Chapter 37 - Peroxide Clown
“Pffft! Ahahahaha!” Myrrh’s high-pitched, teasing laughter rang through the narrow school corridor, bouncing off the locker-lined walls the instant she caught sight of my face.
I grimaced, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks as I looked at my reflection in the glass window. My normally neat, maybe-handsome face was now a mess, marred by thick smears of lipstick that twisted into a garish clown's grin. Swirls looped over my eyebrows, and to make it worse, a crude, unmistakable penis-shaped doodle stood out prominently on my left cheek. I rubbed at the ink with my sleeve, but the drawings remained—permanent marker, just as I feared.
“Did Cindy really do this to you?” Myrrh gasped between fits of giggles, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. “I don’t know… I think the look suits you! Maybe you should keep it—makes you look distinguished!” She snorted, struggling to hold back another round of laughter.
“Shut up, Myrrh. You totally sold me out,” I grumbled, crossing my arms and pouting like a sulking child.
“There, there.” With an amused smile, Myrrh reached up and patted my head, ruffling my hair as if I were a pet she was trying to comfort. Then, she rummaged in her shoulder bag and pulled out a thin folder stuffed with papers. “Anyway, we’ve got to get these application forms submitted for the licensure examination tournament.” She flashed the documents at me, her tone suddenly serious. “Neil and Fei are waiting for us at the main faculty building.”
“Fine,” I muttered, releasing a long, defeated sigh.
As we stepped out of the shadowy academic building, the sun hit us with an unexpected warmth, and there they were—Neil and Fei, standing just outside by the rose bushes. The moment Neil spotted me, his face lit up with unrestrained glee.
“Bwahahahahaha!” Neil's deep, booming laughter echoed like a cartoon villain’s, causing him to double over, gasping for air. He laughed so hard he began to choke, his face turning red as he pounded his chest.
Fei, on the other hand, looked genuinely concerned. Her brow furrowed as she approached cautiously, her black long hair catching the sunlight. “Um, Zaft… Are you alright?” she asked softly, her eyes darting nervously between me and the still-guffawing Neil.
“You call this okay? Try having a dick drawn on your cheek and see how you like it,” I snapped, my voice sharp with irritation.
Fei's eyes widened, her concern deepening. “Are you really planning to walk all the way to the main faculty building looking like that?” she asked, her tone gentle but tinged with genuine worry. She kept glancing at the drawings on my face, her brows knitting together in distress.
“Why not?” Myrrh cut in, a mischievous smirk spreading across her lips. “I think it suits you better. At least now you look less like a goon and more like a proper clown.” She crossed her arms and tilted her chin up, exuding a smug satisfaction.
Fei, however, couldn't shake her concern. She quickly rummaged through her bag and pulled out a packet of wet napkins. With careful, delicate movements, she poured a splash of rubbing alcohol onto one of them before holding it out to me. “Here,” she offered, her expression earnest, a touch of sympathy in her gaze.
“T-thanks,” I mumbled, feeling a flicker of guilt settle in my chest. I took the damp napkin from her outstretched hand, avoiding eye contact as I began to scrub at my cheek. The permanent ink only faded slightly, leaving a faint ghost of the offensive doodle behind. The shame of my earlier snappishness gnawed at me—Fei didn’t deserve that, especially not when she was trying to help.
With the worst of the markings at least somewhat smudged, the four of us set off down the long path toward the main faculty building. The midday sun cast soft golden light on the concrete, and the murmur of students filled the air, echoing from every corner of the bustling campus. I could feel their eyes on me—every snicker, every curious glance, every barely stifled laugh was a needle prick against my pride. I was the unwilling center of attention, my face a grotesque billboard that turned heads as we passed.
A group of girls walking by couldn’t help themselves; they broke into giggles the moment they caught sight of me. My stomach tightened, and I forced my eyes forward, pretending not to notice. The laughter trailed after us like the ripple of a breeze, making my cheeks burn even hotter.
“I think you’re the campus heartthrob now, Zaft,” Myrrh teased, a sly smile curling her lips. “You’re definitely turning heads with that handsome face of yours.”
“You really enjoy tormenting me, don’t you?” I muttered, feeling my cheeks flush even redder under her amused gaze.
“Yep, yep!” Myrrh’s laughter bubbled up again as she nodded enthusiastically. “But you have to admit, it’s your own fault. You shouldn’t have gone and insulted Cindy in front of everyone like that. You got exactly what was coming to you.” She shrugged with a playful grin, clearly relishing my discomfort.
“Yeah… you’re not wrong,” I sighed, my voice barely a whisper as I continued scrubbing at my cheek with the alcohol-dampened napkin. Each swipe seemed to sting a little more, but I forced myself to ignore it. I could feel Myrrh’s eyes on me, watching my every move, until finally, she stopped walking and grabbed my wrist.
“Wait,” she said, her voice suddenly serious, her fingers cool against my skin.
“What is it?” I asked, taken aback by the sudden shift in her demeanor.
“Your face is getting really red,” Myrrh said, concern softening her usually playful expression. She leaned closer, examining me with a furrowed brow. “Are you sure you’re not having an allergic reaction to the alcohol?”
Now that she mentioned it, a faint burning sensation prickled across my cheeks. “Actually… yeah, it does sting. A lot,” I admitted, lowering the napkin and wincing slightly.
Neil and Fei, who had been walking a few steps ahead, both turned to look at me, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and alarm. Neil’s usual grin faltered as he glanced at my blotchy, irritated face, while Fei’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Ah!” Fei gasped, reaching into her shoulder bag with a flurry of movement. After rummaging for a moment, she pulled out a small green bottle and held it up triumphantly. “Here, use this instead!” But just as she was about to hand it to me, she hesitated, frowning as she squinted at the label. “Wait… this isn’t regular alcohol. It's Agua Oxigenada-”
“Let me see that!” Myrrh exclaimed, snatching the bottle from Fei’s trembling hands. She examined the label, her eyes widening as realization dawned. “This isn’t alcohol—it’s hydrogen peroxide! You use it to clean wounds, not skin! ‘Agua Oxigenada’ is just the Spanish name for hydrogen peroxide!” Her voice wavered with alarm.
“W-what!?” I shouted, my gaze snapping to Fei. A mix of betrayal and disbelief churned in my stomach. “I thought I was too harsh with you earlier, but it turns out you’re way harsher! I even felt bad about making snarky comments!”
“I-it was an accident! I swear!” Fei cried, her face paling as she clasped her hands together in a desperate gesture. “Please, Zaft, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know!”
“Now that I think of it,” Neil cut in, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “I did notice your face was bubbling a little when you used it.” ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ɴovel(ꜰ)ɪre.nᴇt
“You saw my skin fizzing and didn’t say anything!?” I shouted, my voice cracking with a mix of frustration and panic.
“I-I’m sorry, Zaft! I’m really, really sorry!” Fei’s voice trembled as she bowed repeatedly, her eyes shining with guilt and unshed tears. “I thought it was just a fancy brand of alcohol! I didn’t mean to hurt you!”
Myrrh stepped closer, her expression tense with urgency. “You need to wash that off. Now! Go to the nearest lavatory—quick!”
“Shit!” I cursed, biting down hard on my lip to distract myself from the burning sting spreading across my cheeks. Panic pulsed through me as I bolted down the hall, feeling Myrrh’s and Fei’s worried eyes following me.
Bursting into the nearest lavatory, I rushed to the sink, twisting the faucet handle so hard the cold water sprayed out in a torrent. Without hesitating, I plunged my face into the stream, the icy water offering a brief, blissful relief from the fiery sensation. I splashed handful after handful onto my skin, rubbing with desperate, rough motions as if I could scrub away my embarrassment along with the stinging pain.
Gradually, the burning dulled, fading until it was nothing but a faint irritation. The lipstick and some of the stubborn marker lines had dissolved under the assault, leaving faint, smudged traces behind. Panting, I leaned against the sink, my hair dripping and the cool water pooling on the counter around me. Relief washed over me, mixed with exhaustion and a lingering ache of humiliation.
After about ten minutes of relentless scrubbing, I decided my face had had enough punishment. The redness still lingered across my cheeks, a sharp contrast to my normally pale skin, making me look like I had a permanent blush. I took a deep breath, tried to shake off the lingering humiliation, and headed to the faculty room.
Luckily, the registration line wasn’t too long. My heart eased a bit when I saw Myrrh at the front, waving at me with exaggerated enthusiasm. I made my way over, my steps heavy with lingering frustration, and she handed me my application papers without missing a beat.
“Took you long enough,” she said, her tone half-joking, half-serious. “I was beginning to think we’d finish up before you even showed your face again.”
“These things wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t sold me out,” I muttered, feeling the familiar resentment bubble up again.
Myrrh rolled her eyes dramatically, flicking her long lime-green hair over her shoulder with a flourish. “You’re like a broken record, you know that?You sold me out, you sold me out,” she mimicked, her voice rising in pitch. “Can’t you just get over it and act mature for once? You're repeating yourself.”
I narrowed my eyes and parroted back in a sing-song tone, “YoU’Re repEatiNg yOurSelf. YoU’rE rePeaTinG yOurSelF.” I smirked, finally stepping into the queue, enjoying the way Myrrh’s expression twisted with a mix of exasperation and amusement.
Ahead of us, Fei and Neil were nearing the registration desk, their forms in hand. They moved through the process quickly—signing papers, flashing strained smiles for their ID photos, and finishing with relative ease. Myrrh went next, striking a confident pose when the camera flashed. Then it was my turn.
The faculty supervisor overseeing registration was a striking figure—a person of indeterminate gender with a slim build, clad in a fitted red jacket that hugged their frame. A tall, rainbow-colored pompadour sat atop their head, like a defiant splash of neon against the dull backdrop of the faculty office. The rings and bracelets jingled with every slight movement, and colorful pins decorated their lapels. I hesitated, not wanting to make a wrong assumption, so I settled on the safest option—neutral.
“Zaft Callahan,” they said, barely glancing up as they flipped through my application papers. Then, they did a double-take, pausing to examine my ID. With a raised eyebrow, they lowered their heart-shaped shades and leaned in close, squinting as if unsure whether to believe what they were seeing. “Is this really you?” they asked, their tone hovering somewhere between confusion and amusement.
“I, uh... lost a bet,” I said dryly, gesturing vaguely to my blotchy face. “So, my face was... sexually assaulted by some very creative doodles.”
“Oh, I get that all the time. Bukkake party, right?” The supervisor’s lips curved into a knowing grin, and they slid another stack of paperwork in my direction. “Just sign here... and here.” Their colorful rings clinked as they tapped each signature line with a manicured nail. “When you’re done, step over to the photo booth for your profile picture.”
I let out a resigned sigh, scrawling my signature in the designated spots. There was no way I’d argue or draw more attention to myself. With a final, reluctant glance at the supervisor’s rainbow pompadour—which seemed to shimmer mockingly under the fluorescent lights—I made my way to the photo booth.
The booth’s lights were glaring and unforgiving, highlighting every humiliating detail of my face. My cheeks were still red from the scrubbing, the faint, smudged remnants of permanent marker trailing across my skin like the aftermath of a failed disguise. Lipstick stains formed uneven blotches around my mouth, and the reddish rashes added a splotchy texture that looked even worse under the harsh flash. When the camera shutter clicked, I couldn’t help but wince internally. The digital preview on the screen showed exactly what I had feared—a clownish caricature, with my splotchy face glaring back at me.
As I stepped out of the booth, I couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in my stomach. The profile picture was going to be my official tournament ID, and I had a terrible suspicion they might flash it up on the jumbotron for everyone to see. The thought made my face burn even hotter, though this time from embarrassment rather than irritation. Great, I thought, just what I needed—a stadium-sized humiliation.