But Saint Pfil's Specialty Academy is.Yamaku is not for mental patients.
Here, we meet my Misha analogue, the de facto main character, along with the counterparts to Shizune, Hisao, and Mutou. More characters will follow, along with a good deal of mindfuckery.
I tried treating Not!Shizune's disability with sensitivity and care but all 5 minutes of internet research taught me that Tourette's patients really can and do randomly swear like that. I still tried focusing on unintelligible verbal tics instead of spontaneous profanity. Yet, I'm not 100% satisfied with how her dialogue ended up. I like Not!Misha better because she's a mean bitch and therefore more fun to write.
...And Leave a Beautiful Corpse
Aimi Kondou was wheeled out of her hospital room out into the halls. She sipped a brown, gelatinous mixture out of a sealed plastic cup through a straw and choked down its contents. It looked like vomit. It tasted like vomit. For all she knew, it probably was vomit. She'd rather not consume that crap but she was sick and tired of the doctors giving her a hard time for not eating and drinking what they wanted her to.
“Good evening, Miss Kondou,” the big fat doctor greeted Aimi when she was piloted into her office. “How are you feeling?”
“Eh. Why are my parents here?”
“We are all gathered here to discuss your plans for the future.”
“So what, you're a guidance counselor in addition to being a doctor and a fat-ass?”
“Aimi, please,” her mother pleaded. “Listen to what the doctor has to say.”
“This is all for the best,” her father added.
“Anyways, your parents and I have been talking about the possibility of sending you to a new school. It's an elite boarding school, built for the modern world. Many, many successful people have attended.”
“I already go to an elite boarding school.”
“This one's different and is more suited to your needs. Here, watch this tape.”
The old fart of a doctor popped the “tape” into the DVD player's tray and turned on the TV.
“This is Saint Pfil's Specialty Academy,” the bombastic narrator announced, “an award winning comprehensive educational compound with campuses that serve all manners of gifted students, from infancy to adulthood.”
“The school teaches everything from preschool to high school, feeding directly into top-rated universities around the country, plus it contains some technical and junior college courses for adults,” the doctor said, interrupting the video. “You'll be going to the high school there.”
“Go on,” Aimi sighed, uninterested.
The tape went on, showcasing staged scenes of school life. The campus's sleek steel, concrete, and glass buildings were complimented by the uniforms of the students. Pupils were shown strutting around in white shirts, light gray blazers, and navy blue pants and skirts. Aimi noticed how their neckties were the same pale gray-blue as the hospital gown she was wearing. The warm weather uniform was topped with white tennis shirts trimmed in the same light blue as the neckties. Glaringly, the uniforms all seemed to lack visible buttons, giving the uniforms a slightly futuristic feel.
The narrator guided the viewers through scenes of school activities, showing fit athletes, brilliant would-be-scholars, and... a class full of shifty eyed dimwits who appeared to clap randomly with their mouths dangling open.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Aimi shouted out, mashing the remote control's “stop” button with a clenched fist. “You're sending me to a school for RETARDS?!”
“Aimi,” her father admonished, “that is a very bad word. Besides, nobody is saying you're 'retarded.'”
“Miss Kondou,” the doctor corrected her assumptions, “St. Pfil's high school teaches only exceptional students who are capable of performing at a high school level. Those children you saw are indeed developmentally challenged, but scholastically, they are very, very intelligent.”
“An idiot savant is still an idiot.”
“I'm sorry, Aimi, this is the only way,” her mother admitted, “this school specializes in children with emotional and psychological... difficulties. There, you can be taken care of better than your father and I could.”
“So that's how it is. I've gone from being retarded, to crazy, to straight up being troublesome. Do they have therapists there?”
“Yes,” the doctor answered, “every student gets monthly, weekly, or biweekly one-on one counseling sessions with qualified therapists. In addition, there are group therapy programs and all the teachers are experienced with...”
“So I'll be sure to mention to the shrinks how fucking rotten my parents are.”
“Ah, good,” a silver haired foreign man greeted Aimi after she was led to his office at the school. “Miss Aimi Kondou, is it? I'm Professor Leslie Peppard. How do you like the uniform?”
“It's alright, I guess. This jacket makes me look fat.”
Aimi tugged at the clips and low-profile zippers that fastened her outfit together. Apparently some students have a tendency to eat buttons. Her necktie was a clip-on to prevent its use as a weapon or instrument of suicide. Only after making several calls to the hospital she stayed at before and running around back and forth between school school offices was she able to get permission to have pockets.
“Well,” the teacher noted, scanning Aimi over from head to toe with his big, glassy eyes, “it's actually quite warm outside. We do have tennis-style shirts to wear when you get hot.”
“I said, when it gets hot. You know, the weather.”
“Anyways, Aimi. May I call you Aimi? I'll be your homeroom teacher for the remainder of your time at St. Pfil's. Here, we follow our class of students from entry to graduation, then back to the first years to start the cycle over again. It gives us an opportunity to effectively track the progress of our students in the long term. I myself enjoy watching young women such as yourself blossom into budding fountains of womanhood.”
“Nothing. Sorry, my Japanese isn't as good as it should be. Anyways, it says here that aside from special dietary needs, you don't have any medications currently prescribed.”
Mister Peppard shuffled through Aimi's file and glanced over a long list of amphetamines, diuretics, anorectics, and laxatives.
“However, there is quite a list of medications on your banned list. If you need any drug, and I do mean anything, even if it's for a headache, you'll have to sign off for it at the nursing office and pick it up at the pharmacy window, do you understand?”
“Okay then, that's pretty much it. Lessons are going to begin in about twenty minutes. I'll show you where my classroom is.”
Mr. Peppard walked Aimi over to a seat in her new classroom. Instead of desks, the seats were arranged around circular tables, with four or five chairs per table. The wheeled chairs were comfortable but very heavy. Mr. Peppard said that this was to discourage students from throwing them. That revelation made Aimi very nervous.
She wondered what kind of students her classmates would be. Would they be drool-machines who wear helmets, schizos who talk to invisible people, or maybe even constant masturbators? Aimi's hands got clammy and her breath paused as the first of the students came into the room. They were... normal.
A boy and a girl sat at Aimi's table without any direction, indicating that she had been added to their study group. While the teacher briefly introduced the class to Aimi, she sized up her study partners. The boy was about a head taller than her and was stocky in build. He had gentle eyes and a quiet expression that clashed with his mohawk. The girl had board-straight black hair that ran down to her shoulders, with her bangs cut straight across, the opposite of Aimi's wavy curls that flowed past halfway down her back. She was a bit chubby too. Aimi started feeling bloated just looking at her.
“Hey, I'm Kouta, Kouta Ishii,” the boy introduced himself, politely.
“I'm Aimi Kondou,” she replied, flashing her expensively straight teeth.
“I'm Izumi Kimura,” the fatty interjected, “nice to meet you, K-K-K-CUNT!”
“The fuck you just call me?!” Aimi shot up from her chair, shoving it back into another student, while grabbing the mechanical pencil she smuggled into the school.
“Easy, easy!” Kouta frantically yanked Aimi back into her chair while Izumi sat there looking terrified at Aimi's perfectly understandable reaction. “She doesn't mean it.”
“What do you mean by that?” she skeptically asked.
“I ha-K-K-K-KA-have Tourette's syndrome,” Izumi shyly responded, twitching with every unintelligible sound that trickled into her speech. “Usually I do-DAH don't swear like that. I'm sorry.”
“Yeah-huh,” Aimi mumbled with a non-believing eye roll before she turned her attentions to Kouta. “What about you? What are you in here for?”
“It's a long story,” he said, avoiding eye contact.
“Ey, Kouta, what's up with that guy?” Aimi asked, pointing at how Mr. Peppard seemed completely oblivious to the schoolyard shanking that almost happened, instead focusing his attention down some girl's shirt.
“Him? Yeah he used to teach at a place like this back in America but he's not allowed around children there anymore so he started teaching here.”
Between her teacher's molester tendencies, Kouta's evasiveness and Izumi's spazzing out, Aimi could tell it was going to be a long year and a half until graduation.
After three months, Aimi managed to adapt to life at her new school, just barely. Her only friend, or rather the person who tolerated her the most was Kouta, whom she dubbed “Kokou.” Izumi, on the other hand, was still her rival at best and mortal enemy at worst. Their mutual animosity hung over Kouta's head like a dark cloud as he tried staying friends with both girls.
“I suppose congratulations are in order,” Mr. Peppard announced, “to our new student council president, Izumi Kimura!”
“Wait, wait!” Aimi protested after a round of polite applause, throwing her hand in the air and waving it excitedly. “When were the elections?”
“Uh, well not until next week. However, nobody else is running against her.”
“I nominate myself!” Aimi shouted, to everyone's dismay.
“Are you sure?”
“Hell yeah! There's no rule against candidates being from the same room, are there?”
Aimi eagerly filled out a nomination form while Izumi smugly watched. Aimi was an elected officer on the student council every year at her old school, and was a shoe-in for president before she got ill. As THE popular girl from schools much more elite than St. Pfil's, her victory over a fatso who could barely speak correctly was assured.
“...vote for me, and your dreams of respect from your peers will come true!”
The audience at the pep rally were silenced in awe. Aimi rehashed an old campaign speech from a past election and eloquently promised to bring glory to the school, elevating the herd of retards into a force to be reckoned with through emphasis on athletic excellence, scholarly competition with other schools, and better funding for internal school events to improve morale.
Aimi was an idol who stood on a whole level above Izumi. There was no way she could lose. As they say, in the kingdom of the blind, the man with one eye is king, right?
She strutted her way past Izumi, who was the most calm and serious Aimi had ever seen her. The poor girl must have been terrified of her competition. Izumi slowly approached the stage's microphone and cleared her throat.
“K-K-Ku... Ha...He...” Izumi struggled to squeeze out some intelligible words, then hastily spilled out her entire speech before her impediment ruins it.
“Hello everybody. Thank you for the support you have all lent me in the six years since I've become your classmate back in elementary school. I hope to have many more pleasant experiences with you in the coming year. Thank you very much.”
The audience exploded in applause after her weak excuse for a speech. Surely, they were cheering out of pity, right? Aimi coldly ignored what she heard and dismissed it as Izumi's planted cheerleaders or maybe even a hallucination. The election results will show that smug tweeker who's the boss.
Izumi Kimura: 985, Aimi Kondou: 3.
“Ugh, I don't get it, Kokou.”
Aimi ignored her canned liquid meal and dropped her head on the cafeteria table the day after the results were announced, drooling all over the surface.
“I'm sorry, Aimi,” Kouta said, patting down her head, “I tried warning ya. EVERYONE loves Izumi.”
“What's she got that I don't? She doesn't have any charm, charisma, style...”
“No offense, but she gets along with just about everybody except you. I mean, with your speech, you pretty much dissed the whole school! We don't want to be better than what we are. We are what we are and we've accepted each other a long time ago.”
“I'll ignore everything you just said and accept that it's just because I'm a newcomer. Come on, man, three votes?!”
“I voted for you, and so did Izumi.”
“Really? So add myself and...”
“Wait, you voted for yourself?! That's bad form, dude.”
“Don't even. I already feel bad that my two legit votes came out of pity.”
“Okay, I'll drop it. Aren't you burning up wearing that jacket? It's really hot today.”
“I get cold easily,” Aimi grumbled, sitting back up. “Anyways, where's Ms. President-Elect right now?”
“I think I saw her over by the payphones. She usually calls her boyfriend during lunchtime.”
“What?” she squinted in disbelief. “That bitch has a boyfriend?! For my peace of mind, I've got to go settle some things with her.”
“No! Aimi, don't!” Kouta grabbed out, trying to stop Aimi as she got up.
“Relax. This is how minor disagreements get settled back in the real world.”
Aimi stormed off towards the main offices to confront Izumi at the payphones, with an increasingly growing entourage following behind, despite Kouta's best efforts and dispersing them.
“H-H-Hey babe,” Izumi said into the reciever, sensing danger, “I go-KA-gotta go. Love you.”
“Izumi!” Aimi approached, cracking her knuckles. “I suppose some congratulations are in order.”
“K-Why thank you,” Izumi twitched out in response.
Aimi sent a fist flying towards Izumi, pounding a ringing sound out of the payphone as she smashed into the keypad.
“Wha-KA-What's this all about?” Izumi asked, unfazed by Aimi's threatening display.
“The fuck you mean what's this all about? You've had it in for me from day one, strutting around like little miss perfect, thumbing your nose at me.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Wee wee, look at mee,” Aimi held up a bent wrist to her face and sneered, imitating the face of a stereotypical mentally handicapped person. “My name is Izumi and ebberybuddy loves meee durr durr.”
“If you're d-done, I'd like to g-K-go now. I have some things to settle, cunt.”
“Oh, there you go again with your random swearing.”
“I meant it, this time.”
“That's it!” Aimi screamed, grabbing Izumi by the hair while she nonchalantly walked away.
With two hands digging into her scalp, Izumi was yanked backwards, and got a knee to the lower back. She struggled her way back around at slapped Aimi repeatedly in the face.
Soon, both girls were swinging at each other with their heads ducked down. A huge crowd had gathered around, cheering them on while Kouta struggled to push his way through to break them up.
With a trip behind the leg, Aimi sent Izumi flat on her butt. Her face red with rage, Aimi sent a fist swinging up to crash down on her arch-nemesis. On the downswing, she targeted Izumi's terrified face and...
...things went black. The last thing she saw was the world tilting as she fell sideways and Kouta squeezing his way through the crowd, reaching out to her.
Out in the darkness, someone was calling out to Aimi, and having a hard time at it.
It was Izumi. With her soul slowly returning to her body, she resumed her last movement before fainting. Limply, Aimi's fist flew across the bed and landed over the edge, dangling.
“Ugh, what do you want?”
“I was wa-WA-waiting for you to wake up. You fainted.”
“Wasn't I kicking your ass? Am I in the nurse's office? I ought to thank Kouta for bringing me here.”
“AcK-Ktually, I carried you here myself.”
“No you didn't.”
“Yes, I did. Are you okay?”
“I'm fine,” Aimi groaned, not believing that she managed to defeat herself, needing Izumi of all people to rescue her.
“No, you aren't. I heard the staff doc-CUNT-tor saying that you have a history of these things.”
“It's none of your goddamned business. Now get out.”
“Okay, then,” Izumi disarmingly smiled. “I'm glad you're feeling better. I'll see you tomorrow.”
Aimi dozed off once she was alone. It was a fainting spell that got her into that school to begin with. She wondered if she'd somehow get kicked out and sent into a school for super-retarded kids.
The next school day was tense and uneasy for Aimi. She avoided talking to Izumi even more than she usually did. Why did Izumi take care of her, carrying her to the nurse's office and even watching over her as she slept? What kind of game was she playing?
The sad truth eventually weaseled its way into her mind. Izumi really was a nice girl and Aimi was just being a bitch the whole time. The concern had to be genuine. As she shuffled off to the cafeteria for lunch, she heard Izumi get summoned back to Mr. Peppard's class over the loud speakers. With two sides of her heart wrenching their way apart, Aimi decided to meet Izumi there. She had no idea what to say, nor was she willing to thank her, but at the very least she could call for a cease-fire.
“Miss Kimura,” Mister Peppard audibly scolded from within, “cat fights are NOT how class presidents conduct business. Now tell me, who started it?”
Aimi slowly pushed the door open. Peppard had a tearful Izumi backed into a corner. Something seemed wrong, though. This wasn't a normal disciplinary scolding. Things seemed predatory this time.
“chK-I did, Professor.”
Aimi's heart sank into her stomach, forcing a few tears out. Even after everything, Izumi was going to take the blame for the fight.
“You know,” he softly said, holding up Izumi's chin with his curled fingers, “as the staff advisor to the student council, I could throw out the results of the election. In fact, I could dissolve student council entirely.”
Mr. Peppard's hand drifted down to Izumi's knee, dragging her skirt up as he brought it back up.
“But that doesn't have to happen. Do you think we could come to some... agreement so you could stay in office?”
“N-No. I'll K-K-quit.”
“Aww, that's no good, Izumi, dear. Let me tell you a little secret. Every student council president since I became the advisor has been a girl. Do you know why that is? That's because they all know to go that extra mile to get ahead in life.”
“T-That's not tch-true.”
“Here, let me show you something,” he said, backing off momentarily to bring his computer out of sleep-mode and open up the contents of a DVD. ”See? Every student council officer knows how to make little sacrifices to get an office. It's just a fact of life. Someone like you will have to do it in the real world too, out in the job market.”
“N-No, I won't do that. I refuse.”
“I'll do it, teach!” Aimi happily announced, bursting in through the door. “You can just like, kick Izumi out of the race for the fight and give me the job. After all, I was the only other candidate and it would be disappointing to not have any student government for next year!”
“M-Miss Kondou,” Peppard stammered, reaching into his pants to hastily tuck his erection under his belt to hide it, “what brings you here?”
“I want to be class president, Professor. And unlike goody-two-shoes over here, I'm up for whatever.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You've seen my my transcripts, and you've seen my actual grades since I've started here. I've fucked my fair share of teachers to get where I am.”
“So that's how it is, eh? You could learn something from your friend here, Miss Kimura.”
Stunned, Izumi inched her way out of the room, only to be stopped when Aimi grabbed her arm on the way out, who grabbed her by the cheeks to give her a kiss.
“Hey, would you be interested in a job as vice-president?”
“Ew...K-Get away from me,” she cried out, trying to squirm away.
“Stay here, I need you,” Aimi whispered into Izumi's ear, only adding to her confusion.
With Izumi still in the class, not knowing what else she could possibly do, Aimi pushed Peppard backwards over onto his desk and straddled him. Eagerly, she unzipped his trousers and pulled his member out to knead it with one hand while reaching into her pocket with the other.
“You're quite a girl, Aimi. A girl like you is fun-sized. I could have a really great time throwing you arou... AH! What are you doing?”
“I'm glad you like me, Professor,” Aimi replied deviously, clamping down on Peppard's testicles while stretching his scrotum outwards towards her. She popped open a ballpoint pen she had with her to unsheathe a serrated letter opener.
“It's like this,” she said, holding the edge of the blade against his skin, ready to castrate him in one swift movement, “I would like to be president. Or rather, co-president with Izumi.”
“Fuck you, you skinny little bitch.”
“WRONG ANSWER!” She shouted, following a diabolical laugh while slowly dragging the edge against his stretched scrotal skin. “Do we have the job or what?”
“Ugh, fine, fine. Just take that shit away from my balls.”
“And can we cut class whenever we want?” Aimi demanded, drawing a small amount of blood. “And curve the shit out of our grades so we stay on top? And letters of recommendation whenever we ask?!”
“Yes, yes, anything.”
“Izumi, baby, go get that disc full of student-body porn out of his computer and get the hell out of here. Meet me in the town square in a half-hour.”
At a loss for words, Izumi obediently retrieved the disc and ran out of the room.
“What's that for?”
“Leverage, little man. To ensure you keep your end of the bargain, I'm going to mail that collection of yours back home. If you bother Izumi or any other girl in this whole fucking school, I'll have your balls, literally and figuratively.”
With a swipe upwards, Aimi yanked her knife into the air, leaving a deep gash that almost gave Mr. Peppard a half-vasectomy.
“It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Professor,” she smiled, blowing a kiss at him while he writhed on the desk, cradling his bleeding manhood.
“Wow,” Kouta gasped, “so you guys talked it over with Peppard and now you're BOTH president?”
“Yep!” Aimi grinned, proud of herself.
“Hey, Kokou, how about you, me, and Izzy go get a snack downtown?”
“Right now? Lunch doesn't start for over an hour!”
“Hell, yeah, right now! Official student council business. We have to plan for the transition of power next school year. You can be our um, sergeant at arms or something like that.”
“Well, I...” Kouta tried declining, just as Aimi grabbed him and Izumi by the hand and ran out of the room.
“Miss Kondou, Mister Ishii has work to do.”
Aimi answered by making a sawing gesture by her crotch with two fingers, then ran out the door with her friends.
“Hey Aimi,” Izumi said, poking at her shoulder, “thanks for yesterday.”
“For what, the ass kicking?”
“You know what chK-I mean.”
“No problem, Izzy, what are friends for?”
“Oh and Aimi...”
“What was that for?”
“That was for kissing me! You, you cu-chchk.” Izumi whined, biting her knuckle to keep from uttering her tick-word.
“What was that all about?” Kouta asked.
“Long story,” the two girls answered in unison.
Edit: Hey look, 9001st Fan Works post!