A strange, exhilarating current ran through my veins all day, a potent cocktail of adrenaline and newfound power. Guilt should have been a part of it, I suppose. The ghost of my father's voice, the memory of a girl who flinched from conflict. But that girl was dead, and I couldn't bring myself to mourn her. I had taken Kaito's virginity—his dignity, his pride—and the only thing I felt was a profound, liberating satisfaction.
His tight asshole…
The memory was a physical presence, a phantom heat low in my belly. I could almost feel the desperate clenching of his body around mine, the way his muscles had trembled and fought before submitting. I remembered his tears, the salty tracks they cut through the grime on his face. I remembered the sounds he made, muffled whimpers of pain that had slowly, beautifully, twisted into something else. The feeling of absolute dominance, of taking him by force when he had come to do the same to me… it was like a weight I never knew I was carrying had been lifted from my soul. I was free.
The only physical proof of my liberation was nestled in my phone. A digital ghost in the machine. A short, brutal film of his undoing. Between classes, as I hauled my weighted backpack through the crowded halls, the phone felt like a hot stone in my skirt pocket. Each time I passed a bathroom, a primal urge flared up: Go inside. Lock the door. Watch it. Relive it. But I resisted, forcing myself to walk on to the next classroom. The anticipation was part of the high.
This must be what it's like to be high.
The world felt different. Sharper. The usual whispers and stares from the other students were still there, but they'd lost their sting. They were the meaningless chirps of sparrows, and I was an eagle soaring high above. A few of the jocks from the American Football club watched me, their faces a mixture of confusion and suspicion. They whispered to each other as I passed. Let them. Let them wonder what happened to their golden boy. If they decided to become a problem, I would do the same to them. And the thought sent another jolt of illicit pleasure through me. I felt invincible.
I had to clamp down on the fantasies during class. Several times, the memory of Kaito's tight, wet heat sent a surge of blood to my cock, making it strain against the confines of my panties. A sudden bulge would earn me ridicule, I knew. But it was the same ridicule boys got for the same problem. True equality, a cynical part of me thought. If only the rest of the world saw it that way.
The last period of the day was Physical Education. My favorite class. It was the only place I could legally and openly unleash a fraction of my energy. Today, I needed it more than ever.
I walked back to the scene of the crime. As I pushed open the door to the old faculty locker room, the faint, lingering scent of sex and my own spent seed hit me. It was almost undetectable beneath the dust and mildew, but I knew it was there. My cock stirred and stiffened instantly. A possessive smile touched my lips. This was my territory now.
I changed into my gym clothes, a simple t-shirt and shorts. Stuffing my still-hardening cock into the shorts was a familiar struggle, but today it felt less like an annoyance and more like a secret weapon hidden in plain sight.
Outside, the girls of my class were scattered across the field, going through half-hearted stretches. Their chatter died down as I approached. I ignored them and walked straight to the teacher, a man with a neatly trimmed beard named Tanimura-sensei.
"Excuse me, Tanimura-sensei," I said, my voice even.
He turned, his expression professionally placid. "Yes, Kurogane-san?"
"I know it's unusual to ask," I began, choosing my words carefully, "but I wanted to be straightforward. My name is Kurogane Akira. I am, medically speaking, a futanari. My physical capabilities are… different from the other students."
He blinked, his composure momentarily faltering. He clearly didn't know how to respond to such a blunt declaration.
"I only mention it because I was wondering what today's lesson entails," I continued. "I train at a much higher intensity than the standard high school curriculum, and I'd like to adjust the difficulty for myself, if possible. I don't want to fall behind on my personal regimen."
Tanimura-sensei stroked his beard, his eyes appraising me with a new, clinical curiosity. "Ah. I see. Well, today is just a simple conditioning test, Kurogane-san. A few laps around the track so I can get a baseline for everyone's fitness level. Nothing too strenuous."
A frown creased my brow. "Sensei, with all due respect, that's not a workout for me. It's a warm-up. My body would actually lose muscle mass on a routine that light." My words were blunt, bordering on disrespectful, but they were the truth. His surprise was growing. "To give you an accurate baseline of my abilities, I should probably use the training weights from my morning run."
I started to turn away, but he placed a hand on my shoulder, stopping me. His touch was firm, professional. "Wait a moment, Kurogane-san. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. What exactly is this 'morning routine' you're talking about?"
I shrugged. "It's nothing special. Twenty kilograms of weight on each arm and leg. Another twenty-five kilograms in my backpack, plus textbooks. It comes out to about a hundred and five kilos in total. I run the two kilometers to school with that. It's a decent challenge, but the weight distribution makes it manageable."
Tanimura-sensei stared at me. The professional mask was gone, replaced by pure, unadulterated disbelief. He let out a short, sharp laugh, a sound of incredulity. "Kurogane-san. That's… that's not possible. For anyone, let alone a high school girl. Forgive me, but I think you are exaggerating."
Something cold and hard flared in my chest. It was a familiar reaction. Disbelief. Condescension. I didn't say a word. I simply walked back to the locker room, retrieved my heavy backpack, and returned, my expression unreadable. I dropped the bag at his feet. The ground shuddered with the impact.
"Be careful, Sensei," I warned, my voice flat. "Lift with your legs, not your back. I wouldn't want you to injure yourself."
My dead-serious tone finally seemed to get through to him. His expression hardened. He clearly thought I was trying to humiliate him. He squared his shoulders, took a proper lifting stance over the bag, and gripped the straps. He heaved.
The bag barely moved.
His face flushed with effort and astonishment. He adjusted his grip, bent his knees lower, and pulled again with a grunt, his muscles straining. This time, he managed to lift it a few inches off the ground before setting it down heavily, breathing hard.
"What… in the world…" he breathed, staring from the bag to me. The attention of the entire class was now fixed on us, the girls watching in stunned silence.
"I told you, Sensei," I said, my voice devoid of triumph. I opened the backpack, pulled out the heavy, sand-filled cuffs, and began strapping them to my wrists and ankles. The familiar weight settled onto my limbs like a second skin. I then hoisted the backpack onto my shoulders with a single, smooth motion, barely grunting. I bounced on the balls of my feet, feeling the energy coil in my legs.
I turned back to Tanimura-sensei, offering him a small, tight smile. "So, how long should I run? An hour seems like a good start."
He just stared at me as if I'd grown a second head. All around us, the other girls looked at me with a mixture of shock, fear, and something else… awe. To them, I had always been 'Dick-Girl,' the freak. Now, they saw something else. A monster. I preferred it this way.
"Just… run until class ends, Kurogane-san," he finally said, his voice a resigned murmur.
I didn't need to be told twice. After a few quick stretches, I began to jog, the combined weight a familiar, comforting presence. I fell into a steady rhythm, my feet pounding the dirt track. I passed the other girls, then lapped them, then lapped them again. They dropped out one by one, gasping for air on the sidelines, while I just kept going. The world narrowed to the sound of my breathing and the burn in my muscles. The high from this morning blended with the runner's high, creating a state of pure, blissful focus.
The shrill ring of the class bell pulled me from my trance. I slowed to a stop in front of Tanimura-sensei, my body covered in a healthy sheen of sweat but my breathing barely labored.
"That didn't quite do it for me, Sensei," I said with a genuine smile. "I'm going to hit the weight room for a bit before I shower, if that's okay with you."
He looked at me, his eyes wide. He just nodded numbly and pointed towards the gym building. I headed off, ignoring the exhausted, terrified stares of my classmates. The clang and scrape of iron was a perfect symphony. The bliss returned as I moved from bench presses to squats, the therapeutic burn in my muscles chasing away the last vestiges of the girl I used to be.
Sometime later, as I was in the middle of a set of 140-kilogram squats, I saw Tanimura-sensei's reflection in the mirror. He was watching me from the doorway. I finished my reps, racked the weight with a loud clang, and turned to him. "Sup?"
He walked in, his face etched with a seriousness I hadn't seen before. "Kurogane." He dropped the '-san'. "You're… you're terrifying." He sat down on a nearby bench. "What are your plans after graduation? University? A sports career?"
I pulled over a stool and sat across from him, my brief euphoria evaporating. "Yes, and no," I said honestly. "I have no scholarships. No university sports club will take me. They don't have a category for me." I gestured down at my body. "This is a conversation that has followed me since I was eight years old, Sensei. Am I male? Am I female? The official conclusion has always been 'neither.' So, professional sports are a dead end."
He opened his mouth to say something, probably some useless platitude about not giving up, but I held up a hand. "Life isn't fair, Sensei. I've accepted that. My grades are good—I worked my ass off to get them into the top percentile. That's the only path life has left me. As for what I want to do with it?" I frowned. "I have no fucking clue. So, with that in mind, what did you really want to talk about?"
He seemed taken aback by my honesty. "I'm… worried about you, Kurogane. About your future."
A loud, tired sigh escaped me. I stood up and began re-racking my weights. "I am too, Sensei," I said, walking past him towards the door. "I am too."
I headed back to the locker room, the good mood of the day thoroughly soured. I pushed the door open, my mind on my dead-end future, my guard completely down. I stripped off my sweaty shirt.
A fist flew out of the shadows and connected squarely with my nose.
Pain exploded behind my eyes, sharp and shocking. The suddenness of the assault sent my brain into overdrive. My body reacted on pure instinct. A second fist came flying at my face, and I sidestepped, the punch whistling past my ear. My own arm shot out, a palm-heel strike powered by a hard step forward. It slammed into my attacker's collarbone with a sickening crack.
The girl cried out and stumbled back against the lockers. My Muay Thai training took over. Neutralize the threat. I charged forward, slamming her against the metal lockers and pinning her there with my body weight, my forearm pressed hard against her throat. My shock was rapidly being consumed by a familiar, boiling rage.
She was weak. Pathetically so. The sucker punch had hurt, but the adrenaline was already washing it away. Now, looking at her, all I felt was fury. She was a gyaru, with bleached blonde hair, ridiculously long acrylic nails, and a face caked in makeup now smeared with angry tears.
"What the fuck was that for?!" I roared, my voice echoing in the small room.
She spat in my face. A thick glob of saliva and cheap lip gloss slid down my cheek. "Bitch! What did you do to my Kaito-kun?!" she shrieked.
My Kaito-kun? The pieces clicked into place. His girlfriend. My rage deepened, turning into a black, churning abyss. I trembled, my muscles screaming to crush the pathetic creature in front of me. She spat on me again. My eyelid twitched.
"Who," I growled, each word a stone, "the fuck, are you talking about, you cunt?"
"My boyfriend, Yamada Kaito, you freak! I know he went to find you this morning! He came back looking like he'd seen a ghost! What did you do to him?!"
My anger paused, frozen by sheer surprise. "You knew? You knew he was planning to… to rape me?"
A smug, vicious grin spread across her face. "Of course I knew, bitch! You deserve it!" She spat on my face a third time. "I'm the one who told him when and where to find you alone! It's about time someone popped your cherry for you!"
Something inside me shattered. It wasn't a loud, violent break like this morning. It was a quiet, cold snap. The last, microscopic shred of my respect for other human beings, my belief in some baseline of decency, disintegrated into dust. The girl in front of me was no longer a person. She was a thing. An insect.
A low chuckle started in my chest. It grew louder, erupting into full-blown, unhinged laughter. I was so angry, so utterly consumed by a rage so pure and absolute, that all I could do was laugh. My mind reeled. They had planned it. She had helped. She had encouraged it. And now she was attacking me, the victim, for whatever they imagined I had done to him.
I let go of her. She dropped to the floor, confused by my laughter. She scrambled to her feet, brushing herself off. She turned to leave, but I moved, blocking her path. I slowly backed her into a corner, my laughter never ceasing. Her confusion turned back to anger, and her fist flew at my face again.
This time, I caught it effortlessly. I squeezed, and she cried out as her knuckles ground together. I used her own arm to push her back against the tiled wall. With my free hand, I slowly wiped the spit from my face and flicked it onto the floor. I stared into her eyes, my laughter finally dying down, replaced by an unnerving, predatory calm.
"What's your name?" I asked, my voice soft.
"Fuck you, bitch!" she snarled.
CRACK!
My fist shot out and punched the tile next to her head. It shattered, spiderwebbing outwards, pieces clattering to the floor. Her bravado evaporated instantly, replaced by wide-eyed terror.
"What. Is. Your. Name?" I asked again, my voice a deadly whisper.
"T-Tachibana… Miki," she stammered, her face paling.
"Show me your student ID, Tachibana Miki," I purred.
"I… I don't have it on me…"
CRACK!
I broke another tile, closer this time. Shards grazed her cheek. "Wrong answer," I said slowly, smiling a smile that held no warmth. "Let me make this easier for a stupid little girl like you to understand. Show me your photo ID. Now. Or you'll end up like these tiles. Broken and in pieces all over the floor."
Tears began to stream down her face, ruining her mascara. She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out her student ID card with a trembling hand. I plucked it from her fingers. Tachibana Miki. Class 3-B. Address just two streets down from my own. I smiled as I slipped the ID into my pocket.
"Good girl, Miki-chan," I said, stepping back. "I'll be holding onto this. We'll be seeing each other again. Very soon."
She stood there, stunned into silence.
"Get. The. Fuck. Out," I commanded.
She didn't hesitate. She scrambled past me and fled, the locker room door slamming shut behind her.
I stood alone in the silence, my rage no longer a boiling cauldron but a block of solid, frozen nitrogen. I needed to run more. Forget the shower. I pulled my sweaty, itchy clothes back on, strapped on all my weights, and walked out of the school.
The sun was setting as I hit the pavement, running not towards home, but away from it. I would have my revenge. On both of them. I promised myself that. And this time, it would be slow. It would be creative. It would be a masterpiece.