COLLISION, assassination classroom

CHAPTER #007. TOXIN TIME!

To be honest, Hajime had considered it the moment he caught sight of those photographs on the chairman's desk all those months ago, but he hoped to be wrong at the time. There was no doubt that Hajime was someone with a lot of regrets, misdeeds more like, that he would reconsider if given the chance. However, there were some things that Hajime would stand by for the sole reason that he thought it was the right thing to do, even if it wasn't exactly moral. It was foolish of him to think that of all the malicious and terrible things he's done in the past that none of those consequences would ever arise for him to face.

Yet, one regretful glance at the letter later, it would seem that his actions finally caught up to him. Someone had it out for him and by the looks of things, they held quite a grudge.

The brown haired male returned the razors and letter into the envelope and shoved it inside his bag, wiping up the droplets of spilled blood with the sleeve of his sweater. Hajime didn't want to draw attention to his personal plight when his mother and sister were chronic worrywarts. He swallowed, the male didn't even want to think of what would happen if his father caught wind of what happened.

The fifteen year old stood and went to the kitchen to wash out his wound, foregoing the lights since he was certain that he left a trail of blood on his way to the sink. The rush of water was loud in the silence as Hajime placed his wounded palm under the stream, wincing at the pressure. He stood there blankly. The entire day was personally one of the heaviest he's had in a while. Rather, it was not often that Hajime would face two somewhat traumatic events in a row. He only hoped that tomorrow would not be the same.

Hajime moved his wrist under the faucet, catching the trails of blood along his arm when the lights turned on. The male flinched, head snapping toward the doorway where a beautiful black haired woman in her early thirties stood. Hajime glanced at the red splotches on the ground and hoped his mother wouldn't approach beyond the center counter and see it.

"Hello dear, did you just get home?" Takano Saeko questioned and pulled on the strings of her silk robe, tying the ends together with fluid hand motions. Her hair was let loose over one shoulder, showing the smooth lithe of her neck and a peak of her collarbones. His mother was undoubtedly the prettiest woman he's ever seen. Which was a compliment toward himself, seeing as he inherited most of her features.

"Yes, Oka-san." Hajime replied smoothly, turning so that he could hide his wound. "I had a few more lessons to catch up on since I arrived late to prep a while ago." He heard the sound of footsteps approaching and closed his eyes in resignation.

"That's alright. As long as you don't push yourself, it's— Is that blood?!" Saeko stared at the trail of red blotches on the ground, following the trail until she was met with the tense backside of her son. The woman darted toward him and pulled on his arm, downturned mahogany eyes widening at the ragged cuts on his palm.

"What happened, Hajime?!" Reaching out to close the faucet, Saeko pulled her son toward the center counter and urged him to sit on the stool. Hajime watched with anxious eyes as his mother scrambled around the kitchen, her pink silken robe fluttering behind her. He wet his lips and replied,

"It's nothing serious, Oka-san. I just held the wrong side of the knife when washing the dishes just now." Hajime attempted a lie, poorly. A protesting noise passed his lips when his mother sat down beside him with a fully furnished first aid kit. One look at her stern glare silenced him.

Saeko sighed. "If you're going to lie, at least do it properly dear. You never wash the dishes when you get home." She brought out antiseptic spray, cotton, and a large square-patch band aid.

"At least I tried." Hajime commented with a shrug, "It doesn't even hurt that mu— Ow! Oka-san!" The cotton pressed against his wound harder than necessary, his mother raising a questioning eyebrow in response.