Chapter 5: Smiles Are Mandatory, Sanity Optional

Fuck, fuck, fuck. It was 7:45 a.m., my alarm had just screamed me awake, and I had not slept a single goddamn second. Not one. My brain felt like it had been dragged through a hedge backwards. Great. Perfect. Marvelous.

I shoved myself into my uniform as if brute force could iron out the exhaustion. Makeup? Ha. My dark circles were a physical fact at this point—no concealer in the world could perform that kind of witchcraft—so I accepted defeat and left my face honest and tired. Hair: half-heartedly done. Soul: utterly decimated. Still, I had two small tyrants who needed feeding. Priority clear.

When I reached the kitchen the twins were already dressed and annoyingly perky. Himari was finishing her toast. “Hi, Nagisa-neechan!” she chirped between bites. Yuzuki echoed, “Good morning, Onee-chan!” like a bad jingle.

Mariko was at the sink, sleeves rolled, the same tired smile glued on. No makeup. No clubbing outfit. Just her—worn, strong, disgustingly human. She glanced me up and down, the appraisal quick and clinical.

She didn’t say much at first, but then, “Nagisa.” Serious. Flat. The tone that meant the next words would be small and sharp.

I clenched my fists until my knuckles screamed. Perfect. Great. Be judged for trying to do everything and still not being enough.

“Take your time,” she said. “I’ll take the girls to school. Get yourself ready properly.”

She grabbed Himari and Yuzuki by their tiny hands. They waved, all giggles and crumb-mouthed sweetness, and tumbled out the door. Mariko shut the door behind them with the soft, practiced movement of someone who has closed more doors than most people have opened.

I stood there, outrage bubbling into hurt and then into rage. So I couldn’t help? I was a nuisance? I hammered my fist into the wall. Pain flared; I winced. My knuckles were red, angry pinpricks. Worth it. Felt meaningful for approximately three seconds.

I laughed under my breath, bitter and broken. “Pathetic.”

But then I fixed my smile in the mirror, the one I always wore. Nagisa, the angel. Nagisa, the idol. Nagisa, the perfect girl. It was showtime. Again.

On the way to school, the same chorus greeted me:

“Tanigawa-san, you look beautiful as always!”

“So perfect today too, Nagisa-chan!”

“Like an angel from heaven!”

Blah, blah, blah, blah, BLAH.

I wanted to scream. Rip their throats out. Instead, I smiled. I waved. I sparkled like a good little doll.

Inside, I was rotting.

By the time I reached my seat, my cheeks ached from holding the mask in place. I sat down, graceful, serene, every inch the number-one honor student. My fake halo gleamed. My classmates adored me.

That’s when Extras 1, 2, and 3 appeared, my so-called friends, circling my desk like pigeons around bread crumbs.

“Did you hear? The boy from Class C got rejected again. So embarrassing!” one giggled.

“I know, right? And did you see what Aoyama-san was wearing? Like, does she even own a mirror?” said another.

“Honestly, I think the new math teacher is kinda cute, don’t you think?” the third chimed in.

Chatter. Gossip. Trash. Like flies buzzing in my ears.

I laughed sweetly, nodding at the right times, tossing in the occasional “Oh, really?” and “That’s so funny.” They ate it up, my attention like gold coins in their little beggar hands.

Inside? I wanted to smash their faces into the desks.

Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic.

All they ever talked about was meaningless garbage. Boys, clothes, stupid rumors. Was this really what kept them alive? Their tiny, wrinkled little brains firing off sparks about who wore what skirt and who confessed behind the gym?

My nails dug into my palm under the desk.

And the worst part? They adored me for listening. They thought I was kind. Understanding. Saint Nagisa, the angel who cared.

If they knew. If they really knew what I thought, they’d run screaming.

Or maybe not. Maybe they’d keep smiling, keep praising me, because that’s what sheep do when faced with a wolf dressed in silk.

I kept smiling.

And thought about how much easier life would be if I could just shut them all up forever.

For a moment, I lost it. My vision blurred, my fists clenched tight, nails biting into my palms. I was smiling—yes, still smiling like the perfect girl listening to her precious little friends—but my mind had already left.

I was seconds away from snapping. From shouting. From cursing out every single shallow, brainless word that dripped from their mouths.

My lips parted, ready to let it all spill—

“Nagisa-chaaaan!!”

A weight slammed into me, small, warm, fragrant. Sweet. Too sweet. Lilacs and currants, cloying like candy left in the sun. I almost gagged.

It was her. Amamiya Sora. Tiny, porcelain Sora, her head barely reaching my shoulder—and I wasn’t even tall. She clung to me like we were heroines in some idiotic shoujo manga.

“Girls,” she said brightly, her voice sugar-coated poison. “Did you know? Nagisa-chan messaged me this morning. She couldn’t sleep at all, she’s so tired. So I’ll take her to the infirmary!”

“Uh… wha—?!” I croaked, my brain short-circuiting.

“What?!” Extras 1, 2, and 3 shrieked in unison, their vacant little heads practically combusting.

“Since when are you two so close, Amamiya-san?” one of them spat, her eyes narrowing. “You literally just transferred yesterday!”

“Yeah, exactly!” another chimed in, indignant like she owned me.

Sora puffed out her chest, smug little pixie, lips curling like a cat that’d stolen the cream. “Well,” she said, drawing it out, “Nagisa-chan didn’t want to say anything because she’s shy. But in reality, she and I are childhood friends, right?”

And then—oh, the audacity—she stepped on my foot. Hard. Her amber eyes widened innocently, daring me to contradict her.

I froze. My brain screamed a thousand insults. My foot screamed in pain. My pride screamed louder.

“Huh… y-yeah… that’s right,” I mumbled, nearly choking on the words. “We’re… childhood friends.”

Her grin widened. Mine did too, automatically, like a reflex I couldn’t kill.

Inside? I was already plotting her murder.

Amamiya Sora dragged me out of the classroom without a word, her grin unwavering as she waved at my so-called friends like they didn’t exist.

In the hallway, finally away from prying eyes, I wrenched my arm free.

“Amamiya-san! What do you think you’re doing? We should go back to class, don’t you think? I—I'm fine,” I said, trying to force my usual polite smile.

“You’re pathetic,” Sora said, her angelic face replaced by something sharper, darker.

She looked me up and down, like she could see right through the cracks I spent years hiding behind.

“Eh? Amamiya-san… you shouldn’t say things like that to a classmate,” I stammered, still desperately holding onto my fake composure.

Slap!

Her hand smacked my cheek before I could react. Hard.

Son of a—

My vision blurred with rage. My eyes must have been on fire, flames shooting out of them, because that was the last straw. That tiny, doll-faced gremlin had the audacity to hit me? Me? Nagisa Tanigawa?

I moved toward her in a blur, a step that could have broken the sound barrier, and kicked her square in the stomach. Hard enough to split her in two, I swear.

Amamiya Sora flew backward, tumbling two, maybe three meters down the hallway.

She had asked for it, damn it.

And then—shit. Shit. Shit. Shit! I’d gone too far. I had just assaulted her. I might have left her half-dead. Oh god, what the hell had I done?!

I rushed to her side.

“Cough! Cough! Cough!” she hacked, chest heaving.

“Amamiya-san… I—it's my fault… I don’t know what came over me… I’m so sorry! I’m sooooo sorry!” Tears stung my eyes, running unchecked down my face. My world was collapsing.

I cradled her in my arms, pulling her close to my chest, rocking her gently.

And then I felt it—her hand, soft and delicate, pressing against my cheek.

Her amber eyes locked onto mine, unwavering.

“See?” she whispered, her voice faint but firm. “See? I like it when you’re like this...”

Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she slipped into unconsciousness in my arms.