Intentions

[seannie4]

So, here it is.

A solid twelve years late to the party (does fashionably late even cover it?), but it's something nonetheless.

I encountered KS a few years back and played through it a little, but I think I was a little too young to really "get" what it was all about because I quickly abandoned it. It took until late last year for me to pick it back up and have it rip my heart out with how good it was. I suppose it's a testament to how timeless the writing is when KS is still drawing new converts (and fanfic writers, apparently) more than a decade after its release.

Credit must go to Leaty's excellent Mean Time to Breakdown, from which one incident in particular served as an inspiration for what follows. You'll figure it out quickly.

Oh, and one last thing.

I'm really sorry, Emi.

Chapter 1: Fragile (this post)
Chapter 2: Statements
Chapter 3: Tribute
Chapter 4: Doubt

---

Chapter 1: Fragile

This can’t be happening.

The girl clutches her head, trying to choke back the sobs. Her knees are curled up to her chin, lungs on fire, her heart pounding in her ears. It’s all she can do not to let the rising panic spill out of her completely.

I didn’t mean to do it! It was an accident!

The tears are making it hard to see, but she can hear. She can hear the panicked cries, the gasps from the ever-growing crowd of students filling the hallway. A voice, older male, she supposes, yells again for help. Someone must have tripped the panic button on the wall, as a dim red light seems to pulse from the corner of her vision, a beacon to the scene of an accident. Or perhaps a crime.

I’m so sorry.

I’m so sorry.

Please forgive me…

There’s a thundering of footsteps from further down the hall, growing louder and louder until they’re upon her. Stern voices calling for space, for everyone to get out of the way. Hands grip her shoulders before roughly sliding her up against the wall, telling her to stay there, not to move.

Jolted from her spiraling thoughts, if only temporarily, she wipes her eyes and takes in the scene in front of her.

A boy lies just meters from her bladed feet, sprawled and motionless. He’s face up, a little sprig of brown hair dangling limply from his head. She can see the academy nurses and medical staff, some dressed in white jackets, others in their work clothes, plowing through the gawking bystanders and kneeling at the boy’s side, forming a wall around him.

Shouts permeate the thick atmosphere.

“What’s going on here?”

“Some sort of accident with another student, I think there’s been a collision…”

A man with purple hair sweeps past, clutching a carry bag, a determined look set on his face. She knows him, and he knows her. For a second, he glances at her, one pair of eyes meeting another. His expression asks a question he can’t say out loud. Not right now.

Did you do this?

No! No, I was just running, I was rushing! I was late and had places to be and he just got in the way and I wasn’t looking and... and…

The excuses die in her throat. The nurse pushes his way to the center of the crowd, calling out orders as the rabble of medical personnel work feverishly to save the boy.

Save him from what she did to him.

No!

“Akio, tell me what the hell happened!”

“I… I don’t…”

“The boy’s got no pulse, he’s going into cardiac arrest!”

“Damn it, this is the new kid that’s got arrythmia. Sayaka, I need that defib, stat!”

Even with the nurses frantically moving about, she can catch glimpses of his face. It’s pale, it’s pale. His eyes are closed. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t seem to be breathing.

Oh god, I didn’t see you. I didn’t know you were there! Couldn’t have known. I didn’t mean to do it…

It feels as though her world is collapsing around her. The petty concerns of not ten minutes before- rushing to help with some printouts, watching the clock, needing to go faster and faster- seem so laughably small compared to the disaster unfolding before her eyes.

You were right around the corner, how was I supposed to know?!

You’re a murderer.

I’m not! I’m not! It was an accident, I swear! You have to believe me, please…

Her mind seems to be pulling itself apart. Her breath comes in gulps, as though she’s drowning in her own panic.

There’s a loud beeping noise as someone starts up what she supposes is a defibrillator. The dizzying movements of the medical staff around the stricken boy seem like some crazed interpretive dance.

What have I done?

The legs she treasures, the blades that allow her to sprint down the track like a speeding bullet, the very thing that makes the Fastest Thing on No Legs who she is, lie uselessly upon the floor. They may as well have killed this boy she’s never met.

Stop blaming the legs. You’re the one who broke the rules. You’re the one who was careless. You’re the one who killed him.

Shut up, shut up!

“No pulse, no breathing, I’m gonna need a start time on that defib before…”

“Watch it, stand clear!”

“Clear!”

“… no pulse, again!”

“Stand clear!”

“Clear!”

Unable to watch the desperate frenzy, she turns her head, attempting to find sanctuary in a calm face or a reassuring gesture amongst the stunned crowd. Her eyes fall upon the Student Council president and her pink-haired interpreter. Their expressions almost cause the tears to spill over again right then and there.

The tears make wide lines down Misha’s face, a hand covering her mouth to contain her sobs, or to stop the contents of her breakfast from coming back up. Misha’s other arm wraps around her friend as though to protect her from the scene before them.

But it’s Shizune’s face which makes her heart sink. No matter how angry or frustrated the president becomes, there’s always been an element of playfulness, or, at maximum, a determination, in her eyes. Through every scolding or upbraiding, Shizune never loses that brightness, the control that seems to emanate from her very body.

There is none of that now. This is a problem even the president cannot fix. It’s a disaster she cannot contain. Mere scolding will never undo what has occurred.

Shizune’s face is contorted in a look of abject horror and anguish, mouth and eyes open almost as though in disbelief. But what gets the double amputee the most is the sheer helplessness in her expression. It’s a look that conveys the question the blue-haired girl cannot ask.

Emi Ibarazaki, what have you done?!

What have you done?

What have I done?

…

What have I done?

“No response!”

“Where the hell is that ambulance?!”

“It’s on its way, one minute out, we gotta get him out of here!”

“We still don’t have a pulse…”

“We’ve done all we can. Bring that stretcher here, now!”

A stretcher is pushed through the crowd, wheels squeaking, stopping in front of her legs. There’s a frantic effort to mount the dying boy on the carriage, but Emi can barely see what’s in front of her – the tears have returned with a vengeance. It’s all becoming too much, too much.

You’ve really blown it now, haven’t you, Emi? It wasn’t enough to lose Dad, was it? Wasn’t enough to push the people you love away, huh? Now you just had to screw things up again.

It was a mistake!

You can’t take this back.

Emi remembers, when she first woke up in that hospital, pulled from the flaming wreckage of the crash that claimed her father and her legs, how she thought her life was over. How bitterly ironic, now that she’s at the top of her athletic game, her life is over, for real this time.

Dead people don’t come back. She knows this all too well.

“He’s secure!”

“The ambulance is at the front gate, we’ve gotta move!”

“Got it! Everyone, get out of the way! Get out of the way…”

The cacophony begins to retreat, the staff hollering orders to clear the path as they and the stricken boy speed down the hallway.

Almost as quickly as it arrived, the din quietens to an eerie silence. A hush falls over the gathered crowd as the gravity of what just happened sinks in. This hallway will never be the same. They will never be the same.

Emi dares not look up at the faces surrounding her, at the piercing looks that must be pointed her way, silently asking after her culpability. What of the pigtailed girl sitting splayed, head bowed, her prosthetics askew, at the scene of the crime? Was it her? Was it her?

It was you.

She wants to yell, to scream, to plead her innocence, to declare that this was just a silly mistake and she’ll do all she can to make up for it.

It doesn’t matter.

She ran. She ran. She broke the rules. And breaking the rules has consequences. Sometimes, permanent consequences.

I didn’t mean to! It was an accident! It was just a push, a bump, it was all so sudden!

Please forgive me, please…

I’m sorry…

I’m sorry…

[hdkv]

Oh boy.

Chapter 1

Wonder what will be next. This is... a unique start for the story.

[Sharp-O]

Well hot damn! What a way to kick off a multi-parter! Excellent and, dare I say, impactful first post! Looking forward to what else you have in store, Seannie!

[guthrum06]

This is really good.

I feel bad for Emi, but it's a great premise and it's really well-written. I can't wait for more.

[seannie4]

Chapter 2: Statements

“… please continue, Mutou.”

“I kept administering CPR as fast as I could, but it was difficult with the crowd pressing in around us. Thankfully, the head nurse and his team arrived at that time and took over from me. I wasn’t of any use after that, and so I stood aside until the boy was taken away. Once it was all said and done, I and some of the other homeroom teachers shuffled the rest of the students into the classrooms or into the cafeteria. That was all.”

The middle-aged man shifts uncomfortably in his seat and bows his head.

“I’m sorry I was of so little help ma’am. I would like to thank the head nurse here and his team for putting in the real work. It is my regret I could not do more.”

The nurse in question tries to give a small smile, resting a hand on the older man’s right shoulder. It does little to dissipate the heavy atmosphere permeating the office.

The Yamaku principal nods sagely, pen clicking as she jots down something on the paper before her.

“There is no need to apologise, Mutou. You followed procedure and did the best you could. Even though you were Nakai’s homeroom teacher, the outcome of this incident was far beyond your control, so there is no point in beating yourself up over it.”

The teacher nods his head, but his eyes remain downcast, regardless.

The principal takes a moment to reread her notes, flicking a strand of short brown hair from her weathered face before laying a piercing gaze on the two staff members seated in front of her.

“Mutou, your statements appear to line up with what Kaneshiro here has told us. Kaneshiro, I assume there’s been no further comment from the hospital?”

The head nurse goes to speak, but finds his throat is unusually choked with… something. He clears it, trying to meet the principal’s gaze, but failing.

“No ma’am, nothing more than what they’ve already told you in the phone call.”

The lady nods again, removing her spectacles and rubbing her eyes.

“Very well. That will be all the information I need for the time being. I and the rest of the management intend to interview other staff members and students for further witness testimony, but we can leave those for when the situation has calmed down slightly.”

There’s a certain businesslike detachment in the principal’s tone which irks Kaneshiro greatly, but he remains silent. Maybe it’s just the frantic drive to and from the general hospital which is setting his nerves on edge.

The principal replaces her glasses and reacquires her piercing gaze. Somehow, it seems even more steely and authoritative than before.

“Unfortunately, the situation this academy is facing is unprecedented. We’ve had many students pass away during their time at Yamaku, some, even within these walls…”

She at least has the decency to at least lower her gaze slightly, before resuming her speech.

“However, we’ve had nothing quite like this before. The prefectural police are certain to become involved and will very shortly begin calling for statements and eyewitness testimony from those close to the incident. Mutou, Kaneshiro, this will include both of you. I advise that you take the next few days to think about what you wish to say beforehand, for your own sake. The police will also likely demand access to the academy grounds as part of any investigation. It will be our job, especially of teachers like you, Mutou, to keep the students calm and prevent interference.”

The nurse glances the middle-aged man, who appears to be blanching at the thought of a police interview. Mutou had never possessed the steadiest of nerves, and Kaneshiro can only guess at how the whirlwind chaos of the past few hours must be weighing on the science tutor’s mind.

“Also of concern will be the Foundation. Yamaku prides itself on safety and the utmost care of our charges, and at that we have failed. No doubt, there will be a thorough internal investigation in parallel to the police, and all our heads will likely be on the block for the foreseeable future. Both the academy and the Foundation will suffer serious reputational damage once news of this incident gets out, and I hardly need to discuss how it will affect our backers, and thus, our operations.”

At that, Kaneshiro suppresses a disgusted snort. A boy had died – no, not died, been killed – on the hallway floor in the center of Yamaku Academy not five hours before and here the principal sits, concerned with reputational damage and what some rich asshole backers might think of the whole mess.

“That will be all. I will be sure to pass down any further information or developments as soon as I have them. For now, go home and try to process what has occurred today. The academy counselors are on call as usual, should you require them.”

The principal closes the file in front of her.

“You are both free to go.”

Mutou leaps from his seat with surprising speed, startling the nurse, and makes for the door. It’s obvious that he wants nothing more than to escape the oppressive atmosphere of the office. Perhaps he wants to escape the academy entirely, to escape from the scenes he bore witness to just a few hours before.

“Ma’am, what’s going to happen to Em- I mean, Miss Ibarazaki?”

The question is out of the head nurse’s mouth before he can stop himself. The room freezes, and he swears the temperature decreases by a few degrees.

“I’m sorry, Kaneshiro, could you repeat yourself? Oh, and Mutou, you’re still free to go.”

The harried science tutor, stopped halfway out the door, gives a quick nod before resuming his flight, slamming the door behind him.

The principal resumes her piercing gaze at the nurse, which he tries his best to meet.

“I want to know what the academy will do with Miss Ibarazaki, if that’s alright with you… ma’am.”

The older lady frowns. “You and the other witnesses have made Ibarazaki’s involvement in today’s… tragedy quite clear. Ibarazaki will be expelled, effective immediately, there is no question of that. It is perhaps a sign of how serious the situation has become that there is no further disciplinary action I can realistically impose upon her.”

Kaneshiro’s heart sinks. He tries not to think about the years past, the progress he and his patient made, the victories they had to fight for to get to this place. How fulfilling it had all been. How wasted it all is now.

“As for the police, well…” The principal face sours to a grimace. “I cannot be entirely certain of their course of action, but I would expect them to take Ibarazaki into custody as soon as they have the evidence to do so. It is likely that they will charge her with manslaughter or some form of negligence, but regardless of the specifics I doubt the outcomes will be… pleasant for the girl.”

Suddenly, the principal leans forward in her chair, her dark eyes penetrating Kaneshiro’s, as though searching for some sort of treachery. The nurse’s breath hikes, and it’s all he can do to maintain eye contact.

“Kaneshiro, as I understand it, you have a pre-existing professional relationship with Ibarazaki that predates both your employment and her entry into Yamaku, correct?”

The man’s heart seems to be beating in his throat. It takes all his effort to breathe and force the words out, his fingers rubbing sweaty patterns on his palms.

“Uh… y-yes ma’am, I’ve been treating Em- ahh, Miss Ibarazaki for many years now. We know each other quite well…”

The principal’s eyes narrow.

“And has this relationship been strictly doctor-patient all these years, Kaneshiro?”

Perhaps in any other circumstance, he’d be liable to point out the double entendre in that statement and make one of his little jokes, but he’s in no mood for that now. He briefly wonders when he’ll have the state of mind to start joking again.

“N-not exactly, ma’am. Miss Ibarazaki’s family and I know each other on a… personal basis. I… may have been to their home for dinner a couple of times, for example…”

The lady’s frown turns to a look of dissatisfaction as she leans back slightly, tapping the tabletop with her index finger.

“Kaneshiro, it is not my place to pry into your private associations. However, what we are dealing with here is a case of potential manslaughter. As the head of medical staff, you will be one of the key witnesses in any investigation. Even the barest hint of a conflict of interest regarding Ibarazaki could throw your testimony, and by extension the testimony of the staff here at Yamaku, into doubt.”

The implications come as a surprise to Kaneshiro, who scrambles to respond.

“Ma’am, I’m not intending to defend Miss Ibarazaki’s actions, but I’m sure just having known Miss Ibarazaki for an extended period of time wouldn’t cause–”

“I’m not sure, would it?” The principal raises her eyebrows in challenge. “I shudder to think what the media might say if the head of medical staff, heretofore a prime witness in a manslaughter case, was revealed to not only have had pre-existing close ties to the accused, but ongoing communication while the case was in progress. Imagine how badly this would reflect upon you, and the academy. Imagine what such a wanton violation of procedure would indicate to our benefactors.”

Again, with the backers. Again, with reputation. Kaneshiro can feel his fear give way to annoyance, and then anger as the principal drones on.

“Kaneshiro, for both your sake and the academy’s, I must instruct you not to contact Ibarazaki or her family at all until the investigations have been concluded.”

The words leap from his throat. “Ma’am, I–”

“No, Kaneshiro. I understand that you care for them greatly, and that you have an investment in Ibarazaki that extends further than what might be considered normal in this circumstance, but the risks are too great. Any further contact from here on in will be viewed with deep suspicion by the police and the Foundation. It might be seen as an attempt to influence Ibarazaki’s testimony to better protect the academy, or worse, yourself.”

His anger boils over. If she wants to play the part of emotionless bureaucrat, that’s fine by him. But too much has occurred today, too many emotions have stormed through him to tolerate such dry and detached commentary any longer.

The nurse leaps from his chair, bumping into the table, and moves rapidly for the door.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry but I… I think I need some air.”

His hands clutch the doorknob.

“Goto.”

He stops dead. He turns around, mouth half open in shock. His first name seems to hang limply in the air.

The principal’s gaze retains its hard edge, eyes still trained on his own, but behind her cold expression, there’s a certain… remorsefulness which seems to play across her face.

“Goto… I understand that you’ve been through a lot today. I apologise if I’ve come across as… detached, or uncaring when I discuss the investigation, or your relationship to Ibarazaki.”

Her tone is softer, less harsh. She turns her head slightly, to gaze out the window into the yellowish afternoon sky. It’s enough to make Kaneshiro release his hand from the doorknob and resume his seat.

“Please do not think for a second that I’m not deeply saddened about what happened to Nakai. The students here are in my care just as much as they are in yours, Goto, so any failure is also mine to bear.”

The principal runs a weathered hand through her hair, as though collecting her thoughts.

“But someone must think about the bigger picture here, Goto. Yamaku Academy is home to hundreds of students, each with their own unique needs and circumstances. We can only provide the level of care we offer because of our benefactors and our reputation.”

Kaneshiro’s anger slowly begins to dissipate. He’s never seen the principal this… vulnerable before.

“A severe disruption to any of that not only threatens their continued education, but their very lives. We can never, ever, have a repeat of what happened here today. As the head of medical staff, Goto, you must know better than anyone how much of a struggle it is to care for Yamaku’s diverse student body. We cannot fail them, too.”

A heavy silence descends upon the room. As much as he is loathe to admit it, her words are inarguably true. It makes the sting of failure all the more painful in his chest.

“I understand, ma’am.”

The lady nods, before her gaze reacquires Kaneshiro’s.

“Finally… there is the matter of informing the boy’s parents.”

The nurse’s heart lurches. In the fevered panic of the past few hours, he hadn’t even given it thought.

“The hospital has likely made a call to the Nakai family already to give the basic details, but I feel it is necessary that Yamaku reach out as soon as possible.”

How do you make that call? Where do you even start? Bad enough that your child has passed away in your care while at a distant boarding school. Even worse that another student was involved.

Kaneshiro wonders if he should make it, being the head of medical staff and all that. The words form and die in his throat. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ ‘It is with great regret that we…’ All of them seem so plastic, so fake. And then there’s the matter of what actually happened…

“I-I’m the head of medical staff, so I should be the one to-”

The principal sharply cuts him off. “Goto, that will not be necessary. You’ve done more than enough for today. I would hate to impose that burden upon you.”

The principal turns her gaze to the telephone resting on the corner of the table.

“I will make the call. Much better for the principal of the academy to break the news than any other staff member.”

Kaneshiro wonders if he should feel guilty at the sheer relief he’s experiencing. Then again, it’s difficult to tell what he’s feeling now. The events of the hours prior swirl like a storm through his mind.

“Thank you, ma’am”

She shakes her head. “There is no gratitude to be given to me, I’m afraid. Now if you’ll excuse me, I really must make this call…”

Taking his cue to leave, the head nurse stands up, giving a small bow before turning for the door.

“Oh, and Goto?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Take care of yourself. Please.”

Kaneshiro looks at the older lady’s face. There’s a genuine, almost warm concern there. It’s odd coming from such a stone-cold individual, but it’s the first bit of comfort he’s had in a long while.

“I will.”

He opens the door and steps beyond. Turning his head one last time to the principal, he watches as she steels herself, taking a long, deep breath before reaching for the phone.

---

You know the first part of my forum account signature? I fully intend to deliver.

Thank you all so much for the wonderful comments. It's been... years since my last piece of creative writing, so it's good to know I haven't completely lost my touch.

Stay safe, everyone.

[hdkv]

So, we're here to eat a bunch of broken glass. Niiiice. Thank you!

Side note: wonder, how Yamaku operated when Deep End came, it was also borderline killing by other student, y'know...

[guthrum06]

Poor, poor Emi. And the nurse too. And of course the Nakais. It is a long list of poor.

Back in 2007, you weren't an adult in Japan until you were 20. I wonder if that means Emi will be treated more leniency.

Of course even if she is cleared of all charges, the mental strain of accidentally taking someone's life is not going to be good.

Look forward to seeing where it goes!

[seannie4]

Chapter 3: Tribute

The door stands before him, like some great, impassable barrier. It’d be so easy to reach for the handle and slide it open, but on today of all days, Mutou just can’t.

The science tutor fiddles with his tie, but even he knows he’s just stalling for time. Stalling out against the one thing he has been dreading all night.

What am I going to tell them?

Mutou rubs his sleep deprived eyes and refocuses his gaze. It’s a question that has been haunting him ever since he fled the academy for his apartment a mere fourteen hours before. It pounded at his mind as he choked down a flavourless dinner of rice and vegetables. It followed him like some kind of ghost even as he laid down and tried to catch even the slightest wink of sleep, a fruitless endeavour which kept him occupied until the light rose again in the east.

He couldn’t close his eyes. The darkness would only bring on the images he tried so hard to blot out yesterday.

No wonder he feels so out of it.

He can hear the indistinct but feverish murmurings of his own class through the thin wooden frame. No doubt, there’s only one topic they could possibly be discussing. The one topic which must have consumed the hallways and common rooms of both the faculty and students throughout the entire afternoon and night. A topic with the epicenter at Class 3-3, Mutou’s own.

What am I going to tell them?

It isn’t as though this is something new for the middle-aged man. Working at Yamaku comes with its… unique responsibilities, and this is just one of a myriad that Mutou must fulfil.

It’s not even the first time he’s had to stand up in front of his own class and deliver a similar, morbid announcement. But every previous time, the circumstances had merely been tragic. An accident, the culmination of a terminal disease, the cutting of life support, he’d done all those.

That a fellow student is responsible? That’s something else entirely. It makes Mutou sick to his stomach.

He thinks back to a line spoken at a certain meeting he attended yesterday.

“The situation this academy is facing is unprecedented…”

Well, if there’s one thing the madam principal got right, it’s that.

What am I going to tell them?

The chime of the bell is already several minutes gone. Ordinarily, he’d be rushing through the door, giving some muttered apology for his tardiness before launching into whatever lecture he has on hand.

You can’t stay here forever, old man. Better to just open the door and be done with it.

A logical statement. It doesn’t make him feel any better.

The haggard science tutor takes a deep breath, his fingers searching for the latch before quickly sliding the door open.

All chatter stops the moment he steps into the room, and Mutou can instantly feel fourteen pairs of eyes bore into his skull.

A tiny, sardonic part of Mutou caustically observes that it took the death of a fellow classmate for the class to finally shut up and listen when he enters the room. He swiftly shoves the thought out of his head.

What these kids need is understanding, Gods know what they’ve been through in the past twenty-four hours.

Speaking of kids, Mutou raises his head and takes in his own classroom.

The entire class is frozen mid-discussion, head and eyes turned his way, watching intently.

Mutou first notes the absences. Ikezawa’s seat is vacant, which is hardly surprising. Perhaps of much more concern are the empty chairs where Hakamichi and Mikado’s boisterous dual presence usually resides.

Miura is hunched over her desk, a terrifyingly furious expression set across her tear-strewn face, glaring daggers into Mutou’s eyes. Suzuki has her arms around Miura’s shoulders, whispering something into the latter’s left ear.

Kapur keeps glancing between Mutou and her lap, a nauseous expression on her face, as though she’s about to vomit at any second. Komaki and Suzumiya are caught interrupted mid-whisper, heads leant over the gap to the other.

Kawana has her head in her hands. Ooe appears to be wiping tears from her eyes. Maeda simply sits back, eyes half-lidded, disinterested as ever.

But everyone is ignoring the great wooden elephant on the left side of the room. The empty table and chair sitting next to Mikado’s own vacant position. The table and chair every pair of eyes in the room is carefully trying to avoid.

A table and chair that had been occupied by a living, breathing boy not twenty-four hours before.

“… good morning, everyone.”

Mutou’s voice comes out as a harsh croak. He clears it with a couple of grunts. The class listens on with rapt attention.

For a second, he seriously considers opening with something inane, like the beginning of a lecture. Or a discussion of the upcoming quiz. Anything, anything to delay having to talk about the boy no longer with them. The boy that haunts the darkness behind his eyelids.

Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll have to face it eventually. Tell them directly from your own mouth, or they’ll start drawing conclusions from the silence.

Direct it is, then.

“As most of you may well already know, the new transfer student into this class, who arrived just two days ago… Hisao Nakai… is no longer with us.”

The atmosphere in the room feels like that of a pressure cooker. Mutou wonders if this is how a submarine feels as it dives deeper and deeper to the abyss.

“Nakai was involved in… an… incident which occurred on school grounds yesterday. As a result, I’m very sorry to say that he has unfortunately passed on.”

Mutou just wants to slap himself. Could he sound any more the detached, emotionless robot scientist if he tried?

He wants to say more, to spill it all out. But he can’t do that to these kids. He can’t tell them how it felt to hold Nakai’s limp body in his arms. Can’t mention how he watched the light leave the boy’s eyes.

Even he doesn’t know how to feel about it. It’s all… it’s all…

Too much.

With the greatest of effort, Mutou forces the feelings bubbling in his chest back down. He must remain stoic, look strong, if not for his own benefit, then at least for the children before him, who must surely be drowning in their own seas of questions and rumours.

“The principal of Yamaku will hold a whole student body assembly in the gymnasium later this afternoon. Attendance will be mandatory. She will provide further information about what has occurred.”

It’s as though he’s talking to a tableau. The class seems to be hanging on to his every perfunctory word.

“I’ve been instructed that all the academy counselors will be available today, and any student wishing to be excused to visit them will be allowed to do so at any time. Just make sure you tell me before you leave. That’s all.”

A pregnant silence hangs over the room. Mutou exhales a breath he never knew he was holding.

He’s done it. He’s told them. He hates every word he said. Hates how clinical and detached he appears. But he’s told them.

Still, more silence. No one moves.

“Is it true?!”

The sudden shout pierces the room, breaking the spell. It startles Mutou, and evidently most of the other students, who jolt up in surprise. All eyes immediately swivel to the source.

Miura is standing at her desk, chair flipped backwards, almost shaking with rage, an expression of both anger and absolute sorrow written across her face as the tears streak down once more.

Suzuki tugs frantically at Miura’s shirt, whispering fiercely at her to sit back down, but the tall, tanned girl locks eyes with Mutou and shoots him a pained glare.

She takes a deep breath, and yells once more.

“Tell us, is it true?! Is it true that Emi Ibarazaki killed Nakai?!”

A few gasps resound throughout the room, but all fourteen pairs of eyes turn their collective gaze back to Mutou, expectantly.

“I…”

That’s the billion-yen question, isn’t it? That’s the rumour that must have been flying at supersonic speeds across the academy grounds all night. A horrific, sickening accusation against one of their own, but one with much more than a modicum of truth.

The words catch in his throat. He doesn’t know what to say. Mutou doesn’t even know if the principal will mention such a detail in the upcoming assembly.

He could claim ignorance. He could claim to not have seen the incident, that he was away, around the corner, that they should all quieten down and wait for official information and… and…

But that’s not true, is it?

He heard the impact. He heard the shouts, the screams. He saw the boy, sprawled upon the spotless hallway floor. He saw absolute the terror, the fear, the disbelief in the eyes of the one girl he knows was there. The girl he knows sent Nakai to his grave.

He knows.

“For fuck’s sake, tell us!”

Even more gasps. Mutou remains speechless against Miura’s verbal onslaught.

“No one has said anything to us the entire afternoon, night, and morning. Everyone’s going around and around in circles with all these fucking rumours and accusations and conspiracies…”

A choked sob escapes Miura’s lips as she wipes her eyes.

“That’s all anyone’s talking about. That’s all anyone CAN talk about! You think any of us got a wink of sleep last night?! And any time we bring it up to anyone they tell us to wait, to go away, not to spread rumours…”

She gives a derisive snort, but her pained tone never changes.

“As if that would stop them. We’ve been given zip, nada, nothing! We want to know what happened, teach. Did. Emi. Ibarazaki. Kill-”

“Shut the fuck up, Miki!”

There’s another commotion at the rear of the class. Inoue is on her feet, crimson eyes blazing, a finger pointed straight at Miura’s back.

Miura whips around, meeting Inoue’s enraged gaze with her own.

“What did you-”

“I told you to shut the fuck up! Don’t you see how you’re making everything worse? Don’t you see how on edge everyone else is? I mean, just look at Mutou-sensei. You think he’s any more prepared to answer your stupid questions than we are?!”

He’s frozen, frozen. He doesn’t know what to-

“Naomi, don’t you dare-”

“EVERYONE, CALM DOWN!”

The yell escapes his lips before he even knows it.

Mutou can’t remember the last time he’d ever raised his voice. He’s always prided himself on his soft-spoken nature, on his diplomatic way of dealing with students.

His shout seems to echo through the classroom. It must be as shocking to his students as it is to him, as they all immediately fall silent and turn his way.

He lowers his tone.

“Everyone, please... calm down. There’s no point in fighting.”

Mutou finds his breath hitching. He inhales deeply.

“I… I can confirm… that Emi Ibarazaki was involved in yesterday’s incident with Nakai.”

A stunned silence. Miura’s mouth opens slightly, but no words escape.

“I can also confirm that the prefectural police will be involved in an investigation. I cannot, however, give any of you more information at this time. That is best left to the principal. So please, there’s no need to butt heads.”

Inoue lowers her eyes, an apologetic look spreading across her face. Miura simply slumps back down onto her desk, face down, hands across her forehead, muffling her sobs. Suzuki comes over to comfort her, running a hand up and down her back.

The rest of the class seems almost ashamed, refusing to make eye contact with him.

Sighing, Mutou drops the briefcase he’s been holding in his left hand on his desk.

“I apologise for my impropriety there, everyone. Please, this is a difficult time for us all.”

Mutou turns his gaze over to the empty desk, sitting innocently at the left end of the second row.

“We only knew Nakai for a very short time, but I would like to think that he would want to see the class come together, to support each other, especially in a situation like this. Please, be kind to one another. We need that kindness now more than ever…”

He looks out the windows, into the clear blue sky, and then closes his eyes.

He still sees him. He still sees the boy-

He opens his eyes once more. Now is not the time.

He glances back over his class. There’s a little shuffling as Inoue resumes her seat, her head bowed.

Only the soft sounds of Miura’s quiet sobbing fill the room.

…

Mutou slumps back in his chair. Despite teaching absolutely no content the entire class, he can’t remember a time in recent memory where he’s felt so mentally and emotionally drained.

He dares not close his eyes again.

The last student had shuffled out the door a few minutes earlier, finally granting Mutou some relief from the heavy stillness of a room full of scared, confused kids. Clearly, no one is in the mood to eat lunch inside such a cursed classroom. Mutou can’t blame them.

At this moment, more than ever, he wishes for just a little glass of his beloved whisk-

The classroom door rattles, opening just a fraction to reveal someone Mutou is certainly not expecting to see.

“A-ah, good morning, Ikezawa. Good to see you.”

The girl quickly breaks eye contact, hiding her face in her long dark hair as she slides the door further open and slips inside.

Mutou wants to ask the girl what she’s doing, but knows better and keeps his mouth shut, observing as Ikezawa slowly makes her way across the classroom, silently cutting across the first row of desks until she ends up on the left side of the classroom, close to the window, right in front of-

“Ah…”

He wonders if he should give the same sort of toneless, emotionless information dump to Ikezawa that he gave at the beginning of class, but he can see that it’d do no good. Even a girl as reclusive as Ikezawa must have heard what had transpired the day before.

Mutou watches curiously as the girl stands in front of Nakai’s desk, head bowed. He supposes she might be murmuring something, maybe a prayer? In any case, she’s too far away to hear and he doesn’t want to disturb the moment.

It’s then he realizes Ikezawa is holding something in her left hand, something square and solid… a book? She holds it out over the desk before placing it gently down. From this distance, Mutou can just about make out the title.

Dune.

Mutou’s heart seizes.

It’s an offering.

He watches, enraptured, as this reclusive hermit of a girl, who’d never shown anything approaching affection for any other member of her class, claps her hands together once, bowing her head once more.

Oh, Ikezawa…

She lifts her head, patting the desk and book one last time, before swiftly making her way to the door, never looking anywhere near Mutou, as though embarrassed by what she had just done.

Mutou can’t take his eyes off the scene, of the book sitting patiently atop the desk of its long-gone occupant, its plastic cover shining in the noon sunlight.

The door rattles and slams as the girl makes her escape, her footsteps disappearing quickly down the empty hallway.

---

On a bit of a roll here. We'll see how long this lasts.

I've always imagined Hanako as someone who cares fiercely for the living and deeply reveres the dead. I couldn't resist adding in that little tidbit at the end of this particular chapter.

Once again, thanks very, very much for all your support.

Stay safe, everyone.

[StealthyWolf]

So far so good. I've been following along and This most recent chapter's the one that really got me invested. Probably because it hurt the most so far, 'least for me. As a fan of dark stories, I'm interested to see where this goes. I suspect the future chapters will continue to bounce to different perspectives to get a look at how it is affecting everyone. My suspicion is that the next one will be either be from the principals perspective as she calls the Nakai's or from Shizune/Misha's perspective as we've yet to see a student's POV post-incident. In any case, I'm invested! Keep up the good work.

[brythain]

It's a very interesting story so far, a tale told well. Nurse is Kaneshiro-san eh? Thank you!

[Mirage_GSM]

Personally I think the reactions of the classmates - especially Miki - are quite exaggerated.
Hisao's been a part of the class for less than two days and has not interacted with anyone besides Shizune, Misha and Hanako in that time - and for Hanako "interaction" is being generous...

[hdkv]

Personally I think the reactions of the classmates - especially Miki - are quite exaggerated.
Hisao's been a part of the class for less than two days and has not interacted with anyone besides Shizune, Misha and Hanako in that time - and for Hanako "interaction" is being generous...

I think most of them are mad at Emi.and the whole killing thing. And those two with whom Hisao interacted, are absent.

[seannie4]

Personally I think the reactions of the classmates - especially Miki - are quite exaggerated.
Hisao's been a part of the class for less than two days and has not interacted with anyone besides Shizune, Misha and Hanako in that time - and for Hanako "interaction" is being generous...

I think most of them are mad at Emi.and the whole killing thing. And those two with whom Hisao interacted, are absent.

Ding ding ding!

[Mirage_GSM]

I think most of them are mad at Emi.and the whole killing thing. And those two with whom Hisao interacted, are absent.

It's exactly this being mad that I find exaggerated. Unless the Emi in this story is some kind of bitch all of them have hated all along anyway - some kind of bad blood between Emi and Miki has been part of stories before - it's strange that they would act as if Emi was some kind of cold-blooded murderer.
The two who would have most reason to feel sympathy with Hisao - having interacted with him - not being there would be a reason for the mood being less hostile instead of the other way around.
Most of the students have known Emi for years and know she is often running through the school even though she shouldn't. Except for Shizune I doubt many others ever called her out for it. For some this previous lack of action might be a source of guilt, and the desire to deflect blame from themselves might be a reason to lash out at her. Maybe Miki has herself been guilty of running before, and that is the reason for her overreaction...
But overall I think it would be more normal to empathize with a friend instead of someone you barely know.
Bottom line, I know why it is presented in the story this way - after all the main conflict of the story consists of this. I just personally feel it is overdone.

[seannie4]

Chapter 4: Doubt

A quiet stillness hangs heavy over the girl’s dormitory. A door on the left side opens, just a crack. The hinges creak softly, yet the sound seems to travel much farther than normal.

A certain pink-haired resident opens the door a little wider and peaks her head out of the room, glancing up and down the hallway. It’s well after lights-out, and the dim, eerie glow of the fire exit signs in the ceiling provides the only illumination.

It’s silent, unusually so. Misha isn’t sure where this strange stillness is emanating from, but it doesn’t really matter. She has only one objective, and it’s only a few meters away.

She takes a tentative step out into the hallway, her blue slipper-clad foot making only a soft thump on the carpeted floor. Emboldened somewhat, she begins a slow trot over to her destination, coming to a quiet stop in front of a certain dorm door.

Misha doesn’t know why she’s walking on quite literal eggshells. Maybe it’s the events of the past two days that have sent the academy into such a spiral, so much so that she doesn’t feel comfortable walking anywhere. Perhaps it’s because she really, really needs to find out how her closest friend is feeling, yet really doesn’t know how to approach her.

What do you even say? Where do you start?

An image of the hallway outside her classroom flashes like lightning through Misha’s mind. She winces, shaking her head furiously from side to side, trying to disperse the haunting imagery before it can take hold of her senses.

Taking her right hand, Misha raps softly on the door. It’s a long shot, but she’s hoping her friend on the other side might be able to feel the vibrations. Maybe.

There’s no response. She tries again, harder this time. A full knock. Where’s that boisterousness with which she approaches everything? Even Misha doesn’t fully know. There’s something in the dorm’s atmosphere, or perhaps her heart, which is preventing her from acting as she normally would.

“Shizune…?”, Misha calls softly. She knows it’s pointless, but it’s comforting to say her friend’s name again, to try and bridge an impossible distance and let her blue-haired confidant know that she’s here for her.

Still, only the poignant silence greets her. Her heart sinks another inch.

Misha opens her left hand, unfurling the paper she’s holding in her palm. She glances at it. Her words, written in her trademark pink pen and wondrously girlish cursive.

Shizune, please, talk to me.

Misha.

She folds it carefully and slips it under the door.

Misha waits for a minute, but again, nothing. Now truly out of options, she gives a small sigh and sits down, her back up against the wall, right next to the firmly locked door.

Misha tries to convince herself that there’s no cause for concern. Maybe, Shizune is just tired and asleep. Maybe she’s busy with homework, so absorbed in her studies that she isn’t watching the door.

They’re thin excuses. Misha saw the look in Shizune’s eyes when the whole thing went down right in front of them. It’s why she’s so concerned for her friend.

Misha sits, and sits, and sits. She doesn’t know how long she remains there, on the floor, motionless. Minutes? Hours? Days? Only a desperation to find out how her friend is doing keeps her rooted in place.

Misha suddenly jolts herself awake, having fallen asleep without even realizing it, and turns her head to find Shizune’s left eye watching her through a crack in the door.

Body flooding with relief, Misha musters up the brightest smile she can manage and signs.

[Shicchan! Are you ok?]

Shizune doesn’t respond, only opening the door a bit further, allowing the dim glow of the hallway to reflect on her face.

Misha is stunned.

The student council president has always been concerned with appearances. Never in a make-up, fashionista sort of way, but always making sure she looks clean, proper, ready to take on the world. So, it comes as a shock to see Shizune still wearing her school uniform, the blouse creased and crumpled, her trademark blue hair frazzled and unkempt.

What gets Misha the most, however, are Shizune’s eyes. They’re bloodshot and rimmed red, the frames of her silver glasses doing little to conceal the fact that there are dried tears all over her cheeks.

“Oh, Shicchan…”

She’s known Shizune for years, and she’s never once seen her cry. The girl simply would never allow it. Shizune’s entire personality rests on her projection of strength, of her unbreakable iron will.

To see her expression of total resignation is enough to break Misha’s heart.

What happened in the hallway outside Class 3-3 must have done something irrevocable to her dearest friend. It sets off alarm bells in Misha’s head.

[Shicchan…]. Misha fumbles, racking her brains over how to approach this side of Shizune that she’s never seen before.

[Shicchan, can I please come in? I want to talk to you.]

Sometimes, direct is best.

Again, Shizune fails to raise her hands in response. Instead, she hesitates- even more unusual, Misha notes with growing concern- before simply nodding her head and disappearing back into her room, the door left ajar.

With her heart beating in her ears, Misha follows Shizune into her room, both concern and trepidation driving her onwards.

Inside, only the desk lamp is on, casting the room in a melancholic yellowish hue. It’s as clean and obsessively organized as the last time Misha’s been inside- in stark contrast to the interpreter’s own- all except for Shizune, who sits on the edge of her impeccably made bed, head bowed, and shoulders hunched.

Tentatively, Misha walks over and sits on the bed next to Shizune, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

At the contact, the student council president slowly raises her head and looks into Misha’s eyes.

Shizune has always been one to wear her heart on her sleeve, and Misha’s become used to easily reading Shizune’s emotions.

Now, though, the blue-haired girl’s dark eyes swirl with something Misha can’t identify. It scares her. It seems to all the world that Shizune has been hollowed out with a spoon.

With her friend uncharacteristically passive, Misha decides to get the ball rolling.

[Shicchan… you weren’t at class this morning.]

Shizune sighs but finally raises her hands. Her reply is terse.

[Were you?]

Misha frowns.

[No, I wasn’t… but that was because I was running all around the academy looking for you! Your door was locked so I thought you’d left and gone somewhere else… Besides, everyone was just talking and talking about… you know… and I couldn’t stand hearing about it anymore until I could find you.]

Shizune doesn’t respond, simply lowering her eyes slightly. The signals are all confusing and Misha doesn’t know what to make of them. So, she pops the question she’s been wanting to ask for ages.

[Shicchan… why weren’t you at the assembly this afternoon?]

At this, Shizune physically flinches. Her behaviour is all wrong, all so wrong.

Misha tries again. [You… didn’t hear about it?]

The president again doesn’t answer. She turns her gaze to her lap and hangs her head.

Misha’s too fired up to accept silence as a response. She shakes her friend vigorously by the shoulder.

[You’re the student council president, Shicchan! They said attendance was mandatory, and they couldn’t find you anywhere… I heard they even sent some staff members to your room to try and get you out!]

Shizune’s gaze drops. Her hands move slowly, deliberately.

[I did hear about it. It’s just that… that…]

Her fingers hang in midair.

[I couldn’t face everyone, not after what happened.]

Misha’s blood turns to ice. None of what Shizune is saying makes any sense.

[Couldn’t face everyone? What are you talking about?]

Shizune’s blue-grey eyes begin to water.

[It’s my fault.]

“What?!”

The declaration shocks Misha. She can’t help but shout. She launches to her feet, her face contorted in horror and surprise at this absurd statement.

[Shicchan… wha… how is any of this your fault?]

The tears spill over, and Shizune’s face turns to an expression of pain and sorrow Misha has never seen before in her life.

[Isn’t my fault? I’m the president of the student council. The behaviour and wellbeing of all the students at Yamaku is my responsibility, too. I warned Ibarazaki repeatedly that her behaviour was a danger to herself and her peers.]

A quantity of rage seems to fill Shizune’s expression.

[But she would not listen! I tried, I tried so hard.]

Her face resumes its depressed posture.

[But I clearly didn’t do enough.]

Misha shakes her head violently.

[Shicchan, that’s not true! You couldn’t have known that Emi-]

She’s cut off by her friend’s furious flurry of hands.

[I should have taken more action! I should have known mere scolding was never going to change her behaviour. I should have raised it with the faculty and had them put a stop to her reckless hallway gallivanting.]

The tears make trails down Shizune’s face, and it’s all Misha can do to not move her hands and wipe them away for her.

[We were told, from day one, that running in the hallways is strictly forbidden because of the risks it poses to Yamaku’s student body. What’s the point of having rules if they can’t be enforced? I thought I could enforce them all by myself. I thought if I just repeated myself enough times, surely the message would get through…]

The rampant self-doubt… it’s all so horrifically out of character for the iron-willed president, but Misha can only watch, frozen, as Shizune pours out what must have been weighing on her mind ever since the incident.

[I always knew Ibarazaki’s antics would be trouble, someday, but I let it slide. Do you know what the definition of insanity is, Misha? It’s doing the same thing, over and over and over again and expecting a different result. I must have gone insane somewhere along the line, because that’s exactly what I’ve been doing this whole time.]

Is this what Shizune’s been thinking? Has this been what the blue-haired girl’s been drowning in for the past two days, locked in her room, by herself, with only her spiraling doubts as company?

[I was negligent. Negligent and overconfident. I was as negligent and overconfident as Ibarazaki was when she ran around the corner and collided with Hisao.]

Misha is scared, scared, scared. This doesn’t sound like the Shizune she knows at all. Even her rejection some years before hurt less than this. At least then, Shizune was still the strong, self-assured lady she’d come to know and love.

Where is that strength now? Where is that confidence?

Misha scrambles for a response, desperately searching for a proverbial ladder to pull Shizune out of the hole she’s digging for herself.

[Shicchan, you couldn’t control Emi’s actions. If she was acting stupid, there was only so much you could do. You couldn’t have known Hicchan and Emi would be in that exact spot beforehand, right?]

Shizune doesn’t budge.

[Even if that were true… we placed him in that position, Misha.]

Misha’s at a loss, a total loss. She can’t figure out where Shizune is going, why she’s so insistent on finding personal fault in every aspect of Hisao’s accident.

[Shicchan, I know this sounds bad… but he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, you know? We-]

[Maybe if we didn’t spend so much time arguing over places to go for lunch, we could’ve left earlier, and Hisao would never have had to run into Ibarazaki! Maybe if we waited for a minute later, it never would’ve happened. Maybe if we just didn’t invite him at all…]

Misha belatedly realizes that this is what’s been consuming Shizune’s mind for so many hours, her trademark analytical mind endlessly going over every move, every decision, searching for the million ways in which disaster could’ve been avoided.

If they’d just moved faster, or slower. Didn’t go here, or there. If they should’ve said something louder or said nothing at all. Over and over, further, and further back, questioning every action she’s taken, all leading to the things she should have done, could have done, but didn’t.

The endless possibilities of the past. All locked off to them, except for the one they’re living in.

No wonder Shizune’s such a mess.

[Shicchan, you… really don’t think you… killed Hicchan, do you?]

Shizune’s eyes harden.

[You’re right, I didn’t kill Hisao. But I let him die under my supervision. Our supervision. We were supposed to be Hisao’s guides as he tried to acclimatize to Yamaku. We were supposed to look out for him. Protect him. Make him feel welcome. Look at where that led us.]

Misha had always considered Shizune’s bluntness to be part of her charm. Now, her harsh words stab like pinpricks into her heart.

[But we did look out for him, Shicchan! We were always by his side, we were always pushing him to come along with us to everything!]

Shizune’s frustration seems to hit a breaking point. She huffs loudly, but it doesn’t really seem aimed at Misha. Rather, it seems to be aimed inwardly. At herself.

[He died right in front of us, Misha! We just sat by and watched! We led him to the exact spot where Ibarazaki would collide with him, and we just left him there to die! How is that not a failure on our part?]

The memories come crashing back into Misha’s mind. The images she’s been so diligent not to think about. The collision. The noise. The aftermath. Of Emi sitting, weeping… of the nurses frantically running… of a boy they tried to befriend for but a mere two days being rushed down the hallway on a stretcher.

Misha’s sobbing now; she can’t stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks. It’s all she can do to choke down the hiccups and focus on Shizune’s hands.

[We failed, Misha, we failed at our one, simple duty.]

She bows her head.

[But ultimately, it’s me. I failed. I was given the duty. I wanted to get close to Hisao. I just dragged you into the blast zone.]

There’s something in Shizune’s words that sparks something in her. Something beyond mere annoyance, or petty frustration. Something about their dynamic, about their relationship.

Shizune’s eyes close, the tears leaking from the sides like dewdrops. She drops a bombshell.

[I don’t deserve to be the president of the student council anymore.]

That’s it. That’s the outcome Misha’s feared the most. The spark ignites.

Misha, the translator, the interpreter, the mouthpiece. Always playing second fiddle to the president, always in her shadow. She’s been following Shizune the entire time. Out of love, perhaps; out of friendship, definitely. Always being swept along by Shizune’s strength of will, always being pulled out of her little ruts by the endless drive of the blue-haired wonder.

I just dragged you into the blast zone.

Shizune, at the front. Taking all the hits, all the responsibility, every perceived failure around her on her small, narrow shoulders.

This can’t go on. Misha can’t leave Shizune sitting on the side of her bed, left to carry the weight of the world on her own.

Her sobbing suddenly slows, then stops, her breath steadying. Misha isn’t sure where this resolve is coming from, but the more she gazes at the curled wreck of her friend, the more she’s certain.

If she ever loved Shizune, if she ever thought of her as her dearest, closest friend, she’ll have to do this. She’ll have to be strong, to help carry Shizune’s burdens with her own two hands.

Misha snaps her arm forward, violently shaking Shizune’s hand. The latter jolts in surprise, looking up at Misha.

[You’re wrong, Shicchan!]

Shizune seems almost confused, teary eyes blinking.

[It’s my responsibility, Misha. My failure. I don’t deserve-]

Misha’s expression turns determined, as though she’s fighting to get Shizune to listen to her words.

[Yes, you do, Shicchan! The class needs you. The academy needs you! You’re president for a reason, Shicchan! It’s because you’re the strongest, most capable person in our year.]

Shizune watches her, eyes wide open. Misha’s never felt this animated, not out of boisterousness or laughter, but of her own determination.

[You work harder than anyone I know, Shicchan! You have no one to help you, except for little, useless me. You do everything yourself; you take all the responsibility on your shoulders!]

Shizune’s brows furrow, as though in challenge.

[You are not useless-]

[I am, I am! And that’s only because you seem to think that everything must be done by your hands alone, so if anything bad happens, it’s only ever you who takes the fall!]

Shizune reddens slightly, a familiar fire beginning to rise in her eyes.

[That is because I was the president. Ultimate responsibility inevitably fell on my shoulders. In any case, it’s inarguable that I failed in-]

[You didn’t fail, Shicchan! You went above and beyond! You took Hicchan under your wing, you showed him around, you tried your best to make him fit in as smoothly as you could! That’s more than anyone else in our class can say they did!]

Shizune’s face scrunches, in anger or frustration, Misha can’t tell.

[And look where that led us…]

It terrifies her, but she stands her ground.

[Come on, Shicchan! You’ve done so much, worked so hard for the council your whole time here! You can’t throw that all away just because you think you’ve failed at something! You’re the strongest girl I know, Shicchan. You never, ever, give up, no matter how high the odds are!]

Shizune shakes her head.

[This is totally different. Hisao died on my-]

Misha can’t stand to hear it any longer. Her fingers become cutting, as though she’s trying to engrave her message into the air itself.

[Shicchan, you’re a student! You aren’t Hicchan’s parents. You aren’t a teacher. You aren’t a doctor. You’re the president of the student council, yeah, but you’re still a student. You’re like me, and Hicchan, and everyone else in Class 3-3. You’re my friend.]

She takes a deep breath.

[Hicchan’s life was never your responsibility, Shicchan! I know it hurts to hear, but it’s true. It’s… it’s Emi’s responsibility. Or the academy’s. I don’t know. But it’s not yours, Shicchan. Please, you have to stop thinking everyone’s lives are in your hands, and your hands only! If you think you’re responsible for everyone else’s lives, Shicchan, you’ll never care about your own. It’s destroying you.]

The brief fire in Shizune’s eyes goes out, replaced by the melancholy that preceded it. Misha wants to stop, but it’s necessary. She must make Shizune hear what she needs to hear, in a manner of speaking.

[Being the student council president isn’t always a game, Shicchan. You don’t always win, and you don’t have to quit when you lose. You just have to be a good person, Shicchan, and I’ve always known you were one, ever since I met you. What happened to Hicchan can never change that. And because you’re a good person, you’re the best council president anyone could ask for.]

She can’t help herself. Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe it’ll cross a boundary, but Misha doesn’t care. What matters is putting Shizune back on her feet, in any way she can.

She encircles Shizune in a hug, a full body one, her arms encircling the president’s thin frame. It’s nice, really nice.

Shizune makes a small sound of surprise, but doesn’t resist, leaning ever so slightly into the hug. The warmth of it all starts to wash the horrifying imagery out of Misha’s mind, if only a little.

Releasing the embrace, Misha takes a step back, and signs her most earnest plea.

[I’m so sorry, Shicchan. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you sooner. I’m so sorry we had to watch what happened to Hicchan. But it’s not your fault. It never was. You can take that responsibility off your shoulders. Please. At least, for me.]

The blue-haired girl doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but releases the melancholy look with a small sigh.

[Alright, if you insist.]

Misha exhales in relief. It’s something. She knows there’s a long road ahead, and they’ll probably end up having this conversation all over again at some point, but she hopes she’s put a stop to Shizune’s self-destructive spiral, for now.

Leaving only one final question.

[Are… you still going to be student council president?]

Shizune again hesitates, her gaze drifting to the side as the gears turn in her head.

[I… I need time. To think about things. Too much has happened.]

It’s the best answer Misha can hope for, under the circumstances, so she simply nods her head in assent. If there’s one thing Shizune is right about, it’s that too much did happen. Misha hasn’t even fully processed it herself.

There’s a moment of tranquil quiet. It’s a lovely respite from the turbulence of the past few minutes.

[He was such a good boy, Hisao.]

Misha is surprised to see Shizune’s hands move, let alone for something so tender. She turns her head to see Shizune’s face, silhouetted by the lamplight and wearing an ever-so-slightly faraway expression.

[He didn’t deserve to have that happen to him. He was sad, and lonely, and lost, sure, but I could see there was something just underneath, waiting to come free. I wanted to find out what it was.]

A tiny notch of a smile creeps onto Shizune’s lips.

[That’s why I wanted him in the council. Not just because he’d be an excellent pair of hands… but because he was an enigma I couldn’t solve at first glance.]

Misha can feel a little bit of her brighter self creep back in. She can’t help but comment.

[It helped that he was pretty handsome too, right?]

Shizune averts her eyes, but nods ever so slightly.

[That’s true.]

Despite the situation, Misha giggles. A little bit of the heaviness disappears with the sound.

[I wish I got to know him better too, Shicchan… the three of us could’ve done so much together…]

Shizune turns her gaze into the starry night sky outside her window. Her blue-grey irises are softer, tinged deeply with regret.

[But he’s gone now. We’ll never know, Misha. We’ll never know what he was truly like.]

The two sit, side by side, cocooned by the cool dark and the possibilities left behind.

---

Phew.

This was by far the hardest chapter to write. Sad Shizune was a daunting prospect from the outset, and I'm not certain that I managed to pull it off here. Same deal with Misha. In the end, I decided to play up Shizune's sensitivity to failure and her preoccupation with responsibility. Not sure how that went.

Expect chapter output to decline sharply as life reasserts itself, but we're over halfway there and I intend to see this one through.

Unless the Emi in this story is some kind of bitch all of them have hated all along anyway - some kind of bad blood between Emi and Miki has been part of stories before - it's strange that they would act as if Emi was some kind of cold-blooded murderer.

Hehehe, this will be addressed shortly! Suffice it to say, adolescents are not the greatest judges of character...

I'm pretty excited for the next few chapters, so thank you all for your critiques and support!

Stay safe, everyone.