The Crest of Minakasa

Hana stepped forward.

“Sir…? Should we get someone?”

The headmaster lifted his bloodshot eyes.

For one terrifying second, Arata couldn’t help but think the man already looked like a ghost.

The office felt like a tomb, somewhere they shouldn’t intrude. Where breath and life were alien and unwelcome.

After a moment of silence, Mr. Okasei responded in a weary drone.

“I hear you second years are doing a report on Minakasa’s local history? I don’t suppose any of you chose to look into the doomsday cult that originated here? Who would’ve thought they were right?”

Arata swallowed hard.

“You… you must have seen it too,” Okasei continued, voice ragged. “The symbol in the vision... it’s the same as the one the cult used thirty years ago. The burning crest of Minakasa.”

Arata’s eyes dropped instinctively to his blazer. He knew those rings were familiar. It was the exact pattern of rings on the school coat of arms, only on fire. His lapel badge gleamed faintly in the dim light. His pulse quickened as he regarded it.

Were the answers to this crisis hidden in the town’s history? How widespread was the voice? Could it have just affected the people of their sleepy town? He wanted to look into these questions, but he knew they would have to wait.

“That voice… that promise of judgment.”

Okasei’s hands shook as he spoke.

“My sins run too deep. All I think about are my mistakes. Every time I held my tongue as I witnessed an injustice. The lives I took in war.”

His shoulders sagged.

“I don’t need to wait a year to know I will be condemned. There is no point in prolonging my suffering. I have no family. No legacy. I pushed my wife away. I’ve had decades to repent, and I’ve done nothing to make amends. Nothing of merit.”

Hana’s fists tightened.

“That’s not true,” she said. “You’ve helped us. Your students. Whatever you’ve done doesn’t matter! Besides, those visions… they could just be a trick.”

The jaded man could only respond to her naivety with a bitter laugh.

“I did nothing. Just enforced a bunch of pointless, archaic rules and gave speeches. Lorded my authority over the youths I envied.”

Okasei grabbed the letter opener in a sudden motion that made Hana flinch. The silver gleamed even stronger as he held it up to his throat.

This. This was what Arata had seen in his vision. Okasei in this exact position, ready to end himself in fear. The fatherly headmaster he’d known for over a year, reduced to this.

And Arata let it happen. He felt powerless. If he couldn’t prevent this, then did that mean everything else was inevitable?

“Run along now, children. You shouldn’t be here. You’ve seen enough death for one day.”

A slow, melodic clapping sound echoed from Arata’s left.

He turned to see Toma giving a mocking gesture for an encore.

“Damn, Sir,” he said lightly, tilting his head. “That was some soliloquy. A touch melodramatic, but who doesn’t like a bit of melodrama?”

The shock of Toma’s flippantness seemed to jolt the headmaster awake.

Toma stepped forward, slipping his hands into his blazer pockets as he continued, his voice dipping lower.

“If we’re gonna start confessing our regrets, can I go next? We can form a support group.”

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“I mean, I always knew I was an underachiever. Too much money, not enough ambition. Never took anything seriously. Life is long, after all.”

He paused.

“I guess I got that bit wrong. It’s us who should feel bitter, old man. You’re what, three times our age?”

Okasei blinked. “Those… those visions…”

“We all saw them,” Toma interrupted. His smirk hardened, his tone harsh but more sincere.

“And, yeah, I get it. A message like that… it’s got to be scary when you’ve got a lot to regret. But we’re sixteen. We haven’t lived long enough to even have the privilege of that. While you’re here tallying up your mistakes, there’s a couple of hundred kids out in the courtyard waiting to hear something comforting. And it needs to be from someone like you. Someone with experience.”

Toma reached out slowly and grabbed the letter opener, carefully prying it from the headmaster’s hands.

“You don’t get to call your life a waste when so many people depend on you,” he said, voice kinder. “You’re the one guy everyone in this building respects. You never failed to keep us brats in line. If the rest of the school could see you now, how do you think they’d react?”

A long, tense silence.

Okasei stared at him.

His hands trembled. His lips parted.

Finally, a sharp, shaky exhale.

“…God help me. To think I’m being talked down to by a student.”

Toma leaned back, exhaling too.

“Well, that’s a start.”

Mr. Okasei slowly, carefully, reached for the Bible and closed it, his fingers lingering on the cover like he was grounding himself.

“…I don’t know what to do.” His voice was quieter now, hoarse but no longer distant. “I’ve spent my whole life thinking I had the answers, but I don’t.”

“You don’t need to actually know anything to take charge, just project authority,” Toma said, as if quoting something he’d been told once.

Okasei let out a breathy, bitter chuckle.

“You really are your father’s son.”

Toma stiffened for a second, but after a moment, his smirk returned.

“Let’s just focus on getting to the courtyard, Sir. Everyone is relying on you to deliver one of your classic sleep-inducing speeches.”

The headmaster bristled in his old, pompous way. “Hey now!”

His voice had steadied.

Just a little.

But it was enough.

He stood up, a determined look crossing his face.

“I’ll do what I can to calm everyone until we get word from the mayor’s office,” he said, a brave attempt at his old stoic demeanor. He stood tall and made his way to the door, where he paused.

“Thank you,” he added, and with that, he rushed out into the hall.

The trio followed behind him, Hana and Arata stunned, while Toma stretched like he routinely talked people down like this.

“Well, that was interesting,” he said.

Hana exhaled sharply. “You’re unbelievable.”

“That’s what makes me lovable,” Toma said with a wink.

Arata stared. “How the hell did you do that?”

Toma shrugged. “I grew up in Sekikyo. Overworked salarymen off themselves every other day there. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen someone need a friend who speaks harsh truths.”

Arata could tell there was more to it, but just then, his pocket vibrated.

He looked down to see several messages from his step-mom.

[Feima: Are you okay?]
[Feima: We heard it too.]
[Feima: Should I come get you?]

For the first time since hearing that voice, Arata thought about her. With his mom and dad gone, Feima was all he had left. They weren’t particularly close, but he knew she tried. He sent a quick message telling her it was okay, and that he’d come home as soon as possible.

As he finished typing, his eyes caught the flood of news notifications. Arata subtly popped in his earsets.

They stepped into the courtyard where most assemblies were held. The dull concrete square usually induced boredom for its inhabitants, but today it seemed like everyone was on edge. Students and teachers clumped in uneasy groups, their faces pale, eyes darting around. The sun felt harsh above their heads.

Toma led them to seats near the back, while Arata’s eyes stayed glued to his screen.

He flexed a tentative finger and clicked the first link he saw.

A livestream was playing. The camera shook as it panned over Sekikyo’s skyline, smoke rising in the distance. The anchor on screen looked ready to break down.

“…repeating now for those just joining us. At exactly 8:01 NST, every person across Gaia simultaneously heard the same voice. The governments of the world are scrambling for answers, and already reports are pouring in of panic, accidents, and looting…”

So much for this being isolated to Minakasa, Arata thought grimly.

The feed cut to Trafdon, the capital of Churchill. The rich streets were gridlocked with mangled cars. People were running, many in masks.

The anchor’s voice cracked.

“Countless workers worldwide are giving their notices to be with their families, and we have confirmed that this event has no national boundaries. The voice was heard simultaneously in every language. Those who were asleep were awoken in the middle of the night. So far, sample interviews have indicated people received the exact same vision, without exception. Children as young as two have been confirmed to exhibit signs of post-vision trauma, and doctors report that even coma patients showed increased brain activity when…”

Arata’s fingers tightened around his pocket screen as he listened through his earsets.

He scrolled fast through news articles, videos, and message boards. Scientists and theologians of every faith were speculating on the cause of the voice. The World Council was asking for calm. Hana and Toma leaned in over his shoulders, reading too.

Everyone was talking about the same thing. The voice. The visions. The apocalypse.

But that was all.

There were no mentions of more specific sights like what had just happened in Okasei’s office.

Arata’s heart thudded. His visions were different. More detailed.

And he had just watched one of them come true.

A sick, electric thought ran through him. If he could change something—anything—would that prove the world’s fate wasn’t set?

He had to try.

He locked his screen and peered down into the black void at the end of which his own lime eyes stared back at him.

The countdown had begun. The whole world had heard.

And now Arata knew that his visions were somehow different.