Chapter 5: Academia Generica

When a girl from another world manifests herself in your mirror, it doesn't really matter if it's morning or afternoon or whatever. Time doesn't exist.

Time's irrelevant. The universe is infinite.

You know what's also infinite?

My thoughts. Spinning, looping, hitting me from all sorts of ridiculous angles.

Somewhere between her explanation of what an aether signature was and her wide-eyed awe at the existence of microwaves, I realized something terrifying: I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Not in a “hey, maybe I’ll text her” way. In a “why is she smiling like that and why does my chest feel like it’s under construction” way.

It made sense, sort of.

Girl from another world.

Magic powers.

Trapped in my mirror like some soft-voiced RPG DLC character.

She had that strange formality thing going on with her graceful posture, old-ass vocabulary, and things like that.

All of this is rapidly circling around in my head on the walk to school the same way vultures do when spotting dying prey.

"Mr. Mathematics, you're awfully quiet this morning."

"I'm quiet every morning, Mika." I mumbled, without lifting my gaze. "Just thinking about life and all that."

She snorted. “Sure. That’s what I always tell myself when someone is obviously hiding something.”

Touché.

I shrugged, trying to look casual. Which, given the mental spaghetti in my head, looked more like someone trying to smuggle a dead cat across town.

Silence fell.

And boy… was it awkward.

Alright, well, don’t think too hard on it,” she said, parting ways at the school's backyard gate. I stayed still a moment longer, immediately thinking way too hard on it.

I shuffled along, trying not to make any eye contact with anyone.

School had a way of pretending nothing monumental had happened. Same cracked pavement. Same shoes squeaking on tile. Same smell of disinfectant and chalk drifting through the halls like a threat. If the universe really had noticed last night, it wasn’t showing it. Everything looked aggressively normal.

Which was, admittedly, comforting.

I took my seat near the window and let my bag thud to the floor, resting my forehead briefly against the cool desk. It grounded me. Wood. Scratches. Someone had carved a crooked heart into it years ago and never bothered to finish the second initial. Proof that other people had survived this place.

Breathe, I told myself. You saw a girl in your mirror. She did magic. You did not spontaneously combust. This is fine.

My chest still felt weird, though. Not painful. Just… warm. Like I’d jogged up a flight of stairs without realizing it. I rolled my shoulders, stretching, trying to shake the feeling loose.

Didn’t work.

I chalked it up to nerves. Or lack of sleep. Or the part where my life had apparently decided to jump genres overnight. Any of those seemed reasonable.

Eiji slid into the seat beside me a moment later, already halfway into a rant about something—sports, I think. I nodded at the appropriate intervals, letting his voice wash over me.

It helped more than I wanted to admit.

When the teacher started droning on about group work, I reached into my bag for a pencil.

That’s when it happened.

At first, I thought I was imagining it—just a trick of the light as my fingers brushed the wood. The pencil twitched. Barely. Like static. I froze.

It twitched again.

I stared at it.

It stared back. Inanimate. Innocent. Definitely not supposed to do that.

It then proceeded to lift up in the air as I tried reaching for it.

As if… it was possessed by something else.

This couldn't be me doing this, right?

Then again, my luck managed to manifest an otherworldly girl directly in my mirror.

All I'm hoping is that she isn't behind this.

I felt a couple of eyes move my way.

I pretended they didn't.

Eiji nudged me, a concerned smile on his face. "Yo, man," he whispered. "Are you okay?"

"Calculus sucks, man." I tried my best to lie. I probably sounded a little off.

"No doubt, even your tools are against you today." Eiji said looking down at his textbook.

That was the smartest thing he's ever said.

I went to go turn my paper over when the page went flying suddenly.

I didn't even flip it hard or anything!

Am I stressed out? Unable to focus?

Much like that mirror, my gut tells me something's not adding up.

Sigh. Math joke.

I survived the rest of class by doing what I do best: pretending nothing was wrong and hoping reality followed suit.

It didn’t.

And because the universe has a sense of humor, the next class on my schedule was gym—an environment scientifically engineered to make my heart rate spike and my dignity evaporate.

Gym class was exactly as advertised: loud, humid, and socially lethal.

The class split up into teams with the efficiency of people who had done this a thousand times and learned absolutely nothing from it. The athletic kids gravitated together instinctively, like magnets. The rest of us were distributed evenly, as if the teacher were trying to be fair or, more likely, merciful.

I placed myself near the back.

A good, safe position.

A position where one could exist quietly and avoid being perceived.

The whistle blew.

Shortly after, chaos.

Sneakers squealed.

Someone yelled something unnecessary and heroic.

My heart rate was higher than the time I beat my old speedrun record. It was like my body had decided that this was a life-or-death scenario and didn’t bother looping me in.

Bad sign.

I tried to breathe normally. In through the nose. Out through the—

A shadow crossed my vision.

I looked up.

A dodgeball was already midair, spinning end over end, coming straight for my face with malicious intent.

Everything slowed.

Not dramatically. Not cinematically.

Just… mildly incorrect.

The sounds around me dulled, like someone had shoved cotton in the world’s ears. The ball’s rotation became painfully clear. I could see the scuffs on the rubber. The slight wobble in its trajectory.

My brain screamed duck.

My body disagreed.

I moved.

Not fast.
Not strong.

Just… perfectly.

I stepped aside by inches I didn’t consciously measure. The ball passed where my head had been a moment earlier, missing me so cleanly it felt rude.

Before I even got the chance to process that—

My arm moved.

Zero delay.

I caught it and threw like I'd done this a million times before.

The ball left my hand with a sharp crack that didn’t sound right. It cut across the gym in a straight, vicious line and nailed one of the louder guys square in the chest before he even realized he was being targeted.

He went down with a surprised “ARGH!” and stayed there.

Silence.

Actual silence.

Every head turned.

Including the teacher’s.

I stood there, arm still extended, staring at my own hand like it had betrayed me.

I did not know I could do that.

My heart was pounding out of my chest.

A couple of guys stared at me like I’d just Pokémon evolved right in front of them.

Eiji’s mouth was open.

Someone muttered, “Since when…?”

I slowly, carefully lowered my arm.

“Uh,” I said, intelligently.

The teacher narrowed his eyes. “Tezuka.”

Oh no.

“Yes?” I croaked.

“…Good throw.”

That was worse.

Much worse.

I nodded stiffly, cheeks burning, every instinct screaming that something had gone very wrong.

As the game resumed around me, louder now, more chaotic, I stayed perfectly still.

Because whatever that was—

Whatever I just did—

I was pretty sure it wasn’t normal.

And I was even more sure Izumi was going to have questions.