Chapter 31: The Wall-Slam (Kabedon) Boot Camp

Afternoon classes dragged like continental drift.

My pants had mostly dried, leaving a questionable stain that I’d strategically covered with my bag. Ryuuji sat at the desk beside mine, having somehow convinced the teacher he needed to sit near his “study partner” for academic reasons. The dude was committed to this apprenticeship thing.​

The final bell rang, releasing us from educational imprisonment. Students packed their bags, heading toward clubs or home. I gathered my stuff, planning my escape route that avoided maximum foot traffic.

“Sensei, I must ask you something.”

Ryuuji’s voice carried an urgency that made me pause. His expression looked serious, almost desperate. The kind of look that preceded important life questions.

“How did you do it?”

I waited for clarification. The sentence felt incomplete, hanging in the air like an unfinished math equation.

“How did you make her look at you like that?”

Her. Some girl. Probably the one who’d rejected him or whatever romantic drama had sent him spiraling into my orbit seeking guidance. This was classic post-rejection crisis mode. I’d seen it in enough anime to recognize the pattern.

Time to deploy my expertise. Time to share the sacred knowledge I’d accumulated through years of careful observation and absolutely zero successful application.

I reached up to adjust my glasses in that classic intellectual gesture, the kind that screamed “I’m about to drop wisdom.”

Except I didn’t wear glasses.

My finger jabbed directly into my eye. Pain exploded across my face. Tears formed immediately. I blinked rapidly, trying to maintain composure while my eyeball staged a protest.

“It’s all about the Kabedon, Ryuuji.”

My voice came out slightly watery from the eye-poking incident, but I pushed through like a professional.

“The Wall Slam. The ultimate power move. Pure dominance assertion.”

Ryuuji pulled out his leather notebook, pen already positioned. Ready to document this legendary technique.

“You must show me, Sensei.”

Of course he wanted a demonstration. Theory meant nothing without practical application. This was hands-on learning territory.

“Follow me.”

I led him through the hallways, out the back entrance, toward the gymnasium. The area behind the building provided perfect privacy, away from crowds and potential witnesses to what would definitely be interpreted as weird behavior.

A vending machine stood against the gym’s exterior wall, ancient and battle-scarred. Someone had probably kicked it multiple times trying to get free drinks. Dents covered the surface like war wounds.

Perfect training dummy.

I pulled a marker from my bag, one of those permanent ones that teachers used on whiteboards. Drew a simple face on the vending machine’s surface. Two dots for eyes, curved line for a smile. Extremely sophisticated artistic representation.

“This is your target. The girl of your dreams. You must assert dominance through precise wall-slam technique.”

Ryuuji studied my artwork with the seriousness of someone analyzing museum pieces.

“I will observe your demonstration carefully, Sensei.”

Time to show him how it was done. Time to reveal the techniques I’d studied through countless manga panels and anime scenes. Peak performance incoming.

I positioned myself in front of the vending machine, mentally preparing. Visualized the motion. Channeled every cool protagonist who’d ever executed this move flawlessly.

“Behold. The Level Ten Kabedon.”

I slammed my hand against the metal surface with every ounce of commitment I possessed. The impact echoed across the empty space. The entire machine shuddered from the force.

Something inside clunked. Whirred. A can tumbled through the internal mechanisms and dropped into the retrieval slot.

Free soda. Unplanned. Completely accidental. But I’d take the win.

I retrieved the can with practiced nonchalance, popping the tab like this happened all the time.

“Free loot. Calculated.”

My voice carried absolute confidence, selling the lie that I’d somehow known this would happen.

“The wall slam, when executed properly, yields rewards beyond mere romantic conquest.”

Ryuuji’s pen scratched across paper, documenting every detail. His eyes held genuine admiration, probably thinking I’d just demonstrated some kind of advanced technique instead of lucky coincidence.

“Now you try.”

He approached the vending machine with visible hesitation. His hand reached out, moving in slow motion, and gently placed against the metal surface like he was petting a nervous cat.

“Excuse me.”

The words came out as a whisper, polite and apologetic.

I stared at this display of complete failure. This wasn’t a wall slam. This was asking permission. This was the opposite of dominance assertion.

“NO!”

My voice cracked across the space like a whip. Ryuuji jumped, startled by the volume.

“More passion! More commitment! You need to channel your inner mecha pilot!”

I gestured wildly, trying to convey the intensity required.

“Imagine you’re piloting a Gundam! The fate of humanity rests on this wall slam! There’s an enemy behind this wall and you need to intimidate them through sheer force of presence!”

Ryuuji’s expression shifted. Something clicked behind his eyes. Maybe he actually watched Gundam. Maybe the mecha reference connected with some deep part of his psyche.

He stepped back, creating distance. His posture changed, shoulders squaring, stance widening. Energy built around him like visible pressure.

“For humanity.”

His voice came out deeper, more intense. Completely different from the polite whisper moments ago.

He charged forward like a linebacker going for a tackle. His hand shot out, aiming for the vending machine with serious commitment.

Except his aim was slightly off.

The wall beside my head exploded with impact as Ryuuji’s palm connected with the gym’s exterior wall instead of the machine. The sound echoed like a gunshot. I felt the vibration through the air, wind pressure ruffling my hair.

We froze. Inches apart. His arm extended past my head, trapping me against the wall in an accidental but textbook-perfect kabedon.

His breathing came heavy from the exertion, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His eyes locked onto mine with intensity that probably came from the Gundam visualization but looked way different in this context.

My brain short-circuited. This was not how teaching was supposed to work. This was not the student-teacher dynamic I’d envisioned. This was extremely uncomfortable and my fight-or-flight response was screaming flight.

But I was the sensei. The master. Showing fear would undermine my authority, destroy the careful power dynamic I’d established. I forced my features into something resembling pride, like this was exactly what I’d intended.

“Good. Very good. You’ve learned well.”

My voice came out slightly strained, but I maintained the teacher persona through sheer willpower.

“Perhaps slightly too well.”

High-pitched squealing erupted from somewhere to our left. Multiple voices, female, reaching frequencies that probably bothered nearby dogs.

A group of girls stood near the gym entrance, phones out, hands covering mouths. Their eyes were wide, expressions shifting between shock and delight.

They looked at us. Looked at Ryuuji’s arm beside my head. Looked at the intimate distance between our bodies. Drew completely wrong conclusions at supersonic speed.

“Oh my god.”

“I knew it.”

“They’re so obvious.”

“Forbidden love.”

The whispers carried across the distance despite their attempts at quiet. They huddled together, clearly discussing what they’d witnessed, building narratives that had nothing to do with wall-slam training.

Then they scattered like startled birds, running back toward the main building with their phones and their completely incorrect interpretations.

Ryuuji stepped back quickly, releasing me from the accidental trap. His face had gone red, embarrassment clear across his features.

My brain worked overtime, constructing explanations that preserved my dignity and made sense of what just happened.

Obviously they were intimidated. Overwhelmed by the combined alpha energy radiating from our training session. Two powerful males practicing dominance techniques created an aura so intense it scared them away.

That made perfect sense. Completely logical. No other interpretation possible.

“You see, Ryuuji? Our combined presence intimidates even uninvolved observers.”

I brushed off my blazer, pretending my heart rate was totally normal and not trying to break free from my ribcage.

“This is the power you’ll wield once your training is complete.”

Ryuuji nodded slowly, still processing the encounter. His notebook hung forgotten in his other hand, the moment apparently too intense for documentation.

“Sensei, I believe there may have been a misunderstanding.”

“Nonsense. Everything went exactly as planned.”

I grabbed the free soda from earlier, taking a long drink to cover my continued internal screaming. The carbonation burned my throat, giving me something physical to focus on besides the recent awkwardness.

“Let’s call it a day. You’ve made excellent progress. Tomorrow we’ll work on the chin-lift technique.”

“There’s a chin-lift technique?”

“Obviously. The wall slam is merely entry-level. The path to true mastery contains many steps.”

We headed back toward the main building, maintaining careful distance. The sun had started its descent, painting everything in orange and gold. Students filtered out through various exits, heading home.

◆　◇　◆

Somewhere in a third-floor classroom, Elizabeth reviewed the footage Seda had captured on her phone. The entire wall-slam training session, recorded in high definition, ready for future blackmail or entertainment purposes.

“We need to save this forever.”

Seda’s voice carried pure joy, the kind that came from witnessing something too perfect to exist yet somehow real.

“I’m uploading it to our private server immediately.”

“Label it properly. This is premium content.”

They watched the replay again, the accidental kabedon frozen on screen, Alfred’s expression of controlled panic perfectly captured.

Below, in the courtyard, I walked Ryuuji to the front gate, completely unaware of the documentation happening above. My pants still carried the ice cream stain, my eye still hurt from the self-inflicted poking, but somehow the day felt like a victory.

I’d taught someone. Passed down knowledge. Made a genuine connection that went beyond strategic social positioning.

Maybe this sensei thing wasn’t completely terrible.