The chalk scraped softly against the board, leaving a faint powder trail. Outside the classroom window, wind rustled the tall trees. The sunlight flickered between their swaying leaves, casting restless shadows across the desks.
Gabriel sat at the very back of Class 2-B.
Third row from the wall. Nearest to the window. A seat with clear visibility of the door and half the hallway. Not ideal cover, but not bad either. If things went wrong—if they started here—he'd have about six seconds to move.
He pretended to take notes.
The teacher was droning about Edo-period cultural shifts, but Gabriel wasn't listening. Not really. His eyes drifted subtly from one student to the next, mapping positions, body language, tone of voice.
Miku Nakano sat two seats over, notebook open, pencil barely moving. Every few minutes she glanced at him, then looked away quickly when he noticed. Quiet. Anxious. Probably the kind to freeze in a real emergency.
Nino, two rows up, leaned sideways on one arm, her other hand scrolling her phone behind a textbook. She hadn't looked at him once since the introduction, but her earlier eye-roll had spoken volumes. She didn't like new people. Or maybe she just didn't like being ignored.
Itsuki, near the front, was paying full attention, hand raised more than once, correcting the teacher once with textbook accuracy. A rule-follower. She'd probably argue with him if he started giving orders.
And Marin, diagonally to his right, was… everywhere.
Talking. Laughing. Flipping pages. Pulling snacks out of her pencil pouch and offering them to Miku, then pouting when Miku refused. At one point she turned completely in her seat to say something to Ichika behind her, nearly knocking over her own chair.
Every time someone asked about the new guy, she was the one answering.
"Oh yeah, he's from the Philippines."
"He said we can call him Gabe—right, Gabe?"
"He's so tall, right? Like, does everyone there look like that?"
He didn't respond. Just nodded when she looked at him, once. That was enough.
Still, he could feel the occasional glance from the boys. Measuring. Comparing. Trying to figure out if he was quiet because he was harmless… or dangerous.
Let them wonder.
He scribbled in his notebook, but instead of history notes, he was drawing a layout of the room. Door to the hallway. Windows along the right. Front and back exits. Teacher's podium had a drawer—maybe supplies. Pencil case to his right had a hidden razor blade. The air conditioning vent above the whiteboard was too narrow to crawl through, but it might carry sound.
Four seconds to reach the hallway if he cleared the desks fast.
Five to get to the emergency stairwell at the end of the hall.
Maybe six if he had to carry someone.
[Countdown: 01:32:12]
Still ticking.
Outside, a siren wailed in the distance. Not close. Not urgent. Probably a traffic collision. A few students turned toward the window out of instinct, but no one paid much attention.
He watched the teacher continue the lecture. The man hadn't noticed that half the class wasn't following.
Then his eyes drifted to the wall clock.
The second hand swept smoothly. Tick. Tick. Tick.
This world was beautiful. Normal. Peaceful.
But it wasn't going to last.
And Gabriel wasn't here to get comfortable.
The bell rang with a metallic buzz, and the classroom burst into life.
Chairs scraped back, bags unzipped, snacks appeared from hidden compartments. Marin started waving around some kind of seaweed chip like it was currency. Miku opened her bento in total silence. Nino immediately started texting.
Gabriel stood up, stretching his arms above his head. His movements were deliberate, relaxed. He let his shoulders roll and cracked his neck just once before slinging his bag over one shoulder.
No one stopped him as he stepped into the hallway.
The corridors of Fujimi Academy were painted in soft creams and whites, decorated with faded poster boards, prize ribbons, and upcoming event flyers. Daylight streamed in through tall glass windows that lined one side of the hallway. The city skyline peeked in from behind the trees.
He walked slowly—not aimless, but deliberate.
Every turn, every stairwell, every door: he mapped it. Classroom numbers. Storage closets. Fire hose stations. Elevators that likely didn't work during emergencies. One emergency exit at the end of the second-floor corridor, chained shut with a "DO NOT OPEN" sign.
Noted.
He passed a bulletin board covered in flyers for the upcoming joint school culture festival. One of them read.
"Performance stage rehearsal: Class 3-A vs 2-D Dance-Off. Judges needed. Contact Fujiwara-san!"
He blinked once.
Fujiwara?
A voice echoed around the corner.
"Hey! You! You're not supposed to be wandering around during break without a hall pass!"
Gabriel turned—and met a very intense pair of brown eyes beneath sharply cut bangs. A girl in a regulation-issue blazer with a red armband that read Moral Discipline Committee was staring him down like he'd just committed a felony.
Miko Iino.
"Name and class?" she demanded.
Gabriel blinked slowly. "Gabriel De Leon. Class 2-B. Just stretching my legs."
"You're loitering." She took out a notepad and flipped it open. "Suspicious behavior includes loitering outside empty classrooms, checking fire exits, and avoiding eye contact. That's three strikes already."
He raised an eyebrow. "I looked you in the eye just now."
"That doesn't count if it's sarcastic," she replied flatly.
Gabriel exhaled through his nose. "It's my first day."
She frowned, pen already writing.
"I'll be reporting this to—"
"—Miko-chan, are you bothering the transfer student again?"
A second voice. High-pitched, sweet, and absolutely full of trouble.
Chika Fujiwara came bouncing down the hall, waving one arm like she was at a parade. Her bag was swinging behind her. Her tie was half-undone. She stopped between them and looked at Gabriel like she was seeing a prize in a UFO catcher.
"Whoa, you're tall. Are you in the basketball club? Or maybe kendo? You've got that vibe." She stepped in closer, completely ignoring Miko's mounting irritation.
Gabriel gave her a measured nod. "Not in a club."
"YET!" she added, grinning. "I'm Chika Fujiwara! Let me know if you ever need a tour. Or a bento. Or, like, a hostage negotiator. I'm kind of a multi-tool that way."
Miko sighed, deflated. "Chika-san, he was loitering."
Chika turned back to Miko and pointed at Gabe's face. "Moral committee or not, you can't fine someone just for having resting secret-agent face."
Gabriel took the opportunity. "If it helps, I was heading back anyway."
He stepped past them smoothly, nodding once to both.
Behind him, Chika's voice echoed faintly:
"See, he even leaves dramatically. You have to respect that."
Miko, in contrast.
"I don't respect drama, I respect rules!"
He moved on without looking back, turning down the side hallway that led toward the back of the school. Less traffic here. Quieter.
Then he stopped in front of a sliding wooden door with narrow glass slats.
The Kendo Hall.
Inside, it was silent—except for the swish of fabric and the snap of a wooden blade striking empty air.
Saeko Busujima moved like she was underwater. No wasted motion. Her practice strikes were precise, deadly. One swing, retract. Again. Again.
Her eyes were focused. Calm. Completely centered.
He stayed outside the door.
Something about watching her made the buzz of the System fade. His thoughts quieted. Even the countdown blurred for a moment.
She didn't see him watching.
And he didn't want her to.
He stepped back from the door and disappeared down the next hallway before she ever looked up.