A blade.
The silver knife emerged, catching the ambient light instantaneously—its edge scintillating with a keen, brilliant luster.
Genta swallowed hard at the sight of the treacherous object now gripped in the newcomer's hand.
"Isn't that… a perilous thing to carry?" Ayumi inquired, instinctively recoiling, putting a cautious distance between herself and the steel.
The lanky boy nodded in concurrence. "Yeah. Possessing a weapon—especially a blade—is a violation of school regulations."
The four-eyed boy remained mute, his gaze unwavering and clinical as he watched intently, focusing on the precision with which the boy would facilitate the bisection of the plastic.
All four of them were transfixed.
The blade moved.
It sliced effortlessly through the synthetic bottle as if it were nothing more than gossamer paper, cleaving straight across the midsection in one seamless transit. The bottle bifurcated neatly into two distinct halves.
Then that same gravelly, brittle voice resonated once more.
"A knife is not a hazardous weapon… if utilized in the proper manner."
The trio failed to comprehend a single syllable, the sentence drifting past them in English. Fortunately, the bespectacled boy translated once again, calmly reiterating the sentiment in Japanese.
Only then did the meaning crystallize for them.
They watched as the boy retracted the blade, folding it back into its housing before tucking the multi-tool tidily into the side pocket of his bag. Without hesitation, he hoisted the flask and decanted the chocolate infusion into the makeshift vessel, filling it with meticulous care.
Once finished, he slid the improvised cup forward across the table—toward Genta, who had been watching and waiting with palpable impatience.
Genta's eyes ignited.
"Hahaha… this smells truly magnificent!" he exclaimed, not squandering a solitary second. He seized the bottle and drank deeply.
"Ahh… that is truly exquisite! Where did you procure this? I've never tasted anything quite like it—hey—"
He came to an abrupt halt.
He could not recall the transfer student's name.
"Uh… hey… what was your name again?" Genta asked awkwardly.
The other three immediately shook their heads in a collective gesture of disapproval.
The skinny boy exhaled a sigh of exasperation. "Genta-kun, it's Suzuki-san… how do you erase someone's name from your head that quickly?"
"Oh, right, Suzuki…" Genta scratched his scalp. "But his name was exceptionally long… what was it again? If I recall… Strawberry… Lemon… Napkin…?"
The others stared at him with flat expressions.
"Idiot. Unquestionably an imbecile," the skinny boy muttered under his breath.
Still, even he succumbed to contemplation, attempting to summon the name. He could only retain the initial fragment—and that alone felt resonant, like a chord struck from a well-known legend.
Ayumi also knit her brows, thinking intensely about the uncommonly lengthy moniker.
Then the boy with the glasses spoke, his voice clear and precise.
"It is Sherlock Leonardo Napoleon Suzuki."
"Exactly, that's the one!" Genta, Ayumi, and the skinny boy exclaimed in unison.
"But… Sherlock?" the skinny boy added, tilting his head in thought. "Isn't that a name from a series of novels…?"
"I believe it's Sherlock Holmes," he continued.
"Sherlock… h-homes?" Genta mumbled in confusion before pivoting toward his friend. "Hey, Mitsuhiko, what exactly is a Sherlock Homes?"
Mitsuhiko Tsuburaya possessed short, vertical black hair with disheveled bangs, expansive dark eyes, and a constellation of prominent freckles scattered across both cheeks—his most distinguishing trait.
"It's Holmes! Not homes!" Mitsuhiko corrected sharply, lifting a hand to his chin as he sank into scholarly reflection.
Then the four-eyed boy spoke once more.
"Sherlock Holmes… a renowned fictional detective."
As he uttered the words, his eyes drifted toward the new kid, who continued to drink in silence, completely unruffled by their dialogue.
"Detective…" the three children echoed softly.
"Ah… that's correct. Sherlock Holmes—the investigator from that book," Mitsuhiko said, nodding as the memory finally locked into place.
"Who is that?" Genta asked again, still bewildered by the subject matter.
But before anyone could provide an explanation—
The bell tolled.
Its piercing chime sliced through the air, signaling the conclusion of recess and the inexorable return to lessons.
In this manner, another day transpired for Class 1-B. Gradually, the trepidation that had formerly saturated the air—that leaden, suffocating miasma that had presided over the schoolroom—began to dissipate, shred by shred.
This transition was catalyzed primarily by Genta and Mitsuhiko.
During their interludes of liberty, they persistently endeavored to engage the newcomer. More frequently than not, it was the duo conversing animatedly between themselves, hurling inquiries or erratic subjects his way, while the boy shrouded in obsidian merely listened in stoic silence. He scarcely offered a rejoinder—and when he did, his retorts were articulated in English, leaving them incapable of deciphering a solitary syllable.
Fortuitously, the four-eyed youth remained in close proximity, still guarded and analytical of the peculiar transfer student. Functioning as an involuntary interpreter, he would relay the boy's utterances into Japanese, spanning the linguistic abyss between them. Consequently, the verbal barricade was somewhat dismantled, permitting their interactions to proceed, however clunkily.
Then, the bell chimed once more.
A lucid clarion signaling that the scholastic day had reached its conclusion.
Kobayashi-sensei dismissed the assembly, her voice unwavering as she dispensed the final mandates. As she spoke, her vision briefly migrated toward the transfer student.
Suzuki-san.
He had remained hushed throughout the entire duration of the day.
She had been pre-emptively briefed by the headmaster that he possessed a rudimentary grasp of Japanese but struggled to articulate it with any degree of fluency. Initially, she had been plagued by apprehension—fearing he might suffer isolation or feel estranged due to his handicap.
Yet, it appeared her anxieties were redundant.
She had observed several of the children, specifically Genta and Mitsuhiko, exerting the effort to integrate him. And with the assistance of the astute, bespectacled boy facilitating the translation, matters seemed to progress with unexpected fluidity.
With that, the class was formally adjourned.
The other pupils rapidly stowed their effects and began vacating the classroom in a rhythmic exodus, their voices gradually retreating into the corridor.
However, Genta, Mitsuhiko, Ayumi, and the four-eyed boy did not join the stampede.
They lingered.
AM N. NOT.(っ－＿－)っ♤♤DRAFT♤♤