Reunion at Senior High: "THE PEACE WAS A LIE"

For three long years, Akuru Akutsu had known peace. It was not a fleeting illusion, not the fragile truce of a man awaiting an ambush, but a genuine calm that had wrapped itself around his existence like a rare, protective charm. Junior high had been orderly, predictable, almost monastic in its silence. The corridors echoed with footsteps instead of shrieks. His desk remained unmolested, his homework untouched by wandering hands or chaotic doodles. He studied late into the night without interruption. People—actual human beings—had begun to call him disciplined, serious, dependable. The nickname "honor student" clung to him as naturally as his pressed uniform. It was paradise.

So when Akuru strode through the gates of his new senior high, he did so with the wary confidence of a man who believed he had finally won his battle with fate. His bag was perfectly balanced on his shoulder; his tie lay at a mathematically correct angle; his expression was set into the calm, unreadable mask of someone who trusted in order. The homeroom assignments had been posted that morning, and as he climbed the stairs to the second floor, his eyes flickered over vocabulary flashcards he had committed to memory weeks ago. His mind was clear. His future was secure. Nothing could disturb him now.

The hallway was quiet. Too quiet. A stillness hung in the air, one that should have reassured him, but instead raised a primal tension in his shoulders. He told himself it was nothing—merely the nerves of a first day. The new term carried no shadows. That was the logic, and Akuru lived by logic. Yet, deep down, some instinct he despised stirred, whispering of danger.

It happened in an instant. A blur at the edge of his vision, a human silhouette descending from above in an impossible trajectory. He looked up just as the shape burst through the sunlight, arms outstretched, momentum unchecked. For the barest moment, disbelief rooted him in place. The smoothie bottle slipped from his hand, its arc slow and deliberate, scattering drops across the polished floor tiles. His brain stalled, his body froze, and then—impact.

The world erupted in sound and pressure. Akuru's back slammed into the ground with such force that lockers rattled along the walls, dust trickling from the ceiling lights. A sharp explosion of pain registered in his skull as it bounced once against the tile. Shouts erupted around him—students shrieking, shoes squealing against the floor as they scattered. Somewhere, a fluorescent bulb flickered. The weight on top of him shifted, the air returned in a wheeze to his lungs, and for a long second, Akuru lay stunned, staring at the ceiling as though his soul had detached and was watching from above.