...05/10/2009 Monday; Morning...
The morning fog clung to the auditorium windows like pale fingers, refusing to let go.
The light that managed to pierce through the glass emerged weakened on the other side, bathing the corridors of Gekkoukan High in a gray that owed nothing to the dawn.
The air inside the auditorium felt heavy.
Not with humidity or heat — but with the weight of two hundred motionless uniforms, of throats that didn't clear, of shoes that didn't scrape against the floor. Students glanced at each other with furrowed brows and parted lips, on the verge of asking a question that died before it could be born.
A few tapped their fingers on the arms of their chairs. Impatience. Confusion. To them, this was just another assembly called without warning — an interruption to their routine that stole precious minutes from break time.
But in the front rows, no one was tapping anything.
Junpei kept his eyes fixed on an invisible spot on the floor, his shoulders hunched as if carrying a backpack full of stones.
Beside him, Minato remained completely still — except for his fingers, tightly interlaced over his lap.
The sound of ragged breathing still echoed in Junpei's head. The screams still tore through Minato's. Neither of them said a word.
Further back, arms crossed tightly over his chest, Akihiko stared at the stage. Jaw clenched. Eyes dry. But his hands were trembling.
A nearly imperceptible tremor, held back by every fiber of muscle. As if his body knew something his face refused to accept.
In the middle of the sea of uniforms, Mitsuru kept her head lowered. Her long red hair spilled forward like a curtain, hiding her features.
She wasn't wiping anything away. She didn't move a finger. She simply breathed in controlled, measured inhales.
In the row ahead, Aigis sat perfectly upright, her blue eyes fixed on some distant point — silent. A respectful silence. Beside her, Fuuka pressed her hands against her chest, fingers wrinkling the bow of her uniform.
That scream wouldn't leave her head.
She had heard Hiro angry before. Frustrated. Exhausted. Impatient. But this… this wasn't anger. It was the sound of something breaking inside a person. And she had heard every shard.
Her eyes scanned the rows, searching. They passed over motionless silhouettes and lost gazes until they reached the back of the auditorium.
Hiro stood leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
His head was lowered so much that his face completely disappeared — swallowed by the shadow of his bangs and the curve of his shoulders.
He looked like he was wearing a black mask sculpted by his own body. And no one dared approach to see what lay beneath.
On the stage, a table covered with a white cloth held rows upon rows of flowers — lilies, chrysanthemums, daisies — all the same funeral white, as if even the petals were in mourning.
And in the center, resting on a discreet pedestal, a framed photograph.
Shinjiro Aragaki was smiling.
Wearing the Gekkoukan uniform. Chin raised. The kind of smile that lit up his entire face and crinkled the corners of his eyes.
A smile that would never touch the sun again.
Only the eternal silence of death.
Until footsteps echoed across the stage, breaking the silence before the figure even appeared.
A middle-aged man, short and round, his silhouette clashing with the solemnity of the moment, crossed the platform carrying a handful of papers that trembled in his hands.
The principal of Gekkoukan High stopped in front of the podium.
The sheets made a dry rustling sound as they touched the lectern. He adjusted his glasses with his fingertips, cleared his throat — the sound amplified even though the microphone was still off, a muffled click that made a few students shift uncomfortably in their seats. Then his hand closed around the microphone.
His voice came out different from the one everyone was used to hearing during morning announcements. It lacked the usual energetic tone. There was no bureaucratic authority.
It was a small, cracked voice.
"It is with immense sorrow… that one of our students was brutally murdered on the streets of our city."
A murmur rippled through the auditorium like an electric current. Students who had been tapping their fingers fell still. The word murdered hung in the air — heavy, concrete, impossible to ignore.
The principal turned around.
With his back to the audience, he stared at Shinjiro's portrait. The boy's smile stared back at him, frozen in a happiness that no longer belonged to this world.
The man bowed his head — a slow, restrained bow heavy with something words could not reach. His shoulders rose and fell once.
When he turned back to the students, his eyes were wetter than before.
"Shinjiro Aragaki… had so much potential ahead of him."
The words dragged out, as if each syllable had to fight through internal resistance.
"But… as it is our duty to guide every student toward a bright future… we failed Aragaki. We failed by ignoring his absence."
In the row right in front of Junpei and Minato, two students slouched deeper into their chairs, as if the mourning around them was a personal inconvenience.
As the principal's choked voice filled the silence, one of them let out a sigh that sounded more like a scoff.
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, and shifted in his seat with the laziness of someone sitting through a boring class.
"Dude…" He leaned toward his friend, his voice a whisper that wasn't nearly quiet enough. "This old man just won't shut up."
The other shrugged, the motion dripping with indifference. "Bro… I've never even heard of this Aragaki guy. Have you?"
The first student twisted his face into a sneer. He jerked his chin toward the portrait like he was pointing at some random object in a store window.
"Yeah, I've heard of that guy. Sounds like he never showed up to class. Probably some delinquent." He clicked his tongue. "At least it won't make any difference to me."
Junpei's chair scraped back with a loud bang.
He was on his feet before his brain even caught up. His hands shot forward, grabbing the back of the other student's collar and yanking hard.
The fabric snapped. The boy's neck was exposed, skin wrinkling under the unrelenting pressure of Junpei's fingers.
Junpei wasn't seeing a classmate anymore. He only saw a mouth that had dared to spit on the memory of a senpai. A comrade. Someone who deserved tears, not this lazy, disguised disrespect.
"Shut your mouth…" Junpei's voice came out trembling — not from fear, but from the sheer effort of holding back. Like a dam beginning to crack.
The student grabbed Junpei's wrist, fingers frantic as he tried to loosen the grip.
His face flipped between shock and the righteous indignation of someone who had never been touched with real violence. "Are you crazy?! Let go!"
Junpei squeezed his eyes shut. Behind those tightly shut lids, he saw Shinjiro smiling. His grip tightened.
"Shut the fuck up!"
The shout exploded through the auditorium, bouncing off the walls and drowning out the principal's speech. Drowning out everything.
Until a cold voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Iori, let him go and sit down!"
Ms. Toriumi, the second-year teacher, stood at the side of the auditorium, arms rigid at her sides. Her eyes carried clear authority.
It was the tone of someone who had seen too many students lose control over impulsive outbursts and wasn't about to allow another.
Junpei gritted his teeth. His fingers throbbed against the tightened collar.
For a second his hands refused to obey, until he finally closed his eyes.
With visible difficulty, he opened his fists and released the boy's neck.
The student scrambled out of the grip like an animal escaping a trap.
He rubbed his neck, the skin marked red, eyes wide with a mix of fear and outrage.
He didn't say anything. He just shrank back into his chair and turned his face toward the stage, shoulders hunched.
Junpei dropped back into his seat. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, an improvised barrier against the rest of the world.
"Fuck…" The word escaped, hoarse and chewed. "What a fucking mess…"
A light touch on his shoulder. Gentle. Almost hesitant.
He didn't need to look to know who it was. Yukari's fingers rested on his uniform with kindness.
"Junpei… just ignore him…"
Her voice was low, but not weak. Sad, but not broken.
Junpei nodded. A short, almost mechanical motion. But his eyes remained fixed on nothing, and his chest still rose and fell with a breath he was forcing to slow down.
Yukari let her hand slide off his shoulder and leaned forward, bringing her lips close to Minato's ear. The scent of the white flowers on stage reached her.
"Fuuka said we should meet on the rooftop during lunch." She paused. Her breath trembled. "She wants to talk about this…"
Minato turned his face toward her. He didn't speak. He simply nodded once. That was enough.
The two of them turned their eyes back to the stage.
The principal continued. His words stretched, repeated, tangled into sentences that went nowhere. And in the end… that speech really was painfully boring.