Rikka High School. How I wish that institution would simply disappear from the face of the Earth.
Today, while teaching Class 2-A, a series of alarms began blaring from the direction of the neighbouring school. At first, I assumed it was merely their class bell—an irritation, but a tolerable one. I was wrong.
It was the fire alarm.
The dinner passed uneventfully, marked by quiet conversation and the soft sounds of cutlery against porcelain. Sasaki and Midori had cooked far too many side dishes, the result of the four children enthusiastically harvesting tomatoes, potatoes, and lettuce from the garden. Himari carefully avoided every dish that contained tomatoes. After eating and resting for about forty-five minutes, everyone gathered once more in the living room. Himari was the last to arrive.
During the time she had spent alone in her room, she had finally noticed something—something subtle, yet crucial—about the messages she had sent to Yuma.
Himari let out a heavy sigh after hearing their full story. It was worse than she had imagined. The embarrassment on their faces was unmistakable—having to seek help from a stranger to mend something they themselves had broken, exposing a side of them they likely wished had never come to light.
“Why don’t you stay for dinner?” Himari suggested after a moment. “We can talk more after we’ve eaten. This is a heavy topic—let’s take a short break first.”
Monday — History
Teacher: Owada Fumiko, age 35
Classes: 1-C, 2-A, 3-D
There is a saying often repeated in history: history should never repeat itself, especially when what occurred in the past was undeniably bad.
Unfortunately, Rikka High School appears to treat this as a personal challenge.
Yuma continued to walk on eggshells around them, polite yet distant, present only in body, as though his heart had already stepped far away. Deep down, they had no choice but to admit it — they were losing him. Just as Himari had warned. And despite their clumsy attempts to close the distance, Yuma only withdrew further, shutting everyone out one by one.
For the next few days, the atmosphere in the house grew noticeably heavier.
Everyone carried their own thoughts about Yuma, each trapped in quiet contemplation. On the surface, nothing seemed amiss — meals were prepared, doors opened and closed, greetings were exchanged. Yet if one looked closely, the difference was unmistakable. Something had shifted, subtly but irrevocably.
Yuma, however, remained unchanged.
