The elderly woman's knuckles turn completely white with the physical effort and her grip looks frail and extremely unsteady. She sways dangerously as the driver hits the gas pedal and the bus lurches violently back into forward motion.
A few feet away from her, a girl with short, beige hair turns her head.
Kushida Kikyou, who wears a bright, gentle expression on her face. She notices the elderly woman struggling to hold onto the swinging plastic strap. She looks past the older woman toward the designated priority seats directly behind her.
A tall, blond-haired student lounges arrogantly across the red plastic bench.
Kouenji Rokusuke. He takes up far more space than necessary for a single person. His long legs stretch out far into the center aisle, forcing standing people to awkwardly step over his highly polished leather shoes.
He holds a small, silver hand mirror up to his face and ignores the elderly woman completely. He probably doesn't even register that she is standing there.
"Excuse me," Kushida says. Her voice sounds polite, melodic, and perfectly clear, easily cutting through the low rumble of the bus tires on the asphalt. She looks directly at Kouenji's face. "Would you mind giving up your seat?"
Kouenji does not flinch. He does not lower the mirror. Not looking away from his own reflection, he raises his left hand and adjusts a single stray strand of blond hair over his forehead with precision.
"That is a very virtuous suggestion, young lady," Kouenji replies. His voice is deep and incredibly smooth and carries entirely across the front half of the cabin. It lacks any trace of normal human embarrassment or social obligation. "But I must decline."
Kushida blinks rapidly. Her bright smile falters, her lips parting slightly in genuine surprise. She looks completely confused by the blunt rejection so, she takes a small half-step forward, closing the distance slightly between them.
"Why would I give up my seat?" Kouenji asks directly to the flat glass surface of his mirror.
"But... these are priority seats," Kushida replies. She raises her right hand and points a finger up at the white text printed on the window glass directly above his blond head. "They are intended for people who have difficulty standing. And there's an elderly woman right here."
Kouenji lets out a sharp, theatrical laugh that echoes loudly over the engine noise. He lowers his mirror slowly, resting his large hands gently in his lap. He flashes a bright, confident, entirely narcissistic smile up at Kushida.
"The priority seat is merely a suggestion," Kouenji says easily as he lifts his right leg and crosses it cleanly over his left knee. "It is not a legal requirement. I am a person of high value. My health and comfort are infinitely more important to society than those of an elderly woman who is nearing the absolute end of her life. Isn't that right?"
The surrounding standing passengers go dead silent. The only sound left in the cabin is the heavy roar of the diesel bus engine beneath the floor. Kushida's eyes widen dramatically. She stares down at him, completely stunned by the sheer audacity of his spoken words.
"How can you say something like that?" Kushida asks. Her voice trembles slightly with forced indignation.
Before Kouenji can respond to her question, a large, heavy hand slams down hard on the top edge of his plastic seat. A middle-aged office worker steps aggressively into the priority space.
The man wears a cheap, wrinkled grey suit. Thick beads of sweat drip down his red forehead. He breathes heavily through his flared nose.
"Hey! Don't talk like that to a girl," the office worker scowls. He glares menacingly down at the blond student. "Just give up the seat, kid. It's common sense."