4 Music class

The music teacher, Otonashi-sensei, paced up and down the rows of desks, handing out a packet of pages, facedown, onto each. The room was the largest classroom of the school, nearly twice as wide and long as the others; this was due to the front half being filled with desks for written work and lectures, while the back had raised rows with music stands and chairs, ready for students to play instruments in. While that accounted for the depth of the room, the breadth was also filled, as each lesson was a combination of two classes of the same grade.

The hybrid classroom was always in use, the teacher never with a break, as all students had her one half of the year or another. As such, she was meticulously organized, running the class like a tight ship, emphasizing careful use of godsongs in practice. Legally, outside of expectations like school classes and other training, godsongs were not supposed to be sung by minors, and even certain songs were outright illegal to anyone without proper government clearances, though the vast majority of those songs weren’t readily known to the public. And while all of these policies dipped between different government organizations, at the core of it, they orbited around a single government department: the National Bureau of Song Preservation, or commonly referred to by the shorter NBSP.

And all of this was on the forefront of Ichiro’s mind, as it was to be on their test.

Even joined together, the two classes stayed separate, Ichiro’s on the right, the other on the left. Otonashi-sensei tended to post the exam grades up front, with each class’s average in large print on the bottom. Yesterday’s exam was no exception.

“I’m pleased to say that most of you did quite well yesterday on the practical exam.” She slowed as she passed Ichiro. “Most of you.”

It was easy to see: Ichiro’s class was one point below the other. Ichiro shriveled under her passing gaze as she deposited the paper written exam onto his desk, aware she was not the only one as he felt stares drilling into the back of his neck. He ignored it though, promising himself he would do better on this written test. As she kept walking though, he thumbed up the stapled corner, peeking.

WHAT YEAR WAS THE INTERNATIONAL TREATY FOR THE “BLACK SONGS ACT” AND WHO PROPOSED THE INITIAL DRAFT?

It was worth 3 points. The only reason it would be worth 3 points would be if one of those answers had 2 parts, and he knew it was only a single number for the year. Maybe he would get lucky guessing one of the countries. Was it Japan? That sounded right to him; he knew Japan signed its first draft and each amended update of godsongs that were illegal to share. He made a mental note to write that answer down, and pick a close enough year; maybe she would have mercy if he was just a single year off, though he doubted it.

He glanced around. Anxious eyes met his, but Kobayashi’s and Hikari’s were not among them. Not just because they were sitting a few rows ahead of him and it would have been odd for them to fully turn around, but also because they actually were better at this.

“You can begin.”

A few dozen test booklets flipped in unison, the collective sound like the swish of the sea. Ichiro wasted no time in jotting down a year and Japan into that first question, figuring he would look through the rest of the test for a clue.

It was a mental onslaught; six pages in sixty minutes, nearly half true or false or multiple choice questions, the rest all short answers. He scrambled to write, the eraser wearing down as he second-guessed those answers he wasn’t unsure of the information on, which was most of them. A few of the answers he simply left what he wrote, sure he would get some points on them, while others had spaces darkened by pencil lead that wouldn’t erase further. Nearly a dozen true or false questions he was unsure of, and just marked true for all of them.

The content was all over the place; music history, government policy, godsong theory… His head swam with the turning questions. He could sing fine, but the actual text of it eluded him. And at the bottom of the last page, he saw the final question:

WHAT IS KI-KOE-KYOKU?

Twenty points, a fifth of the total test. And only three lines given to write below. Otonashi-sensei was a stickler for length; “to be excessive is to be babbling” she’d say. He thought about it before answering.

KI —, he wrote, The spirit and intention of the singer

KOE — The voice of the singer, giving the song life

KYOKU — The melody that guides it to the god

“Pencils down,” Otonashi-sensei called out. Ichiro sighed, looking at the answer, the last one he was allowed to write. “Pass your tests up front.”

The good feelings about his final answer evaporated as he closed the booklet, seeing all of the questions he likely didn’t do well on. He sighed again, this time of disappointment rather than satisfaction, as he handed the growing stack of tests to the student in front of him.

“Ugh,” Ichiro groaned as they exited the classroom, mentally exhausted. “The only thing I know for sure that I got right on that test was my name,” he grumbled.

“And the date,” Hikari tried to encourage him, not at all succeeding.

“Cheer up,” Kobayashi chimed in. “You surely did better than the practical yesterday.”

“Zip it!” Ichiro snapped with an annoyed glare, unsure if her peer was being sincere or just rubbing in yesterday. But the light smirk on Kobayashi’s face was answer enough.

He sulked as they walked to their final class, letting the annoyance wash over and off of him by the time they arrived. Ichiro prayed the day would finish smoothly enough. But to end it was English.

“Alright, everyone,” their teacher addressed them once they were all seated, “we will be continuing our reading today… with…” He trailed off as something in the hallway got his attention, and Ichiro looked as well, seeing the principal waving at the teacher, bidding him to step out of the classroom. “Uh, students… go ahead and review the section. I’ll be right back.”

Hikari turned in her seat less than a minute after their teacher was out. “Hmm, Ichichi, what does this sentence say?” she asked Ichiro. She wasn’t the first to speak; a couple small conversations were already happening and two other students were even standing at other desks.

“Do I look like I speak English?” he grumbled, unable to make sense of it. “You can ask Liam later.”

Hikari rolled her eyes. “I’ll just ask Kobayashi then.” Her chair thudded as she pushed it into his desk before getting up and walking across the room to their friend’s desk. Ichiro sighed as she watched him strike up a conversation with Kobayashi as easy as anything else, before following behind

“Ugh, I don’t know what this word even means,” she grumbled.

“Well, it’s in the text… somewhere,” Kobayashi told her, clearly uncertain himself.

“I don’t have time to look for it. I’m just going to search it up online… and my phone is dead.” She tipped the screen slightly as it blacked out on her. “Koba…” He already had his phone extended to her. “Thanks!” She eagerly took it and typed. “Oh, good. Let me write this down,” she said as she stepped across the room to her desk and started to scribble down a note.

“Hey, uh, Kobayashi,” Ichiro started, dropping his voice quieter. The other boy didn’t turn to face him but Ichiro knew that he was heard. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry about this morning. I was kind of over the top about all that.”

Kobayashi finally turned to him. “Eh, don’t worry too much, it happens,” he replied with a shrug, but Ichiro could see the smile that played at the corners of his lips before he quickly turned back to face forward again.

“Everyone, to your seats, now,” the teacher said as soon as he reentered the room, cutting into the boys’ conversation. His voice held a weight and seriousness that sounded alien and Ichiro moved it with the others to get back to his seat behind Hikari. Three men in suits with short cropped hair and stern looks followed behind, giving an air of mystery and intimidation that Ichiro did not want to deal with. “Students,” the teacher continued, gesturing to the men, “these gentlemen are here from the NBSP, investigating a small matter. And, uh, they will be—”

The man in the centre of the room, the first one in, held up a hand, silencing the teacher. “I am Agent Yamamoto,” he introduced, “and we will just be conducting some one on one interviews during your class. Come when your name is called and then you can return. First, Takahashi Natsuki.” Agent Yamamoto turned on his heel and marched out, followed closely behind by the summoned class representative.

As the agents and student began to clear the room, the teacher took back his spot in the middle of the room. “Well, in the meantime, let’s keep reading. However,” he turned and started to write a long English word on the chalkboard, “does anyone know what this word means?”

“Oh, I do!” Hikari blurted as she quickly raised her hand with a triumphant grin.

The class continued for another 10 minutes before the door slid open. As the class representative entered and made a quick line back to his desk, another suited agent, different from the three before, darkened the threshold of the door. “Yamada Ichiro.”

Ichiro stood slowly.

“This way,” the agent ordered, leading him down the hall.