Chapter 13
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Max went to class the next day.
He didn't know why. Habit, maybe. Or the inability to make any other decision.
The classroom was quieter than usual. Students sat in small clusters. Talking in low voices.
Max took his seat. Corner by the window.
Aiko's seat was empty.
Would always be empty now.
Hirata entered. Set his bag down. Looked at the class.
His expression was grave.
"Everyone," he said. "I have some difficult news."
The room went silent.
"Aiko Yamamoto passed away yesterday."
Some students gasped. Others sat frozen.
"She had been battling cancer privately. She didn't want people to know. Her family has asked for privacy during this time."
Cancer.
The word hung in the air.
Max stared at Hirata.
Cancer.
That's what they were calling it.
A girl next to the window started crying. Others comforted her.
Hirata continued talking. About grief. About support resources. About respecting the family's wishes.
Max stopped listening.
He looked around the room.
Some students were genuinely shocked. Crying. Mourning.
But others—
Others were looking at him.
Quick glances. Then away.
They knew.
Cancer. The official story. The polite lie.
But everyone knew what really happened.
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By lunch, the whispers had started.
Max walked past a group in the hallway.
"—his fault—"
"—wouldn't have happened if—"
"—drove her to it—"
He kept walking.
His phone buzzed. Still off from yesterday. He'd turned it back on this morning.
Mistake.
Messages filled the screen.
*You killed her*
*Hope you're happy*
*She's dead because of you*
*Murderer*
Max turned it off again.
In the bathroom, someone had written on the mirror in marker.
*MAX WHITMORE KILLED YAMAMOTO*
He washed his hands. Left.
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The guilt sat in his chest like a stone.
Heavy. Constant.
He'd seen her suffering. Seen the images circulating. Heard the whispers.
And he'd done nothing.
Because he'd been dealing with his own bullying. His own survival.
He'd been too weak to help her.
Too focused on himself.
Maybe they were right.
Maybe it was his fault.
If he'd said something. Done something. Defended her.
But he hadn't.
And now she was dead.
Max sat in class. Stared at his textbook. Saw nothing.
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The bullying got worse.
Before, it had been divided. Shared between him and Aiko.
Now it was all directed at him.
Someone knocked his bag off his desk. Papers scattered everywhere.
When he bent to pick them up, a foot stepped on his hand.
"Oops."
Laughter.
Max pulled his hand back. Gathered his papers. Said nothing.
In the hallway, students would see him coming and form a wall. Make him walk around them.
Someone threw a drink at him. It hit his back. Soaked through his shirt.
No one said anything. Just watched.
His locker was vandalized. Scratches. Dents. Words carved into the metal.
*KILLER*
*DIE*
*GO HOME*
He stopped using it.
Carried everything in his bag.
His desk in class was covered in notes every morning.
He'd arrive early to clear them away before others saw.
But they saw anyway.
Took pictures. Posted them. Laughed.
Max stopped arriving early.
Just sat down. Ignored the notes.
Eventually someone would sweep them onto the floor.
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Term exams were in two weeks.
Max counted down the days.
Just make it to exams. Then he could stop.
In class, Hirata assigned a group project.
When it came time to form groups, everyone had already partnered up.
Max sat alone.
Hirata looked at him. Sighed.
"Whitmore, you can work independently."
Max nodded.
Better that way.
He submitted his project a day early. Left it on Hirata's desk after class.
Didn't wait for feedback.
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Exam week arrived.
Max showed up. Took his tests. Left immediately after.
Didn't speak to anyone.
Didn't make eye contact.
Just wrote his answers. Handed in his papers. Walked out.
The last exam was on Friday.
Cultural Studies. Essay format.
Max finished in an hour. Most students were still writing.
He stood. Brought his paper to the front.
Hirata looked up. "Already done?"
Max nodded.
"Are you alright, Whitmore?"
Max didn't answer. Left the room.
Walked out of the building.
Off campus.
Back to his apartment.
And didn't leave.
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Days passed.
Then weeks.
Max stayed in his room.
Curtains closed. Lights off.
He ordered food delivery. Left the containers by the door.
Stopped checking his phone entirely.
Stopped checking email.
Classes started again. He didn't go.
His attendance dropped. No one contacted him.
Why would they?
He was nobody.
The student everyone wanted to forget.
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Months passed.
Seasons changed outside his window. He barely noticed.
Summer heat gave way to autumn rain gave way to winter cold.
Max existed in the space between the walls.
Ate. Slept. Stared at the ceiling.
Sometimes he thought about Aiko.
Her face. The way she'd smiled when he'd gotten a grammar structure right.
The way she'd laughed at his pronunciation.
Before everything went wrong.
He thought about her dead.
His fault.
Always his fault.
The guilt was a companion now. Familiar. Constant.
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Term exams came around again.
Max checked the dates online. Made himself remember them.
He went.
Walked to campus like a ghost. Ignored the stares. Took his tests.
Passed.
Barely.
But enough.
Went home.
Six months.
Then a year.
Then two years.
The pattern repeated.
Exams. Show up. Pass. Leave.
Nothing else.
His apartment became his entire world.
Four walls. A bed. A desk. A bathroom.
That was enough.
The university forgot about him.
New students came. New dramas unfolded.
Max Whitmore became a name on a roster. Nothing more.
Some professors probably wondered why he still enrolled.
Why he bothered showing up for exams.
But no one asked.
No one cared.
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Two years after Aiko died, Max sat in his room.
The curtains hadn't been opened in months.
Dust covered everything.
Food containers were stacked in the corner.
The air was stale.
Max lay on his bed. Stared at the ceiling.
The water stain in the corner had grown. Spread like a bruise.
He watched it.
Time passed.
Hours. Days.
It didn't matter.
Nothing mattered.
The world outside continued without him.
He'd become exactly what he'd always feared.
Invisible.
Forgotten.
An NPC in his own life.
Existing but not living.
Breathing but not alive.
The guilt remained.
And the emptiness.
And the four walls.
That was all.
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