Location: Beika City, Tokyo — Teitan Elementary School, Class 1-B.
A teacher's voice reverberated across the classroom, echoing sharply as the pupils scrambled to their desks, the lesson poised to commence.
The instructor was a newly appointed faculty member of Teitan Elementary—Sumiko Kobayashi, the homeroom teacher of Class 1-B.
She possessed cropped, raven-blue hair, meticulously trimmed with straight sideburns and loose wisps delicately framing her features. Her dark eyes projected a firm, unyielding stare. The most defining attribute of her visage was a pair of square-framed spectacles resting precisely upon the bridge of her nose, lending her an unmistakably austere and intimidating presence in the eyes of her students.
"Settle down, children!" Kobayashi-sensei barked, her tone piercing and authoritative.
The children flinched as the old crone's voice rang violently throughout the room, jolting them. Panic flickered across their expressions, and without hesitation, they plunged into their chairs, frantic to compose themselves.
Kobayashi-sensei surveyed the class as they finally lapsed into silence. Executing a small cough, she rectified her posture before addressing them once more.
"Now, I have an announcement!"
"An announcement!!" the children repeated in unison.
From the middle row of the classroom sat a particularly meddlesome group of children who stood out the most, quietly murmuring among themselves, whispering and bartering their own private speculations.
There was one burly, rotund boy, one lanky, scrawny youth, one spirited and vivacious girl, and another boy donning glasses who appeared languid, utterly indifferent to whatever declaration was about to be made.
The chubby boy leaned forward slightly and muttered, "Hey, what do you think the announcement is?"
The thin kid shrugged and replied, "Maybe Kobayashi-sensei is finally retiring already."
The cheerful girl blinked in astonishment. "What? Why would she?"
The four-eyed boy listened intently, mute, his gaze contemplative as he analyzed the situation. One certainty remained in his mind—Kobayashi-sensei would not retire. Something else was afoot.
Before they could pursue their hushed dialogue, Kobayashi-sensei's voice rang out again, slicing through the air.
"Now, children, pay attention. Today, we have a transfer student, and I expect all of you to treat him with respect. Do you understand?"
"A transfer student?" the children echoed in bewilderment.
Their eyes dilated at the revelation, curiosity igniting instantaneously as conjectures and expectations rapidly crystallized within their young minds.
Kobayashi-sensei then paced toward the classroom door. Her hand reached for the handle, fingers curling around it as she slowly slid the door open. Her gaze drifted downward—and there she beheld the new student.
The youth stood there, shrouded entirely in obsidian. A charcoal cap rested low over his brow, paired with a midnight-hued jacket and matching trousers. Even his footwear—ebony athletic shoes—coordinated with the rest of his ensemble. Slung across his shoulder was a jet-black satchel, and in his right hand, he clutched a dark flask. His hands were encased in onyx gloves, and a black face mask obscured his features, leaving no part of his identity exposed.
"Come in," Kobayashi-sensei beckoned, her voice projecting a cadence that was simultaneously tender and exacting.
Within the classroom, every eye was anchored to the threshold. The children goggled as the peculiar boy crossed the doorway, his aesthetic immediately disquieting. Every facet of his person was monochrome—his headwear, his attire, his shoes, his bag, even his container. Not a single thread or detail fractured the total darkness of his appearance.
More unsettling still—his countenance remained a void. The brim of his cap cast a heavy shadow over his eyes, while the mask swallowed the rest. No flicker of emotion could be discerned.
Observing his entrance stirred a visceral unease among the pupils, a subtle electricity in the atmosphere that compelled them to instinctively recoil, as if some innate instinct warned them to maintain their distance.
One particular child stared with an intensity that eclipsed all others—the boy behind the spectacles.
His pupils dilated in profound shock the instant the transfer student crossed into the room.
Clad entirely in black… a mirror image of them.
Just like the two phantoms in black from that fateful day—the ones who had coerced a lethal toxin into his mouth… the ones culpable for regressing his body into that of a child.
Now, another enigma stood before him.
This strange boy… completely cloaked in shadow… it felt like an omen.
A premonition.
Or perhaps, cold proof.
The bespectacled boy's mind surged as he attempted to bridge the fragments coalescing in his thoughts, feverishly assembling possibilities. His gaze remained welded to the newcomer, sharp and unblinking, as the boy took his position at the center of the classroom.
The rest of the students succumbed to silence, swallowing with audible nerves as they gawked at the transfer student.
Kobayashi-sensei slid the door shut and paced toward the boy. Pivoting to face the class, she declared firmly, "Listen closely—this is your new classmate, and I demand that you treat him with absolute kindness. Is that understood?" Her voice ascended sharply at the conclusion.
The children merely nodded, their fixated stares never wavering from the new kid, who had yet to utter a single syllable.
"Very well…" Kobayashi-sensei crouched to match his height, her expression softening marginally. "Aren't you going to introduce yourself?" she prompted, addressing the mute figure.
Then, a raspy, brittle voice fractured the stillness of the chamber.
"A pleasure to encounter you all… The name Sherlock Leonardo Napoleon Suzuki… was bestowed upon me."
It was the utterance of a morbidly ill youth—raspy, labored, as if every syllable were a taxing exertion. His Japanese was disjointed, saturated with a peculiar, alien inflection that betrayed a profound lack of fluency. Yet, when he articulated his name, the clumsiness vanished, flowing with an innate grace—save for the final cadence, Suzuki, which resonated with distinct Japanese clarity.
The children scarcely registered the length or eccentricity of his moniker. Their fascination fixated instead on his frail, nearly moribund tone. In their minds, no doubt lingered—this boy was afflicted, or at the very least, something was grievously amiss with his constitution. To them, he mirrored a specter from the cinema or television—a ghoul, or a fading, brittle protagonist barely clinging to his mortal coil.
But unlike his peers, the bespectacled boy's bewilderment only intensified.
He had already intuited a discrepancy from the moment the newcomer crossed the threshold—the funeral attire, the macabre aura. Yet, hearing that name only thickened the enigma. Those were not haphazard designations. Each one possessed gravitas, prestige, and historical significance. For a mere child to carry such a burden of names… it was beyond the realm of the ordinary.
And then, there was Suzuki.
A quintessential Japanese patronymic.
His thoughts plummeted into a vortex. Perhaps the boy was of dual heritage. Or perhaps he had been reared in distant lands. Regardless, nothing about his presence adhered to logic. The boy with the glasses sank deeper into his contemplations, his intellect racing to synthesize this bizarre jigsaw puzzle now positioned before him.
Kobayashi-sensei, having absorbed the introduction, offered a spectral smile as she regained her full height. Her gaze swept the classroom, hunting for a vacant station. It soon came to rest upon an unoccupied desk adjacent to a spirited girl who had been scrutinizing the new student with rapt attention.
Glancing down at the boy, she directed, "Suzuki-kun, you may take your place next to Yoshida-san."
She signaled toward the vacant chair beside the girl—Ayumi Yoshida, a child with bobbed chestnut hair, azure eyes, and a modest headband resting tidily atop her crown.
The boy offered a minuscule nod and commenced his trek toward the designated seat.
As he shifted, the collective gaze of the class trailed him like a shadow.
His gait was sluggish—almost unnervingly so—a creeping crawl where every step was calculated and ponderous, as though the simple act of locomotion required immense willpower. He bypassed the rows of desks until he arrived at the spot beside the vivacious girl. Halting before the table, he meticulously deposited his ebony flask, followed by his dark satchel.
Then, employing both hands, he withdrew the chair and silently took his seat.
He remained stationary—his cap still cast low over his visage, the mask still shrouding his identity—his stare fixed forward upon Kobayashi-sensei, who had already recommenced the lecture. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, he seemed utterly oblivious to the surreptitious glances directed his way by his fellow pupils.
Ayumi, perched beside him, remained mute. For reasons she couldn't quite fathom, she faltered—whether paralyzed by trepidation, malaise, or a different emotion altogether.
The remainder of the class felt the weight of it too.
And just like that, a strange, unsettling new student became entwined in the tapestry of their lives in the most unforeseen manner.
Ignorant.
Indifferent.
As though none of it held the slightest consequence to him.
Yet, whether he perceived it or not, he had already waded into something far more vast—an unfolding destiny waiting to consume them all.
AM N. NOT.(っ－＿－)っ♤♤DRAFT♤♤