Chapter 29: The “Tribute” of the Defeated

Death walked beside me this morning.

Not literal death, obviously, but the metaphorical kind that came with designer watches and yakuza connections. The Rolex Guy hadn’t shown his face since The Incident, which meant exactly one thing in my expert analysis—he was plotting. Scheming. Preparing his revenge strike with the precision of a military operation.

Ninja assassins seemed likely. Maybe lawyers. Definitely something involving expensive Italian leather and vague threats about family honor.

I activated my defensive protocols the moment I stepped onto school grounds. The 360-degree perimeter check, a technique I’d perfected through years of avoiding social interaction. Spin around nervously while pretending to look for something. Check every angle. Scan for threats.

I executed a full rotation near the front gate, stumbled slightly on the third spin, recovered with what I hoped looked like intentional footwork.

A group of first-years stared at me like I’d grown a second head.

“Advanced combat awareness drill,” I announced to no one in particular.

They hurried past, whispers trailing behind them. Whatever. They wouldn’t understand tactical superiority if it punched them in the face.

The walk to the shoe lockers felt like crossing a minefield. Every corner hid potential ambush points. Every shadowy alcove could conceal hired muscle. The Kanzaki family probably had connections everywhere, invisible threads of power and influence that normal people couldn’t even perceive.

But I could perceive them. I was woke to the danger. Hyperaware. Operating on a level these NPCs couldn’t comprehend.

I rounded the final corner toward the lockers, already planning my next defensive spin.

A figure stood directly in front of my locker, blocking access like a final boss guarding treasure.

Ryuuji Kanzaki. The Rolex Guy himself. Looking like he’d seen a ghost or maybe several ghosts having a really intense argument.

My heart rate spiked into cardiac arrest territory. This was it. The confrontation. The revenge strike I’d been anticipating. He probably had lawyers hiding in his blazer pockets, ready to serve papers for emotional damages or something equally terrifying.

I struck what I hoped was an intimidating pose, leaning against the adjacent locker with calculated casualness.

My shoulder slipped slightly on the smooth metal surface. I adjusted, pretending the slip was intentional weight distribution.

Peak alpha energy. Totally nailed it.

Ryuuji’s hands trembled at his sides, his normally perfect posture hunched and defensive. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool morning air. His eyes darted around the hallway like he expected snipers on the rooftops.

My brain processed this data with lightning speed. The trembling, the sweat, the hunted expression—these were textbook symptoms of what I called Alpha Dominance Fear Response. He’d recognized my superior position in the social hierarchy and his body was physically manifesting submission.

The human animal, when confronted by a more powerful specimen, displays involuntary stress markers. This was basic biology. Darwin would be proud of my observational skills.

I adjusted my stance, adding a slight head tilt that I’d seen in approximately seventeen different anime. The “I’m cooler than you and we both know it” angle.

“Kanzaki.”

My voice came out deeper than intended, probably from all the masculine energy I was radiating.

Ryuuji flinched like I’d physically struck him. His mouth opened and closed several times, words apparently stuck somewhere between his brain and his vocal cords.

Finally, after what felt like three business days, he managed to form actual sentences.

“Teach me.”

Two words. Quiet. Desperate. Loaded with meaning I was absolutely prepared to interpret.

I raised an eyebrow, channeling every cool protagonist ever. “Teach you what, exactly?”

“How to survive… her.”

Her. The way he said it, with that mixture of terror and reverence, made it clear he was talking about some girl. Probably someone who’d rejected him. Maybe one of those situations where a guy confesses and gets brutally shut down and now he needed advice on how to recover his dignity.

Classic scenario. I’d read about this exact situation in dozens of light novels.

My brain filled in the gaps automatically. He wanted to learn how to be cool like me. How to project confidence. How to walk through life with the kind of swagger that made people naturally gravitate toward your orbit.

Made perfect sense. After all, I’d demonstrated legendary composure during our previous encounter. The way I’d handled that entire situation probably seemed like masterclass-level social manipulation from his perspective.

“You want to learn the ways of the alpha.”

I made it a statement, not a question. Confidence meant never appearing uncertain.

Ryuuji nodded frantically, relief washing over his features like I’d thrown him a life preserver in shark-infested waters.

“Yes. Please. I’ll do anything.”

Anything. The word hung between us, heavy with implication. This was the moment where defeated rivals traditionally offered tribute, acknowledged the victor’s superiority, pledged their loyalty to the stronger power.

I’d seen this trope a thousand times. The vassal kneeling before the lord. The apprentice seeking the master. The noob begging the pro for guidance.

History was literally repeating itself right in front of my locker.

Ryuuji reached into his bag with shaking hands. He pulled out a box that probably cost more than my entire semester’s lunch budget. Glossy black packaging with gold lettering, fancy ribbon tied in a perfect bow. The kind of chocolate that came from Belgium or Switzerland or wherever rich people got their fancy food.

He held it toward me like an offering to ancient gods, arms extended, head slightly bowed.

“Please accept this.”

My brain processed the symbolism immediately. The Loot Drop. The Vassal Tribute. Physical acknowledgment of my superior position in the social hierarchy. This was the equivalent of a defeated warrior laying down his sword, a conquered king offering his crown.

This was legendary. This was the kind of moment that separated protagonists from background characters. The turning point where the hero’s influence began expanding, where allies gathered under his banner.

I reached out and took the chocolate box with both hands, accepting the weight of leadership along with the expensive confection.

The moment required words. Something dramatic. Something memorable. Something that would echo through the halls of this school for generations.

“I accept your surrender, Kanzaki.”

My voice carried the perfect amount of gravitas, like a general accepting the enemy’s white flag.

“You may walk in my shadow, learn from my example, and perhaps one day achieve a fraction of my excellence.”

Okay, that last part might’ve been a bit much. But momentum had carried me, and besides, the dude was literally offering tribute. The situation demanded theatrical response.

Ryuuji’s entire body relaxed, tension draining from his shoulders like someone had cut the strings holding him upright. Relief flooded his features, genuine and overwhelming.

“Thank you, Sensei.”

Sensei. He’d called me sensei. The master title. The acknowledgment of my position as teacher, guide, superior being in all matters of coolness and social navigation.

My chest swelled with pride. This was it. My empire was beginning. First Ryuuji, tomorrow the entire school, eventually the world.

I opened the chocolate box right there in the hallway, because winners didn’t wait for permission to enjoy their spoils. The chocolates sat in perfect rows, each one probably worth more than a decent meal. Dark, glossy, shaped like tiny works of art.

I selected one at random, popped it into my mouth.

Richness exploded across my tongue like a flavor grenade. Thick. Intense. Overwhelming. My taste buds, accustomed to convenience store candy and vending machine snacks, went into immediate shock.

Too much. Way too much. This was chocolate designed for people who owned yachts and summer homes.

I tried to swallow, but the density made it difficult. My throat worked overtime, struggling with the absurdly decadent confection. For a terrifying moment I genuinely thought I might choke to death on tribute chocolate, which would be the most embarrassing obituary ever written.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I managed to get it down. My eyes watered slightly from the effort.

Ryuuji watched this entire display with concern, clearly worried he’d accidentally poisoned his new sensei.

“Are you okay?”

I waved off his concern with practiced nonchalance, pretending the near-death experience was totally intentional.

“Fine. Just savoring the complexity.”

Nailed it. Very sophisticated. Peak alpha recovery.

I closed the chocolate box before temptation struck again and tucked it under my arm. Time to begin his education, to pass down the sacred knowledge I’d accumulated through years of careful observation and absolutely zero practical experience.

“Your first lesson begins now, Kanzaki.”

He straightened to attention, eyes focused, ready to absorb whatever wisdom I was about to dispense.

“Survival requires stealth. The ability to move through hostile territory without drawing unnecessary attention.”

I demonstrated by initiating the Robo-Walk, my signature technique developed through countless anxiety-fueled hallway traversals. Stiff legs. Mechanical movements. Eyes forward. Arms locked at sides. The perfect camouflage for blending into any environment.

“Walk exactly like this. No deviation. No personality. Pure robotic efficiency.”

Ryuuji studied my movements with the intensity of a martial arts student learning kata from a grand master. He matched my stride perfectly, mimicking the rigid posture, the mechanical leg movements, the complete absence of natural human motion.

We processed down the hallway together, two malfunctioning droids on a mission. Students parted around us, staring with open confusion at the bizarre spectacle.

I maintained the walk with absolute commitment, refusing to break character. This was teaching. This was mentorship. This was me passing down legendary techniques to the next generation.

“Excellent form, Kanzaki. You’re a natural.”

“Thank you, Sensei.”

His voice came out robotic too, matching the walk perfectly. The dedication was honestly impressive.

We turned the corner toward the main hallway, our synchronized mechanical movements drawing stares from every direction. Whispers followed in our wake, students probably commenting on the advanced techniques they were witnessing.

In a third-floor window overlooking the courtyard, two figures watched the scene unfold below. Elizabeth held her phone, recording the entire display. Seda stood beside her, hand covering her mouth, shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter.

“Is he seriously teaching Ryuuji the anxiety walk?”

Elizabeth’s voice carried pure disbelief mixed with amusement.

“He thinks it’s a stealth technique.”

Seda doubled over, silent laughter finally breaking free. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever seen. This is legendary content.”

Below, Alfred and Ryuuji continued their robotic march, completely oblivious to the observation, lost in the shared delusion of tactical superiority.

The morning sun painted everything gold, illuminating what would later be remembered as the day the Robo-Walk gained its first official disciple.