My entire anatomy was heavy from my shoulders to my eyes, and completely numb from my hands down to my feet. I was lost yet frustratingly self-aware, trapped in a body unable to move.
"Yoshi man, do you—"
I couldn't quite hear him. Masato's voice rang along the inner walls of my head, making it throb with every syllable. My mind was an intoxicated mess, unable to catch his words, failing to focus. I couldn't tell if this was a flu coming on, exhaustion, or anxiety pressing down on me, but whatever it was, it dragged me to the edge of faintness. Like a failing pulse, my awareness ebbed and flowed, slipping between consciousness and the dark. Oh, how I wished for my bed and the clean, nurturing taste of water. Masato, you fool, can't you read my mind? We've been friends long enough.
"What's wrong with him…"
Then, a sharper note cut through the haze. "Poor Erina, she's soaked."
Slowly, the world began to piece itself back together.
"Erina, are you okay?" "Let's get you washed up." "You can borrow my spare jersey!"
Their voices, all feminine, orbited my skull like asteroids burning up before a collision. My face felt entirely numb; a heavy plague had taken complete control over me. It festered in sparks, exploding from my stomach and echoing across the surface of my skin. I wanted it all to stop. Gathering what little internal strength I had left, I tried to pull myself together.
"Disgusting—Poor Erina."
I forced my eyes open despite the burning sensation clouding my vision. I raised my head, trying to rest my back against the chair. A warm liquid, smudged thick across my skin, ran down my cheek before dripping off the edge of my jaw.
"Why couldn't he have just gone to the infirmary?"
I opened my left eye. The girl with the braids was looking down at me with pity—the worst kind of pity. I had never really spoken to her, and to be perceived like this, in this state...
"Where is the..." I struggled through a mumble, my voice croaking with deflated, weak articulation. I couldn't muster an ounce of poise. As moronic as it sounded, I'd rather try and fail than be seen lacking all self-respect.
I lifted my right hand. Numb and heavy as a stone, I smeared it across my face to wipe the grime away before letting it drop dead against the side of my chair. My head lolled toward my chest, but I finally managed to grasp some sort of control over my sight.
Looking up, I found seven or maybe eight girls huddled together in a tight group just before my desk. They were completely ignoring me, their hands working quickly over the center of their circle.
Masato leaned in from behind. "You've messed up, man. This is a big mess, literally. Seriously, you were coughing up blood—I thought you were dying!"
I groaned, keeping the sound to myself. My stomach churned at the realization that Masato wasn't exaggerating. The proof was splattered all over my desk, my shirt, and, regrettably, Erina as well.
"Where's the teacher?" I asked. It came out louder than I wanted, but I was already too far gone to be embarrassed.
"He left a few minutes ago. Got called out just before you erupted," Masato said without a grin. I sensed he knew better than to push his luck right now.
At his comment, however, one of the girls in the group whipped around. Her hazel-brown eyes beamed with a gaze of pure disdain, a look that pronounced Masato and me as absolute wastes of space. She wore her hair in a ponytail, was fairly short, and had a weird array of pink bracelets running up her arm. Honestly, I couldn't remember her name. I only remembered those who made an impression on me, so I found myself entirely taken aback by her vitriol. For a moment, I wondered if her outrage was only for Erina's sake, or if something else stoked it—a personal grudge perhaps, or some bruised sense of order I had accidentally upset. I had never spoken to her, never crossed paths as far as I knew, and yet her anger felt pointed, almost practiced.
"You think this is funny?" she snapped. "Erina is covered in this slob's vomit. Do you know how long it is going to take for her to remove the stains and that putrid smell!"
My face came alive, a hot, humiliating crimson spreading across my cheeks.
Erina stepped out of the group, her hand reaching gently for the girl's shoulder. "Yumi, it's fine, really. Yoshi is just unwell—"
Erina was soaked, her face pale and visibly shaken with nerves, yet she still thought of others first. It was just her nature to ease the growing tension—something Alison usually did effortlessly, her mere presence smoothing over the frayed edges of our class.
But Yumi wouldn't allow us off that easily. Her pink bracelets clattered loosely around her arm as she planted her hands firmly on Masato's desk. "No, this scrub needs to understand. We all deserve respect. Yoshi has spoiled Erina's pride."
I tried to look away, but her sheer frustration turned my head like an invisible, intense hand, forcing me to witness Masato defending our ego. This was all so uncalled for; she was dragging it out. This girl, whom I had never spoken to, offended, or even questioned, was now interrogating our self-respect. It was deeply irritating, and Masato wasn't having any of it.
"You're acting as if he vomited on Erina on purpose," Masato shot back, his voice rising. "That is utterly idiotic. Yoshi is clearly sick."
"Idiotic? Huh. Then, mind telling me where his logic drowned? Why hadn't he requested to excuse himself before making a mess?"
I couldn't admit that I had dozed off, nor that I didn't even know I was sick. I'd had no symptoms; it had all stemmed directly from a nightmare. How illogical. Explaining the truth would likely have me excluded from every future social gathering. Not even Alison could save my reputation from this.
"The teacher left! How should he have—" Masato began, but Yumi cut him off with a scoff.
"Any responsible male would have control over their body. Clearly, there was no self-restraint."
It was a pointless argument. Her ego was like a flare, threatening to grow and scorch us both. And poor Masato—I knew he wanted to comfort Erina, or at least help clean up, but the entire classroom was radiating hostility. Usually, when Alison was around, the room felt bearable, like a scale held in equilibrium. Her absence had left a vacuum, allowing the dormant resentment among our classmates to take root.
Masato and I usually flew under the radar, but ever since we became friends with Alison, I'd had the distinct feeling we were a hot topic in the gossip groups. Now that she wasn't here to balance things out, people like Yumi were seizing the chance. The students watching from the edges were just like vultures, feeding off her manufactured frustration.
Masato and I had always existed at the edge of attention—present, but largely unremarkable, drifting through the days as background figures. Alison's friendship had changed that, drawing a subtle but persistent curiosity from the others. Some regarded us with open jealousy, stung by her warmth toward us and the ease with which we belonged in her circle. With Alison gone, that jealousy no longer needed to hide behind civility. People like Yumi seized the opportunity to reassert old hierarchies, weaponizing whatever grudges or insecurities had been quietly gathering. The classroom itself was transformed: every glance felt sharper, every whisper heavier, and the divide between 'us' and 'them' became suddenly, painfully clear.
It was unfair. Despite my weak, trembling body, a sudden wave of irritation washed over me.
I watched as Masato regained his composure. "I'll get him checked out and call the janitor while I'm at it," he said calmly, stepping out from behind his desk and holding onto his chair for support.
Yumi watched him struggle, her hands still planted on the wood. A cruel smirk played over her face. She scoffed, "Oh please, you can't even walk around without needing support. You might fall over yourself before you even reach the infirmary."
A few students gasped. Yumi had crossed a line, but her predatory gaze showed she was fully prepared to go further.
I looked into Masato's eyes and saw an abyss. It was that exact, hollow stare I had seen once before. The memory made my heart race—the time I had run at a full sprint to pull him away from the edge of a cliff.
That brief, terrifying memory shattered my paralysis.
Instinctively, I moved. My brain was still caught within the echoes of my nightmare, and I banged my knee hard against my desk as I stood up, but I couldn't care less. Yumi faltered, her expression shifting instantly from predator to startled innocence.
I was still weak, still fighting my own muscles, but Yumi's preaching about respect seemed so deeply hypocritical that it overruled my exhaustion. The classroom fell into a ringing silence, though I quickly realized it was just my own ears ringing with anger.
"How dare you," I said. My voice wasn't a shout, nor did I use a venomous tone, which somehow made it heavier. "Have you no compassion for him? If you are so quick to judge restraint, then surely you're a hypocrite."
I didn't wait for her to respond. I stepped toward Masato, my eyes locked onto Yumi's. That was where I poured all my venom. I knew she saw it—the sudden, ruthless reflection of the same worthless feeling she had given us, now turned back on her.
The vultures in the back row began to whisper. As I reached out for Masato's shoulder, Yumi instinctively recoiled, her heel catching the edge of a desk leg. In an instant, she fell straight onto the floor. The contact was loud, her palms smacking hard against the linoleum. Masato flinched beside me.
Her sudden, vulnerable stature almost made me forget her words. Moving on instinct, I extended a hand to help her up.
She didn't look up immediately. For a moment—just a fraction of a second—I thought she might take it. Then her eyes lifted from her lap, hazel and spilling steam like hot coffee. Before I could retract my arm, she smacked it away with surprising force.
"Don't touch me, idiot!" she cried, tears forming along the rims of her eyes.
I stood there, confused, a physical mess, and entirely unsure of what I had done to cause such a scene. It felt as if all of these events were unfolding inside a bad dream. Maybe I was still drifting, my real body lounging comfortably over my desk while my mind hallucinated.
Yet I knew I was only kidding myself.
Unable to meet the gaze of Masato, Yumi, or any of my other classmates, I stared at the floor. I was embarrassed, trapped inside a sick body, and entirely unsure how to navigate this sudden hostility. Even the air felt different—thicker, as if everyone was waiting for something or someone to restore the old balance, but the anchor was missing. But before I could internalize it further, a sudden shift in the room's atmosphere drew everyone's focus elsewhere.
I turned around, my eyes focusing on the front entrance of the classroom.
Two people stood there. They wore formal ties and carried badges that dignified their crisp uniforms. The one commanding the most attention was a female officer, her expression deadly serious. Yumi was still sitting on the floor, and the officer took immediate note of it.
Our teacher hovered at the edge of the doorway like a nervous mouse, his shaky voice heightening the tension in the room. "Students, these are detectives. They represent the Chichibu District Police Station. Please treat them with respect and follow their directives." He finished with a hasty bow and stepped back out into the hallway.
I wondered if I should sit back down, but given the mess on my desk and Yumi still on the floor, I felt fastened to the spot, held captive by the authoritative stance of the female detective.
"My name is Haruka. Yoshida Haruka," she began, taking a deliberate step toward the front desk of the middle row. The student sitting there arched their back in discomfort. "We are investigating an incident which occurred early this morning. We believe that some students here may have..." She paused. I noticed her eyes hadn't moved from mine. "...information. Information that could help with our investigation. If we call your name, please conduct yourself orderly and follow my associate, Detective Yaguchi."
She raised a hand toward the man on her right. He matched her intensity perfectly, despite a nerdier appearance, with wire-rimmed glasses and hair combed with mathematical precision.
"Be prepared to be held in our custody for a few hours. Food and water will be provided," Haruka continued, her voice level. "I will finish by saying that this is not an arrest. Only questioning."
Her emphasis on the word questioning was clearly meant to lighten the mood, but it had the opposite effect, causing several students' eyes to widen in sheer panic. The detective produced a small notebook, flipping it open to a page bookmarked with a sleek pen. She scanned it briefly.
"Odawa Erina. Hiroshi Masato. Kakegawa Ichinose. Yagame Hiro. And Taka Yoshi."
My ears began to ring again—not out of anger this time, but pure shock. I wanted to move, to obey, but my limbs felt as if they had been struck with hot iron.
"Wh-what's going on?" Ichinose stammered from her desk. Her lips quivered, and her legs were visibly shaking, a complete breakdown of her usually calm demeanor.
"Yeah, why am I being questioned? I have a baseball match this afternoon; I can't just—" Hiro started, standing up from his desk in the front-left row. He was tall and usually commanding, but his confidence was quickly snapped away by a single look from Detective Haruka.
"My instructions were clear," Haruka said, her voice cutting through his protest with absolute finality. "If your name was called, conduct yourself orderly. Refusing to cooperate will only prolong your stay. Your teacher will notify your coaches, parents, and other relatives. If you cooperate, we won't take up too much of your time."
Her eyes studied Hiro, silently daring him to continue. He looked irritated, his jaw tightening, but he ultimately complied. "Tsk—fine. Let's get this over with."
Amid the growing murmurs of our classmates, each of us took cautious, uncertain steps toward the male detective. Masato and I walked up last. Detective Yaguchi looked at Erina and then at me, noting the wet mess all over our uniforms and the dark stains of blood that had since dried into the fabric. His face didn't register disgust but rather a sharp, analytical curiosity. Haruka noticed the mess too, but neither officer expressed a word of contempt.
We were guided out into the hallway, the whispers from the classroom growing louder behind us, in stark contrast to our own instinct to remain completely silent.
In the corridor, I spotted Mr. Ura, Kiori, and Ms. Tomita standing in a tight cluster. Erina exited the classroom last. Her face was still incredibly pale, her strides pathetic, and her eyes tightly clenched with a nervous desperation to simply melt away. Kiori instantly rushed over, her arms freezing just before she pulled Erina into a hug, completely unsure of how to handle the physical mess her friend was in.
Their whispers were entirely clear to me; my senses were hyper-aware.
"What happened? You're a mess," Kiori hissed, lifting her hands to Erina's forehead to check her temperature. It was the gentlest I had ever seen Kiori treat anyone. "Erina, are you unwell?"
Erina forced her lips upward, trying to project a positive front. "One of our classmates is sick. I just happened to be standing too close."
She didn't look in my direction. She didn't hint at me as the culprit. She wasn't going to confess, and I realized why instantly. I felt a profound wave of gratitude.
Kiori's face shifted from concern to quiet, simmering irritation, her hands clenching into tight fists. "Tell me who it was, Erina…"
"Kiori, stop. They aren't well. I was just unlucky."
"Unlucky? It's common sense, Erina. They lack the decency to—"
With Kiori's voice rising in irritation, driven by a mix of Erina's soft-hearted deflection and the sheer stress of the police presence, Ms. Tomita approached them. The teacher looked stern at first, but upon seeing the state of Erina's uniform, her expression softened into sympathy.
I turned away and drifted down the hallway, keeping my eyes on the scuffed floor tiles just to anchor myself. I didn't even have the energy to wonder what the detectives wanted or what kind of interrogation was waiting for me. My head felt like it was packed with wool and static, my thoughts running in slow, disconnected loops. Today had wrung me out—bad sleep, a stomach twisted from anxiety, and the kind of exhaustion that makes you forget where your own edges are. I felt split open, nerves humming with leftover panic. Whatever happened next, I just had to keep it together. At least until I was out of their sight.
We didn't move right away. Throughout the hallway, students from other classes were peeking through the small windows of their doors, their footsteps echoing off the distant walls.
Masato, who had been engaged in a brief, hushed conversation with Mr. Ura, walked over to stand beside me. "They're just discussing car arrangements," he whispered. "The teachers are being incredibly pessimistic about how we're going to be treated."
"They're just worried about the school's appearance," I replied dryly.
"Why would they be? Our school isn't exactly special. The government built this concrete infrastructure right on the ragged edge of a forest."
"Pride, Masato. It's a condition that knows no boundaries."
He paused, as if noting the bitter, sour tone in my voice. His earlier dark atmosphere from his encounter with Yumi had completely vanished, but I knew him better than that. I made a mental note to check up on him when this nightmare was finally over. Not right now, though. Our flesh had already been wounded, our pride thoroughly tarnished. Our only remaining vocation was to protect whatever scraps of dignity we had left to face the threatening afternoon ahead.
Masato found some solid ground internally; I could see it in the way his shoulders dropped. He was already a step ahead of me.
He let out a soft chuckle. "Pride isn't worth anything, my friend. But I wouldn't mind spending whatever's left of it on some MochiMochi." A wide, genuine smile broke across his face.
I breathed out slowly, the tension leaving my chest just enough to return a small, dry smile of my own. "I could go for that. Mind sparing me a piece when we're finally done with this?"
He nodded, giving my shoulder a firm, grounding clap.