Disclaimer: All characters belong to Kubo Tite.

Author's Notes: Why do I always fall for the side characters no one else likes? Ah well, so is life.

The Amazing Adventures of Asano Keigo
In Which Our Intrepid Hero Gets His Ass Kicked.

The sun was just setting behind the buildings, the sky turning a pleasant orange, when Asano Keigo wandered down the deserted Karakura street, heavy backpack slung over one shoulder. Over the dull drone of evening crickets, a tinny pounding beat drummed from a pair of headphones securely snuggled within the teen's shaggy hair, making his daily solitary walk home bearable and even entertaining. Keigo's head bobbed along with the song, feet doing a small shuffled dance as he turned a street corner, where upon which the side of his face forcefully met the side of a brick wall.

Keigo blinked, skin scrapping against grit.

Oh my.

His school bag was tugged, and the rest of Keigo came along with it, before being shoved backwards once more, head snapping and sharp pain exploding behind his eyes.

Hello wall, he thought dazedly. We meet again.

"Oh." Keigo squinted through the fading stars that colored his vision. "Ooshima. Fancy meeting you here."

Ooshima laughed.

Ooshima's friend (whom Keigo had mentally dubbed 'Lackey #2' from a previous encounter) laughed.

Keigo cringed.

"I see your two bodyguards aren't with you today." Ooshima sneered. Lackey #2 snickered on cue.

Keigo, who had graduated his freshman year at Karakura High School with a D in Math and an A in being bullied (The A, in his unfortunate case, stood for 'All the Freaking Time'.), ignored the not so subtle tightening of Ooshima's large fist around his shirt collar and grinding of his school things between his back and the brick wall like the pro that he was. But, he found himself in a rather interesting quandary.

Should he: A) Follow the usual script and beg for mercy, in hopes that his beating will be as quick and (relatively) painless as possible, or B) Commit ritualistic suicide and speak aloud the sarcastic remark hovering at the tip of his tongue. Instead, he did neither, settling on option C, a rather tentative, "Er... yes?"

Apparently option C was the incorrect answer. Or perhaps there wasn't a correct answer to be had, but Keigo didn't particularly feel very philosophical about it as Ooshima's knuckles (Damn, he was wearing a ring today.) connected with the side of his face that had beforehand met up with the brick wall. Said brick wall was getting up close and personal with the back of his head.

Again.

Teeth sliced the inside of his mouth, blood trickling out the corner of his split lip. Headphones were knocked askew. The MP3 player buried within a pocket of his school uniform slacks changed tracks.

Damn, I don't want to get my ass kicked to a soundtrack.

"Oh, what do we have here?" the large redhead chortled, completely ripping the headphones off of the brown head, and letting Keigo drop like a sack of potatoes.

Keigo stared blindly ahead, ear pressed against concrete, fingers wrapped loosely about a bit of rock. A blur of blue came into focus just beyond his nose, and scuffed sideways. Brown eyes followed it lazily.

Oh wow, Ooshima's got some nice shoes on.

He wondered briefly if he should let Ooshima know.

"Hey, Ooshima... those are some nice shoes."

Ooshima's snort drifted down from above. "Asano, you're whacked in the head. But..." Thick fingers dug into Keigo's shaggy forelocks and pulled, the world spinning crazily. The teen struggled to get his arms beneath him. Something small, rectangular, and horribly familiar was waved in front of his face. "I always did want one of these."

Wait... what?

"H-hey..."

Ooshima laughed.

Lackey #2 laughed.

Keigo cringed.

"Don't worry Asano, I'll take good care of it."

They couldn't... that wasn't... that was just... that was thievery! Beat him, sure, steal his money, sure, that was like, like, a toll, but the sheer nerve... That was his.

His, damn it.

Keigo was on his feet, the strap of his satchel firm in his grip, without conscious thought. He wound back, and let the heavy book ladened bag fly with as much power his scrawny sixteen year old body could muster.

The throw was beautiful.

Lackey #2 dropped like a stone.

Keigo exploded. "Fuck!"

He had been aiming at Ooshima.

Keigo's eyes were drawn to his (His!) MP3 player clutched in Ooshima's large hand. He wanted to rage. He wanted to lament. He wanted it back. But unfortunately all that really happened was Ooshima's other fist ramming into his stomach. And then he was on the ground again, and then those o' so nice shoes were planting themselves into his ribs, and then he was alone.

Without his MP3 player.

"...ow. My pride."