The Knight

A a25pZ2h0 w1Th v3ng34nCe,

Is A a25pZ2h0 broK3n.

But 4 a25pZ2h0 with0ut one,

SXMgYnV0IGE= fool d2hvIGxpZXMgdG8gaGltc2VsZi4=

A mUrD3rer ZGVtb24s

RuN5 rAMp4Nt, wild, fr33.

A ZGVtb24= who coNSuMe5 women,

To fulfill his he4Rt's cont3NT.

The a25pZ2h0 with a VeNGEance,

Slays the ZGVtb24=, justified, cold,

The ZGVtb24= who wounded him.

VG8gZGVsaXZlciBqdXN0aWNl to his p3OpLe.

WWV0IHdpdGg= justice, Y29tZXM= regret.

The ZGVtb24= cried with Ag0Ny,

As its bG92ZXJz T00K dGhlaXIgb3duIGxpdmVz.

Yet h1s hum4n heaRT s0Ldier3D on.

The a25pZ2h0 looked b4Ck,

VG8gc2VlIGEgbGlnaHQgdGhhdCB5ZWFybnMu

The Hope he's l0st ye4RS aGo,

His beaC0n of S4LV4TiOn.

He juMPed W1th the winG5 0f bURd3n,

ToW4rds the light, aGUgYnJlYWtzIGF3YXku

His REGreT c4Scad3s,

SW50byB0aGUgbGlnaHQsIG15IHNoYWNrbGVzIGNydW1ibGUu

A whisper, he mutters,

4oCcSSBhbSBmcmVl4oCd

You really start appreciating how much you have until the moment you've lost it.

It's that itching emptiness—a gap—that emerge as a black hole of emotions and thoughts as a result, yearning for something or someone to supplement that missing piece and complete the puzzle. That piece, carved and molded by time, is unique for each and every soul that inhabits this realm—and when it's gone, its effect echoes in a chamber that continues to hammer mercilessly or flood the bulkhead until the hole is plugged. Many seek momentary solutions such as shedding tears, excessive feeding on comfort foods, or even consulting without the heart to change; many also resolved to forcefully fill them with vices and caused even more damage, leading to a never-ending downward spiral. Then, there are the few who seeks a permanent solution—time, after all, is a universal cure.

I am not even certain where I fit in all of this—or what damage I had done.

"Good morning, Monika."

Quietly she glances, retreating but a fraction of a second later; a solemn reflection of guilt and discomfort paints her expression. "…Good morning."

It had become a normalcy, to be greeted with my personal sunshine at each sunrise and sunset from that corner of my apartment; a voice that gleams and sparkles with positivity and energy—a lighthouse that shines a path to a safe port at the start and at the end of each turbulent storm. To find the beacon vanish without warning is…disorienting at its best; I rather not think of how it would be at its worst. I'm at a loss. Was it something I said? Something I did? Or is this all a bout of jealousy from Monika? But that can't be true either; there are clearly signs of force acted upon her abode, more so from a thorough investigation of the battery's hold, revealing a broken 'tooth'. It's within my fortune that it can still hoist the battery with the remaining two.

To pin the blame on my students—to Mikawa no less, it's…absurd.

…

But was there really no one else? No thief in the night or some vagabond with a vengeance that came after everyone left?

No…of course there wasn't. But why her? Why Mikawa? What about the other members? Weren't they present at the time? Surely, they would have noticed? What does she meant about how Mikawa 'knows everything'? That isn't possible…the school would have to be even more careless than disclosing addresses; let alone personal data, I don't believe the school even asked for information concerning hobbies…

It doesn't make sense. None of it does…

…

Is she making it up?

I glance at her worryingly, at a loss towards the circumstances that is projected into an aura of silence and distrust that grew out of the abyss, carefully setting us in two separate camps. It's an air of animosity that I am unfamiliar with, a far cry from the days that seceded it; a barren, empty wasteland that eats at the remnants of what once was a fresco of a golden wheat field in autumn. The television speaks a routine of empty laughter, missing the other half that often accompanies this pattern of ours. Silently, she continues to watch the program. I silently observe.

"—recent tests concerning the development of synthetic limbs have been less than stellar due to—"

Ah…it's an on-going discussion about synthetic limbs again; the 'future of prosthetics', they say. A topic she's very fond and familiar of. Maybe I can try to ease in…

"Looks like the human body isn't as willing to host artificial limbs," I start as I fix my tie. "It might take a few more years before it's viable."

"O-oh…" she mutters, quickly shying her emeralds behind auburn strands. "Yes…maybe..."

Enmity sets in and with it, the dread that lingers and stubbornly maintain the divide. I turn away, tightening the noose that is a part of my attire as the television continues to ramble with its fake smiles, laughter, and amusement towards a topic not even the presenter gives a damn about, all for an audience that they could barely see eye to eye. I can only grit my teeth in frustration, unwilling to lunge against the questions that should not remain unanswered, held only by a leash of preservation and patience that screams to maintain the current status quo; allowing the beast to act freely would only further the damage that has been done, whatever it is.

I take a sip from my coffee, silently observing the young woman as she stirs her cup listlessly, sighing before savoring. Questions and uncertainty piles like a bad game of Tetris, forming a wall that isolates her further from my reach.

Stay calm, Oogame. If it is something important, sooner or later she will tell you about it; for now, give her the time and space she needs, let her decide. Cornering her for an answer would only widen the rift that exist at this time; be patient, just as she has been to you. I take my bag, keys, and phone; all eyes towards the exit, away from the suffocating atmosphere that lingers due to my presence. There is work to be done.

"I'm heading out, Monika."

Her little window rolls to capture me; I smile in return, garnering a meek reply laden with animosity and distrust.

"Yeah…ok..."

…

What the fuck must I do…?

I can't get it out of my head.

Since the time I take the step out of my apartment and unto the station, not even the pressure and stresses that looms in the distance is able to abate the concern over her qualms; the thoughts, her expressions, reactions…it's too much for me not to ignore. It gave me as much discomfort as the situation is to her—that look of doubt and disappointment is painful to recollect, yet is equally as haunting as a bounded amnesiac specter to a school boy. Something happened last night, evident from the damages that was inflicted on Monika's laptop—but who? Why? It's far too early to take Monika's heed at face value—I trust her, sure, but I've known her named 'suspect' far longer than she has; Mikawa wouldn't do that, even less likely with multiple witnesses. But what if the entire club was involved…?

It just doesn't make sense! What is going on!?

I glance at the digital destination display and its colorful ornaments, noting the travel time until my arrival at Tokyo central station—there is enough for me to fiddle with my phone, amongst the sardines. Hanging overhead, advertisements flaps and shakes about as it matches the vibration of the steel can that binds us; it reads in a professional, bold kanji and hiragana, 'THE FUTURE IS NOW'. A placard of ToDai endorsing the development of Artificial Intelligence and synthetic limbs that echoes every so often in national television and early morning infotainment. I sigh and grunt as the momentum pushes us at a turn, yanking, drawing me out of the state of recollection; her fondness of the topic in question, an echo at each morning routine, lingers with an unbridled scream at its absence. The curve that stretches from cheek to cheek, the harp of a giggle, and the hopeful gleam that polishes the pair of emeralds—gone, superseded by a bottomless abyss of mistrust and defeat. My voice desperately yearns to tear, yet silenced and bounded by the rules imposed as a norm. Damn it, Oogame, get a grip! Do something, you fool…!

Maybe if I…

I reach for my phone and opens LImE, a messaging app we've grown to love in the time we're separated, and scrolls through our history up to this point of time. No new messages—odd, considering the pattern I've grown accustomed to. Something did happen...and I'm left in the shadow of it; not the first time in my life, nor will it be the last. I have to—no, I need to appeal to her good side, return everything to what it was. I know Monika; she's loathing herself as much as she is in trying to keep this act—and I can't just sit here and remain idle. I need answers, and that's what I'll work for. Maybe a sticker will do…?

Twiddling my thumb on the sleek surface of the screen, navigating through the menu that is decorated with lime green banners and promotions, I search through the array of merchandise and paid stickers that would surely capture her attention. With a flick and armed with the knowledge of her fondness towards shiba inu puppies, sifting through the many offers and finding the gift in question is fast and isn't particularly difficult; the beauty of technology never ceases to amaze me. The shiba inu stickers are really adorable—its popularity comes as no surprise so as the reasons why Monika adores them.

With a few taps, the second set of stickers are purchased as a gift and sent. I hope she appreciates it…

["Look at what I found! It's the second set of your shiba inu stickers!"] I start. It will take another five minutes before Tokyo central station. ["I can't help but be reminded of you, so I bought them for you to use! They are pretty adorable, aren't they?"]

Silence. The small, white kanji characters that spells 'READ' cause my heart to skip a beat as I wait, bated.

"This train will soon arrive in TOKYO. The doors on the right side will open."

At the behest of the announcement, the wave of sardines move with both speed and aggression, forming a river of drones that carries me in its current. Quickly I shove my phone back into my pockets and wade through, shoving and pushing against others of similar disposition, forcing our way towards the Metro platform—a five minute walk is all it takes; another three before the train arrives. The image of my phone and the illumination of bright blue and green flashes at each step, along with my thirst for a reply, deprived since the start of the day. The pocket remains still and the train arrives. I clench my grip on my bag and board the steel can, along with the wave of other sardines.

The doors close and the train rumbles forward with patience, once firm, gradually molds into dread as minutes pass and the next announcement—the stop—rings throughout the reach of the transport. A pendulum of weight clutches itself on my heart, sinking with it any hope or optimism that still lingers until, unexpectedly, a vibration.

Hastily I reach for the phone and slide open to read the message, ["Yes. Thank you."]

And I find myself back at the starting point, lost in a maze she erected to keep me at arm's-length. The door opens and I ride the wave of students in uniform, all heading towards the same destination like cattle to a slaughter house all in the hopes of finding a better tomorrow.

Another time, Oogame…I can think of something…

"Sensei…!"

A cheerful, feminine call—like music—seizes my attention at its beckon from behind. I glance towards its direction to find the sprite of a bright young girl, dark brown hair tied to a pony-tail despite its shoulder-length, and a smile that is both confident as it is a symbol of her position and status in the hierarchy. I pause, pivoting to face and allow her to catch up at a pace she desires, garnering a smile from me in return. Her uniform is as sharp as ever, pressed and groomed that it accentuates the chrysanthemum badge that she proudly wears around the collar of her blazer, complimented with a subtle hint of lilac. Standing side by side, she smiles as if expecting—waiting.

"Good morning, sensei."

"Good morning to you too, Mikawa," I greet in return. "What brings you in this early?"

Her smile brims with confidence, "Everyone agreed to come earlier to try out the outfits today; I even tied my hair from the usual to see if it suits me better!"

"For the tryout?"

"Y-yes!" she replies. A tone that is laced with innocence and excitement. "Will you tell us what you think about it later?"

There's no reason not to—I am her homeroom teacher, after all. With a nod and a smile, I appease her unquenchable curiosity and lifts her young spirit as she lightly 'skips' at the notion; I, however, had other things in mind. Watching her embrace the time of her youth, to accept and celebrate its moments brings forth…'doubts' as to what I initially believed. Could she really go out of her way to 'attack' Monika? If what she said is true, then what are her justifications? Let alone, know about Monika's existence within my laptop? Could everything be just another 'accident' and Monika is simply overreacting to the entire situation? Then why does she adamantly tries to distance herself…?

I need answers, damn it! The more I seek, the more questions pile up…

"Ah, Aki-chan!" she waves, brimming with energy at her partner in crime. Aki smiles in return and waves, jogging to close our distance.

"Aya-chan, sensei, good morning."

Aki quickly takes a polite bow and a callous wave to myself and Mikawa, respectively; it's her actions and mannerism of such caliber that often characterizes her upbringing to be no less than a princess or some form of nobility—that, and her way of speech that reminisce the typical 'ojyou-sama' in contemporary fictions, though without the exaggerations. It isn't strictly true of her upbringing as a 'princess' or some sort of 'nobility', naturally; the male students always comes up with interesting imagination along with their unwavering admiration—so are their glares that wishes death upon me due to my proximity with their idols. Such is the untamed hormones of youth…

"Aya-chan, sorry about yesterday!" she utters apologetically, "To have you clean everything by yourself…"

Mikawa waves dismissively, girlishly giggling. "It's alright! It was late, and I was the one who suggested everything in the first place."

"But all the dishes…"

"It's alright," she nudges at her partner-in-crime. "Don't feel too bad about it! After all, I have to take the pot and the portable stove home."

Vigilance takes hold as I listen to the conversation, carefully deconstructing the exchange with the incident in mind. What seems to be an innocent chatter between two of my students seems to hold far greater implications—that maybe Monika was telling the truth all along. But then again, what's the motive? Aki's apologetic tone and Mikawa's sincere remarks isn't a far cry from the usual exchange between the pair—there is little room to throw suspicion, although…

…Aki did mention how Mikawa cleaned everything by herself…but is it really…?

"You cleaned everything? What about the other members?" I ask, "Obase and Yuuki would gladly volunteer to help with a 'please'."

"It was super late, sensei," Mikawa admits with distress. "I don't have the heart to hold everyone past six."

"I see…no one stayed behind to help?"

Aki shakes her head, "We went home after returning the table. I make sure everyone reach the station safely; I'm the vice-president, after all!"

"Aya-chan did a lot of the cleaning on her own, sensei," she continues. "You should praise her! She makes a good housewife!"

"A-Aki-chan…!"

A nagging feeling tugs against the virtuous smile and blush of the club leader on a backdrop of suspicion, calling on the words—the warning—laid bare by Monika. Her frustration, sadness, and anger—directed at me—for reason I can only assume to be that of jealousy; or is it really 'just' to that extent? Mikawa may be the only one left doing the final touches, but what if it all happened before everyone left? Yuuki may be the more prominent suspect with the similarity of our hobbies—he would surely take what opportunity he has to 'examine' the computer. But then…if Yuuki's the one, then why Monika mentions Mikawa specifically? Why her? It doesn't add up…

Is it really just Mikawa? She couldn't possibly…

…

Bury the thought, Oogame; do what you usually do—smile and thank her, don't let personal issues get in between you and your job. "Thank you, Mikawa. Sorry for the inconvenience."

Mikawa smiles softly and hides her expression behind the cascading shadow of her bangs as Aki giggles playfully. The gate looms before us, a sign of the end of our road before we head our separate ways—I, the teacher and them, the students. The pair dribbles on vigorously about life, love, and matters concerning the academia as we switch our footwear to our indoor shoes, trailing off at the flight of stairs as they head for their homerooms while I towards the faculty office. I check the time; five minutes before teacher's morning briefings—another thirty until homeroom starts. The plain desk stares back with its ominous eyes as I set my bag and glance at my cellphone, waiting for a nudge, a beckoning, or maybe a conversation—the usual…

…a message that never arrived.

I tap incessantly at the fiberboard table that stretches from end to end—lightly, so as not to disturb others to my left and right. At one end, headmaster Murayama drones about how 'proud' he is of the current performance of the students and the staffs, the upcoming festival, the budget, and matters concerning upcoming paycheck and dues that he briefly grazes; if not to satiate the salary-thieves, it's to sprinkle those who received a cut some form of assurance that maybe things are looking up—yes, me included. The faculties, all bearing their distinction from how the desks are organized, sit in opposition of one another, minding their own business or trying to look at least with a bit of interest; let's face it, teacher's meetings that supercedes class homeroom tends to be the same dribble from headmaster Murayama when nothing of interest comes to pass. To my relief, my absence was covered by Ikari-sensei whose English is—though not to par—passable in my standards and performed quite well; the pile of papers I have to mark and the homework I'm supposed to request from the students based on this checklist is quite telling and inherently more interesting than the headmaster.

I glance at the corner of my cubicle, towards a soft hue that rests on the piles of reference books and test papers—my phone. Its glow, a door to another reality, promises of a whisper from its only residence—a hope that slowly dies along with the absence and the silence that persists since our last conversation. I scour through the depths of my mind, filtering the words of the headmaster with those of my own memories—anything to start up another conversation, all to no avail. Thus, I return my attention to the rambling gorilla who has been in control of the stage for the past twenty minutes.

"Any questions?"

Silence. As much as the next person, everyone wishes to get it over with as soon possible. Still, even the whispers of the wisps does not faze the benevolent spawn from continuing. "Oh, and another thing before we conclude—and everyone might want to note this down since this concerns our next faculty party."

Oh, great…another mandatory 'sit-here-and-pretend-to-enjoy'-bullshit. Lovely. Now, where's my pen…

…

…

…where's my black pen? Where did I—have I misplaced it…?

I feel around the rows of acrylic and metal rods of colors that lines my breast pocket, counting up to three and finding one to be missing. There is blue, a color I use to mark grammatical errors, green for spelling, red as the general correction tool, and black as the quill—the missing pen. Not that it matters much, it has more to do with how violated my psyche feels at the moment; I'm more organized than this, you know that, Oogame! Whatever, blue pen can work just as fine for now—until I buy a replacement, of course.

I give the pen a little shake and a tap. The ink flows down into characters and numbers, matching the details laid by the headmaster to form a specific I've come to despise—even more so with how I associate blue with mistakes. The gentle hue, still glowing in the corner of my eye, beckons my attention with whispers of false hopes and expectations. She's not coming to talk; if any, I have to start the conversation and figure out why things crumble like this. So many wrongs in so little space…

Want to see me tempt fate? 'Could this day get any worse'? I'm being sarcastic so I should be okay…

"Hey, Oogame."

…I spoke too soon.

Pivoting my chair to the voice that came from behind, from the faculty of social sciences and history, is a face that would cause me to recoil and puke. The voice, arrogant and commanding, ravages my ear drums like flesh-eating insects as he grins with a smug that causes flowers to wilt and die—just you wait, you son of a bitch…I have exactly the ammunition to send you wishing for judgment by the Enma with your tails between your legs. "What is it, Kitamura-senpai?"

An air of arrogance puffs between his mocking grin, confident of his stance. "I was thinking, since you're 'alone' and 'single',"

"I have someone, thank you very—"

"I'm not talking about your chat-bot, fool. I'm talking about real women."

The ring on his left hand glimmers in silver as he crosses his arm; for all intents and purposes, Monika's a lot more real than your marriage will ever be.

"You see," he continues. "I have certain…vices to fulfill and I'm eager to share it with my beloved kouhai. How would you like me to introduce you to some fine, young ladies from local universities?"

"Senpai, I'm sorry but I'm not interested in—"

"Oh, but I insist!" he demands, closing the distance and cementing his authority with a light 'bang' on my desk. "After all, you don't have a say in this matter. You're coming with me to a gokon this evening—right after your 'club'."

He inch closer to a whisper, pushing me to recoil from discomfort. "Remember your position."

The encounter that lasts for but a mere minute or less ends as he silently chuckles his way out of the office. The dismissive attitude of the bystanders echoes the sentiment of those who watched from the sidelines and pants a bleak image of the environment; 'I'm glad it wasn't me', 'serves the newbie right', or 'best not to get involved'—are probably what they have in mind as they pass. Office politics and its bullshit…it's everywhere, even in school. I click my tongue and gather my materials before walking through the flight of stairs to the third floor where class 3-2—my homeroom—where its casts of third-years are waiting; a wry smile casually stretches across my face. Yet it isn't because of the distinguishable merriment of the students that bleeds into the halls, or the infectious optimism my homeroom students has—oh no, this feeling of 'glee' tastes as disgusting as it is sweet. I smile because senpai has staged nothing short of a perfect setting for his finale; and here I thought confronting him normally would be enough. Let's see how you enjoy having your pleasure robbed before you!

This sweet, delectable, black tar—the taste of a forbidden knowledge; I'm starting to understand how Monika felt, how drunk she was at its taste during those desperate times, to have that control against the system. It is…intoxicating. Surely, a drug that she never wished for me to consume—and the urge, oh the urge to share them! There's no turning back now. I gaze at my phone and notice the absence of notifications that I've longed, moments before entering the domain and reserving any intent to message her to a more feasible time.

Another time, perhaps…just wait a bit longer…

"Sensei, I have a question about our reading…" Takeda, a student of class 3-1, asks. "…aside from how difficult it is."

Carefully manipulating my thumb and my fingers to bookmark the book to a close, eyeing the student who is seated in the middle of the class. "Which part is it?"

"I have…trouble understanding why Charlie's relationship with others deteriorate. Being smart is a good thing, right?"

I smile, delighted by his interest towards the book I handpicked—and relieved. I thought 'Flowers for Algernon' is too heavy of a reading for high schoolers; at least for those whose English is equivalent to a script from a sitcom. "You will see in time that being the smartest isn't everything."

I chose the book 'Flowers for Algernon' out of Monika's recommendation as one out of three reading material for my classes—well, not exactly. The thought came to me far before she could move and speak, back when textboxes, modifications, and glimmers of hope were our only means of communication. It was an unorthodox approach, different from the norms established by my predecessors and their reliance on textbooks or translated Japanese classics, solidifying the connection between English and Japanese classes—which, dare I say, is a sound plan that sadly left the former neglected like the days of old. I can't say I enjoyed the English classes of my past, mind you, but let's just say I reached to this point in comprehension and fluency out of my own general interest to study abroad; I can't say the same for the others—it's a shame to be missing out on great works of literature due to language barrier.

But I digress.

The book in question, 'Flowers for Algernon', is one that I've came to enjoy thanks to her. It talks about Charlie, a man who undergoes an operation which increases his intelligence to extraordinary level in an experiment that is mirrored to that of a rat, Algernon. However, Charlie's exponential increase in intelligence deteriorates his relationship with the people around him—more so, the condescending attitude of Dr. Nemur who saw him as nothing more than a lab subject before the operation. In the end, the gift of knowledge is that of momentary as Algernon loses its enhanced intelligence and dies as Charlie reverts to his former self, separated from those he once knew in a state-sponsored institution, requesting in his final postscript to have someone leave some flowers on Algernon's grave in his former backyard.

"The gift of intelligence that Charlie and Algernon received is momentary, so in the end…"

PIN-PON-PAN-PON

I grin with glee. Sometimes, even the Westminster chime surprise me with their knowledge of how to finish a class with a 'bang'. "…it is for you to find out! Go finish reading until the end of the chapter, we'll discuss this next week. Good work, everyone!"

Amidst the outcry of disappointment and relief of the students, a pleasant euphoria tickles my childish soul as hastily as the materials are rammed into the bag. The halls flood with the voices and the drones of hundreds of students, all with a purpose and destination, marching like automatons to fulfill their conditioning to the letter. A few pass on the occasional friendly greetings and goodbyes as I work down the stairs that lead towards the faculty office—after all, I still have a club to supervise before triggering the flag for the encounter. There is of course, one more thing I wish to do…

With a quick rummage through my pockets and behind the doors that separate the room with the halls, I draw my cellphone and scroll through all the notifications—one of which cause my soul to yelp in a mix of stress, relief, and anxiety.

Monika…

["HfC24, will you be home early? I have something I wish to talk about. It's important."]

The message itself came from around ten minutes ago, without a sticker nor a smile, and even the words are void of emotions. It's one of the most peculiar message I've received, familiar and yet alien in its approach—an omen, perhaps? I can't be sure. Indeed, a sudden dread creeps and nags on my conscious, screaming with a voice that screeches as loud as nails on a chalk board, warning me to seek her before it's too late. I pause in contemplation, listening to the palpitation of my breathing and the ticking of the clock that echoes at each momentum; tick, tick, tick…

I sigh, ["I'm sorry, but I will be home quite late. I have business to take care of."]

Three animated dots springs to life, dancing at the bottom left of the screen before a reply pops up. I raise my eyebrow in surprise—a pleasant one, yet equally stressful in nature. ["Kitamura-san?"]

["Yes."] I reply with haste, ["I'm ending him tonight, at a gokon."]

I didn't mean it in a literal sense, of course; murder weighs heavier here than in the digital realm. But like soldiers of old that whispers their goodbyes to their loved ones before leaving for battle, I hit the reply button and pray that it is enough to ease her troubled heart. ["I will be home as soon as I can. Wait for me."]

The dots appear briefly, expanding and digressing in size to a hypnotizing pattern before vanishing—the white characters that spells 'READ' blips into existence, followed with nothing but a deafening silence. My blood runs cold.

…

I trust Monika; she wouldn't do such a thing, and yet the nagging thought that haunts persistently refuses to relent—a sense of dread that takes me back to the end of 'act one'. I grit my teeth and clench my fists, begging to the gods—a sign, perhaps—that could tell me if I made the right choice; this silence alone cuts through like a sharp blade to a flesh. The distance, a bullet to the gut. Snap out of it, Oogame…don't let personal issues affect your performance at work…! You knew her more than anyone could have hoped; have faith in her, lay the thought to rest and focus on what's ahead—it's what she would expect from you, too.

Quickly, I reach for the keys for the literature club's clubroom and bury the demons that claw incessantly at the abyss of my mind. My thoughts race at each shriek that it made, drawing me closer to a panic that multiplies in size at the behest of the ticking clock. My phone vibrates and for a moment, a copious amount of air rushes out of my lungs.

["I will."]

Within that one simple reply lies the sentiment of a thousand words that tames the beast. Colors slowly bleeds back to my reality as warm air blows from the end of the tunnel; a glimmer of light from this infernal maze. The palpitation steadies to a manageable reach and I walk towards the door, moving to the next responsibility at hand—one that seals the day, just like any other. I slide the door open…

"Ah, sensei! What a coincidence!"

"Mikawa…something the matter?"

Before me, the very model of a top student stands at attention with a folder cradled between her arms and chest, smiling radiantly as she tightens her hold. Her bangs and ponytail sways to the side following the momentum as she slightly tilts her head, giving off an air of maturity and serenity that makes her…who she is, Mikawa Aya. Gently, I slide the door to a close as she politely offers the A4-sized plastic sleeve that she has been carrying. "I'm here to submit the budget report for class 3-2, sensei."

I accept her gift; the scent of lilac permeates through.

"If it's this, you could have given it to me at the club room, right?"

"That is true, but I intend to drop it at the faculty office," she replies, followed with a simple gesture of putting her hands together. "But it is much more convenient with you here, sensei! Shall we head to the club room?"

Be it another day, I would have taken her offer as a friendly gesture that is iconic to the benevolent club leader. However, wariness wraps and constricts my arms that receives the folder, creeping along its length at the dissemination of the sweet, airy odor that slowly dominates our space in but a short span of time; a sudden urge of 'fight or flight' looms like a shadow, yet all I can return is but a smile and a gesture that invites her for a walk to our destination. She happily accepts, gracefully striding to my right with her book bag on her shoulder and a folder sandwiched in a cradle of her arms.

My thoughts trails to the events of last evening, the sharp cut Monika delivered at the dead of the night.

"SHE DID THIS! WHO IS SHE…!? WHAT IS SHE TO YOU…?"

Who is she to me, exactly? This student of mine, an admiration of many—an idol, raised by a pedestal of achievements and merit; an irrevocable status symbol. What is she to me, honestly? Just a student? A friend? Or perhaps…more? The cracks in my moral compass starts to form, revealing a world of uncertainty and ugliness that existed prior—ignored under superficial layers of authority, respect, and responsibility. With her hair done to a style that is elegant and neat, she trots along to my right with an aura of vulnerability and loyalty; of trust and admiration, equal to her partner in this moment—me. A visual-couple; synergy between a high achieving student and her mentor akin to the dramas that echoes from shoujo mangas, a dream scenario for many. And yet…

…yet I can't help but be at unease. This feeling of guilt that is laced with contentment—this warmth that races the pace of my core against a backdrop of sin and taboo; a presence that is both addictive, pleasurable, and yet…dangerous in nature. But isn't the same can be applied to Monika? She, a student and I, the teacher…a similar scenario for two different woman…or is it?

The way she acts, how she speaks, the subtle giggle when she smiles are nothing special and is…consistent through our history. Then, why now? Why do I start noticing these…things…now?

Who is Mikawa? What do I really think of her?

…

That is a riddle I have yet come to answer; a question that has become more difficult with time.

The clubroom, a space leased by the school for the purpose of the literature club within the old school building. Here, the members of the literature club share their passion from one heated discussion to another, vying for the opinion of the next and the cravings of compliments and criticism that could inject their creation into something more. Often, the space is dominated by the club's president and vice-president with their exemplary writing and achievements, or the occasional stroke of brilliance by the fledgling writer and her world-building—not today, however. As they scramble to meet their deadlines for the festival, I take my usual position as an observer of the club and flip a book to past the time—'The book of est' by Luke Rhinehart—as a means of escape from my own thoughts; one that has been screaming and kicking at the bleak premise of my epiphany. What better way to do so than drown yourself in fiction? English may be one of my strong points, but to read a book entirely of the language can still prove to be a challenge once in a while.

"I guess it's only you and me, sensei."

Lowering the book from my peripheral vision, I glance at the club's designated baker for the festival who is left to idle as the others are off to different parts of the school, be it the computer lab or the resource room as dictated by their tasks—not even the club president is spared. Obase stands at attention, his unkempt tie, hair, and blazer reflects how he always is to the untrained, yet a glimmer of light and focus that reflects from his eyes betrays that notion—observant, disciplined, and most of all determined to see things until its end. With him and I left in the clubroom, I motion for him to take a seat; after all, I could use a light discussion to help ease my mind, if not just a bit.

"You don't have anything to do, Obase?"

Pulling one of the foldable steel chair for use, he chuckles lightly. "That will come in time once the baking starts."

"That's a week from now."

"I know," he huffs as his weight collapses on the chair. "I'll be busy then, that is certain."

I close my book—not to forget to mark the page with a fold, formed by my index finger and thumb. "Shouldn't you be helping the others? Mikawa is working on the pamphlets and—"

"Well, um…" he cuts. The air sinks unnaturally. "She doesn't want help,"

"Just like last night—or any other time when you're around, sensei."

…

I push the rim of my glasses with my fingers, setting the book down on my lap as Obase clicks his tongue, as if a great secret has been accidentally left out of the bag. He flips his chair around so as to rest is arms and the weight of his head on its support as his eyes darts to the side, erratically shifting from side to side, reflecting his current state of mind—thinking, reflecting, and contemplating…or so I believe. Like a chord pulled from its plug or a sudden jerk in motion, my cognition grinds to a sudden halt as the young man sighs nonchalantly and returns with a look that reminisce an owl against a flashlight. He observes with curiosity and amusement against my bewildered expression, chuckling heartily with glee after he has his fill; I, however, am less than amused.

"You didn't know about that, sensei?" he continues with a grin, "I thought you would have noticed that, too."

I shrug, "That's a first. How long did it take you?"

"About a week."

Obase grins and yawns lazily, stretching from his awkward position before shifting his weight around to draw what comfort exist from the foldable steel chair. The surface cracks, the knowledge I've come to accept as an unblemished truth sheds its skin to reveal a slimy muck that consumes all; a façade that has been cleverly maintained, fooling anyone who dared. The club leader of the literature club, Mikawa Aya, an accomplished young girl who stand amongst her peers, untouchable, may have things hidden underneath a veil of merit and smiles, cleverly embellished to conceal a face she desperately tries to hide. For starters, there are certain…peculiarities that comes to mind; Monika's claim being one of them. But aside of that…

"Obase," I start, "Can you tell me what happened last night?"

"What, did something broke?" he asks. I nod with a stern look, garnering a reply of unfiltered surprise. "Well, shi—uhh, excuse my language."

A hint of discomfort and unease, spewing in multiple directions. I wave dismissively to ease his concern.

"Well, uh…how should I start…?"

He scratches the back of his head as he formulates a story; an event that I wasn't supposed to know, one that even Monika refused to reveal beyond the name of the suspect—a conundrum that expands in size and reach, a young woman of my intrigue. What it encompasses is the span of but no less than ten minutes after I fell into slumber, where the members were just starting with the dishes and she—Mikawa—with concerns on time. Vaguely, an image crops in my mind as I attempt to picture the scenario described as vivid as Obase could the moment when—despite the abundance of work to be done—Mikawa insisted everyone to return home under Aki's supervision. But that isn't what Obase emphasizes…

"I objected, naturally; it's not like my house was in Nishi-Kawaguchi, that would be Yuu—err, Kazuma's and Hanayama's."

"Yuuki and Satsuki, you mean?"

He nods. "Yeah, them."

"No need to be stiff, Obase; this isn't an interrogation, after all."

"Right…so where was I?" he trails briefly, quickly returning seconds later. "Oh, right! I mean, I can literally walk and be home in thirty—maybe forty minutes! Nishi-Funabashi isn't like crazy far from Funabashi station, right?"

He sighs, "But still she insisted to do everything alone. Don't tell me you didn't notice any of this, sensei?"

No…and to be honest, this is a first. "So, did anybody touched the computer?"

"I wouldn't know," he shrugs. "What happened to your computer?"

"It's—"

~GARARA

The door slides open in a gentle that drops the air to a standstill, silencing my reply to a hushed tone. With a clear file wrapped in her arms, Mikawa steps in with a smile upon noticing our presence, pacing to the end of the class with a cheeky, spirited attitude that reminds me of her counterpart beyond my reality, greeting us with confidence and a friendly attitude that constantly graces the club. We smile in return, nervously—cautious, knowing full-well the conspiracy that has circulate and prayed that she didn't caught wind of it.

"I'm back!"

"Oh, welcome back!" Obase greets. "Is that our pamphlet?"

Mikawa quickly draws a sample; a simple pamphlet, yet colorful and warm in its presentation of the club and all to be distributed during the festival. With a curve that stretches from ear to ear, she raise the object high for us to admire. "Yes, it is! What do you think? Would this help us get new members?"

"Maybe," Obase shrugs. "I hope it would; new faces are always nice."

She nods in zest with a wholehearted smile before returning them to her folder. "Ah…! I'm sorry! Did I…interrupt both you and sensei earlier?"

…!

…

I glance at Obase, meeting him in the middle with a grin that transcends any form of verbal communication, unanimous in our decision to remain confidential of what was discussed against her attempt to pry. With a nod I conclude our quick discussion and formulate a response to be churned for the curious club president, an enigma of its own.

"Nothing to worry about, it's just a light discussion about the recent patch of 'K#nc0lle' and the upcoming in-game event."

She glances at Obase, briefly contemplating as she rests her black pen on her lips, shrugging nonchalantly before returning to her desk. Obase chuckles, pushing the muscles on my cheeks to contract into a smile at the conclusion of the encounter; a little exchange of trust between two men. My thoughts, however, wanders back to the events of last night as missing pieces of the puzzle presents itself to form a scene missing from my memory. If the others left just ten-fifteen minutes after I retire, then indeed Mikawa is the suspect—that makes Monika to be speaking the truth. But if so, then…

Why? Even if it is true, then what was her motive?

I dart my eyes to the club president, diligently working on a task she draws from her book bag.

A cold chill claws through my nape, vanishing in but a fleeting moment.

The cluttering echo of the steel object I drop at my desk synchronizes with the chime of the Westminster at five, ending the day for the students and kick-starting the events that is to be set in motion. The spotted, wide, beige ceiling with its lights that glimmers at the corner of my eye brings an air of tension that increases at the ticking tempo of the wall clock, carelessly minding its business, unknowingly judging the lives of those it affects with its omnipresent arm that dictates its schedule. I stride towards a wall where a hanging, green board is at a display, along with rows of keys of varying teeth—a place where we store the skeleton that unlocks the doors of this facility. The dangling pieces of metal clinks in unison as another one of its kind returns to its rightful spot, and I sigh with relief and contemplation at the conclusion of the day—well, not exactly.

I rummage through my pocket and glimpse at the piece of technology that rests in the palm of my hand; the deafening silence, coupled with the artificial glow that displays of nothingness chews on my deteriorating mental state, nourishing the growing concern of the paradox that once shared my joy, sadness, and pain. As if a physical one isn't enough, a communication barrier is exactly what I need right now; the gods truly are comedic geniuses. I would love to meet one and gouge their vocal chords for the pleasure they find in this. To think that three months prior, my biggest concern—aside from the occasional 'I want to die'—would be 'how am I supposed to collect all the goods from a chain-restaurant collaboration for a collectible'; my, how far things have changed. Relationships are so complicated, if not unpredictable…

"Still talking to that 'chat-bot'?" a leery voice I've grown to despise echoes to my left as the source extends its arm and cause the rows of key to 'clink' in unison, causing me to jerk in surprise. He grins scornfuly, "I'm still amused how 'NEET' wasn't your first choice for a career—maybe we can salvage something after all."

"Not to worry," Kitamura-senpai continues. "By the end of today, it's all going to change."

Tapping my shoulder with a force that bears its weight in seniority, Kitamura-senpai motions—with a nudge—to follow him to the exit for our 'incursion'. Reluctantly, I fetch my bag and match his footsteps as we wade through the rather peaceful halls that are lit by the bleeding light of the setting sun, passing the occasional students that still lingers after the end of club activities, greeting and politely reminding them of the time and the urgency to leave the premise; no such thing as 'afterschool class rendezvous' popularized by anime, manga, and any contemporary work of fiction in the industry. After all, I may be an otaku, but I can differentiate what is real and what isn't—Monika is certainly the former.

After a short distance, we find ourselves in the parking lot where senpai—proudly—draws a key and with a push of a button, a beeping echo beckons us to its direction, towards one of his pride and joy.

"You have a car…"

He chuckles, "Of course I do; I'm married, a car is a must. Please, step inside."

I never knew how 'well-off' senpai is; a car isn't exactly cheap here, let alone the annual tax, maintenance, and insurance that comes as part of its baggage. Though a family car in design, the vehicle in question is one of the more recent models released under a year ago with a price tag that may take around a year or two at most to meet—minus the maintenance and the insurance. I enter from the left and take the front seat as senpai takes on the wheel, turning the keys and starting the engine in a quiet hum that barely qualifies as a whisper; only the vibration of the engine and the blinking lights on the dashboard works as the only notifying cue. When the vehicle rolls out of the parking spot and into the streets, it's instantly telling how much of a pleasure it is to drive the machine—smooth, comfortable, and from what I can tell from my observation of his control on the wheel, responsive. A pleasurable curve contracts the muscles of his cheeks as he grips on the steering, guiding it to his rhythm to match his pace; assertive and confident, gently pressuring the brakes as the traffic light teases to a stop.

"You know, this is the second time you agreed to go to a gokon, isn't it?"

"Is it?" I reply hesitantly. Frankly, I can't remember—most outings tend to be disastrous and emotionally draining for the likes of me. "I know I've rejected most of your invitation, senpai; that, I can confirm."

"Don't be silly, I was your supervisor during your first year—I know what's best for you."

I sigh, "Then with all due respect, stop passing your responsibility to me."

"Heh, don't get ahead of yourself, Oogame," he grins. "I am still your senpai, and I believe you still need the…experience—call it an 'enrichment opportunity'. No hard feelings, but you just happen to make it easy; I'm only doing what I have to."

With a glare that slices through the thin, welcoming, façade, he reinforces his stance and hums mockingly; a response I've come to expect. "Don't you worry, Oogame; unlike you, I haven't been idle with the extra time you've given—especially not to the likes of a 'glorified software'."

…

"Idle, you say?"

"For example," he said, making the turn around the corner. "I wouldn't be able to arrange this little 'fun' now, wouldn't I? It's a lot better than wasting it on an inanimate voice box like you do; time is precious, after all."

…

I see…it was worth a shot, but I guess he wasn't interested in the first place; I've expected that all along—and should've have known better. It's just how the world works in the first place; one man's misery is another man's pleasure, the suffering of one grants euphoria to another. Kitamura-senpai understands these basic laws and acted on it all in his self-interest—and I have no one to blame but my own hubris. A collateral.

I slump down in silence, quietly telling myself to calm the beast from tearing the chains until a better opportunity arises. As comforting as the ride has been, the air is far from easy to breathe; as if a single flick from a lighter could ignite a chain reaction that combusts the space and consume us in a fiery death. I rest my hand on my pocket, feeling the object that maintains its animosity—unattended—as the blue sky darkens and the sun sets at a distance. The scenery that flashes, coinciding with the flow of time, reminds me of the days before I fell into the web of office politics and deceit. How long has it been since I last see the changing sky outside of the institution? To be home into the welcoming embrace just when the sky turns violet, greeted with a smile that challenges the last glow of the sunset? It all seems like a passing dream…

One day when I ask myself if all of this is 'worth it', then I'll raise my head and say it with pride; 'yes, it is.'

"We're here."

The bright neon lights of the installation invades our peripheral vision—a karaoke bar, situated close to a familiar street I've walked; only this time, I'm not with Monika. The shimmering lights, the men and the women dressed in glamour, and the distant echo of electronic music and lustful symphony, all complimented by the waft of tobacco and alcohol. Indeed, we have arrived in Shinjuku's Kabukicho, once more. The lights, the sound, the atmosphere—everything that encompasses the moment brings about a smile I never knew I had. To think that we return to a…memorable setting; you do remember what happened here about two weeks ago, do you senpai? What a fitting end…

"Now, whatever I ask you to do, Oogame," he starts. "You do as I tell you to—and maybe, you'll land yourself a real woman. I scratch your back, you scratch mine; got it?"

I nod quietly as he rests on the wheel, exhausted but nonetheless satisfied of the small journey. Unceremoniously, he shuts the engine and removes the gleaming ring that dug into the skin of his finger, dropping it carelessly into a sleeve within his bag; the muscles around his cheek contorts with glee as the object disappears into the abyss, a look reminisce to a crocodile upon its prey. My stomach churns, knocking on the ever-present sympathy—not for the animal, mind you, but for its kin. Doubts forms into dark clouds over my head.

"Senpai," I start, catching him slightly off guard. "Why are we doing this? Doing a gokon, I mean."

"Why not?"

I click my tongue and bite down on the lower lip, "I mean, you're married! Wouldn't your wife have a—"

"So long as she's busy with the kids, then its fine; what they don't know wouldn't harm them, right?"

"But—!"

"Oogame," I jolt, taken aback by his roar and his tone. "Unless it has anything to do with you, this is nothing of your concern! Understood?"

Cornered, I have little choice but to comply. "Yes…sorry, senpai."

Kitamura-senpai huffs and groans, darting his eyes to the side as he recomposes from the recoil, glancing at his bag momentarily before gazing up at the rearview mirror—much to my surprise. The neon lights continues to mesmerize in its design, bleeding its colors through the glass windows and forming patterns of beautiful colors on the dashboard. He gazes up at the colors, to his bag, and sighs. "Call it what you will, but you and I aren't much different, Oogame."

"You see," he continues. "We work from morning to night, toiling away like machines with little recognition or pay; like robots churning out shit that no one gives a flying fuck about. It could drive a man insane..."

Kitamura-senpai sighs, "But that's why we have all these wonderful distractions, all these…coping mechanism,"

"Pornography, video games, magazines, and even your little 'chat-bot' are created for that purpose. To entertain, keep us sane; in my case, my inherent love for women."

"I'm not going to let some physical object tie me down from doing what I love," he continues with a snicker. "That's just how it is. I have my vices, you have yours. Now let's go, we wasted enough time here."

As dislikable as he is as a person, Kitamura-senpai's bout of reflection does have its points. As we both step out of the vehicle and head inside, I glance at the man whom I've condemned and wonder whether doing so is an act of hypocrisy—of myself, or of the things society stands for. We exist to work ourselves to the bone, raised by a system that demands an endless source of obedient drones that is to be depleted and disposed once its function comes to an end, generation after generation. To live in ignorance of this is not a matter of will, but of choice; those who decide not to, find the means to cope. In all honesty, even the 'choice' itself is but an illusion.

Senpai's love and appreciation towards woman is his means of coping to the system; a way to remain sane. Just as the superfluous world of anime, games, and manga, or my zealous dedication to Monika before she came to be; all the same, just with a different coat of paint. In the end, we are but a single entity part of a larger, hypocritical society—and in reality, we happen to be on the opposing end. I almost feel guilty for a second there…almost. No hard feelings, senpai, but just as you said…

'I'm only doing what I have to do.'

When the door of the karaoke bar opens, we are greeted by a world that I've long forgotten to have exist. It wasn't how quiet the lobby is, nor is it the resonating echo that comes from the corridors where each individual rooms are located, but by the thick atmosphere that reeks of alcohol, smoke, and puke that subtly permeates from the visible stains of the carpeted floor; the scent of nightlife, if you will—a smell that is occasionally recognizable in Tokyo's alleys and shadier businesses, along with an oddly sweet, fishy stench that I fail to recognize. The register, not more than possibly thirty, welcomes us with a polite bow before Kitamura-senpai inquire about the room that has been reserved for the occasion, prompting the man to call its current occupant at the moment to greet before guiding both of us to the side.

For a minute, we wait. When the occupant arrives, I am unsure whether I should put a smile or curse the gods.

"Oogame! You don't look the type, so I didn't expect you to come! What changes your mind?"

"Ikari-senpai, good evening," I reply quickly with a polite bow. "I figured I could use a drink and some…company after work."

In a few quick, successful steps Kitamura-senpai cuts in ahead and pressures my shoulders. "This means youwill be paying the drinks tonight, Oogame-kun!"

…

"Excuse me," I reply with haste, quickly facing both Ikari and Kitamura-senpai—the former bearing an apologetic look. "I wasn't informed about this…?"

"I'm sorry, Oogame," Ikari-senpai starts. "But Kitamura and I had a bet that if he can get you into this one, I'll be paying the food and you the drinks."

For the love of—great, another backdoor deal without my consent. Lovely. "And what if I didn't come?"

"I will be paying for everything," Kitamura-senpai cuts in. "But of course you'll come; you and I get along pretty well, after all!"

Like cats and dogs, that's for sure—especially when the dog has rabies and needs to be put down.

"Now, let's not waste any more time. Are the ladies present, Ikari?"

He nods, "Yes, they are; you two are the last arrivals. Come, let us not make them wait."

As Ikari-senpai gestures with his hand and a slight bow towards the hall, Kitamura-senpai draws a comb from his breast pocket and hastily—albeit smoothly—tidies his hair, if not just a bit for that coveted positive first impressions. The loud vibration of the music, its echo that seeps from behind closed doors resonates alongside the laughter, chatter, and singing that is neither amazing nor terrible. The carpet, although vacuumed to immaculate, still holds its history with the patches of stains that dots the surface—of what, only god knows. At the end of the hall to our left is a door with a single, diamond-shaped viewing port; an audible echo of a feminine laughter resonates from within. This must be the reserved room where our activity will start.

Opening the door, three young women are seated next to one another in a single row, whispering.

"Ladies, Ayanami," Ikari-senpai starts. "Allow me to introduce Kitamura and Oogame, my colleagues and the last two participant. Gentlemen, if you please."

Ikari-senpai's smooth and beautiful use of words, a trait I've admired from one linguist to another, certainly does have its appeal as he gestures us to take a seat adjacent to the group. The women giggles and nods in unison, politely guiding with their open palm where we take our seats, with Kitamura-senpai being the closest to the television, then Ikari-senpai, and I, respectively. The three young woman before us—one of which not older than around twenty-twenty one, maybe less, kindly smiles at my direction and fixes her glasses with a push on the rims; coincidentally or not, she's seated adjacent to me. I am not one that is able to appreciate this atmosphere—awkward, oppressive, and uneasy. Let alone Monika, dealing with the opposite sex can be a taxing, mentally draining experience I still have trouble coping; it took nearly a month, a long talk with a stranger in an oden store, and a handful of courage for me to open myself to the former alone—and she's giving the cold shoulder for reasons unknown. Then, there is Mikawa. In the curious case of my literature club's president, she is that of a puzzle I have yet to solve with an unmistakable vibe; something that I can't put my fingers on, familiar and alien—an oxymoron. Comforting, yet risqué.

With all these things going on, there's little space for me to respond properly to the endearing young ladies and their keen interests.

"Then let us start," Kitamura-senpai invites with confidence, seizing the scene like an idol on a stage. "Ladies, is there anything I could offer to start our festivities?"

The women squeals with delight—likely impressed by senpai's confidence and gentlemen-like charisma; it benefits him even further knowing how desirable he can be, a trait I'm sure he recognize. With his little introductory speech, the gokon starts first with a row of alcoholic drinks ordered at his courtesy along with a plate of light snacks—both of which are to be compensated by Ikari-senpai and I. We toast with our beverages, and as time flows in this forsaken event, I start to notice how…gifted Kitamura-senpai can be in the art of seduction and appeasement. His smile, gesture, and charisma charms the ladies like a beacon at the bottom of an abyss, drawing them helplessly as words twists and turns at his will; it explains how an innocent high school student could easily fall into prey.

"Oogame, aren't you going to be a bit more assertive?" Ikari senpai nudges, "You've been relatively passive; do you not have any interest in these fine ladies? I can see one of them seem to have a keen eye for you."

I take a sip from my glass and sighs, "Senpai, with respect, I happen to have someone dear to me."

"Oh! Then why did you come here?"

"Well, it's—"

"Don't mind him, Ikari!" Kitamura-senpai interjects, "His 'special someone' exists only in his imagination—fictional! In other word, he's a nijigen!"

He laughs condescendingly, yet in such a way that it is perceived as nothing more than a tease to our esteemed audiences who follows suit with giggles of their own. Ikari-senpai too, is convinced of Kitamura-senpai's remarks and further encourages my participation; an increase of alcohol would suit nicely, or so they suggest. By the end of the first thirty minutes, both parties are mingled in random discussions, in no small part thanks to Kitamura-senpai's confidence and charm. And I…

…I'm getting more frustrated. At the gokon, the laughter of the girls, Kitamura-senpai's taunts, and at myself. What am I doing here?

I'm here to free myself, aren't I? To slay the demon by cutting its wings off and dissect it open to reveal all its ugliness for all to see, to reap a victory promised with the arsenal I have at my disposal. Then why am I playing along in this madness? This can't keep up, or I'll lose my chance to properly humiliate the bastard—I need to somehow get rid of Ikari-senpai. I can't let anyone else from work get involved in this matter. But how…?

"Oogame! Get me another nama here, please," Ikari-senpai calls out as he arms one of the participants. "Oh, and one more of that cola-whiskey for Ayanami-chan as well."

The demon chuckles, "Slow down, Ikari! You might pass out if you drink too fast—who's going to take you home then?"

Catching a glance at Ikari-senpai, it becomes apparent how…enamored he is—not with his company who, admittedly, is doing her best to catch his attention, but to the jug of brewed malt he prize like a golden goblet, consuming it in succession that impresses as much as it concerns the young woman. It also becomes apparent to me how notoriously low his alcohol tolerance is and why he is infamous to be the first to get drunk in every mandatory company parties; moments where he sang 'jingle bells'—out of tune and pronunciation—before passing out during last year's Christmas party speaks volume.

…

Then it hit me…

"Don't worry, drink to your fill, senpai," I reply with a mustered smile. "It's on me, after all."

"Hey, see! Oogame understands how to be a friend! Good man!"

"Kitamura-senpai, would you like some too?"

He chuckles, waving dismissively. "Now you're into it! No thanks, I need to drive later."

His guard is down. Perfect; they say, 'alcohol gives you infinite patience for stupidity'. Let's put that to the test, shall we? After all…

I never intend to pay for these expenses.

A wise man once said, 'alcohol is man's worst enemy'.

A beverage that, when consumed in low quantity, provides the individual with euphoria, reduced anxiety, and sociability that makes it a staple in most parties once you've reach adulthood. In high doses, however, it is the bane of humanity where man's idiocy and illogical actions takes hold under the guise and influence of drunkenness, stupor, and unconsciousness that is followed with a morning of pain, regret, and misery. I've experienced it, luckily within the confines of my own abode and with Monika as my witness; and that was before she came to be. Surely it is man's worst enemy…

But it will be my best ally and Kitamura's worst by the end of the night.

"Geez, do you really have to indulge him, Oogame-kun?" my company, Chie, remarked in exasperation as Ikari-senpai downs another jug—likely, his last for tonight. "He doesn't look too well…"

I grin cynically, "He'll be fine; Ikari-senpai's alcohol tolerance is commendable."

"D-damn straight, Oogame! I c-can—" he pause, burping incessantly and pushing poor Ayanami away. "—j-jush gimmeeeee anotheerrrrr…."

After an hour of copious amounts of alcohol, Ikari-senpai retires with a snore, completely neglecting Ayanami and leaving Kitamura-senpai, the other two women, and myself as the remaining participant in this blind date. We're only an hour into the event, a few ice breakers, sang a few songs, and had little talks here and there about topics that is not of my concern or interest. Glancing at Kitamura-senpai it's quite easy to tell how jolly he is regardless of the situation; after all, having one of the youngest participant, Yukari, clinging to him in a daze must have pumped his confidence and libido to pierce the heavens of his ego.

Now, let's change that, shall we? Let's make it a night he wish he could forget.

"Nee…Oogame-kun," Chie starts with a whisper, breaking my focus. "Is something the matter? You don't seem to be invested—you haven't even have your second or third glass."

With all honesty, I do feel a pang of guilt for the bespectacled girl, Chie, who genuinely invests her time in this occasion. It's sad to say that I may be the least interesting person in this room—more so to know that she pours all her effort to draw me to the overall atmosphere I purposely detach from; after all, I agreed to this charade not of interest, but of coercion and revenge. With a sigh, I glance at her and bend to whisper with my glass at hand. "I'm sorry, but I really am in a committed relationship."

"Is that so…" she replies, voice laden heavy with disappointment and frustration. "Then…could you at least tell me your reason for participation? Help me understand why; Ayanami did her best to organize all of us here and now she's watching that drunk, Yukari looks as if she's having the time of her life with that man, and I can't help but feel a bit…left out…"

I muster a smile, carefully eavesdropping to Kitamura-senpai's conversation with his partner—elation, exhilarating, and flirtatious; regrettably, this is where I will end the night. I down my glass of beer. "Don't mistake me, Makinami, but if we ever meet in another time or circumstance, I may be more open for conversation. However,"

"Right now, I have a score to settle."

Kitamura-senpai laughs with glee as his hand extends and slithers around the waist of his company, feeling her hip lustfully which she gladly accepts. The pair, lost in amorous intoxication and pleasure flirts without care, lost in their own paradise made out of alcohol and wishful dreams of a meaningful encounter. I listen, closely waiting for the moment to strike—to rob Kitamura-senpai of the things he love, to disgrace him from his stature, and ultimately to free myself from his shackles.

"I didn't know you're like this, Abe!" Yukari flirts in first-name basis. "Handsome, rich…you must have someone already, right?"

He wags his finger and replies in English; no, don't ask how I feel about it. "No, no, no!"

"Hee…really…?"

"He's married."

…

Eyes suddenly darts to my direction, focusing their intensity as I take a gulp on the drink that is served on the table—Kitamura-senpai's cutting glare pierces the air. I stand firm, feeling light on my head and stare daggers in return. His partner quickly scoots, pushing his arm away from her with a look of disbelief and shock while, in an act to save his face, Kitamura-senpai raises his left hand for all to see.

"Ladies, that's just a joke, don't worry! See? Nothing!" he lowers his hand. "I'm a loyal kind-of guy; if I am married, I would have the ring on me all the time."

"He does," I interrupt. "It's probably hidden in the car, within his bag. He wouldn't be bringing it here, naturally. Else he couldn't bring one or two of you to a hotel later."

I chuckle mockingly, garnering an increase of hostility from the beast as the women all look on each other with disbelief, noticing the sudden loss of joy diluted by the unbridled rage of my prey. I smile, provoking him further. How does it feel, senpai? To have the things you love robbed and mocked in public?

"Oogame…" he starts with a lighter, suppressed tone in an attempt to maintain his fracturing image. "You must be drunk out of your mind! You know full well that I'm single, right? Ladies, don't listen to this nijigen—he's delusional."

I humph, "At least I'm still honest about the things I love; I can't say the same about your loyalty to your wife and child."

His partner recoils in surprise. "You have a…child? Already? But you said earlier…"

Kitamura bursts out laughing, "N-no, no! I mean, you really want to believe—"

"Don't get me started on how he touch his student."

The tone has been set. Yukari politely excuses herself, inching away and moves to the side of Ayanami who is still tending to Ikari-senpai, fast asleep on the couch. The song in TV continues to play, yet all we hear is the deafening silence of an encroaching tempest; furious and destructive. The whispers of the female participants, the lingering insults directed at him is the symphony that will lead me to battle. The stage has been set.

He chuckles, dying at the last note. "Oogame…let's step outside for a bit. You may need to cool off."

"As you wish, senpai."

Like two dogs herded to a ring, I take my bag and walk out of the room with Kitamura-senpai closely behind me. I excuse myself politely, leaving them to care for Ikari-senpai as we venture out of the karaoke bar and to the idle streets, occupied with a few bystanders and shady individuals dressed in dirty casuals or sharp suit. I feel a tap on my shoulder, prompting me to turn…

…and I saw 'white'.

It happen in a flash, a mere second and without warning until the searing pain settles on my right eye and the 'thud' as my weight comes into contact with the hot asphalt. A clutter rings just a few meters away from my face, far enough not to be of arms reach as my vision blurs—not from the impact, but of the loss of my vision apparatus. My head feels lighter, yet I feel a sense of confidence I've never felt before as I look up at the bounty. The demon roars.

"You know, Oogame, things could have turned out differently tonight," he spits. "It could've been a fine night—for you, and me. I get to take someone home, stop at a hotel, have a good time, but oh no…"

His tone depresses, seeped in fury. "You just have to fucking ruin it! What part of 'do as I say' do you not understand?"

"Oh I'm sorry, maybe I should speak in English for you to understand! Living abroad must have made you forget about your language!"

"Maybe," he continues. "Maybe you have forgotten about manners—do you not see? I AM YOUR SENPAI! YOU HAVE TO—!"

"'Shiho Ariake'," I spit and like a spell, the beast froze in terror. "Such a lovely name, but I believe you're…familiar with it aside from being that of our student."

I raise to my feet and pull my weight, dusting my suit before picking up my fallen spectacles which, unfortunately, is of little use to aid my vision. Kitamura-senpai recoils in surprise as a small crowd of curious bystander slowly gathers at the spectacle that unfolds. The scene, the neon lights, the atmosphere…it brings me back to that evening; my, how the table have turned…

"You think I didn't catch that, Kitamura," I grin mockingly. "You think you're the only one who has…'connections'? I have eyes and ears too, you know."

He takes a step back, defensively. "W-what are you talking about? Even if I do have a connection with 'her',you do not have proof! Don't forget that I still—"

His lips suspends, agape, eyes widen in shock, and voice drowned by our surroundings of murmurs and whispers as I raise my phone and reveal to him a picture Monika took during that encounter. I smile cynically, reveling in the position of power I hold over this filth; disgusting, I know, but I can see why someone can get addicted to this. Monika was right; 'sometimes the key to happiness is to just be hopelessly selfish'.

"I suggest you pick your words and actions carefully, Kitamura. You'll never know where this picture might end up in."

Chuckling, I take a step forward at the pitiful man who slowly backs away, like a cornered rat. "Just by a glance, you can tell this is you—fresh out of a love hotel; oh, who's this girl…?"

"Isn't this," I point at the girl in the image. "Isn't this Shiho Ariake…? Your student? A quiet girl, often disparate from the rest of her peers, making her a prime target for bullying—and yet recently, a 'little bird' told me that she acquired a…lover, so to speak."

I continue, "I don't think it's a coincidence that she's often late in periods where you are absent of class, Kitamura. I believe the school board would be interested with this information to keep their name clean; your family and police could have an interest. "

"How did you know all this…?"

"As I say," I chuckle. "I have eyes and ears."

"What do you want…!" he roars. Still stubbornly cling to that illusion of yours, I see. "Y-you won't get anything from me! DO YOU NOT CARE ABOUT YOUR CLASS REPRESENTATIVE, OR YOUR CAREER!? I—"

"With a press of a button I can just delete your career and life, right here and right now; I am in control now. After all," I chuckle. "I do have someone I'm committed to—you know, that 'chat bot'? So why should I care?"

"YOU'RE CRAZY!" he screams. "ALL THIS FOR SOME PROGRAM…!? WAKE UP! SHE DOESN'T EXIST!"

"She's real to me."

The bystanders mutter, out of curiosity and intrigue at this encounter—a side-show from the monotonous life reality offers. Kitamura backs away, desperate to bite back yet restrained by the whispers that murmurs—all against him. 'Immoral', 'despicable human', 'trash', and many more that echoes my sentiment while some starts to walk away and disperse so as not to attract the attention of the police—of course, we can always take this further.

"You know, I don't condone student-teacher relationship, Kitamura." I start, closing our final distance. "So I may report this to the school board—maybe even your family and the authorities so they can deal with it."

"You…!"

"But I don't wish to trouble outside parties concerning our feud, so I may let this slide. That is of course, in one condition," I inch close to a whisper. "That is if you get the fuck out of my back and leave. Me. Alone."

He recoils, raising his fists to deliver a blow that never came upon noticing the crowd that gasps at the sig along with the three participants of the gokon and Ikari-senpai, who watches in disbelief; an unexpected turn of events, but otherwise welcomed. His image and reputation, ruined. I smile discreetly, mocking him behind layers of spectators and eyewitnesses. Kitamura flinches in horror and defeat, "You…madman…!"

"I learned from the best. Besides," I continue, "Nobody would notice another madman in this mad world."

I pick my bag and the remaining pieces of my shattered glasses, "Oh by the way, you've racked up quite the bill to pay in this fine establishment. Good night."

Politely, I excuse myself from our esteemed guests and Ikari-senpai who, in his state of stupor and bewilderment, looks on at me and nods in approval before glancing to Kitamura, shaking his head in disappointment and disgust before leaving with Ayanami by his side. The crowd disperses as quickly as they gathered, making it easy for me to walk and blend into the night, passing the love hotel that made all of this possible. I grin at the sight; the pain on my right eye dissipates. Karma is a quite a bitch, isn't it? The taste of victory and freedom never feel so delectably sweet…yet bitter and disgusting.

In the end, I am no different than the demon that I've slain.

"I'm home."

I have little to say as I close the door behind me, sighing as I rest my head on the hard surface and latching the lock. I've come to understand, on my way home, what Monika meant when she begged me to find a peaceful solution; an answer that we conclude to be nonexistent due to the circumstances. That sweet taste of victory, delectable and irresistible, lasts only but a moment before vanishing by a sour, grainy aftertaste that lingers at the end. Have I really do the right thing? To fight fire with fire…is it really wise of me to do so? The girl, Shiho Ariake, is nothing but a victim within this proxy, yet I used her like a tool; a bargaining chip made out of an innocent soul. Someone I could have helped. Shiho may be nothing more than Kitamura's plaything, but she…

…she is content with it—happier than she ever was. Is it wrong of me to disrupt someone's happiness for the sake of 'moral high ground' set by society? Or is it a sin for us to pursue our own happiness? To be hopelessly selfish? I don't know anymore…

I open the door to my room and immediately, a voice echoes in shock. "Un2sD, you're hurt…!"

Without a whisper, I seat myself on the usual throne before her as an audience as she stress herself in forlorn, resting her palm on the screen at this pitiful sight. I toss my glasses—broken and unusable—on the desk and smile weakly, mustering a chuckle. Her emerald green eyes darts wildly, glistens by the reflection of the screen as she struggles to piece together the enigma, resting her palm helplessly on her end of reality but retreats in mere seconds. Still, I am lost in the maze she has erected against me.

"Monika, delete the work folder 'Kitamura'," I start. "His errands are no longer my concern; it is done."

She affirms in silence with nothing but a nod, her emerald eye lost in an array of emotions she refuses to describe, keeping me away in arms' length and not in the know. The tabs flashes and disappear, along with it the folder that should have been deleted long ago. An overwhelming sense of relief envelopes as I watch it all unfold, disappearing into the abyss of the system for her to banish permanently. Monika sighs, looks at me from the corner of her eye and affirms with a nod; it is done.

"How…do you feel?" she asks worryingly, yet distant. "Did you…?"

I nod weakly, "yes. It's settled."

"Good for you."

There is so much more to say, many more to come and yet this barrier she erected…it's driving me insane. Yes, everything with Kitamura may be settled, but what is happening here—with my life, with you—is not. Since the break of dawn, I tried what any reasonable man would do to open an avenue of conversation, a path that had disappeared without warning since last evening—and I am at a loss as to the reason why. Why can't you tell me, Monika? Why…?

I try to remember the discussion we had via the messaging app, wondering to strike another conversation.

"You said you had something important to tell me…?" I ask. "We can talk about it now, if you wish…?"

Monika's emerald eyes lights up, then dies as fast as it came. Meekly, she shakes her head and smiles with a hint of sadness, suppressing the thought and any possible conversation to be had; an act of selfishness that I remember from Sayori who hides her sadness behind a series of fake smiles and laughter. I shiver at the conclusion, worried over Monika's sake as she repeats the same damn pattern that led to her end—an ending I do not wish to see. I know how it felt, to keep everything to yourself, bottled, believing that by doing so others can continue to put a smile and act as if everything is ok—a self-destructive mentality that eats away at your soul, rejecting anyone who approaches for help, selfish and absurd.

I have to break through…

"Monika, don't be like this…" I start. "If there really is something of importance, please tell me. I can't sit around watching you like this…"

She denies, "No, it's not that, D2s4H=, it's just…I don't think the timing is right. Can we talk about this later, please…?"

With her eyes gazing in absence away from mine, I struggle to remain calm at the issue that grows between her and me. Indeed, it all began the night after the literature club member came for a visit, a time where I am left in the unknown of the events that unfold—a struggle, perhaps, between her and Mikawa, the leader of my literature club. In one end, I want to believe of the words that Monika said; the blame that falls solely at Mikawa's feet, an action that is damaging as it is uncalled for. Yet a part of me wants to deny it, a blame that incriminates a culprit that may just be as innocent as she seems to be; a student that I've raised and tailored to that of Monika—an equal, if not greater.

And here I wander, lost in a crossroad between Monika, Mikawa, and I...

Author's Note

Hi! Megu here! It's been a while, and I apologize for this extensive delay for this chapter. This chapter in particular has been difficult to write aside from the rewrites on some part, its length, and the heavy mood it brought upon. It was more of a challenge to finish, but here it is!

Here are some translations notes to help!

ToDai: Acronym for 'Tokyo Daigaku' or 'Tokyo University

Gokon/Goukon: Blind date event, usually organized by two parties who gather friends. Participants usually sit facing one another of opposite sex, discussing between themselves over 'who's getting who' along with a glass of alcohol, snacks, and/or songs.

Nijigen: A common insult, basically someone having a '2D complex'. Though whether you want to perceive this as an insult or not is up to the context.

Nama: A shortened word that derives from 'Nama beer' (生ビール) or 'raw/untapped beer'. Basically, standard word for 'draft beer', though its usage is universal to describe any beer-can or not.

Next chapter...we'll just see how it goes. I should be able to get the next one up in a week if it isn't too...mentally taxing like this one.