Kapitel 11: Chapter 9
Tsuneo and I walked side by side down the academy's hallways. As we moved along, I noticed his thoughtful, worried look. I could sense his anguish in the slight tremble of his hands, in the way he bit his lower lip. So predictable, so easy to read. I wonder what triviality is tormenting his fragile mind at the moment.
Finally, after a muffled sigh, he decided to speak up.
"Hey, Makoto... I couldn't help but notice that Fumiko seemed really distressed when she approached you earlier. Her eyes were red and swollen, as if she'd been crying. Did something serious happen between you two?"
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Of course, today's teenage drama had to be about Fumiko. Doesn't this boy have anything more interesting in his tiny head?
But I decided to play along. It was, after all, tactically advantageous to have him on my side. So I put on my best mask of affliction and began the act. My facial muscles played their part, the corners of my lips tightened precariously, as if struggling to hold the weight of a sadness that doesn't exist.
"Oh yes, about that..."
The air thickened the moment I uttered the words, laden with an artificial weight, like the thick, unsubtle brushstrokes of a painting trying to be deeper than it is.
"The truth is, Fumiko and I have decided to end our relationship."
Tsuneo's eyes widened in astonishment. I could see the confusion on his face, the effort he made to understand how something seemingly so solid could crumble overnight. Poor naive boy, so easily fooled by this cheap charade.
"But you guys seemed so happy together... I can't believe you've broken up," he said with evident dismay. "I always saw you holding hands, laughing; you seemed to get along so well. What happened?"
Of course, he couldn't believe it. To Tsuneo, to all of them, relationships are simple, honest constructions, much like the emotions described in children's books: clear, without shadows or duplicity. He has no idea, not in the slightest, of the rot brewing beneath the surface of those affectionate displays.
Yet, I feel nothing. Not a hint of pity at seeing him dismantle his understanding of the world piece by piece, not a smidge of satisfaction. Nothing. It's like watching a poorly written TV show through an electronics store window: you're seeing the movements, but the sound is off and your heart beats with the same monotonous cadence as always.
But I had to respond. I had to give him something to devour, to calm that human hunger to understand, to find meaning in chaos.
"Appearances can be deceiving, Tsuneo," I explain. "The truth is our relationship had been deteriorating for a while. Love is ephemeral, people change, and that spark inevitably fades."
I paused dramatically, as if it cost me to reveal more than I already had.
"Sometimes you idealize the other person, put them on a pedestal, but over time you realize they're not as you imagined. You start to notice flaws, quirks, ways of being that you don't agree with. And slowly the enchantment vanishes, leaving only disillusionment and frustration."
Tsuneo listened, absorbed, drinking in my words like the naive boy he was. I continued spinning my web of lies:
"Fumiko and I reached a point where we argued over any triviality. We no longer understood each other, couldn't stand each other. So, we decided to end it before we did more harm. It hurts, but sometimes it's necessary to let go of someone you love so that both can be happy. True love is selfless, seeking the best for the other even though it hurts."
Tsuneo tilted his head, but then his eyes lit up.
"Wow, Makoto, I didn't know you had that philosophy about relationships. Sounds very mature on your part," he commented, clearly impressed by my "profound" reflections.
"One learns these things with experience," I say with false modesty.
Tsuneo nodded, looking at me with new eyes, as if I had just revealed a great truth about life. Perfect, just the effect I was aiming for.
"And tell me, Tsuneo," I added, with a sly smile, "is there a special girl who's been making you sigh lately?"
His cheeks instantly turned red. Bingo.
"W-well, I..." he stammered nervously.
"Come on, you can trust me," I encourage him, giving him a friendly nudge. "Let me guess... it's Mirai, right?"
Tsuneo's eyes opened in surprise.
"How did you know? Am I that obvious? I thought I was careful in hiding it..."
"A little yes, it shows that you like her," I say with a stupid giggle. "But maybe I shouldn't tell you this..."
I left him hanging, waiting for him to take the bait.
"Tell me what?" he asked anxiously.
I looked at the ceiling and made a childish grimace.
"Mirai is very pretty, I understand you like her. But tell me, do you really think you would be happy with someone like her?"
Tsuneo looked at me confused, not understanding what I meant.
"What do you mean?"
I shook my head and waved a hand in the air, downplaying it.
"No, forget it, they're just rumors. Things people say out there, nothing you should take seriously."
Of course, this only had the opposite effect and sharpened his curiosity.
"Come on, tell me! Don't leave me hanging," Tsuneo insisted, as I had predicted. "If you know something, you have to tell me. We're friends, aren't we?"
Friends.
If there was anything like amusement bubbling somewhere in my chest, I would be laughing. It's funny how people like Tsuneo cling to others, seeking in them a purpose, like vines that need a strong oak to hold on to. And somehow, that need makes them even weaker, more vulnerable.
Fool. The word jumps to my mind like a dead fish floating in a pond. Tsuneo is not my friend, not in the sense that normal people give that word. He's a convenience, a toy, a curious social experiment.
Friend? If there's anything close to friendship between us, it's the twisted version that occurs when you feed a stray dog out of sheer boredom and he decides you're his new owner. Isn't that the perfect analogy for our "friendship"? He came to me seeking a purpose, a meaning, and I provided him with an illusion of it.
Of course, I say none of that, instead, I sigh with false resignation, as if I were giving in to his insistence.
"Alright, I'll tell you," I reluctantly agree.
I place a hand on his shoulder, a gesture that must seem friendly, paternal even. I can feel the tension in his body, the silent question of why he's receiving such attention. Tsuneo looks at me, and in that instant, I know he trusts me completely.
That faith should be an honor, a sacred bond, but I feel it only as a rubber check, a broken promise before it's given. I can mold that faith, twist it, play with it, until reality and fiction blur in his mind like ink in water.
"But don't go telling anyone, okay? They're just things I've heard around..."
Tsuneo nodded eagerly. I could see the impatience and anxiety shining in his eyes.
"I've heard some rumors about Mirai," I begin, lowering my voice. "They say she goes out at night with older guys, college students or even adults... You know, that she offers them certain 'favors' in exchange for expensive gifts and money."
I know they're lies made up by me, but Tsuneo doesn't know that. To him, those malicious whispers seem plausible, feasible. His naive mind is incapable of conceiving that someone, especially a "friend," would lie so coldly, just to manipulate him and steer him away from the girl he likes.
Tsuneo's mouth opened in surprise and consternation.
"But they are just rumors, maybe it's not true," he rushed to say, though the concern was noticeable in his voice. "It's just people talking..."
I placed a hand on my chin, pretending to consider his words. Then I slowly shook my head.
"Well, I've been getting to know her through the drama club," I continue lying, "and sometimes I see she always has the latest technology, you know, those expensive American MyPhones. Being a girl from an ordinary family, I don't know where she gets the money to buy them..."
He hesitates, I can practically hear his romantic fantasy crumbling under the weight of my words, but eventually, he shakes his head.
"She told me her brother got a job at a hero agency, maybe he gives her money," he suggests, clinging to hope.
I place my hand on the back of my neck and let out a "nervous" giggle.
"Maybe yes, maybe no. I'm just saying it's worth keeping your eyes wide open before giving your heart away. You wouldn't want it to be broken, would you?"
I watch with satisfaction as doubt takes root in his eyes. My poison is taking effect. I know he's thinking about Mirai, imagining her with other older guys. Wondering if it's true, if the sweet and smart girl he likes is really "that type" of woman. If all his good impression of her is nothing but an illusion.
***
The bell rings, signaling the end of another school day. The students begin to hurriedly pack their things, eager to escape the confinement of the classroom. The murmur of conversations and the dragging of chairs against the wooden floor echo off the walls like a cacophonous symphony. I remain seated at my spot in the last row by the window, making no motion to stand up. My backpack is still propped against the leg of the desk, untouched.
I let out a soft sigh and watch with apathetic eyes as my peers crowd the door. Their faces are a blur to me, insignificant and interchangeable. They are merely extras in the background, part of the scenery.
Eventually, the last of them disappears through the threshold, and the room is plunged into silence. Only Professor Ryota and I remain. He stands by the blackboard, erasing the characters written in white chalk during today's lesson. I watch him as he goes about the task mechanically, lost in his thoughts.
When the last trace of chalk dust is gone from the blackboard, Ryota turns towards his desk and begins to collect his things methodically. It's the moment I've been waiting for. I stand up unhurriedly and walk to the front of the classroom, stopping a few steps from the desk.
"Professor, I have a question about the lesson from the other day," I say with my best tone of innocent curiosity.
Ryota looks up. For a fleeting instant, I think I see a flash of suspicion cross his violet eyes. It's just a hesitation, a slight change in the kind, affable gaze he usually directs at his students.
But it's there. I catch it in the tension of his shoulders, in the way his fingers pause for a fraction of a second over the papers he's organizing, in the tiny twitch at the corner of his lips, in the way he avoids holding my gaze... small hints that he's not completely buying my act.
However, in the blink of an eye, his expression softens back into a polite smile. Professional. Nothing out of the ordinary.
"Of course, go ahead. What can I clarify for you?" he responds naturally.
I stop in front of the desk, my hands relaxed at my sides, my head tilted in a gesture of feigned interest.
"You see, when I looked inside the box, I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. My classmates seemed very affected by the visions they had, but I experienced nothing like that. Why do you think that is?"
The question hangs in the air for a moment. I can see the wheels turning in his mind, trying to reconcile my innocent words with the visceral feeling that something is off with me. I smile inwardly. Let him try. I've spent years perfecting these masks.
Finally, Ryota interlaces his fingers on the wooden surface, choosing his words very carefully before responding.
"Every mind is different," he begins in a contemplative tone. "Some are more susceptible to illusions than others. It doesn't mean anything in particular, just that your psyche is more resistant to deceit. It's quite unusual, I must say, but not impossible."
I nod slowly, not taking my eyes off his. There's a strange tension underpinning that gaze, like the turbulent currents beneath a seemingly calm water surface.
"I see. Must be my strong sense of reality, I suppose. I've never had much imagination," I reply with feigned modesty.
A lie, of course. We both know it, though neither will say it aloud. This is just the first round, a preliminary probing to evaluate the opposition.
"That must be it," concedes Ryota after a small pause. His polite smile doesn't quite light up the caution in his eyes.
We remain in silence for a few moments that stretch uncomfortably. The air seems to thicken around us. Finally, I break eye contact and look toward the window with an air of nonchalance.
"Well, thank you for clearing that up, Professor. I'll see you in class tomorrow."
"Until tomorrow," he says goodbye, his voice tinged with relief.
I pick up my backpack and head for the door leisurely. Before crossing the threshold, I throw one last glance over my shoulder. Ryota has returned his attention to the papers on the desk, but the tension in the line of his shoulders betrays that my presence still hovers like a shadow in his mind.
It's unexpected and disconcerting, his perception. Ryota seems to be digging in the dirt of my disguise, close, too close, to the truth that writhes and pulses beneath. He doesn't know, can't know, the name of that darkness, but he feels it; a kind of sixth sense that bothers him, tickles his curiosity, unsettles him. He doesn't like what he intuits, but he can't ignore it either.
A tingling that should be anxiety but feels like mere interest settles in the pit of my stomach. It's a new sensation, unfamiliar, hinting at a danger I had never seriously considered before: being discovered, truly seen, not just looked at. The vulnerability such a situation would imply if someone were capable of piercing the armor of normality I've built with such care.
If he confronts his suspicions directly, I'll deny everything, of course. I'll appear surprised, perhaps a bit offended that he doubts my word. I'll insist on my innocence vehemently. And if need be, I'll complain to the school authorities. A young and promising professor shouldn't be accusing his students without substantial evidence.
But if he persists, if he insists out loud that there's something wrong with me... well, I can be very creative when I need to protect my secret. A little incident with a student, perhaps with that gullible fool Himari, a few harmful rumors here and there... I have many ways to get rid of problems.
After all, who in their right mind would see evil in the model student, the student council president, the youth with a promising future? No one. Because everyone prefers to live in sweet ignorance rather than face the abyssal truth of what I am.
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein