Inside Class 1-B, the once lively and energetic atmosphere had been replaced by a dense, oppressive silence—as if even the slightest sound would shatter something sacred. The children remained unusually quiet, for reasons none of them could clearly explain.
At the front, Kobayashi-sensei continued teaching, her chalk gliding across the board as she wrote down notes and questions. She called on the class more than once, yet not a single hand was raised. No one dared to answer. No one even tried.
She merely shook her head faintly at the response—or rather, the lack of it—her thoughts unreadable.
Just like that, recess arrived.
The children quickly scattered, engaging in their own activities, and for some reason, almost everyone hastily left the classroom. The room, once full, emptied within moments.
Only four remained.
The chubby boy, the skinny kid, the four-eyed glasses boy, and Ayumi.
They stayed seated, their attention fixed entirely on the new student.
They watched as the boy slowly raised his hand and reached for the black flask. His gloved fingers twisted the cap, loosening it before removing it completely. The cover revealed itself to be shaped like a small cup—rounded, compact, functional.
Carefully, he placed the cup down on the table.
Then, lifting the flask, he began to pour.
A stream of brown liquid flowed smoothly into the cup, its color deep and rich. Steam rose from it in soft curls, carrying a thick, bittersweet aroma through the air. The scent reached them almost instantly—warm, inviting… something like hot chocolate, yet darker, heavier, with a distinct hint of bitter cocoa.
They swallowed unconsciously, their throats tightening as the smell lingered.
The boy lowered the flask and set it back onto the table.
Then, his black-gloved hand wrapped around the cup. His fingers curled tightly around it, steady, controlled.
The four children tilted their heads slightly in confusion.
He wasn't drinking.
Not yet.
He was still wearing the black face mask.
Then they saw him move.
His right hand rose toward his face, and with a precise motion, his index finger and thumb caught the edge of the mask. Slowly, he pulled it down.
They leaned in, close enough to see.
Only half of his face was revealed—just his mouth and lower features.
And it was… pale.
Unnaturally so.
His skin looked almost devoid of life, as if blood barely flowed beneath it. His lips lacked color, faint and drained, and the exposed portion of his face carried a ghostly pallor, like someone who had never once stood under sunlight.
The contrast was striking.
That deathly pale skin against the absolute black of his clothing.
Then, without a word, he raised the cup to his lips.
And took a slow sip.
The chubby boy was already drooling, utterly captivated by the rich aroma drifting from the cup. He couldn't hold himself back any longer. Pushing himself up from his seat, he made his way toward the new kid, who was quietly sipping his drink.
As he approached, the other three watched closely, their eyes fixed on him, curious about what he was about to do.
"Hey… can I have some of that choco drink? It smells so good…" the chubby boy asked, practically salivating as the scent grew stronger the closer he got.
The skinny kid, the four-eyed glasses boy, and Ayumi all slapped their foreheads at the same time, exasperated by the bluntness of his request—as if he had just asked for directions without a second thought.
Still, they waited for a response.
Then they heard it again—that same hoarse, fragile voice.
"Hmmm… I don't have another cup…"
This time, they couldn't understand him at all. The words were spoken in English, the pronunciation uneven, the accent foreign and difficult to catch.
The chubby boy blinked, confused. Tilting his head, he asked, "Huh? What did you say? I don't understand…"
Before the new kid could repeat himself, another voice cut in—this time, the same sentence, but delivered with a clear Japanese accent.
"I don't have another cup. He's saying he doesn't have any extra cup to use."
It was the four-eyed glasses boy, calmly translating and explaining.
"Oh! That's what he meant…" the chubby boy repeated, finally understanding.
"Amazing… you can understand that?" the cheerful girl said, turning her gaze toward the glasses boy, impressed.
"Right… right…" the skinny kid added, nodding in agreement.
Meanwhile, the chubby boy had already hurried back to his seat. Without wasting a second, he crouched down and began rummaging through the space beneath his desk, searching for something.
The new kid didn't join their conversation. He remained silent, continuing to sip from the cup-shaped lid with slow, measured movements.
Meanwhile, the chubby boy finally found what he had been searching for inside his desk. It was a water bottle. Without hesitation, he rushed back to the new kid's table and held it out.
"What about this?" he said, presenting the bottle eagerly.
The skinny boy immediately frowned. "What kind of idea is that? The drink will just spill if you try to transfer it into that," he pointed out, directing his words at the chubby boy—Genta.
Genta Kojima was heavily built—overweight for his age. He had short, straight black hair, with a noticeable bald spot on the left side of his head. His thick, dark eyebrows framed his large brown eyes, which now blinked as he processed the criticism.
"Oh… you're right…" Genta muttered, pausing to think.
Then the skinny boy spoke again, a hint of excitement in his tone. "Why not just cut it in half and make it into a cup?"
"Oh… that's a good idea!" Genta said, his face lighting up.
He was just about to turn and run back to his desk when he suddenly felt the water bottle slip out of his hand.
Startled, he looked back.
It was the new kid.
The youth had already commandeered the bottle, positioning it horizontally upon the desk's surface. Then, without a word, he reached for his satchel. His gloved hand delved into one of the lateral compartments, foraging within.
Genta observed with rapt attention.
From the depths, the boy extracted a metallic object—silvery in hue. It appeared to be a compact, articulating multi-tool, reminiscent of the all-purpose implement Genta had seen his father wield before. A diminutive thing, yet packed with an array of utilities—severing, grinding, and beyond.
Then, with a fluid motion, the boy deployed one of its appendages.
A blade.
AM N. NOT.(っ－＿－)っ♤♤DRAFT♤♤