The sun's low as I walk into Tokyo Metropolitan Apex Academy's floors, its glass towers catching the early light, sharp and bright. The building feels alive with noise—doors creaking, footsteps echoing, like the place is waking up slowly. Students rush through the halls, some hurrying to beat the bell, others moving slowly, like they're dreading what's ahead. The air smells of floor polish, but there's a faint hint of red bean bread from the cafeteria nearby, warm and sweet, stirring a brief pang of hunger.
I can picture the entire school in my head, like a 3D map built from memory and practice.
I don't know if it's a skill or something else, something tied to the hallucinations . All I know is it's useful.
Right now, I close my eyes for a second and imagine the school's layout: the main hall with its shiny tiles, the cafeteria with its long tables, the classrooms lined up on the second floor.
Every hallway, every door, every staircase—it's all there, clear as if I'm walking it.My classroom, 1-A, is down the left corridor, third door on the right.The door slightly scuffed, the number plate gleaming. I've practiced this, building these mental maps to stay in control, to keep my head clear.
I open my eyes, the map still sharp in my mind, and head straight for 1-A. It's one thing I can count on.
I move through the crowd, keeping my pace steady. My bag's strap digs into my shoulder, a familiar ache that keeps me focused.
A kid bumps into me, mutters a quick "sorry," and keeps going, his sneakers squeaking on the tiles. I don't respond. My shoes tap against the floor, a rhythm I hold onto, something solid when everything else feels unsteady.
Class 1-A is loud when I get there, the room filled with twenty-five students, all acting like they're destined for greatness. Chairs scrape against the floor, voices mix—some bold and brash, others nervous and quiet.
I take my seat by the window, where the morning light falls across the desk, bright and warm.My pen's leaking again, blue ink smearing my fingers, annoying but familiar.
My bag drops to the floor with a soft thud, and I lean back, arms crossed, letting the room's noise pass over .
I look around, watching the others, not like they're pieces in a game, but like people I need to understand. A group in the corner laughs over a phone, their voices loud, probably over a silly video. A girl up front, her braids tied tight, writes in her notebook,trying too hard, her trembling fingers showing she's nervous; she'll struggle when the pressure builds.
A guy with slicked-back hair sits a few desks away, grinning like he's got it all figured out, but his foot's tapping, giving him away. He's not as confident as he looks.Across the room, a quiet kid with messy hair stares out his window, his eyes sharp, lost in thought. He's someone to keep an eye on. Then there's Haruto, the big guy by the door, his broad shoulders filling out his uniform, glaring like he's looking for a fight. His eyes meet mine, his scowl sharpening, like he's daring me to react. I don't want trouble, so I look away—not out of fear, but because he's not worth my time.
Beside me, Kenji sits on his chair, loud and clear, talking with his 'new friends.' Kenji looks toward me. "Hey,Rei, aren't you the quiet one? Where's your gun? I don't see it!" And he starts laughing with his friends.Extroverts like Kenji never stop talking, always trying to pull you into their world. If I respond too much, he'll think I'm soft, someone he can push. So I keep it sharp, keep it cold.
I turn to him, my voice low but clear. "Your joke was so good I forgot how to laugh."
Kenji's friends burst out laughing, louder now, turning it back on him. "What a comeback!" one of them says, slapping the desk. Kenji's grin doesn't fade, but I see a flicker in his eyes—surprise, maybe respect. I don't care.
He's different, though. That laugh, that quick jab—it's not just a joke. There's something behind it, like he's testing me, trying to figure me out. It makes me wonder what he's hiding. He's all smiles and loud words, but his eyes don't match, like he's carrying something heavy too. I get it. I'm hiding things too— the hallucinations, the way my mind twists reality sometimes. But I don't trust people like Kenji, people who seem too open. They're the ones who surprise you, who know more than they let on.
The door swings open, and the room goes quiet, like everyone's holding their breath. Professor Sato walks in—tall, thin, his glasses reflecting the light, a smudge of chalk dust on his sleeve. He clears his throat, a short, awkward sound, then sets a stack of papers on the desk with a heavy thud. His eyes scan the room, sharp, like he's already deciding who'll fail.
"Class 1-A," he says, his voice cold and direct, no warmth, no welcome. "Forget what you learned before. Apex isn't your old school. You prove yourself here. Every day."
It's the same tough speech from the ceremony, full of warnings, but I'm not listening to his words—I'm watching his eyes, the way he's testing us, looking for weakness. I watch the others, too, their faces showing who's nervous, who's pretending, who's already intimidated.
Sato paces, his shoes tapping the floor, explaining Apex like it's a challenge: labs on the fourth floor with advanced equipment, a library with restricted sections you need permission to enter, dorms for students who don't go home to places like my aunt's—a small apartment that feels too quiet. "Discipline is everything," he says, stopping by the board, chalk in hand. "Break the rules, you're gone. Step up, you might make it."
That word—might—feels honest, heavy. Apex is tough, and we're just parts of it, replaceable if we slip.
"Kill."
The voice comes again, sharp and cold in my ears. My chest tightens, and my hands grip the edge of my desk, the wood cool under my fingers. Don't give up. Don't give up. I force my breathing to slow.The voice isn't real. It's another hallucination.I can't let it win. I have to stay steady, keep my face blank, like nothing's wrong. I repeat it in my head: I'm in control. The voice is just noise, a glitch from that night three years ago. I focus on the room, on Sato's voice, on the light hitting my desk. It fades, slowly, but my heart's still racing. I'm okay. I have to be.
Physics starts—motion, velocity, basic concepts made tricky to catch you off guard. Sato writes equations on the board, his chalk moving fast, leaving messy lines. He turns, his eyes sharp, like he's waiting for someone to mess up. "Solve it. Now."
The room bursts into action—pencils scratching, breaths quickening, tension spreading. I don't move right away, my notebook was still closed. It's simple: v = u + at. I've solved harder problems at my aunt's, late at night, trying to block out the past. Sato's eyes find me, expectant. "Tsukumo. Answer."
I stand, my voice calm. "Twelve meters per second."
He nods, moves on, no praise, just a quick glance that says he's watching me. Haruto- a big guy mutters something—"show-off," maybe—his voice low, trying to get a reaction. I don't give him one.
Then I notice someone by the door. Kaito, the third-year from the shogi match, leans against the frame, his posture casual but his eyes sharp, giving a quick shake of his head—today's shogi match is cancelled.
My stomach twists, a mix of disappointment and suspicion. Maybe he's scared, I think, but that doesn't feel right. Kaito's not the type to back down. I beat him clean last time, took his knight and bishop, checked him while the crowd whispered. He didn't flinch then, just stared at me like he was studying me. So why cancel now? My mind races, trying to piece it together. Is he planning something? Avoiding me because he knows I'll win again? Or is it something else, something I can't see yet?
I keep my face blank, but my fingers tap my desk, restless. I look away, back to my notebook, the ink smudged on my fingers. I'll figure out what he's doing, but not now. I need to stay focused, keep the day moving, keep the noise in my head quiet.
"Hey, Tsukumo," Haruto whispers, leaning over his desk, his voice rough. "Think you're smarter than us, huh? Keep it up, see what happens." His words are sharp, like he's trying to push me, to see if I'll push back.I turn slowly, meeting his eyes. "I don't think I'm smarter." My voice is quiet, steady. "I just am."
It's not a boast—it's the truth. His scowl shifts, but he leans back, muttering something I don't hear.
A girl nearby laughs softly, her pen stopping for a moment, and the tension in the room eases, just a little, like a brief break in a storm. Kenji and his friends laugh again at what I said.
Kenji leans over, his grin wide, eyes bright. "You really are a roaster.. You just destroyed him with words!"His voice is loud, like he's trying to pull me into his circle, making me part of the joke. I don't smile, don't respond.
I don't get why they're laughing, why they think this is a joke. Haruto's glare was real, a challenge, and my words were just me holding my ground. But to Kenji, it's a show, something to cheer for. I don't need his approval, I don't want it. I just want to keep things simple, keep everyone at arm's length.
Haruto's nothing compared to that. He's just loud, trying to act tough.Kenji's always watching, like he's trying to figure me out. I can't let him. I look away, back to my notebook, the ink still wet on my fingers. I'm here to win, not to make friends or play their games.
The day goes on—physics, math, history, one class after another, each a test to separate the strong from the weak. I keep my answers short, accurate, my head down.
The bell rings at 3:00 p.m., loud and sharp, and I'm out before the chairs stop moving, bag over my shoulder, slipping through the crowded halls. Another day done, and I'm still standing.The students rush outside as if there's an earthquake in the school. I take my bag and leave, the noise of the halls fading behind me. I catch a glimpse of Kenji and his friends near the gates, still laughing, still talking about what I said to Kenji and Haruto in class. Their voices carry, loud and careless, like they're replaying the moment for fun.
I don't stop, don't look at them. My shoes hit the pavement, steady, matching the rhythm of my thoughts. I need to get home, back to Aunt Hana's, back to the quiet where I can think. Kenji's laughter lingers in my ears, but I push it out. They don't matter.
I keep walking, the city's noise swallowing me up, the weight of the day still heavy in my chest.