A voice echoed through the silent corridor. It was hoarse and rather faint, yet a certain harshness lingered within a timbre weakened by old age. An old man stood there, in the middle of the pathway, gazing with fatigue and irritation at the group tasked with looking after him.
— Calm down! Stop lingering over there, come closer! How many times must I tell you? I must ask you to stop these childish games right now!
The corridor in which he found himself was immense, yet plunged into an oppressive semi-darkness. Gas lamps faintly illuminated this long hallway, which stretched in both directions without a discernible end. Numerous motifs adorned the walls—motifs of every kind—yet each one was overlaid with gold, or at least adorned with gold leaf.
All along the corridor hung massive chandeliers. Their light barely managed to reach the ceiling. In this dim glow, paintings could be discerned: some seemed inspired by biblical tales, others by Norse mythology. Yet, it was impossible to identify them with certainty, so deeply did the darkness conceal these magnificent works.
Facing the door through which the students had entered, in the vast corridor, a space had been arranged right opposite the entrance: there was a table with about a dozen chairs, and behind it a small sofa with a coffee table beside it, upon which rested a lamp.
The old man looked at a girl standing a few paces away from him; feeling his gaze, she stopped contemplating the ceiling that had been holding her fascination.
— Young lady, won't you tell your companions to stop turning a deaf ear? And remind them that they are no longer children! Why do they all seem so lost in their thoughts like that?
— I would love to, Mr. Sakanami, but no one wants to listen to me! I told them repeatedly to stop acting foolishly, but they never listen to me! replied the young girl, who herself seemed somewhat embarrassed to see her peers behaving thus.
Mr. Sakanami cast another glance at the rest of the group; they looked more like a band of loafers than anything else. They were all more or less calm, yet scattered: some were chatting quietly, others seemed to be bickering among themselves, while still others appeared more on edge. The worst part was that the group did not seem malicious, nor did it harbor any bad people... The only notable problem was that they were all completely wrapped up in their own bubbles.
When his gaze returned to the young girl before him, a wave of relief washed over his heart: there was at least one person here who knew how to behave and showed him a modicum of respect, rather than putting on a spectacle like the others over there.
The young girl had light brown, slightly wavy hair; she was short for her age, likely no more than fifteen years old based on the information Mr. Sakanami had received. Her eyes were a light brown. She wore a white shirt beneath a light blue woolen sweater that covered her entire torso while leaving her arms free; she also wore trousers with black cuffs featuring golden stripes at the ends, and brown boots.
He was not surprised by the young girl's unusual appearance; he had seen and felt so many things that such details had become trivial to him. The only thing that still seemed of any use to him was the name of his interlocutor, for that is what one remembers when a person dies or vanishes.
— By the way, what is your name, young lady? I have already forgotten it because of these fools scattering about.
— My name is Marinna Hidelbarde! Do try to remember it this time, Mr. Sakanami; after all, I am the leader of this group, number seventeen. Even if I don't look the part, I still care about not being forgotten!
He nodded in silence. Having acquiesced, young Marinna returned to gazing at the paintings on the ceiling, promptly forgetting Mr. Sakanami's presence. He turned his head to the side, toward the mirror he knew all too well; every year, for fifty years now, he had performed this same ritual: welcoming new people, training them... and then watching them leave.
« I am truly growing old with the passing of time... so many things have happened, acts I regret or would like to undo or achieve better, life choices... yes... yes, I am truly starting to get too old to be thinking about such things, » Shizuru thought as he looked at himself in the mirror.
His reflection was that of a man of sixty, rather well-preserved for his actual age; his hair was a light gray, mingled with white strands that were claiming more and more space, and the wrinkles, too, were gaining ground year by year upon this melancholic face. He wore wire-rimmed spectacles that slipped down his nose. His eyes were hazel with a subtle touch of yellow; his suit had remained the same for years—white and black, a three-piece, to be exact.
He stopped looking into the mirror soon enough to focus on the other part of the group; his gaze was still lost in thought, but he quickly noticed two new fools making their entrance. He found himself staring straight into their eyes, from a distance of two paces.
Two lights emanated distinctly from their bodies: one was blood-red, the other a dark blue one might have mistaken for black... its color resembled the winds of the ocean.
The first was a tall and imposing man, with a slender yet muscular physique and a fair complexion. He had dark blond hair, bordering on light brown. His hair was thick and carefully groomed, with a slight sheen; it was of medium length. His piercing eyes were blue-green with a light touch of brown. He wore the latest fashionable shoes, black, which he had paired with slightly loose-fitting trousers. A sweater matching the ensemble completed his outfit, revealing a beige t-shirt underneath.
The second was less imposing; he was a man with simple features, unshaven, with a few sparse hairs—if one could even call them that. He occasionally wore light reading glasses that he kept on almost all the time; he had medium-length hair, of an almost white blond—in the sun, one would often have thought him bald. His eyes were a mixture of light blue and light green. He wore a black t-shirt with classic, rather light gray trousers, and he had on black gloves.
They looked at each other with a distinguished smile upon their faces. Mr. Sakanami no longer even knew if these two were friends or simply long-standing enemies.
As he watched them, while reaching for his cane propped against the wall beside him, he thought:
« The first is named Thomas Stormen, a young adult who came to this orphanage due to financial troubles; his red aura is truly impressive. Just like the second, Paul Vågen, a young child also placed here because of hardships—we have little information on either of their situations—but in any case, his aura is nothing to scoff at compared to his comrade's, with its blue hue... My only question upon seeing them is where on earth they find all these clothes? I am seriously starting to understand nothing at all about these new generations.
Now, these two fools will undoubtedly attempt to fight using their "Supreme Principle," and that can be dangerous if they know how to use it well... truly utter fools. For now, they are only beginners, so their Supreme Principle is weak—still dangerous, of course, but weak for the time being. Yet as long as they don't have a "Lotus Artifact," the problem can be easily avoided, or at least managed without a headache. I really do not like fighting those things... they are a pain to combat, especially for a person of my age. »
He grabbed his cane and turned around; he saw them beginning to prepare something against each other. He did not give them time to make the slightest gesture and struck the tip of his cane against the ground. When he did so, and the tip touched the floor, a violent wind burst forth from the spot where he had struck.
The wind was so fierce and swift that it hurled everyone to the ground or against the walls, like a ball thrown at top speed. No one understood what had just happened, but this powerful gust had completely swept them away and pinned them against the walls and floor.
Even the people watching from the sidelines had been thrown. Mr. Sakanami watched them struggle to get back up; some had drool clinging to their mouths, others seemed more or less dazed, and some were waking up with difficulty after the impact against the ground or walls.
Marinna approached Mr. Sakanami with difficulty; she had been forcefully hurled against the right-hand wall, and a small trickle of drool was still running from her mouth. As she drew near him, she asked:
— Why did you do that? That was far too violent! It could have killed us, sir!
— Forgive me if the attack startled you, Miss Hidelbarde. But the situation demanded it: you were scattering about, and furthermore, you were using your powers without the authorization of your preceptor—that is to say, me. And that is intolerable in my presence, as your preceptor. So yes, the attack might well have broken a bone here or there, but judging by your faces, it seems you are all unharmed. Now, are you ready to listen to me?
Marinna looked at him with incredulity, her eyes wide open, completely taken aback by the response he had just given. She calmed down just as quickly; the rest of the group drew closer to her and to Mr. Sakanami, who waited while watching them calmly.
— Well, if you are all calmed down, may I begin the introductions?
His words resonated through the endless corridor, creating an echo to his question, but no one answered. They kept silent, looking at him with suspicion and disbelief, yet none of them truly wished to reply.
Seeing this reaction, Mr. Sakanami immediately understood what was happening; he was used to certain years where students proved tougher and more perceptive than others, but seeing his entire group attempting—at least on the surface—to figure him out had the effect of bringing a smile back to his face, or at least softening his mockery.
— Let's start from the very beginning. I am your instructor, Mr. Shizuru Sakanami. For the next two weeks, I will be your instructor and your head teacher, if you prefer to think of it that way. Do at least make the effort to pretend you are interested in me. Since you had to be relocated due to certain problems, I am well aware that you have already been given quite a few explanations, but the rules here are different from your old building, so make an effort… and one last thing: welcome to your new home!
While delivering his speech, Mr. Sakanami bowed in a gesture of reverence, then straightened up once it was finished. It was customary for supervisors to perform this bow; seeing this, the group recovered a few smiles.
— Thank you for the welcome! said Marinna, looking at him with delight. I just hope you'll stop using violence against us.
— That will entirely depend on how you conduct yourselves around me or in society. Because if I have to correct you every time, I will gladly do so, Mr. Sakanami remarked, looking at her with a hint of kindness.
He watched her with a smile at the corners of his lips, and then, in a sudden burst of momentum, everyone began to laugh—not with a malicious or scornful laugh, but rather a friendly one, where the sincerity of the words was heard and not judged.
He looked at them, his eyes narrowed, a small smile at the corners of his lips, his hands resting on his cane behind his back, standing tall; he observed them with an expression at once melancholic and happy, recalling their profile sheets.
He thought back to the stack of papers Mr. Sakanami had been forced to read before welcoming them:
« He comes from another orphanage, number 404 B-C; there was a rather strange mishap, and so far the team tasked with investigating has still provided no explanation… For these children, they must have been there for over a week; while there, they already received all the explanations regarding their powers and the rest. It is stupid to put them here, we have barely begun, why not put them somewhere else? Why not with orphanage 567 A-B? Over there they have space, and besides, they are aligned with orphanage 404 B-C on the calendar… This must be the higher-ups acting up again! »
There were still many other things that troubled him on a daily basis, but a strange impression emanated from this year, or rather from this session. Mr. Sakanami looked at the people he hadn't paid too much attention to; apart from those two idiots and Hirem, the others seemed just as peculiar, kind, or special to him—yet he knew very little about them, aside from what was written on the sheet; he knew nothing.
They were laughing, chatting amongst themselves, in a true team atmosphere… Mr. Sakanami was somewhat bothered, even unsettled by it; he had encountered this situation before and still disliked it today.
« They already have their own method… especially for just a week spent here. This year is likely to be a bit chaotic, » Shizuru thought as he watched them.
There was this young man who seemed quite close to Paul Vågen and Thomas Stormen. His name was Naoto Akizuki, a rather tall and slender young man with pale skin, with black or very dark hair, generally short and slightly tousled. He always wore a stoic expression and smiled far too rarely. He wore a black suit with a white shirt and leather shoes.
While staring at him, Naoto realized the gaze Mr. Sakanami was casting his way, but the older man paid it no mind and moved straight on to another.
Mr. Sakanami looked at the young man standing beside Mrs. Hidelbarde; he was much older than her and the others—she must have been twenty-five. His name was Manas Dvait, a young man who was merely passing through while waiting to return to his homeland... He had black hair and a fair olive complexion. Blessed with a beauty that might make some envious, he had a simple physique, brown eyes, and a bindi on his forehead. He wore the traditional attire of a pandit, though he had made the effort to adapt it slightly to make it more presentable.
When Mr. Sakanami cast his gaze upon them, they turned toward him, yet observed him with a noticeable indifference. They were analyzing him in return, too; he wanted to know his students, to protect them as best as he could before leaving. His gaze detached from them to move toward a group of boys; there were three of them, and two seemed to be arguing.
There was Ulrich Musser, a tall, elegant young man who appeared cultured, with a rather sober and distinguished bearing. He projected the image of a serious, reflective, and reserved man. He had well-groomed brown hair cut in a bob, with eyes of the same brown. He wore elegant, tailored clothing—a suit with a shirt and a relatively formal outfit.
He stood apart from the two individuals who seemed to be squabbling, accompanied by another person with whom he was chatting while observing them.
As for the two people who appeared to be bickering over trifles, there was Albert Huger, on the verge of a fight with a certain William Riemann. Albert was a tall, thin man with a stern face; he had black hair, slightly tousled yet still neat, and dark green eyes. He wore an all-black suit with gloves.
The person Albert was arguing with was William Riemann, a man of medium height, just as thin as Albert, with fair skin and dark brown hair styled with hairspray. He had brown eyes and occasionally wore lightweight glasses, either to focus or simply to work. He wore a simple shirt with classic trousers, but, like everyone else, he too wore gloves—his own being brown.
« It is sad that these kids have family problems, issues with money or food. Life can be unfair to some people who asked for nothing. Living happily is the only thing that can save us, forgetting everyday troubles to embrace that happiness hiding within us, » Shizuru told himself as he watched them argue.
The three of them also noticed that look, the one from Mr. Sakanami. They observed him in silence. But Mr. Sakanami's gaze rose once more, settling upon the final two people in the group.
Only two people remained. Yet, seeing the group like this, it was clear they all already knew one another, judging by their expressions in the face of everyone's senseless squabbles.
There was this twenty-three-year-old young man who seemed to be listening, along with Ulrich, to the others' discussions; he did not appear to pay attention to Mr. Sakanami's glances. His features were simple, rather ordinary, and modest in appearance. He had a round and slightly heavy build, with traits that gave an impression of gentleness and simplicity. He had brown hair and eyes to match. He was dressed in a dark bourgeois suit, a shirt, and a hat. His name was Léonard Bluom.
« He seems lost in thought, or adrift in a daydream, listening to the chatter with a smile at the corners of his lips, as though he felt a sense of relief—it almost looks like a relationship between a father and his sons, with an uncle watching on, albeit with an immature father... But all the same, he ought to pay closer attention to his surroundings. Still, it is a fine thing at his age; I would have liked to be like him, while yet being somewhat different—I would have wished to educate myself from a very young age, rather than wasting my time courting young women. I would have loved to devote those years to reading, to feed upon every kind of book and poetry, and to let my mind flourish through the flow of words. I recall the information I possess on all of them, and the list is rather thin indeed—do we ever truly know the people who make up our daily lives? » Sakanami mused as he watched him; he noticed that this youth was observing him in silence, that every one of his gestures was being tracked, as though he were plotting something in his own corner.
As for the last one, Mr. Sakanami felt somewhat disconcerted; when he looked at her, she appeared a little lost, or even entirely timid in the presence of the others. She gazed down at the floor without a word, a rather foolish smile upon her lips; from time to time she would lift her head to watch her group bickering, and that sight would make her smile. She was standing next to Marinna and Manas.
« She must truly love her group to wear that kind of smile simply from watching them. It reminds me of the past... but today, I do no more than watch, through the glass of my heart, the lives of others, » Shizuru thought as he watched her silly, happy smile.
Her name was Alice Kageyama; she was an ordinary young woman, rather pretty yet with nothing to set her apart from the crowd, featuring brown hair and green eyes—far more discreet than the others, whose outfits broke entirely away from the ordinary. Her own attire was classic...
He had no time to observe her properly, for the entire group had drawn close to him, serious expressions on their faces. They came to stand right before Mr. Sakanami; Marinna, the leader of the group, spoke up:
— Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Sakanami, Marinna said, looking slightly embarrassed. The thing is, ever since a moment ago you've done nothing but stare at us, and to be entirely honest with you, it makes the group and me feel deeply uncomfortable...
Mr. Sakanami cut Marinna off mid-sentence; he looked them straight in the eyes, leaning upon his cane, and said:
— I was merely observing you; life here can be very short, so I am taking the opportunity to commit you to memory before forgetting you, nothing very serious... but in light of what you have just told me, I shall stop.
Hearing this, the group was divided; they exchanged glances that only they could understand, but one thing was certain: they distrusted him—this supervisor Sakanami, who was far too observant for their liking. At this reply, most of the group's gazes turned cold and distant, even if they still wore a lingering smile.
Seeing their faces, Shizuru Sakanami looked back at them, this time with a hint of sadness in his eyes.
« Their faces remind me of my youth... of course, that goes back all of fifty-two years, or even a little more. I was like them, born into a loving yet poor family; so, by stroke of luck or misfortune, I was sent to an orphanage—not because I lacked parents, but because the school was far too far from my home. I met many people whom I still cherish in my heart... but time suddenly raced far too far ahead, and I already found myself trapped inside this hell. It is often said that we are spectators of our own happiness and actors of our own misery. That phrase holds much truth, yet I still feel like a mere spectator to all of it; I regret not having fought, not having become the actor of my own life—so many regrets fill my heart... my life is nothing but regret!
I became a supervisor almost to save myself, but loneliness caught up with me over the years and caught me in its web; it has become the ink of my life. How long has it been since I last had a truly open-hearted conversation... I speak to no one but myself, for I have become my own sole source of comfort. Even today, I feel like that black spot upon a white wall—not placed there deliberately, but having arrived perhaps even before the wall itself, before the fresh lime of the new recruits. Normally, one would erase that black stain on the white wall, but it has become indelible, scarred by time and the wear of the paper; many other black spots have appeared just like it, so I am far from being the only one, yet perhaps I am the most persistent of the lot. My life is no longer that of an observer: I watch the lives of others through a pane of glass, no longer even feeling close to my colleagues, because the reality is that I speak to them only through this glass. The world turns with this water that always flows in the same direction, and I remain here, looking backward, motionless; the clock of time ticks away step by step, I watch it swing from right to left, and I am here, like an idiot, watching it go by while seeing my own life drain away. I could postpone my death, but what would be the point? There is nothing left here to make me stay.
There remain only the memories of my life from before; they fade away just like chalk wiped from a classroom blackboard—they depart, and one forgets their contents, such is the cruelty of memories. How many colleagues or people have died whose faces have been forgotten, along with who they truly were? For now, I am here, carrying all the memories of these people, or at least what remains of them... mostly their names. This burden weighs heavy upon me; there are days when I feel thousands of bodies upon my shoulders, reduced to nothing more than names upon faces... One day I shall die, and who will remember me? Surely no one. But I refuse to forget the rest—perhaps because of the cowardice of times past, but I must... I must not forget them! » Mr. Sakanami thought as he looked at them.
Suddenly, a phone rang; the noise startled everyone. It was loud and caught them off guard; the group looked all around, hoping to figure out where it was coming from, but the sound remained untraceable, echoes ringing in their ears without a clue of where to look next.
Mr. Sakanami watched them with amusement; he never truly grew tired of this spectacle, of watching someone search for something so simple without managing to find it.
He stepped to the side, toward a gas lamp that was entirely out of alignment with the others. Pressing a button located underneath, a sound like a click was heard; he pulled on the lamp, and a telephone appeared within the recess of a secret compartment behind the lamp's wall. It was an old model from the eighties; he picked up the receiver.
The group looked at one another, somewhat perplexed; for them, too, it was the first time seeing a telephone in a place like this. Above all, they were a bit disconcerted by such an old device.
The conversation was brief, lasting not even ten seconds. Mr. Sakanami turned back toward them with a serious expression, in a calm and measured voice, and said:
— I must take this call, which is truly important, so I would ask you to step back five paces to give me some peace... Ah, yes, I almost forgot: if any of you makes the slightest noise or sound disturbance, there will be consequences! Understood!
They all nodded with varying degrees of visibility. Mr. Sakanami glanced at his group one last time before being completely absorbed by the call.
— Marinna, lead the group to the side; upon entering through the door when I came to fetch you, you must have noticed a small area with a table. Normally, tea is waiting for you there, so go on, it's right next door, understood! Speak quietly! And above all, do not wander off.
Marinna did not reply, but nodded in agreement. The group took a few steps and then turned to the left, finding themselves facing a table where ten cups of tea were laid out alongside shortbread cookies.
When Mr. Sakanami saw them turn left, he drew closer and dialed a new number. Meanwhile, the group sipped their tea while nibbling on the shortbread, chatting more quietly away from prying eyes.
End of this episode.
Thank you for reading.