of this Jotou. How do you want to be an astronaut like this?"

"It’s History, what’s that have to do with astronomy?" Jotou talked back, averting her gaze.

"Stop being clever with me. It’s not just that, all your grades are dropping. Do I need to put you in tuition?"

"No! Then I’ll have no time to play with Daiyu."

"For what do you need to play so importantly? She’s getting better marks than you. Soon, she’ll grow up and you’ll be stuck in school. Jotou, what are you planning for your finals? You need a target goal."

Jotou groaned, "Fine, I won’t fail. I’ll try to pass History. I think I can make math an A."

"Why don’t you think you can get A’s in everything?" she scolded...

_

"Miss, this is the same answer can you give me the point, please?" Jotou showed the exam paper to his teacher at the desk. A little older now.

"There’s no point Jotou, you won’t get a better grade. If it was close maybe I’d consider it," she looked at the answers.

"Well, I’m sure I can find more mistakes you made. I’m just five marks away from a B plus."

His teacher shook her head, "You have too much ego Jotou, you need to control it. I’m not changing it," she handed the paper back.

Jotou’s nose scrunched, taking his paper and walking back to his seat. ’The world doesn’t revolve around you’, narcissistic, egotistical, the words over and over from so many teachers...

Students one by one, year by year surpassing him, not trying his best to keep up with them. Another bad grade, another scolding if they were in a good mood. "Disappointed." "Humiliating."

"You’re just lazy, you need to work harder." "If your other classmates can get it then why can’t you?" "Did you know your cousin got straight A’s?"

_

Jotou sat in his room, relatively small. Bed in the corner with cartoon bedsheets, a desk stacked with books, from favourite subject to least favourite. A fresh red mark of a coat hanger beaten across his arm.

His eyes fell—classes, tuition, homework... he fell asleep on the desk despite it being a Saturday noon. "CRASH!" Jotou woke up, something downstairs, a chair? Hitting a wall maybe?

Two loud voices, yelling. His father and mother, arguing about something again. Jotou covered his ears, beginning to whimper alone in his room; when would they stop...?

_

"Come on, hurry up Jotou, we said eight thirty to go meet your aunt!" his mother yelled up the stairs.

Jotou squinted down, "I told you, I don’t wanna go! Finals are coming and I have nothing to do there anyway!"

"Oh, like you’re going to be studying instead of playing games. Dress up now, we need to go see her. You can’t be in your room all the time, you need to go outside and see people."

"I’m too tired!" Jotou whined, "All the subjects are boring and I just finished so leave me alone."

"You haven’t visited anyone in the family in almost a year! You better shut up before I grab the hanger. Come down now before I come up there and wallop you. I’m giving you five minutes!"

"I told you I don’t wanna go! Stop forcing me!"

"FIVE MINUTES!"

_

Grown a bit taller, thirteen. Jotou was about to introduce himself to his dad’s boss who had come for dinner. "I’m-"

"This is Jotou, our son."

Jotou then went quiet, giving a wave. He was told to shut up and behave before they arrived after all... Don’t speak unless spoken to.

_

"You’re fifteen Jotou, you’re getting older, you need to do these things for yourself. Go order your food," Jotou’s dad parked outside the restaurant.

Jotou looked to the restaurant... "It’s fine, I don’t want dinner."

"Jotou, you can’t keep doing this."

"Will you just order for me?"

"No, you need to go do it yourself," his mom handed him the money.

Jotou stood, shoulders slumped and back slouched, ordering at the counter. His eyes darted at everything, still thinking about the way he stuttered and slurred what he wanted... The cashier having to ask Jotou three times.

Jotou grabbed the change and the food and went back to the car. His dad and mom snickered to each other, "You looked like you were going to rob the store."

Jotou pouted, handing the change back. He silently sat, looking out the window, nervously repeating in his head, all the ways he could’ve conversed better; however, it was a little too late.

_

’When did I become the class’s laughing stock...?’ The answer became more obvious with time... Becoming a pushover, getting bullied, his grades deteriorating.

’All my ego shredded so much that I had lost all my confidence...’ But when did it change...?

’When I decided to push through it.’

_

"You’re moving!?" Daiyu’s eyes widened, Crispy and Ramond looking at him in shock.

"Yeah... Not like I want to... New school and everything. We’ll still see each other every now and again. You have my number, so, it’s all good, right?"

_

The day of his new school passed, coming back to his new home—unable to utter a word as ’the new kid’. Jotou fell into his pillow, breathing heavily as he began sobbing into it.

The years went by, one by one, still managing the sciences, but art took his interest as well. And with that, came the failures of his other subjects. Exercising and losing all that weight he was told he would ’grow into’.

Lie by lie he made it out unscathed from his parents—a red pen to change marks on the paper. "You know, you’re only lying to yourself and God," a classmate beside him relayed. What was his name again?

"You know god doesn’t exist, right?"

"You can believe whatever you want Jotou-"

"It’s not a belief, it’s a fact. You can live whatever fantasy you want, but when you die, you die. And besides, why wouldn’t I pray to hell instead of ’god’.

Not like god did anything for me and I’m gonna end up there anyway if it existed. Might as well become friends with the devil. You know what? I’m gonna start now; thank hell I did," Jotou derided as the other boy recoiled slightly.

Alone he walked the halls of the school, sitting at a corner of the cafeteria. It’s certainly easier to be confident when you ignore what anyone thought of you, suppressing the underlying anxiety as the nail bites grew worse.

"You should join debate Jotou. You’re really gifted at arguments and your argumentative essays are fantastic," his teacher recommended.

"Maybe... Sure, I-I’ll try it."

Proving his opponents wrong; now that was fun. Even if he didn’t win, he knew he was right, the points are just rigged. If one thinks otherwise, then he’d dare the one to prove him wrong.

None ever did. Though, that didn’t stop the fantasy of it happening in Jotou’s mind. So many non-existent arguments that he’d win, sitting and standing alone. Who knows? Maybe one day that argument might come up.

"You should become a lawyer Jotou, you’re really good at debate."

"Uh, probably not for me..." Jotou would smile in reply. ’Then what is for me? What’s my goal when this is all over? When I get out of school...’

_

"I DON’T WANT TO STUDY!!! I feel like a damn zombie, sitting, year after year on things I’ll forget, I’m so done! You want me to do this for four to six more years!? FORGET IT!"

The door slammed, another blood boiling argument for yet another week. If his parents hit him, he would hit back and even then he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Breathing heavily, Jotou slid down his room door, the extreme migraine throbbing in his head. "I wish they were dead. I fucking hate this stupid life," tears went down his eyes.

Much slimmer, much older and yet the room stayed the same size. The only sanctuary from a world of stress and disappointments, this room—four walls to protect him.

Be better, useless, embarrassment, lazy. Berated again and again by the people who should’ve showed kindness. That true hatred burned—no unconditional love for his parents, not even a liking.

As far as he was concerned, it was just Stockholm Syndrome. It was nicer in this room. No friends outside other than the ones he could text on his phone, miles and miles away. An internet to explore, all the games to play.

’What do I want to do with my life? I want to be someone... To rub it in their faces that I can do something. I can’t rely on them or anyone. I’ve had no control over my life, living my parents’ ideals for me. Well, now I’ll take control.’

The memories faded, barely a fuzzy dream, memory after memory not even interconnected, missing so many links. A new day approached the blonde’s waking eyes.