The door slid open with a soft hiss, barely loud enough to draw attention—yet somehow, it did.
For a split second, the entire classroom seemed to falter. Voices dipped, pens paused, and the steady rhythm of the lecture broke just enough for something unspoken to settle over the room.
Then the eyes turned.
Haruto stepped inside. Late. Again
He didn't rush, didn't offer an excuse, didn't even bother glancing around to acknowledge the attention. He simply walked in like he always did—quiet, distant, as if the stares sliding across him didn't exist.
At the front, the teacher stopped mid-sentence. Her hand hovered over the board for a moment before she turned, her expression tightening ever so slightly when her gaze landed on him.
"…You're late," she said.
Haruto didn't answer.
The silence lingered just long enough to make it obvious.
"Take your seat," she added, already turning back toward the board, dismissing him as though the matter wasn't worth prolonging. "And try not to disturb the class further."
A few quiet snickers followed, low and sharp, quickly swallowed as the lesson resumed.
Haruto moved forward.
Not toward the rows of desks filled with neatly seated students, their uniforms crisp, their Astrals hovering faintly beside them like quiet extensions of themselves.
He passed them all.
Straight to the back.
His desk sat there, isolated, as though it had been pushed away and forgotten. There was a noticeable gap between it and the others—not large, but deliberate. Enough to make a point.
The surface was worn and scratched, carved into over time with careless hands and sharper intentions.
*Useless.*
*Trash.*
*Stray.*
The words were etched deep enough to catch the light.
Haruto didn't look at them for long. He pulled out his chair, the legs scraping loudly against the floor as he sat down, the sound cutting through the room for just a moment before everything settled again.
No one said anything.
They didn't have to.
He could feel it anyway—the weight of their attention, the quiet judgment that followed him no matter where he went.
He reached into his bag and pulled out his notebook.
At the front, the teacher continued speaking, her tone steady and composed, as if nothing had interrupted her at all.
"As we discussed, Astral manifestation typically occurs before the age of twelve. In rare cases, it may appear later, but—"
She paused.
Just for a second.
"—those who fail to manifest at all are considered anomalies."
A few students shifted, some glancing back with poorly hidden amusement, others not even bothering to hide it.
Haruto lowered his gaze.
From where he sat, the board was distant, blurred at the edges. The words written there felt out of reach, just like everything else in this room.
So he listened instead.
Picking up what he could.
Writing from memory. From fragments. From whatever slipped through the gaps.
A soft sound broke the rhythm.
*Tap.*
Something landed on the floor beside his desk.
Haruto glanced down.
A crumpled piece of paper.
"Oops."
The voice came lightly, almost playfully.
He looked up.
A girl leaned back in her chair, twirling a pen between her fingers, her expression easy, her friends struggling to hold in their laughter.
"Could you get that for me?" she said sweetly. "I dropped it."
Haruto watched her for a moment.
Then, flatly, "You threw it."
The smile didn't leave her face—but something in her eyes shifted, just slightly.
"Is there a problem, Haruto?"
The teacher's voice cut in, calm and cold.
He didn't look away. "She dropped it herself. She can pick it up."
For a moment, the room went still.
The teacher slowly set her marker down.
"…Pick it up."
Haruto's jaw tightened. "I didn't—"
"Are you refusing?" she interrupted.
His hands curled slightly at his sides.
"…No."
"Then pick it up," she said, already turning back to the board. "And stop disrupting my class."
A few quiet laughs slipped through the room, barely contained.
Haruto stood. Walked over. Bent down.
His fingers hovered over the paper for a second.
*Why…*
The thought flickered and vanished just as quickly.
He picked it up, stood, and placed it on the girl's desk without a word.
"Thank you," she said brightly.
He didn't respond.
He turned and walked back to his seat.
The lesson continued as if nothing had happened.
Minutes passed. Then the bell rang.
Chairs scraped back, voices rose, and the room filled with movement as students gathered their things, conversations already shifting to something else, something lighter.
Haruto stayed where he was.
At the front, the teacher collected her materials. As she stepped away from her desk, her drink slipped from her hand.
It hit the floor with a dull sound, liquid spreading slowly across the clean tiles.
"Oh," she said lightly. "How careless of me."
She turned her head and looked directly at him.
"Clean it up before you leave."
And then she walked out. Just like that.
The classroom emptied quickly after.
Voices faded. Footsteps disappeared. Silence returned.
Haruto stood there, alone.
His fists clenched at his sides, tension settling into his shoulders, his jaw tightening as the quiet pressed in around him.
*…Of course.*
He grabbed a cloth from the side of the room and walked over, kneeling beside the spill.
The liquid shimmered faintly under the overhead lights, spreading slowly, unevenly across the surface.
He reached out—
And stopped.
For a brief moment, the surface of the liquid trembled.
Not from his touch. Something else.
Haruto frowned slightly. "…?"
The ripple spread outward, soft and unnatural, like something beneath the surface had moved.
The lights above flickered once. Then steadied.
Haruto froze.
"…What was that?"
No answer came only silence.
But something in the air had changed.
Subtle and unsettling.
And for the first time—
Something felt wrong.