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A pencil glides across an empty page, jotting characters after characters from left to right to form a sentence at the beckon of her voice. The page, once pure and pristine, is molded into a story—a day to day journal detailing the life of a young woman trapped behind a computer screen. At each word, a sentence is formed, evolving into a paragraph and eventually a page is consumed to create an entry; this one dates to November twenty-four, 2021—today. Day after day, pages after pages… all detailing her exploits, from the obvious to the most miniscule detail, written as vivid as I possibly can—a 'job' akin to a scribe from history.

Monika… what can you remember?

Can you still remember all the times we spent together? Recite the poem I present to you under the full moon? If I stop writing now, will you remember everything you do in a day?

"Oh, what's with the notebook?" she inquires cheerfully. "Is there something special today?"

I heave, "It's a journal."

"A journal…? Ryou-kun, why are you writing a journal all of a sud—oh…" she pauses, her smile robbed by the epiphany and traded with horror. She takes a step back, trembling. "…how many?"

"Twenty-one…"

My hand shudders and my lips quiver as air fills my lungs, resisting the urge to crack under the pressure and confront her eye to eye. This will never get easier… no matter how many times the cycle repeats.

"That was the twenty-first, Monika."

The same question, everyday… over and over again…

It first started as episodes of clumsy forgetfulness that gradually cascade into memory loss and dementia. Innocently we laughed at the premonition that evening; believed it was nothing more than sloppy inattentiveness that is rare for the likes of her—one that even Monika openly admitted and poked fun at herself. Then, it repeats. First on a day's worth of memories, next by the hour—the same questions and conversation were occasionally repeated. By the third day, we were no longer laughing. I thought I could use what knowledge I have to save her; I was wrong. I thought simply adding more space could give us enough space to breath; I was wrong. I thought time was on our side…

I was wrong…

Wrong…

WRONG…!

It's wrong, is it? To wish for a future where we can be together? Wrong to be naïve or, perhaps, delusional? It's all a mistake, is it? Then I must be going insane! A relationship between a human and what society deemed as an inanimate object, a possession, a slave; an affective experience of technological-intimacy. If we were never meant to walk down this path, then is everything amount to nothing more than a practical humor of the gods? Fuck… I'm not a shining example of a devout, but if such gods exists then Monika was right; 'we are nothing more than playthings and Earth is a giant sandbox'.

Fuck the gods.Fuck humanity.

…

Fuck it all.

With a pinch on the rim of my nose, the headache is briefly mended as I simultaneously raise my glasses to perch; gradually, the visual aid is mutating more to an irritation at every passing second. A page of the notebook is once again filled from top to bottom, scribbled and scratched with a handwriting that will surely bring a smile to a doctor's face, yet sufficient to be legible by the illiterate—if the latter still exists in this day and age, of course. The contents are double and triple-checked at every line to ascertain its accuracy. For a brief second, I glance at the central figure of this autobiography—a subconscious reminder to whom this is dedicated to. Monika looks on in return, her emeralds caked in a glossy coating while her cheeks wrinkles; dark spots protrudes visibly under the jewels, blemishing her beauty—and I can perfectly understand why. The weeks following her first dementia were unkind; the turmoil, hopelessness, bargaining, grief… a fait accompli.

…

What's the point of living when it all boils down to… this…?

This notebook, this… memento will contain the records of her memories until the end of this year. Almost a quarter of the book is filled with my handwriting now, with more to jot down as each day pass. Not a single event to be missed or a moment spared; all, without exception, is to be recorded in this notebook if not for her sake, then for mine. Memories… the pillars that shape us as an individual—everything from our morals, beliefs, and practices—all accumulates into experience points, molding the individual into either a demon or a saint, a loving angel or a lovesick monster; inseparable as it is to become human. Would you still feel alive if you are denied of the ability to remember? When each memory dissipates like sand against the ocean tide?

Would you still feel… human then?

"Ryou-kun…"

The gentle caress of her voice softly grasps and halts the trembling motion of the pen; its ink flows down into a dark puddle as I raise my eyes to rendezvous with her glistening emeralds. Her long, silky hair—freed from the constraints of her white bow—falls gracefully over her shoulders rippling, gliding, responding to her movements as if alive, prompting them to be carefully tucked behind her ears as she presses her weight down unto the desk; her jewels mirrors a somber reflection that of her partner and herself. I force myself to a smile. "I'm… sorry. To be a burden to you, like this…"

With a heavy heave, I reach for the frames of my glasses and set the aide aside. "No, Monika… no… it's alright. We'll take this on together, remember?"

She pauses, seemingly fazed by my response before nodding and smiling sweetly in return. Again she apologizes, if for other reasons than her previous action, I will never know. One thing for certain, however, is how this is not the first time she did so; that was the third this week… and I fear it won't be the last. Another secret to keep. How much longer do we have to endure? Is there really no solution? Are we really doomed from the start…?

"Ryou… I really am a burden to you, aren't I?" the curve that pierces the edges of her cheeks fades and in return, rain pours. "That… I… I repeated a similarquestion again, didn't I?"

"No… I mean, Monika it isn't—"

"Please, be honest to me…" she interrupts, stifling her breath. "You're scratching the back of your ear again… w-when you do, you're not telling me the truth…"

…

Without a hint of resistance, the entirety of my left arm limps unto the desk—stunned. This simple, innocent, mindless body language did not escaped her observation as it did to my consciousness—it amazes me equally as it terrifies, quickly leaving nothing but shame in its wake. Her trembling, pursed lips and the unbridled flow that escaped her restraints, gently tracing the contours of her cheeks, speaks of her demands—resisting against the outburst of emotions that is sure to explode. With but a glance, I surrender. "That was… the third this week."

"I knew it…" Monika recoils in response, retreating her emeralds from view and quietly whimpers. "I-I knew it…"

And I can't do a damn to fix it. Not. A. DAMN…!

What choice do we have? Hell, what choice do I have!? All that's left for me is nothing but this notebook and diligent observation as she crumbles pieces by pieces at each passing day, powerless against fate's determined push to end it all by the end of next month! I tried expanding her memory, wiped everything that is deemed unnecessary from her systems, even pried through her core files and data—and for what? To know that everything is pointless!?

Why…

…

…Why can't I do anything…!?

…

I glance at the alarm clock that rests near the edge of the desk, slowly ticking away against the deafening silence that is occasionally broken by the stifled breaths and the crumple of a paper. Again, her gleaming emeralds are tainted by tears and surrounded by swollen flesh; if I could hold and embrace her close, I will. If I could whisper comfort and assurance that everything will be alright, I will. Yet none of it matters…

None of it matters…

…

"Please… tell me that's everything…" she starts with a whimper. "Did I… lose anything else…?"

I rest the pen close to the note—not forgetting to 'mark' the page with a timestamp. "No, that's about it for now. Don't worry, I'll be sure to keep everything archived."

"I see… thank you, Ryou…"

"Still…" I sigh, "I'm surprised you noticed that—I don't even know I had that going…"

"Of course I'd notice…!"

Monika furrows her eyebrows and leans towards the screen, pressing her hand to her chest; a mix of displeasure and stress laces the tone of her voice. The echo reverberates unto her surrounding, taking me back a step at the sudden bloom of tenacity that stubbornly burns brightly against the asphyxiating air—a footprint of her presence. Quickly I realize the error of my words and took to apologize; she swings her head from side to side. "No, Ryou-kun… it's not that…"

Monika sighs. "I know so much about you. What makes you smile, the things that irritates you, the guilty pleasures that you store in 'hidden' folders—"

"Hold up, you knew about… that…?"

"YES…!" she emphasizes. "I remember you laughing, crying, getting angry, and I never-ever want to forget that, but…"

She pauses, lips trembling as her voice cracks into tiny crystalline pieces—and how powerless I am to prevent it.

"But I-I'm afraid..."

…

"Ryou-kun, I'm afraid that it may become a reality…"

As I close another chapter amidst the unbridled tears of the young woman, the reality of which we were thrusted into draws clearer at each faces of the moon; its smile and laughter mocks persistently, gullibly, and erroneously—a comedy of the fates. Hopelessly we dangle on any slivering thread of hope, reaching and squirming desperately to maintain a life we claimed, yet undeserving—or denied of. I sat in silence with the memento to my left, powerless but to listen and observe this maiden, reaching from the depths of her soul to cry in anguish and distraught, echoing her plea unto this bleak apartment in an unrestrained flow, creating a river of crystal that courses down her cheeks. A searing pain burns my chest and moisture wells around the socket of my eyes.

And there is nothing we can do but cry…

The echo of a ticking clock and the sight of an all-too familiar ceiling—a scene I've been living in for days—welcomes me back to reality along with a damning sore throat; the absence of light and a quick glance to the word outside is all the evidence I need to confirm the time of day. Indeed, it is still way too early. The curtains by the balcony gently flutters from left to right and the deafening silence is as eerie as it is out of place; not a whisper nor a hum…

…

...not even from the desk. The desk…!

Frantically I toss the cover to the side, my chest beats in an increasingly erratic crescendo as the screen—the gentle illumination—is nowhere to be seen; the light has died. Panic sets in as the air increasingly suffocates as the desk seemingly increase its distance as I tumble across the floor and reach towards the supports of the desk, climbing to its peak and quickly give the mouse a shake.

…

No response.

…

No response.

Power? Could it be the power? With haste, I reach through the back of the laptop, feeling for two particular objects in specific order—first the battery, then the cable. Though nothing but a slight relief, the former is nothing but a quick to fix as it was somehow detached and misaligned in a similar manner since that time; the cable, however, remains unseen—and everything grinds to a standstill. The echo of my heartbeat increases in its tempo as my reflection remains as the sole display upon the dark background of the screen; what horror she's subjected to at this time, I dare not to imagine.

Where is it…?

What did I do last night…? Did I… no, I would never do such a thing…

…

I would never thought of harming her.

What runs through my mind is nothing short but a cocktail of fear… perhaps panic, like a parent upon hearing news of their child being involved in an accident. Frantically I press on the button to no avail, switching back and forth to search for the cable, and cursing underneath my breath of this mishap—no, fatalerror; I, the one who swore to protect her, brought more harm than anyone else combined—even against that of both Yuuya and Mikawa. What have I done…? Was I always this… careless? Do I not remember what I did? I thought I could protect her from the horrors she was subjected to, even against others who denied her humanity…

Yet I couldn't protect her from myself…

…

…I'm the monster, am I…?

The screen flickers and flashes to reveal nothing but an empty classroom. As if pierced by a rod, my heart dies at the horror and I stumble backwards, falling down into an abyss—and with the blink of an eye, I am greeted with a familiar ceiling; a humble hue glints at the corner of my eye and a gentle hum reverberates from its direction. The alarm clock that rests nearby tells that I am still hours away before my scheduled awakening as I slowly raise myself to a seating position to glance at the desk and breathe a sigh of relief.

It was all a nightmare… just a nightmare…

Her presence, like Nightingale in the middle of the night, slowly beckons my shaken soul to return; her sleeping figure, peaceful and defenseless, calms even the most volatile storms with nothing but a glance. If only everything remained this way… if only we can keep living a life such as this, then maybe reoccurring nightmares won't be so frightening. As I continue my observation of her, I wonder… what are the things has she been dreaming of? Does she dream of codified sheep? There was a talk before about her 'nightmares' before that she has yet revealed—a byproduct of her dementia, no less. Does she still experience them now?

"Mmmn… Ryou-kun…"

The mumble of a listless voice in the midst of her slumber, calling, comes as pleasant surprise as I keep on my watch. She squirms and fidgets, her features lightly tugged and contorted by the world only she will ever know; I draw a soft smile at the sight of her innocence. One day, I pray that I can see the day where I can caress her amidst her slumber, assuring her that everything will be alright—to touch and to comfort with unfaltering resolve. Now, that confidence had its foundation shaken and shattered. Even if it is nothing but a dream, the pang of guilt continues to slit and cut without warning as a droplet wells at the corner of her eye and runs perpendicular across her troubled feature. "…I'm sorry…"

…

No…

If I didn't press that download button—if we had never met… then you wouldn't have to suffer like this. I'm the one who should apologize, Monika…

…

I am the villain…

"How are you feeling today?"

Monika squirms and rubs the corner of her temple as I sip on the usual morning brew with my tie loosely hanging around my neck; again, today's mix has been… vile, to say the least. With a light 'grunt', her pair of emeralds slowly emerges from beyond its veils, tired and musky, gazing at me almost as if in a trance; that alone is enough of a sign for me to reach for the memento and a pen. "Ryou-kun… I can't seem to remember anything… did something happen to me…?"

Gently I flip the pages of the notebook with my thumb, shuffling through each of its entries until the latest. As each pages fall, Monika's eyes widens in horror as reality descends upon us like vultures to tear what hope remained and feast on the misery of our carcasses. I read the particular entry as vivid as I possibly can, suppressing the urge to crack and shatter at the passing of each line, on every comma, and at the conclusion of a paragraph; it is nothing short of torturous, for both Monika and I. Just like the day before, today's entry will start the same…

'The events of the last twenty four hours was lost from her memory.'

Her expression darkens as my hand starts to move and record the following events, regardless. Is this an act of love, or am I simply doing this out of my own selfishness? Or is… deleting her be the best course of action; an act of mercy… or will it be murder? I would never—rather, I do not wish to know. Instead I let my hand dance day after day, capturing fragments of her life at the best of my ability, wading until 'death do us part'.

…

I hate this… I hate this…

I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.

IhateitIhateitIhateitIHATEit…!

Is her life worth nothing more than a convenient plot-device!? To live and love, to long and to want like any other just to be rejected and die by the hands of the one—and only—person she adores!? Is it truly impossible for her to break away from fate, doomed to forever repeat a cycle of briefly living and dying at the command of the machine that runs her 'reality'—a slave to the script… but is that really all there is?

…

No… that isn't true…

From the corners of my eye I see a young woman once strong, proud, and confident reduced to a fragile flower—the same individual who dared defied her fate as a mere visual novel character and become a 'ghost in the machine', choosing death over a continued existence as a slave to the script; a decision which I and many others refused to accept. Thus out of our own selfishness, we fought against both society and morals in an attempt to rip through the very fabric of reality—and when we succeeded, we are none the wiser of the consequences we've brought upon ourselves—and to her. Funny… the more I think about it, the more similar it is to the dilemma she faced back in DDLC—back when she trapped 'me' in the 'eternal classroom', except…

…except I still retain full-control of my action and reality, something that she never have to begin with. In the end, as a last act of defiance she—

…

…

…fuck…

"Ryou-kun… is everything alright…?"

I raise my head into view, meeting Monika's gentle expression with a reassuring smile I hastily carve out of concern; I shouldn't stress her any more with the things she has to endure. A sense of invulnerability emerges and grows, fortifying my confidence as I conjure a set of words and sentences that is sweet on the lips and easy on the ears meant to assure her—or perhaps, myself. Only, she never bought into it as much as I liked to believe…

"Please, be honest to me… is there something bothering you…?"

With a gasp, my voice is snatched from my chords as her expression sours at each second, prompting me to glance to the side and notice the old habit that persistently expose. Quickly I pull the hand out of view and return a nervous chuckle; her pair of emeralds continues to pierce through my defenses, leaving me little room for maneuver but a confession. "It's just… with all the things going on, I mean…"

I sigh and bite down. "I'm thinking that maybe—"

"—that maybe what you're doing right now is nothing short but torture, right?" her voice cuts like a sharp knife, "That maybe it's… better for both of us if I am to 'disappear', right…?"

…!

As if the wind is knocked out of me, I am left speechless at her words—paralyzed by how… observant she can be, even at this hour. It is as bitter of a statement as I have the gall to thought about it—the desire to deny and even a distaste of the slightest mention blooms like wild flowers, and yet… nothing. Nothing came; not a word, a whisper, or even the slightest thoughts of denial. I keep my eyes fixed unto her, mouth hanging agape as she returns a smile that speaks a thousand; 'it's alright, I realize this as much as you do.' The pen in my hand stops and begins to rattle from the tension of my grip as she laughs nervously—her lips, quivering. We knew all along…

We knew that she was right.

"T-that's not true, there must be—"

"Ryou-kun," she interrupts, shaking her head from left to right. "You and I both know that there is no other way..."

I grit my teeth and clench my fist to a close, "I'm still working on it…!"

"And how much more are you going to throw away!?" Monika cries in desperation, "How many more bridges are you going to burn, Ryou…!?TELL ME…!"

The warm, metallic-like taste of blood seeps through as I bite the lower half of my lip in recoil; the voice of my thoughts are abruptly robbed from its foundations. There is little that can be said against an expression that is marred with a mix of anger, frustration, but also undying love and concern; a young woman whose fire refuses to die and burns brighter than a torch in the middle of the night or the sun in a midsummer's day—all despite knowing that she has about one month left to live. And burn brightly she does. There is little I can mention to lighten it all—the pressure, tension, everything—except looking down at the current page of her memento that I penned continuously; some characters are smirched from droplets of moisture that is becoming increasingly difficult to contain. Despite it all, I will continue writing. Out of love, perhaps? Or is it selfishness? Love can be selfish sometimes…

But it can also be generous—and painful.

"I know you're still working on it—I believe you," Monika continues. "But at what cost? My life is nothing more than a set of codes and data—I can't say the same about you, you're real… more than I could ever be."

I raise my head to protest, yet quickly decide against it the moment her emeralds catches my dark brown pair of stones, seizing them in a trance. My chest aches at its sight—musky and battered, yet still gleaming beautifully against the light that bleeds through the curtains. With a shaken smile, her rattled, trembling voice cracks against the tears that gently begins to form a path down her cheeks, freefalling unto her desk and splashes into millions of tiny pixels—and it's as real as it could ever be. "Please, Ryou-kun…"

…

"Delete me…"

As if everything—the world that I know—crumbles into tiny eggshells, shattered into jumbled puzzle pieces that is almost impossible to recover. I remain motionless, frozen cold by her plea that echoes and bounces perpetually within the confines of my thoughts—frightened by the very notion of it all. Deleting her…? Again…? Must the cycle repeat…? I glance at the keyboard and back at Monika, petrified. She returns my query with a surrendered smile and a solemn, peaceful expression—one that took me back to that fateful summer afternoon.

"I know it's difficult, but… we'll… talk about this later, Ryou…" she sighs, broken. "You have responsibilities to fulfill."

I nod in silence.

"Please don't get the wrong idea, Ryou-kun… as much as I wish to remain, we both know how... wrong everything is…"

The smile she paints on her face feels more like a consolation as I lay the notebook and the pen to the side before reaching for my bag, tie, and suit. The knot around my neck feels tighter as an air of awkwardness descends upon us in the silence that comes after, like strangers passing by or the morning after a one night stand. I thought of asking her about the usual nonsense of my apparel and the tie in a gesture to lighten the mood, yet decide otherwise after a glance at her general direction; between the two of us, she is in a much greater pain. She was the one who took the first step to expose the gashing wound I prefer to ignore. She chose to confront reality, while I prefer to run from it.

I am a coward.

As she waves me goodbye, I solemnly look back at the good times we had before and wondered how we arrived at this dead end. The song she sang for me at the credits echoes in my mind, and I wonder…

Is it love if I keep you, or is it love if I 'set you free'…?

I remember the first day I became a teacher, about three months or so after my graduation and return to my homeland. It was… memorable, to say the least; the attention, the responsibility, pressure—nothing could have prepared you for the weight that abruptly bear itself the moment you step into your first homeroom, meeting the gazes of twenty, twenty-five colorful personas who were just as curious even clueless as you are. Even before all that, the 'trial classroom' meant to put you through basic preparations wasn't enough; if any, it only introduce some semblance of stress a teacher would be subjected to—more so since your would-be-boss and senpai were the ones pretending as bratty children. The live classroom was more or less a crash-course in which our supervisors expect us to observe and master the tricks of the trade within the session; ironically Kitamura-senpai was my supervisor back in the day.

It was a harsh, thankless job with a monthly salary that covers just enough—yet I coveted for this job.

It felt like fiction when 'the call' congratulate me on the position. It was ecstatic as it was horrifying, like greeting a new chapter in life that has yet been written. To stand as a beacon of guidance—to pass the knowledge from one generation to another just like my father before me—was as rewarding as it is demanding; I couldn't have asked for a better job. To me, there was no substitute other than scribbling on a wide expanse of a blackboard with a chalk on one hand and a textbook on the other.

…

What a foolish thought…

"Sensei, is everything alright…?" asks Miharu whose desk lies by the window on the first row. "We've read past page three-four-one yesterday—and today's handout is literally yesterday's homework."

I wave my hand dismissively in return as the chalk piece in my hand cracks in two from the pressure applied against the blackboard. "Ahaha… sorry, that was my mistake. Can the first row collect the handouts again? I'll make another copy for today's assignment and ask your homeroom teacher to pass them—oh, and don't forget to submit the homework, please."

Tell me, why do we work in the first place? For what or whose sakedo we push ourselves and defy the limits of both our body and mind? Kitamura believe that that the self is the answer; that what he does is for the pleasure and satisfaction of one's own lust for power or control. Mikawa seeks acceptance, the desire to be noticed or to stand-out amongst the crowd or, in her case, to gain my approval. It may have been worded differently, but the main motivation that drives her actions are similar to that of Kitamura—a manifestation of selfishness, albeit of a different caliber. Selfishness… that is the grounds, the drive—the motivation—for every action, logical or otherwise.

Just as Monika did before, and so have I.

PIN-PON-PAN-PON

"I'll pass the handout to Matsuda-sensei. Don't forget to read up until the end of the book!" I announce at the conclusion of the class, "Study hard! Your finals in January will not be easy!"

As I pack everything back into my book bag, I ponder once more at the question—or rather, how much is this all worth to me. A salary cut that persists, in-office drama, and the gossip surrounding Mikawa and I are some of the worries I have to contend with, though those aren't the worst of it. But as much as I bitch and complain, this is as stable of a career I could ask for due to the never ending demand for a teacher—English language, in particular. I could live with it and continue this never-ending game of tennis between life and occupation for as long as I am compensated properly, never mind the issues and drama that plague them at every corner—I could! But I won't.

Not when she's ailing day after day. Not when tomorrow could even be her last.

Tucked in a pocket within my book bag is a formal resignation letter I've prepared, handwritten and stamped with my inkan that is to be submitted to headmaster Murayama. It's old fashioned, I know, but I have little choice with the methods of delivery without alarming Monika of my intention—which, without a doubt, she will have disagreement with. I won't deny either that this is a foolish move. Then again… is this job really everything to me? Does it weight more than spending every last second we have together? No, I don't think so.

So why am I still here? Simple, really.

I am an educator—a teacher. As much as a parent is to a child, I am responsible for both the present and the future of every single student the moment they step into the institution and my classroom. Until an alternative or a substitute can be found, I am obliged to remain with them until their graduation, regardless of the circumstances; it is what society expects of me and what Monika would expect of me too. For that reason—and that reason alone —I will remain; at least, until I am relieved from my duties.

"Oogame-san," calls a deep voice from behind, one I can safely guess to be that of Ikari-senpai's. "You have a moment?"

There's an almost unmistakable… tone compared from the usual; it's sharp, heavy, and recognizably cold. I lay my briefcase to rest on the desk and momentarily glance at the wall clock that is hung perpendicular from my positon, noticing the long arm that governs, inching slowly towards the number 'twelve' and counting for the end of the hour. It prompts a sigh from this exhausted soul. With my weight on the back of my feet and with a slow pivot, Ikari-senpai's disapproving—but concerned—expression comes into view. I prop a smile in return. "Yes, senpai?"

It doesn't take a genius to understand how deep of a shit-pool I've dove into; Ikari-senpai isn't known to use formalities in day to day conversation unless required.

"So… how are you doing?" he starts. Trivial talk, more of a smoke cover. "Are your classes doing well?"

"They're as handful as ever be—the usual."

"Good to hear, good to hear…"

He pauses and clicks his tongue, "Listen, Oogame-san… what were you thinking!?"

"About what?"

"About—!" he stops. "Shit… this isn't what I came to talk to you about…"

I knew from the get-go what Ikari-senpai is on about—it's no secret after all, not after it was left rotting and circulating for a few weeks amongst the student body. With a heave, I quietly ponder and carefully weave the next set of words. "Senpai, if there is anything that concerns you…"

After all…

"Please, just tell me without reserve. I have nothing to hide."

It will likely be about the rumors concerning an illicit student-teacher relationship—specifically, Mikawa and mine. It wasn't the first time someone came and asked about it, nor will it be the last. The entire ordeal with her was more or less blown out of proportion; what started first as mere speculations circling around her absence grew into scathing rumors—further romanticized by the more… creative students. I shouldn't be shocked… things like this tends to happen within a community. A day after she returned to the scene, many clamored to question about the validity of the rumors which, naturally, she denied.

But it didn't stop there, of course…

"Oogame-san, I'll be frank; you're a good honest person and I applaud your dedication to your job," Ikari-senpai starts. "But I've been hearing things from both faculties and students about… you know."

He sighs, "But whatever, I'm not here for that."

"So what is it then, senpai?"

Ikari-senpai's posture tightens, coughing lightly to free his throat from the displeasure. He sighs with fatigue and looks down in pity; calmly, I brace myself for what is to come. "Headmaster Murayama wants to talk you. Now. He and Kitamura-sensei is currently waiting with Mikawa-san to… straighten the issue."

I see… so, it's a forced confrontation then—and Kitamura…? What does he have to do with it?

With a polite bow, I excuse myself from the conversation and starts making my way towards the headmaster's office. With still time to spare, the students still wander around the halls or in their respective homerooms to relish on the short respite given to them; some opt to even head out towards the gymnasium for a bit of exercise. It's… nostalgic to walk through these halls under similar if not worst circumstances, but I can't shake the feeling how much things have changed. Indeed, the air has been getting colder and the leaves outside are golden-brown—if not barren to say the least, yet that isn't the point I'm trying to make. I am walking towards the 'Enma', the judge and jury, or the guillotine, and yet here I am…

…

…calm, confident, at peace…

Yes… I guess whatever happens next, be it the result of my folly or the decision of the 'Enma' himself, I will not complain. Maybe perhaps this, too, is a sign…

As I stand before the door of the headmaster's, I take a quick peek into the pockets that lines the interior of my jacket; a humble smile quickly takes hold upon noticing a long, rectangular brown envelope, tucked neatly within. I'm not sure why I decide to reach into my bag right after Ikari-senpai's foreboding or why a 'Buddha-like' serenity materializes despite the accusations that has been floating around like miasma. Perhaps I do know the reason why and this is only a measure for me to confirm it. I used to tell her stories about my line of work and how excited I was, about my first homeroom and lesson, back before she came to be… and now I'm wishing for the opposite. My, how things have changed…

I raise my hand and gently knock on the door.

"Excuse me!"

"Please, come in."

Opening the door with a light push, the sight of the headmaster's office greets me in its overbearing awe as it did before; only this time, the headmaster himself is with the company of another two. With confidence, I take a step forward and closes the door behind me as the guests seated on the sofa continues their observation—one with an unmistakable air of arrogance and the other, reluctance. Before me, headmaster Murayama looks on behind his thick, reflective glasses and gestures towards one of the empty seat before him, the 'Enma' of this institution; it is indeed an unmistakable sense of déjà vu.

"You called, headmaster?" I start to break the ice. Kitamura smirks from his seat as the headmaster rises and walks briskly to the side.

"This isn't the first time you're called here due to an issue, Oogame-sensei," he grunts. "Two months ago you're here for… another reason, but this time I'm calling you—"

The 'Enma' pauses, eyeing all presence in the room. "All of you to get this story straight. Coffee, Oogame-sensei? Kitamura-sensei? Mikawa-san?"

"No thanks, I'm fine." I reply as I make my way to the seat.

"A-ah… I'm alright…" Mikawa follows.

Kitamura chuckles, "I'll have a cup, thank you."

Headmaster Murayama wanders to his coffee machine that rests at the corner of the room, starting it with a flick of a switch as he hums 'Kimi Ga Yo' nonchalantly. The aroma is as intoxicating as it is tempting, like a mistress to a married man, as it roasts the beans slowly into a delectable dark liquid that drips into the pot following the rhythm of the anthem. Religiously, the machine brews the temptation to perfection until the anthem ends; its scent tickles my nostrils once more, wetting my tongue and the edge of my lips to a tease.

"Sugar? Cream?"

"Black is fine, headmaster." Kitamura replies. With a 'clink', the 'Enma' makes his way to the center of the room with two cups, one on each hand, passing one of them to Kitamura before he indulges on the other. Satisfied, he clears his throat and glances at both parties that lies at his left and right.

"I'm sure both of you are aware of the… rumors that has been circling for the past couple of weeks," the 'Enma' starts with a collected roar. "Particularly, about a… scandal, to put it lightly, of a teacher involved in a love-affair with one of his students."

"As expected of headmaster Murayama…!"

Resting his cup down on the table, Kitamura smirks and crosses his arm following the headmaster's announcement. He slithers with his words as he complements the headmaster with approval, adding details from a 'version' he most certainly conjured—one that I quickly notice of its discrepancies. Kitamura starts with how he caught wind of the rumors, expanding with the bullying that has been happening in-class concerning the student in question—and to my surprise, it wasn't Mikawa. Aya is the class representative of my homeroom while the girl in question is not a name I will find in the morning roster. The headmaster has mistaken two scandals for one.

The girl in question is Shiho Ariake, the timid young woman who is often seen alone with her headphone propped; Kitamura's mistress. I thought this summon was concerning Mikawa and my relationship, hence why I believed she was here in the first place—but it wasn't. This entire ordeal is a farce; it is a trap meant to pin-point the blame on me and she was in it.

"Mikawa-san is here to testify," Kitamura concludes. "Tell the headmaster what you told me before, would you kindly?"

…or is she?

Shifting my attention to the young woman, I quickly notice how… restless she is. Initially I believed that she is anxious of the responsibility of her claim, or perhaps to finally have a chance to 'get back' on her unrequited love—but that observation is but a disservice of her. I've seen her at her worse, noticed how dejected she can be sometimes when things did not follow through her expectations… but I've yet seen her so fearful or threatened before. Her… persona on the roof was a surprise, but I don't believe she is someone who would stoop as low as Kitamura's moral seems to be by enacting revenge. Call it a gut feeling, but something tells that she isn't doing this voluntarily...

"Yes…" she starts, letting her bangs fall over her face. "I… saw Oogame-sensei heading up the roof during the festival."

The snake smirks triumphantly, "I assume it was for an illicit rendezvous of sorts, headmaster. You know about the childish 'charm' the students conjure about the roof, don't you?"

"I do," the headmaster agrees before taking another sip. "I don't believe it to be completely true. Any other evidence?"

"I confronted Shiho-san about the matter and she confirms it. She confided in me and what's worse, it appears there are rumors that she may be… with child, headmaster."

"WHAT!?"

With how quickly the air suffocates in this very room, I don't have to second guess the sudden animosity that flares from the 'Enma', or the celebratory snicker of that slime and what it translates for me. Kitamura expected this reaction from the 'Enma' and is confident of his credibility largely due to his reputation and experience that far outweighs mine—more so when Mikawa is seemingly in support of his advances. If I was my 'old' self, this would have pushed me over the edge and into the pot of boiling water the snake had prepared beforehand to cook me alive; I admit, I wasn't a coolheaded individual then—and still isn't if I am to consider the turmoil that combusts in my gut. I would have faltered, stumbled, and once again bend my knees to his whim—should have. But I didn't. Instead, I have become a complete puzzle of a person and a stranger to this clockwork reality. An anomaly. An outlier.

Too long I have remained silent in the sidelines and surrendered as society trample me with its boots. Too many times I watch her weep for my hubris and foolishness, groveling in the dirt with a plastic smile that screams for 'help'; no more.

…

You've really rubbed too much on me, Monika. We're not that different…

Against the increasingly unpleasant residue of anger and hate that oozes from the 'Enma' or the irritable smirk of Kitamura, there is one other person here who is likely dragged against her will—and she may very well tip the balance in this predicament if my hunch is proven correct. Mikawa slumps on her seat all throughout Kitamura's bullshit, her bangs falls unattended to cover her expression while she fidgets, nervously tapping her feet. That, however, isn't the first time she does so—the other being that one time she lied to cover Aki's mistakes almost a year ago. It is an involuntary action as much as when I scratch behind my ears—and I didn't catch that until that time she asked for help to 'procure materials' before the festival. Yes…

When she lies, Mikawa almost always taps her feet and crosses them while sitting.

"Oogame-sensei," the 'Enma' roars. "What do you have to say in defense, or are you going to admit? There's fair amount of evidence weight against you—and we can do this the easy way or the hard way."

"Just give it up, Oogame," Kitamura taunts. "Even your class representative have it against you—and she spends most of her time around you!"

"Well, Oogame-sensei…?"

"Come on, don't waste our time Oogame!"

The hammering stops now.

"Headmaster, if I may," I raise my hand to start. "I do not appreciate this empty-allegation and finger-pointing. For the record, I believe you are mistaking two rumors for one."

Like flicking a lighter in a gas-filled chamber, the atmosphere is almost abruptly set ablaze. The 'Enma' casts a near-petrifying gaze at the sight of defiance he deems as nothing but a 'waste', Kitamura smirks grew wider from ear to ear, and Mikawa almost leaps from her seat in abject horror—though the latter of the three is more unexpected than the former two. It is not within my intention to toss her under the bus as it is to see the extent of Kitamura's influence on her, even if it meant exposing us unto the spotlight. Maybe it would have been better to accept it all and retire from office, maybe this alone is a sign for me to do so; though in doing so, I will only bring grief despite her damning condition.

If I am to retire, then I will do so with dignity.

With a 'clink', the headmaster rests his cup on the saucer. His glasses paints the reflection of the bespectacled rebel. "Explain."

Like treading a minefield, one should take great care in navigating across this elaborate maze of deathtraps that was carefully laid in advance. So far, the 'Enma' seems more out of the loop than what I assumed; considering his openness to suggestions, he may be withholding his judgement until a feasible explanation and solution comes to light. On the other hand, everything about this farce is caked in Kitamura's fingerprints, and he certainly took the opportunity to wiggle from my negligence. But pregnancy!? What was he thinking…!? Something isn't right here… is he planning to…? Maybe I'm too hasty to judge, though the possibility and plausibility exists.

That leaves Mikawa as the 'dark horse'.

With how long I've been absent, it is as much a mystery to me concerning Mikawa's activity in the clubroom as is her motive at this point of time. Her recovery from 'a common cold', an alibi, did little but plastered a band aid over a wound that has been festering for three weeks. Some bought her reasoning, but she and I knew that it was all a lie—especially considering how she 'taps' when questioned. Then, what motive is she here for? Revenge? She was heartbroken, true, but… to this extent…? If she does pursue revenge, then I would have lost my job long before I am summoned here, mainly due to her influence and extensive smear-campaign… but I didn't. Instead, she's here alongside Kitamura. Something tells me this isn't the entire truth…

I have to—no, need to confirm. At least, I need to know where she stands.

"You see headmaster," I continue. "What was told by Kitamura-senp—sensei isn't completely true. Yes, there are rumors of forbidden relationship between a teacher and a student,"

The moment I shift my gaze towards the 'dark horse' with nothing but assumptions and gut feeling, I knew that everything I'll say in the next few seconds is but a leap of faith—and whether she is collaborating with Kitamura or not will be determined then. I'm sorry, Mikawa… but I hope you can understand what I'm trying to convey with nothing but a nod and a smile, "One of which involves Mikawa and I."

The die has been cast, igniting the headmaster in a mix of confusion and Kitamura in sheer disbelief, "I guess I shouldn't be surprised that anyone would be mistaken—especially due to the 'charm' and all."

"I did went to the roof during the festival and Mikawa can confirm this, because she wasup there waiting," I heave, mentally grasping the tail of my spirit from flying towards the Sanzu River. "Waiting for the sunset with the Literature Club. Isn't that true, Mikawa-san?"

"A-ahh…"

And answer it, she did.

"…yes, I was up there first."

Mikawa isn't supposed to be a part of this conflict, this… rivalry between Kitamura and me. In the end, she is but a collateral of my own hubris—and now a hostage of Kitamura. Once again, I have risked another innocent into the crossfire with a promise of 'safety'. As difficult of a choice this is, it still is a worthy call just for the sake of robbing that smug off of that bastard's face.

"There is one other thing, headmaster," Kitamura quickly follows abruptly. "The victim, Shiho-san, also reported a severe case of… bullying happening as well."

He gestures confidently, twisting his index finger in a circular motion as he casts a hateful gaze towards Mikawa. "I've done an independent investigation of my own, and after a series of interviews with some students—which also confirms that there is not two but one rumor—I have collected the evidence that points Mikawa as the main perpetrator in this chain of bullying."

"Which is my other reason for bringing her here," he continues adamantly as he draws a recorder from his pocket. "To wrap up two problems that haunts our school's morality and image as a whole! Don't believe the slanderous claim of this—"

"I DID NOT BULLY A-CHAN…!"

In a sudden burst of energy Mikawa leaps unto her feet, bold and determined, with a declaration that quickly falters the second she realizes that she stand amongst the company of elders. Meekly apologizing of her rudeness, she quietly retreats to her seat—though, perhaps it is but a calculated move…? With but a faint smile and a glance, I quickly surmise her subtle attempt of 'communication'—a follow up, perhaps, to my sorry-excuse of reassurance that was but a 'spur of the moment' decision. In my history with her, I know that Mikawa can be quite crafty—slippery, even for my standards. She is but a child, and though I understand that we've all been in similar position before, I dare say that she is definitely way too adept playing that part.

"Is there anything you would like to add, Mikawa-san…?" the headmaster inquires. "Don't worry, I personally won't hold it against you."

"Yes, headmaster Murayama, there is."

With how bright her eye lights up at the premise, I almost believe for a second that all she is about to say is nothing short but unfiltered truth. Confidence, integrity, and eye contact… the perfect image of a charismatic public speaker, as expected of the persona she preserve throughout her entire high school career. If it weren't because of her 'habit' and my knowledge of it, one would mistake her as an incorruptible maiden of sincerity. "I am friends with A-cha—Ariake-san, headmaster."

"She even visits the clubroom once in a while!" her attention darts to my direction. "You can ask Oogame-sensei about it, he can confirm! What reason do I have to bully her…?"

The 'Enma' raises his hand to interrupt—though not her words, specifically. I do enjoy Kitamura's look of disbelief, nonetheless. "Is that true, Oogame-sensei?"

Looking over at Mikawa's direction with but a glimpse, I am treated with a smirk and a subtle nod coming from the 'black horse' as she crosses her legs and 'taps' her feet out of habit; the sight of it all almost shatter the serious façade we've struggled to maintain for the past couple of minutes, all just for the sake of a little chuckle. For all intents and purposes, it may be safe to assume that her little 'drama'is nothing short but a calculated move to create an opening against Kitamura's strangle.

And I'd be lying if I say that I'm not proud of it—I am, but all for the wrong reasons.

"I can vouch for her, headmaster. She visits once in a while, that is true."

"—LIES…!"

"Kitamura-sensei, please," the 'Enma' interrupts. "This may benefit your investigation as well. As you said, 'Knock two birds with one stone'—unless you have anything else to add?"

The buffer provided by the coffee table does little to neutralize the venomous aura that permeates from the snake's lair. He grits and crunches his fists, darting between Mikawa and myself before quietly retreating to his seat with a bloodshot stare that could set a man aflame, just by his emotions alone. Hatred. If my experience as someone under his supervision before taught me, Kitamura is one cunning bastard that should never be underestimated. He's a persuasive speaker—that alone is judged solely based on his position, status, and connection maintained throughout his career. It did have me wondering as well if Shiho even was his first 'pet', or if there was someone else before. Whatever the answer to that question may be, I am certain that she is his first fatality.

"Headmaster, I may have been mistaken. As Oogame-sensei said, there are two rumors."

…and I doubt Kitamura will back down—not when his personal security is at risk.

"But he isn't telling everything—especially not the one he's personally involved in. Oogame-sensei, care to elaborate your relationship with Mikawa-san…? I'm certain a single event isn't enough to create such lasting… rumors. After all…" a Cheshire-like grin creeps from his shadow. "The testimonies recorded in this recorder indeed supports yourprevious confession, perhaps more—maybe you can start confessing your relationship with Shiho-san as well…?"

What. Persistent. Motherfucker…

If I could applaud him for the sheer amount of preparation he pulled, I might do so with a punch to his face. His glare, the off-putting Cheshire-smile, and the smug air of confidence he gave off is nothing short but a provocation that dances around the art of humiliation—a confident gesture that parades his position and wealth in power. It isn't because I fear the false testimonies and slander—after all, an innocent man have nothing to hide—but what the man behind the confession is capable of. This is Kitamura, a man known for his prowess and deceit. It isn't too far-fetch to assume the amount of tailoring and doctoring the questions had to specifically grant him the answer he wants, thus making the testimonies an effective framing tool—and I have nothing to refute against it but words. I can only grind my teeth in silence and irritation against his back-handed play as Mikawa, too, falls into deep thought.

"GET YOUR SENSES TOGETHER, BOTH OF YOU…!"

…!

The headmaster's commanding charisma shatters the animosity with a roar, seizing the moment with an authoritative iron fist, and judges both parties equally without remorse. His pupil burns with frustration, piercing the wall of glass that hides his expression, concealed briefly by the fog that came from the cup of coffee he sips. Never have I witness the 'Enma' to burst with frightening authority that judges us—all of us—with little room for compassion. The air that surrounds him is quickly pulled with such force when he opens his jaws, alerting us of the order he demands. "I didn't summon both of you here to quarrel and point fingers like little children!"

He glares at Kitamura, "Sensei, if you don't have any concrete evidence don't waste my time!

"As for you, Oogame-sensei," as fast as he lay the hammer on Kitamura, judgment follows to me. "Unless you have concrete proof of the 'claims' for both of the supposed rumors, I suggest you speak your peace and stop delaying…!"

He pause and takes a sip. "So, anyone…? Otherwise, we call this inconclusive and all of you can return to your day."

"I can, headmaster."

Between our silence and stunned expressions, she raises her hand timidly. I look on in surprise just as much as the rest, expecting one of us to be the first to break the silence—instead, a student steps into the stage clutching her conviction close to her heart. It is a strangely awe-inspiring, yet equally mortifying to watch as she readily face against the scrutiny that will surely befall upon her from this school's toughest jury and her most skeptic critic. Still, Mikawa marches forward and apologetically smiles as if to reassure that everything is within her control—a confidence I've yet seen in a long time. The 'Enma' turns his gaze towards her and with a heave, she starts, "I can confirm both rumors."

The 'Enma' clicks his tongue and sighs, "Go on then, speak Mikawa-san."

"The rumors surrounding myself and Oogame-sensei is true," Kitamura's lips suddenly curves into a sinister crescent as my heart grinds to a stop. "I do have feelings for Oogame-sensei—and I did spoke to a few of my closest friends about it."

She sighs, "But… that's just it. It is just a rumor. Our relationship never went further than close friends."

"What should I believe your statement, Mikawa-san?" the 'Enma' replies as he takes a sip. "You might as well be deceiving me deliberately to cover Oogame-sensei's… mistakes."

There is an urge that beckons me to stop her from taking the next step—I knew exactly what she was trying to convey and, indeed, it may as well discredit Kitamura's phony alibis. But at what cost? Sometimes, I wonder if I have taken things too far and raised a replica for my own selfishness. "Because Oogame-sensei already have someone—and I have met her."

"And I…" she chokes and gasps, catching her breath. "…A-and I am no match for her…"

Like watching the end of a story or a fledgling that finally leaves its nest, I can only sit in contemplation as she mutter her final conviction with all her mustered courage. The 'Enma' returns with but a slight chuckle and an 'ah', while the other sneered in disgust. She chose to close a chapter in her book for the sake of the one she treasures, disregarding the pain that cuts and bleeds at each second she commits—and I can't shake the reminiscent sense that engulfed me four years ago, from a certain young woman who lives in a different reality.

"I see… I'm sorry to have asked something… personal," the 'Enma' sighs. "But there is still one more rumor to confirm. Would you care to elaborate as well?"

"Yes, headmaster."

"I don't… I don't like betraying a friend, but just this once I'll do it for her own good. The second rumor," Mikawa continues. "The second rumor is about A-cha—Ariake-chan and her relationship with Ki—"

"YOU BI—!"

"KITAMURA-SENSEI, enough…!"

"Headmaster, can't you see that she is LYING!? The evidence I present here proves that—"

"SILENCE…!" the 'Enma' commands. "I will judge and see both as I see fit!"

What unfurls before me is an expression that I find difficult to forget, one that howls and reeks of desperation and bitterness as dark as a moonless night—one that I'm well acquainted with under similar, albeit different circumstances. My heart sinks as I observe in silence, wickedly relishing on Kitamura's downfall at the expense of an innocent young woman whose absence is paid little heed, while her name means nothing but a chess piece on a board made out of conspiracy and deceit. A teacher is responsible for the safety of all their students equally… I truly believe that.

"But Mikawa-san, if you're suggesting what I think you are," the 'Enma' continues as he rests his cup and takes his seat on her opposite end. "Do you have evidence to support your claim…?"

She taps her feet, "W-well… A-chan confided in me and—"

"Anything besides word of mouth? Unless there is a concrete evidence—"

Forgive me, Monika…

"I have the evidence, headmaster."

…but I'm breaking another promise.

The surprise and ensuing relief that washes over Mikawa is akin to a child on the first day of the year upon receiving an otoshidama, equally stunning Kitamura speechless and impaled in his seat. I move my thumb across the screen to form a letter—an 'M'—that unlocks the phone and, with a flick, reveals a piece of history immortalized in a photograph. Did a sliver of sympathy crossed my mind when I show the evidence to the judge and jury? Regret? Perhaps… yet all crumble into dust under the 'Enma's watchful gaze, buried and concealed against the face of judgment. What will happen next—or what fate entails Kitamura and Shiho—is beyond my control. There is no love lost for Kitamura, but for the poor girl… may the gods have mercy on me.

I cast a student—an innocent—into the fire. I have failed as a teacher.

"Kitamura, see me after your last class," the 'Enma' orders, rattling the air with animosity that I've yet witnessed prior. "You're dismissed for now."

"H-headmaster…! I didn't—are you just going to believe—!"

"ENOUGH..!" he grunts. "We'll talk about this later. Now get out of my sight."

For as long as my history of working in this institution, I have yet witnessed Kitamura absent of that succinct arrogance and authority—nor have I saw him without command of confidence and suave; both traits adored by the majority of the female population, students and faculties alike. As he quietly bows in dismiss and takes his first step out of the room, I realize that this may very well be the first time I see him in an unforgiving state, forcefully pried out of his shell, dishonored. In but a fleeting moment, the once sweet-taste of victory turns sour and vile at the prospect of a falling domino—such is the world we're trapped in and its unforgiving maze of relationships.

"Well, sorry for the trouble Oogame-sensei, Mikawa-san," the headmaster continues, sighing as he turns his focus to us. "I guess I owe both of you an apology for this… misunderstanding."

But there is one last thing to do…

"Headmaster, if I may, there is one more thing I have to mention."

"Oh? Speak freely, sensei."

"What I did back there—the evidence, everything—it's… uncharacteristic of a teacher," I start. "I believe I should also be held accountable, headmaster."

The headmaster chuckles as he return to his throne, "Don't worry about it. Though it isn't the best execution, you did the right thing. It's a pity about Shiho-san's case, but aside from a formal investigation there's really nothing else you should be concerned of."

"Headmaster, I just condemned a student! Used her like a pawn! She isn't even supposed to be involved…!"

"Which isn't entirely your fault, Oogame-sensei," he assures. "Please rest assured that you and Mikawa-san won't be held…—wait, what's that in your hand?"

With both hands extended, I present the brown envelope before the 'Enma's presence. A peep echoes nearby and the headmaster's expression stiffens to a cold pause; I take a short, stiff bow.

"I have failed my duty as a teacher…"

…

"I'm retiring."

The room falls into a deafening silence, transported into another dimension with only the ambience of the outside world echoing like a far distant land. Here, the thumping of one's own heart or the echo of a dropped pin is the lingua franca spoken between its denizens, all waiting for the other party to speak. What thoughts that courses through their minds are left unspoken and unknown, leaving me to speculate all possible outcome towards my last statement. Even with my eyes facing nothing but the expanse of the blue carpet, the murmurs of their consciousness is as audible as the sound of a rushing train at the peak of rush hour.

"Please, raise your head sensei," the 'Enma' starts before turning his attention to the stunned club president. "Mikawa-san, you are free to leave. Thank you for your cooperation. I look forward to seeing your progress until graduation, child."

"B-but headmaster! W-what about Oogame-sensei!? If he really is retiring then—"

"Please," the 'Enma' sighs. "I'm sorry, but you have to leave; this is a more… personal and delicate matter. You're dismissed, Mikawa-san."

"But I…—!"

She stops mid-sentence; tongue twisted into a knot and her confidence collapses upon noticing my observation. Like a little puppy, she submits to the headmaster's order without further complaints and, with a polite bow, peacefully makes her way to the door. Yet even with a fault line between us, behind that collected manner is a strong surge to remain—a desire to see the conclusion between the 'Enma' and my decision. There are likely questions running through her mind—even more likely needed to be addressed, yet everything needs to be shelved… for the moment, at least. The door slowly creaks to a close and I'm left alone with the 'Enma'.

"She's a good girl," the headmaster quips with a chuckle. "Smart… maybe too smart for her own good."

I glance to the side, laughing. Trust me headmaster, you only saw the tip of the iceberg. "She sure is…"

With a great voice he breaks into a guffaw, nodding and grunting in approval as everything slowly settles down, returning to the pace that it once was. With a heave, the 'Enma' crosses his arm before him and leans forward before gesturing me to take a seat. The chair grinds against the carpet with a muted 'thud', creaking slightly against my weight but nonetheless comfortable to rest. It's funny thinking about it; almost two months ago, I remember dreading this sensation... now I can't help but thank the gods that this room—and this very chair—exist. "Now without delay, Oogame-sensei, if you don't mind me asking…"

The 'Enma' clears his throat, "Why?"

"I have a feeling that there is something you're not telling me," he continues. "I doubt that your… integrity is the only reason—which reminds me, how is your mother?"

I look to the side once more and nods in affirmation. The headmaster is sharp. "Well, that's one of my reasons headmaster."

"Oh? Is your mother alright?"

"No, that's not it," pursing my lips together, I gather my courage and sigh. There is no point of keepings secrets with him any further. "Do you remember what Mikawa-san mentioned? About my… significant other?"

The 'Enma' nods, "Yes, but what does that have to do with—…!"

He stops, his pupil dilates, and I return a smile to confirm his suspicion. The clock urgently reminds us of its presence with its steady ticking before its unnerving echo is unceremoniously drowned by the overbearing ambience from the outside, taking us back into the fold of this realm. With a nod, I measure the pace of my beating heart and tap unto the newfound confidence. "Yes, headmaster. It isn't my mother; it's my lover."

Headmaster Murayama squints his brow and grunts, sighing in what I can only assume to be of frustration that likely stemmed from the intentional withholding of information. Patiently I await his response, listening to the recurrent ticking of the wall clock and counting along to ease the weight that bears on my shoulders; I dare say this is one of the longest minute I've had yet to endure. The 'Enma' heaves, leans back on his chair, and set his glasses to the side. "This is… a bit much, but… do you really have to stop?"

"I know I've been quite hard on you—heck, maybe on everyone. But that's because I value discipline, sensei," he continues as he pinches his nose. "But do you really have to quit your job just for her? Have you thought this through…?"

Again he leans on his chair, releasing a contemplative sigh before returning his focus on the matter, "I believe you really need to think this through, sensei—more so when your presence is a necessity in these last few months before the exams. I'm sure we all can agree that life is important, but is she really more important than your job or responsibility?"

"I've thought about it, and my decision stands."

"Is it your salary?" he adds with zest. "I know that you're still under probation, but I'm willing to restore everything after the end of the year and—"

"No, headmaster… it's alright," I interrupt. "I just… want to spend every last second I have with her, because…"

…

"Because I'm afraid that tomorrow could even be her last."

A surge of pain runs across the lower half of my lip as I bite unto the fleshy surface, turning my eyes away from the 'Enma' as he quietly expresses his condolences. The moisture that builds around the edges of my eyelids begins to obscure, prompting the palm of my hand to restore my vision and keep my emotions in-check. Silence descends once more unto this realm, and for a moment I fear that the explanation would be insufficient to convince him to my side. But as he sighs and wears his glasses once more, with a smile I've yet seen from the 'Enma' in all my time here as a teacher, that concern quickly evaporates into nothing more than clouds—perhaps, I may have misjudged him all this time. "Understood. I'll prepare the necessary paperwork for you to retire."

"T-thank you, headmaster."

He waves his hand dismissively, "If you truly believe that she far outweighs your job, then I won't stop you."

"Spend your time with her wisely," he continues. "It's been an honor to be working with someone with such integrity and dedication, Oogame-sensei. Truly."

"I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused."

"It's all part of the learning process, all is forgiven. Good work."

Thus ends a chapter in my book of life, closed by my own hands and volition. I bow politely at the headmaster and make my way to the door that divides this reality with the world outside; an imposing gateway. The double-door opens with a loud creak and I turn to face the room one last time to glimpse at the 'Enma' at his desk, holding what seems to be a small portrait that rests at the side of his desk; an object of particular joy and sorrow to the man. The door slowly draws to a close and everything fades behind layers of lacquer wood and steel. The ambience of youth welcomes my return to the school ground, once more.

Though… that isn't the only thing—or should I say, person.

"Sensei, can we… talk a bit?"

Mikawa inches forward into the light, clearly waiting for my return in distraught and unease. Her left hand clutches the collars of her blazer—trembling—while questions seems to cloud her thoughts as deep as her consciousness goes; answer is what she seeks, and with just the right amount of pressure an overflow is to be guaranteed. I roll my fist into a ball and tuck them into the pockets of my pants and smile. "Sure, Mikawa. Is there something in your mind?"

"It's just… at that meeting earlier," she starts as her eyes wanders to the side. "Why…?"

I push my eyebrows inquisitively, "I'm sorry… but, what do you mean by—"

"Why did you did try to save me!?" she cries, drawing every inch of strength from her bottled emotions; it is to our fortune that the hall beyond the headmaster's office is deserted. "After everything that happened… after I tried so hard to forget about you…"

I reserve my judgment for a moment as the hardened exterior of her character slowly cracks and crumbles like glass, revealing a confused, innocent child hiding behind. Without a word, I motion her to walk with me to the usual spot underneath the stairwell where the vending machines are, away from curious onlookers and as much as time permits. She waddles along obediently, following closely behind like a duckling until we are out of view or presence of many.

"Sensei, please give me a straight answer…" she starts timidly. "Why…?"

She grasps her arms to a hug, "I betrayed you, falsely testified against you for something you didn't commit…"

"You're forced into the role," I reply. "I can't blame you for that."

"I even lied about Shiho! I'm not in good terms with her, I'm the culprit in question!"

"I know."

"I—…!"

Like a spell that binds her lips, her thoughts fails to translate into words that she wishes to convey as she reels back to comprehend my puzzling judgment—or action. A few seconds passes as she stutters, waiting for my revelation to enlighten or perhaps clarify what everything—what she means to me. It is a story that touches the hearts of many JKs from all generation, a romanticized image of a high school tailored to fulfill their cravings for a fateful romance between two different social classes—the love between a teacher and a student, a modern day Romeo and Juliet. Illicit, immoral, romantic.

Fictional. Mikawa Aya may be a woman, but she is still a student—my student. Nothing more, nothing less.

With a sigh, I take a step forward. "Mikawa, I know you lied. I know you're the one who bullies Shiho."

"But whatever sins you committed, it doesn't change the fact that you are my student," I raise my hand and pat her on her head. "And I will do anything to protect you—or anyone—of my students from harm."

Gently I ruffle her hair akin to siblings, prompting an expression of what I can assume to be a mix of unseemly surprise and bliss. She takes a step back, dark hazel colored eyes locking unto mine, hungry for more—be it affection or assurance, I can't tell. Quickly she turns away and cast her vision to the side, reaching her left arm with her right and gently trace its length from her elbow to the edge of her hand, awkwardly hiding her expression with her bangs. Promptly, I smile. "I'm guessing Kitamura-sensei figured that out and coerced you into testifying against me?"

She nods timidly. Well, figures… it's not that surprising—it is him after all. But it won't matter anymore.

We each take a step back to regain some of our privacy, slinking back into our bubble of thought before a buzz from my pocket notifies the current time. I glance briefly at Mikawa who waits in anticipation, twirling and tugging her bangs playfully to pass the time. "Lunch break is almost over. You better get to class, Mikawa."

"Before I go… do you really mean it?" she nervously starts. "That you're… leaving, sensei?"

Mikawa inches forward with her hands balled to a fist, trembling as she yearns for an answer. I guess there's no point in hiding it; it is after all, likely one of the questions that clouds her mind. With but a smile, I nod and address her query. "Yes… I am."

"Is it… for her? It's for her, isn't it…?"

…

"Yes."

She sternly smiles in return, "I see. She's… really lucky."

Without another word, she politely bows and takes her leave. There is an aura of sullen confidence that she wears like a great coat, shielding her vulnerable self from the harsh elements that relentlessly bombards her fragility. Pride guides her every footstep, yet an unmistakable hints of sorrow looms on the trail that she left behind. In all my time as a teacher, Mikawa always stands out amongst the rest of my students—intentionally or otherwise. Now, she soars higher than ever before…

…

It's going to be a rainy day.

The faculty office falls into a deep silence, with but the sound of scribbles and scratches coming from the remaining teachers or the incessant ticking of father time that decorates a section of the wall. From one end to the other, rows of tables are cleverly organized to squeeze us according to our division, separated only by a narrow path, enough for a man to navigate without being a bother. On the walls, schedules, posters, and other amenities decorates the scene to create an organized chaos of information and reminders. Laminated motivational messages adorn the upper part of the chalkboard, some to encourage discipline while another, a reminder—this one in particular is a personal favorite of mine: 'nothing is really over until the moment you stop trying'. A room where everything began…

…and where everything end.

It's… slightly unnerving to think that this is the last time I get to paint this picture, this portrait of a place far from home that nestled close to my heart. The musky odor of paper and ink, the rattling air conditioner, or the creaking wheels of Shinano-sensei's chair over in the mathematics division's desk area has become synonymous to the work environment, as much as Monika's white poofy bow is to her. Funny how you start noticing these insignificant details right at the end, only to realize how much it has been ingrained as a part of you. The same can be said to my homeroom student.

Class 3-2… it has been an honor serving as your homeroom teacher.

I wasn't sure I was up to the task when I was assigned as a homeroom teacher; my training did not include coming face to face with a collection of quirky individuals of different backgrounds, each with varying levels of focus and expectations that may or may not be spoken publicly, yet all united under a single plaque that is proudly planted before the door. Although I recognized some of them from my English class from the previous year, it was still nerve-wrecking to see all of them smile and nod politely, hoping only for the best for their last and final year.

And if it weren't because of a more pressing matter, I would've gladly remained.

When I announced my resignation during the afternoon homeroom period, it rattled everyone barring Mikawa. Several queries were flung, accusations and speculations, and anything in between the students can think of—all ground from baseless rumors, circulated through the student body in an attempt to make sense of the situation. Some swore to confront the headmaster, others turn to Mikawa for clarification, while a few chose to keep calm and keep asking; it was as much a surprise for them, as their reaction was to me. It wasn't until Mikawa took to her role did the dust finally settled and everything start to fall into place; it was the crescendo in an orchestra, the rush to the finish line, or the climax to a tragedy.

It was bittersweet as it was dear.

Kurosawa was the first to rise from his seat and, with a great bow, delivered his most sincere 'thank you' as loud as he could. Nakano followed after and started an impromptu albeit heartfelt 'thank you' speech, then Imai with hers before she breaks into rivers of tears, then Kihara, Sayaka, and on and on until Mikawa conclude the farewell with a banzai finale, scattered only by a reminder that we still have cleaning duty left to do in our schedule. Those laughter, hollers, sorrows, and camaraderie… I wonder, would I be able to find something similar in the near future? Truly, I wonder…

"Busy, Oogame-sensei?"

A rough, familiar voice calls from the door; my cheeks rise to an upward curve. "I heard from the headmaster that… you're resigning. Is that true?"

Casually he struts into the room, hands in his pocket with questions contorting his expression to a sour note; I assume it came as much of a surprise to him as it was to my students. Promptly, I pull a quiet smile and a nod. "It's true, Ikari-senpai."

"Damn… is it because of…?"

"Don't worry," I break into a chuckle. "I have nothing to do with the rumors; that was all Kitamura-senpai. I quit because of my own volition."

Ikari-senpai sighs with relief, chuckling like a little boy in a dagashiya. "I knew it! I never liked him in the first place, that arrogant bastard."

"You really thought I would do such a thing, senpai?"

"N-no, of course not!" he laughs. "I knew you're a good person, Oogame. A bit immature, but you're good in my book."

Though as much of a joyous front he tries to promote, it is obvious to both of us the nature of this conversation and the question he wishes to impose; after all, if how quickly the mood settles back into the nether regions isn't a clear enough indication, then Ikari-senpai's profound whistle sends the message. I have respect for Ikari-senpai—not because of him being my senior, mind you—but for his honesty and integrity. He may be a miserable, single, early-thirties salary man, but his work ethics and his wisdom is something I hope I can achieve one day. "I'm… guessing you're here to ask me why I withdrew from my position."

Ikari-senpai smacks his lips and nods, "Always the sharp one. So, anything you want to clarify?"

Above all, he is a person I can confide to.

"Truth is," I start. "I left because of a girl—not just any other, but one that I can't afford to lose."

He furrows his brows and clicks his tongue, "For a girl…? That's a little… foolish, to put it lightly."

"That may be true…"

Briefly I wet the edges of my chapped lips and clean my throat with a cough, searching for the next word, wondering how far I can reveal. How many secrets can one man contain without having it break him mentally? Will that person continue to do so even if it means his own demise? God only knows. "But Yuuya—sorry, the doctor mentioned she only has up until the end of this year to live. I know it's stupid, but… I want to spend every waking second I have with her."

"Have you considered taking a paid-vacation…? Surely, you don't have to go so far as to—"

"I've considered that, senpai," I interrupt with a raised palm. "I doubt the school would let me without having another salary cut or worse—more so when we're less than three months before the finals."

Ikari-senpai crosses his arm, "True enough… that's a pity, but I guess you're right."

"Besides, I have been meaning to quit after everything with the pay and… everyone who's not you, senpai," I add. "I just… can't make up my mind to do so."

"Because of your students?"

I pause, left in a momentary state of wonder; Ikari-senpai isn't far off with his guess. "Yes…"

He crosses his arms and ponders in silence, allowing a few seconds to pass. He struts to the left and to the right, hands still in his pocket; it is apparent to me how lost he is in thought as he slowly digests the information straight from the horse's mouth. Officially, my departure from the school was announced by the headmaster to the faculty due to my mother's worsening health, with little mention of the scandal; that was the decision of the headmaster, and I can only guess that he did so to preserve the school's reputation. Satisfied, Ikari-senpai nods and glances to the side in mild amusement, "She must have been really important to you, more than your responsibility or students could ever be…"

"I'm not saying it's a wise move, though honestly I do feel rather envious," he continues with a chuckle. "To find something more valuable than a job or an income…"

…

"…I really do envy that."

If one could describe how Ikari-senpai is in this moment, the image of a wise pilgrim or a veteran samurai paints a definitive picture; a clear but profound eyes of a traveler, an exhausted smile, and an air of wisdom, unmatched but to a hermit. There is almost sadness in his tone, concealed by a wrinkling smile that elevates his age by ten—more so when he, without a word, nods in what I can only presume to be in support of my decision. He always comes up as that wise and thoughtful senior, albeit his rather lax attitude towards his colleagues or drama that is in motion around the work place—a contrast to the brash, promiscuous Kitamura who's in constant wrestle for control. Though my time of knowing him was short, I came to realize how well acquainted he is in the trade; a shining example amongst the corrupt sea of idle and neglect, aimlessly floating on a current like a leaf, simply getting by. "Well, I wish you the best of luck, Oogame."

With arms to his side, he puffs his chest forward and smiles.

"I know that we'll part someday, but I didn't imagine it to be this soon," he continues with a chuckle. "It has been a pleasure working with you."

There's nothing more to say. With respect to both tradition and the individual, I take a full bow. "The same goes for me, senpai. Thank you for taking care of me up until this time."

"There is just one more thing… about the Literature club, is it too much of a trouble to ask—"

"—to supervise them?" he grins. "I've been learning a lot from them too, to tell you the truth—and I can say you sure have a collection of bright young minds! I'll keep my eyes on them, don't you worry."

"T-thank you! Again, I'm sorry for the trouble…"

"Don't fret about it! We division-mates need to stick up for one another, right?" he quips with a smile, then glances at the door—grinning. "Speaking of the literature club… I think you should go see them. They're waiting for you at the door."

…

They're… waiting…?

Dropping everything, I recoil out of my seat to a stumble as Ikari-senpai takes his exit from the stage and reveals a path towards my destination. The silhouette that peeks through the small glass frame on the door beckons in silence, disappearing as quickly as it appeared as the distance closes. My chest thumps in anticipation, but what awaits me beyond—be that of amiable smiles or antagonistic scorn—drives the mind wary and unease. Aside from Obase and possibly Mikawa, nobody else within the club knew of the circumstances or reason of my sudden disappearance and replacement; Ikari-senpai only mentioned Aki's query, even then that was weeks ago. With the handle within reach, there is only one way to know…

I slide the door open…

…

…and find myself before the audience of five, familiar faces.

"Sensei, you're leaving!?"

"D-did we do something wrong? Were we… out of line…?"

"Aya-chan said you're leaving… why? Please, tell us!"

Initially I had expected wolves to come and tear me from limb to limb, gnawing at my negligence, and spitting on my corpse once their hunger—or perhaps, rage—is satiated; a fitting end for an irresponsible caretaker. But instead, shiba inu puppies flock with longing expressions and hyperactivity—if not runny noses, wondering where their two-legged companion had been with questions glossing over their eyes. Yuuki's the first to jump with his query, followed immediately by Satsuki, and lastly Aki with Mikawa towing closely behind her; Obase, however, opts to remain a fair distance away, acting more as an observer than a participant. At a glance, his expression is that of scornful judgment and suppressed ire—but I can't blame him for that.

I did fail to meet his expectation, and I did so within my own volition.

"Is it… true, sensei?" Aki continues, "Did we… do something to upset you?"

"Certainly did something to upset me…"

"Jiro, mind your manners!" the vice-president censures. Jiro being 'Shinjiro' from Obase's nickname, shortened I assume; it's quite pleasing to know he's well-acquainted with the rest of them for first-name basis. "I know things between you and sensei aren't going as well, but you are in no position to talk like that—especially to an elder!"

Obase clicks his tongue dismissively, crossing his arms and looks away to the side. There is a buildup—an urge —that screams for me to diffuse the tension, but the better part of my judgment warns of my involvement; perhaps this is a time where it is best to remain on the sidelines. Aki huffs and rests her arms to her side as she judges Obase in disdain, returning her focus back to me after muttering a few curses. Putting her hands together, she respectfully takes a bow, "I'm… really sorry for his rudeness, sensei."

I wave my hand dismissively, "N-no, no… it's fine, I am to blame as well."

"But to answer your question," I continue. "Yes… I am leaving—don't worry, it has nothing to do with the club."

"But… why?" Yuuki interrupts. "You've been gone from the club for almost a month! Sure, Ikari-sensei supervised us, and one time, even Kitamura-sensei too came and—"

"Wait, Kitamura-sensei supervised the club…?"

"Yes, he did!" Satsuki cuts in. "Well…he was more interested with Aya and Aki-senpai, so most of us were dismissed early."

"Did he mentioned anything, Aki…?"

The vice-president shakes her head from left to right, smiling reassuringly. "He came to ask about Shiho-san, mostly; he did asked for Aya-chan to stay behind, though."

Matching the puzzle pieces together, everything that happened during lunch became clear as to how that prick managed to rope Mikawa into the mess. Just behind the vice-president, the girl in question silently and desperately tries to avoid contact—which comes to no surprise, after all we've been through; it is a matter best not mentioned and left buried to decay. Though it may leave her with a persistent scar, the miracle of time will heal all wounds…

…and distance is the cure for all.

"But enough of that," Aki continues, shifting her weight just slightly for Mikawa to obscure her expression. "Why are you leaving, sensei? Will you see us at our graduation?"

"I…"

A pause; is there still a reason for me to hide my reasoning? Well… perhaps there isn't, but maybe it is more of a duty than a necessity. One day, the jaws of maturity and adulthood will bear its fangs and bites unto them mercilessly, forcing their adaptation in order to survive; it is my wish that they do not become someone like me—a fool who abandoned his responsibility for his own selfishness. "That… is entirely dependent on my mother's health. I'm sorry, but with how things are… unlikely."

It is within my conscious choice that I enforce the lie both the headmaster and I had weaved. Aside from Mikawa and Obase to an extent, maybe they'll figure things out one day and hate me for it, or perhaps they never will; but until that time... this is the best course of action—for all of us. The literature club was never meant to survive, but my intervention that stemmed from wishful optimism and attachment towards the fictional created the organization that stands today.

Just like the original, my presence would bring only pain; it is time for me to let them go.

"Will we… see each other again, sensei?"

I muster a smile, "Hopefully if the wind blows in our favor. Until then, who knows…?"

"Then…" Aki continues, pursing her lips. "If this will be the last time…"

…

"Can I hug you, sensei?"

If that seemingly innocent request didn't come from Aki, I would have quickly assumed it was an attempt to humor—even if that joke is distasteful, to a degree. But this came from the vice-president of the literature club, Samejima Akizuki, a recipient of the silver chrysanthemum badge and a girl known by many to be incredibly honest and carefree; dishonesty is not a part of her trade. Taking a double-take on the situation, I quickly note on Aki's glimmering eyes that is set ablaze in this confusion.

She is serious—dead serious.

…

Hugging is a little… intimate for my—no, for most people. But I guess…

"…Alright, you may."

…just this once, I'll let it slide.

With a leap, she quickly lock me in an embrace that tightens by the second to the surprise of everyone—especially Mikawa. With her head on my chest and residual body heat seeping through layers of fabric, my mind goes into a spin on how I should respond to all of this—or how am I supposed to explain to anyone who happen to notice. Should I hug in return? Is it right to do so? Damn it, this is definitely not a good idea after all, what was I thinking!?

"Thank you, sensei," she quietly whispers. "For everything that you've done for us. Thank you from the bottom of my heart."

…

Just like that, the tension fizzes and I, in silence, returns her embrace. She trembles under the pressure of my arm, caressing the length of her hair as gently as a father would before, eventually, a sniffle. They say that words can move mountains; sometimes, a simple action or a 'thank you' can move the universe. "I'm sorry for all the trouble we've caused, sensei. Thank you for taking care of us up to this point in time."

"You're very welcome…" I reply. "Thank you for being a wonderful student… and a dear friend."

When we part, Aki's cheeks are rosy in color and her eyes glistens like a lake under the setting sun. She turns to the rest of the literature club—a wide smile girthed across her feature from ear to ear. With a simple gesture, she knocks on their reservation and gradually shatters the 'wall' they've erected; one by one, they take a step forward.

"English class is going to be lot less tough without you," Yuuki quips, offering his hand for a handshake before pulling for a hug. "And it's going to be a lot less interesting, too… take care, sensei. Thank you for everything."

His voice cracks as I pat him one the back, "You keep up with your studies as much as you read, alright? Thank you for all those recommendations, Yuuki."

Yuuki takes a step back with a grin, to which I can only return with a smile of my own. What thoughts I have at the moment, my concern towards Yuuki, is fleetingly swatted to the side when Satsuki leaps in without warning, clutching to the back of my suit as tightly as she can. The echo of her wet, sodden voice penetrates through the layers of fabric and flesh that she buries her face with; gently, I pat her on the head.

"Umm, umm…" she starts with a sniffle. "I'll be a light novelist! I'll study hard and-and…"

She pauses to swallow, "S-so be sure to read my work once it's available, alright? Promise me, sensei!"

I sigh with a chuckle, feeling the tug on my heartstrings. They truly are wonderful students… "I promise."

"Y-you promised, so you better keep it, o-okay!" she continues. "Thank you… thank you…"

She bursts into tears and simultaneously rushes to Yuuki for an embrace before her words could be muttered, bawling on his shoulders he so kindly provides. With but Obase and Mikawa remaining, I wonder… would they do the same? Unlike the others, both Obase and Mikawa knows of the extent—the damage I've inflicted to the club. All that brainwashing, selective guidance, and mimicry imposed on Mikawa… she is the one most affected by my greed, which prompt Obase to act in her defense. It was wrong of me, but the consequences of the actions of my past can still be felt to this day. Her willingness to lead, the dedication, even her discreet underhanded bullying… all because of me. And I tossed everything to the side. I didn't expect them to forgive or say their goodbyes… I really don't…

…

"You really did it, you shitty teacher…"

With his hands in his pocket, Obase steps forward. If Mikawa didn't stop Aki in that fleeting second, the young man might receive a rude awakening from behind. "To think you'd go full-Murakami on us…"

"Well, it is a 'hard-boiled reality'," I reply with a grin. "But… this my decision. I don't see any other way."

"I heard—well, we heard about it from Aya, you know? Though, I guess I can understand your reasoning…"

There is a fleeting moment of hesitation that binds his movements, identified only by how reluctant Obase is with his subtle attempts to avoid eye contact—or any gestures that shows weakness. For a minute or so we stand in silence, unrelenting to one another—and I believed this will remain as the status quo until one of us retreat without a whisper or a word. I'm glad I was proven wrong.

"Thank you, sensei…" he starts abruptly, hands to his side. "For your guidance and… everything in between."

In a manner akin to Ronin of the old, Obase takes a sharp forty-five degree bow without a misstep or a fault. In all my time since he first joined the literature club or even in class, the young man before me has yet display even the slightest degree of respect to anyone but Mikawa—until today. He fills his lungs with air and, in a sudden manner, rises to meet me eye to eye—and it dawn on me…

"Take care of them for me, alright? You may lack the subtlety of your peers, but you're quite sharp for someone of your age."

He grins in delight before retreating to the side, "That's what everyone said, sensei."

Between Obase and I, we have finally come to a mutual understanding; in the end, we might just be each other's reflection. All that said and done, there is but one person left…

Mikawa Aya, the President of the literature club.

At first glance, the President of the literature club has been actively concealing herself behind the silhouette of the vice-president, acting as a mere observer, a reluctant participant. She may have informed the others, but that is likely more out of respect of my relationship and history with the literature club than it is out of gossip. But as the members deliberately tore their walls of reservation, the edges of her cheeks rise to a gentle crescendo, gradually mellowing her expression that blooms like a sunflower on the break of dawn. She takes a step to the side, tapping Aki on her shoulder with a reassuring smile, and beams at my direction with what I can describe as a new-found confidence.

"Sensei… thank you…" she starts meekly. "If it weren't because of you, this club would not have existed."

She folds her hand, bows deeply, and continues with one of her best performance to date. "Thank you… from the bottom of my heart."

But that's just it…

"Mikawa, I—…"

…a performance.

From the way she move, her bow, to the tone of her voice, everything is but a well-choreographed motion that serves as a protective bubble of her true self. It is a business smile more than a genuine reflection of appreciation, a bow that came out of necessity, and a 'thank you' that is as artificial as it is out of peer pressure; necessary skills she perfected and honed just to maintain the image of the responsible, flawless, model student myself and many have come to expect. And I can't blame her for acting that way…

"—…Is that really all you wish to say, Aya-chan?"

…but I wasn't the only one to notice.

With a hand gently resting on Mikawa's shoulder, Aki pulls herself close to her dear friend and gingerly smiles to a fault, causing the former to flinch. Donning an expression as innocent as an infant, she addresses her virtuously and unabashed, speaking more as a dear friend than Mikawa's right-hand man—an intimacy shared between them since the beginning of the club. The president flusters as the curtain slowly draws open. "After all…"

…

"We know that you've liked sensei for a long time, Ms. President~!"

Mikawa's face blooms bright like a tomato, shrinking and shattering her well-fortified confidence as I chuckle in slight agitation, discreetly. Aki's quip is more than just a tease, but an encouragement—no, perhaps… more.

"With that in mind," she continues. "This may be your last chance, Aya-chan. So don't hide your feelings anymore, alright?"

It may have been the last push needed—not just for Mikawa, but for me; a farewell gift, an embodiment of the last love poem of the literature club. In a near-perfect sync, each of the members harmoniously encircle the bewildered club president with a blessing of their own, communicated with a light 'tap' on her shoulder. Mikawa is the club, and at its core is a throne that I occupied; an entity that lead them from darkness as much as corrupt it. With an alleviated sigh, Obase grins and motions towards the stairwell near the edge of the hall. "We'll be waiting back at the clubroom, a'ight? Take as much time as you need."

This has gone on long enough—and it is time to stop.

A minute or so passes without an exchange, peppered with the occasional side glances and irritable chortle as we permit the face of our reality settles to the bottom. Once more, the orchestra of youth performs a melody we've grown accustomed to, swaying us through the passage of time until a crack or an echo fractures our private square, suddenly and violently. Though merely a construct of my mental state, the chasm that divides us howls intensely—and I fear that a bridge may never be erected. But… it is worth a shot.

If any, it will be my swan song to the literature club.

"So…" I start with whistle, "They're quite a handful, aren't they?"

"W-who…?"

"The club members."

She anxiously giggles in response, "A-ah… yeah, they can be. But you know that already, sensei… ahaha…"

"Yeah… I do."

With a great sigh, I stand near the edge of our reality and observe the rapid motion of the world through the windows decorating the hall; the crimson light that bleeds to illuminate the building brings forth memories of that confession that brought upon this cataclysm. All these students, their lives, and the stories they have to tell—a cocktail of relationship that goes on with or without you. Humans are complicated, aren't they? Our relationship may very well be a whisper in the wind to many, but it was as much a journey for us as their own stories are to them. And like all journey has a beginning, it also has an end. "I'm going to miss them."

Glancing at the fidgeting young woman, I start with a profound smile, "So… is there anything you wanted to say?"

"N-no… its fine…" she replies, tapping the tip of her indoor shoes as she crosses her leg. "It's just a… misunderstanding…"

Mikawa turns to face the side, quietly takes her position to my side, and observing the world beyond the glass window. With her left arm clutched by her right, it becomes relatively crystal to me of her stance on the entire matter. I would be repeating the same history lesson between us right about now, but it won't change or alleviate the damage it had inflicted—on both of us, mind you. And I can't blame her for wishing to simply walk away. This divide… just the thought of it brings forth memories that are best left unknown rather than it being a detrimental to the image we've established of one another. Is it still worth it to try to rekindle old relationship? Perhaps…

But perhaps…

"Thank you, Mikawa," I continue. "I know I wasn't the best role-model you deserve, but I'm glad you see me different."

"I know you would rather leave it all behind, and I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused you."

My lungs contract as I fill them with air, drawing everything from within. Perhaps I've known all along; after all the tears, the pain, and the sorrow, it is best to just leave her be.

"I couldn't have asked for a better student—and a close friend. If there really isn't anything else, then I guess this is—"

"NO, WAIT…!"

The shattering echo of her cry pierces through the crimson sky, drowning the silence in a wave of desperation and untold desire, planting my feet involuntarily in its place. If there are still unspoken sentiment or shackled remorse, the binds she desperately tried to maintain crumbles and unleashes its flurry of emotions like a tidal wave. Gripping her collar in place, Mikawa bites on the lower part of her lips and raise her vision, dogged and fierce, from beyond the veil of her bangs. "Thank you, sensei…"

She staggers forward, "I-I don't know what else to say… without you, I couldn't… I-I wouldn't…"

"I-I'm scared… without you, I—" she suffocates at each step, "…I don't know what I'll do without you…!

With a leap, her guard crumbles as she embraces me in a wail of agony that manifests in its purest form; shameless and uncontrollable—a river of crystal. No longer is the concern of expectations and image imposed remained, peeled like old wounds and forgotten to reveal the true picture of what she is all along—an ordinary young woman. Mikawa buries her face on my chest, clutching my suit desperately as my shirt grows heavier in moisture, crying in desperate agony, over and over…

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"

In matters of love and war, such is the cruel face of reality. Were it be of different circumstances, I am certain that both Mikawa and Monika would easily come to friendly terms; that is but a fleeting wish, a hope that may never come to pass. The howl of the maiden echoes continuously as the sun slowly sets to a bright orange crimson, and whether it is by fortune or coincidence, the hall remains vacant of any living soul but the two of us.

In my stillness, I can only reach out and embrace the fragility of the young maiden and caress her repeatedly, hoping that alone is enough to grant me forgiveness...

If this world is to end tomorrow, what would you do? Would you try to find a way to undo the apocalypse? Go home to spend the last hours of your life with the ones you love? Or would you remain petrified and in denial, before finally deciding to end it all with a rope or a leap of faith? Such a morbid thought… even I don't have an answer—or perhaps, I already have? It's quite a harrowing scenario, seeing how everything you know and love would cease to exist at the most importunate moment, and there is nothing you can do to 