# Chapter 5
______
Max stood outside the station, looking at the map on his phone. The university was supposed to be a fifteen-minute walk from here. North, then east at the second intersection.
He started walking.
The neighborhood was quieter than the area around his apartment. Wider streets. Trees planted at regular intervals. Buildings that looked maintained, cared for.
He passed a convenience store, a small park with a few elderly people doing exercises, a row of vending machines.
The university appeared gradually—first a wall, then a gate, then the main building visible beyond it. Modern architecture. Glass and concrete. A sign in Japanese and English: **Kansai International University**.
Max walked through the gate.
The campus was bigger than he'd expected. Multiple buildings. Students walking between them, clustered in small groups. He stood for a moment, unsure where to go.
A woman approached him. Middle-aged, carrying a folder.
"Excuse me," she said in English. "Are you lost?"
"I'm looking for the International Student Office."
"Ah. New student?"
"Yes. Max Whitmore."
She smiled politely. "Welcome. The office is in Building C. This way."
She led him across a courtyard. Pointed to a three-story building on the left.
"Second floor. They're expecting you."
"Thank you."
Inside, the building smelled like floor cleaner and paper. Max found the office. Introduced himself to the woman at the desk. She checked his documents, gave him a student ID card, a schedule.
"Your first class is today," she said. "Japanese Language, Level 2. Professor Hirata is expecting you."
"Now?"
"In twenty minutes. Room 304, Building A."
She drew a small map on a post-it note. Max thanked her and left.
Building A was back across the courtyard. He found the right floor. Walked down the hallway, checking room numbers.
304.
He knocked.
The door opened. A man in his forties, glasses, gentle expression.
"Max Whitmore?"
"Yes."
"I'm Haru Hirata. Welcome." He spoke English with a precise, careful accent. "Please, come in."
The classroom was half-full. About twenty students. They looked up as Max entered. A few smiled. Most just watched.
"Everyone," Hirata said, switching to slower Japanese. "This is our new student. Max, please introduce yourself."
Max stood at the front of the room. Twenty pairs of eyes on him.
"Um. My name is Max Whitmore. I'm from England. I'm here to study Japanese language and culture. Please... uh... yoroshiku onegaishimasu."
His pronunciation was terrible. He knew it. A few students smiled—polite, encouraging.
"Thank you, Max," Hirata said. "Please, take a seat. There's one by the window."
Max nodded. Walked down the aisle between desks.
The seat was in the back corner. Window to his right. An empty desk to his left.
Except it wasn't empty.
A girl sat there. Dark hair pulled back. Looking down at her notebook. She glanced up as he approached.
Max met her eyes.
Her face—
Something was wrong with it.
The skin around her cheekbone. It looked... soft. Too soft. Like wax near a flame.
Max blinked.
When he looked again, it was worse.
Her cheek was sliding. Slowly. Melting down toward her jaw. The features distorting. Her eye on that side drooping lower.
But she was still looking at him.
Still staring.
Max tore his gaze away. Looked at the front of the class.
Hirata was writing on the board. His back to the students.
Max looked at the student in front of him.
A boy. Maybe nineteen.
His face was melting too.
Forehead sagging. Nose elongating. Skin dripping like candle wax. But his eyes—his eyes stayed fixed. Watching Max.
Max's breath caught.
He looked around the room.
All of them.
Every face melting. Sliding. Features distorting into something wrong. Skin running like liquid. Eyes stretching. Mouths widening.
But all of them staring.
At him.
The girl to his left—Aiko, he'd heard someone call her—her entire face had shifted now. One eye lower than the other. Mouth pulled sideways. But still staring. Still watching him with an expression he could feel even through the distortion.
Disgust.
No—more than that.
Contempt.
The boy in front turned fully around in his seat. His face barely recognizable now. But the stare was clear.
Hateful.
Like Max was something small. Something beneath notice. Something dirty and wrong and repulsive.
More students turned. All of them. Faces melting, dripping, reforming into grotesque masks. But the expressions—those stayed clear.
Loathing.
Revulsion.
Like he was an insect. A creature that had crawled out from somewhere dark. Something that shouldn't exist in their space.
Max tried to move. Tried to stand. His body wouldn't respond.
The girl—Aiko—leaned slightly toward him. Her melted face inches away now. That look of pure hatred pouring from eyes that had slid too far down her face.
Everyone was leaning in.
Closer.
A circle of melting faces and contemptuous stares.
Looking at him like he was nothing.
Like he was less than nothing.
Something to be scraped off a shoe.
Max's hands gripped the edge of his desk. His breathing came in short, shallow gasps.
They kept staring.
All of them.
Melting and staring and hating.
And he couldn't move.
Couldn't speak.
Couldn't do anything but sit there, frozen, while they looked at him with faces that dripped and reformed and dripped again.
While they looked at him like he was the most disgusting thing they'd ever seen.
---
◆