An Outcast’s Score

“Summer vacation. Summer vacation. The season of youth, where teenagers can finally rest after a year of school work…. What a terribly dreadful thing it is.”

Totally unbelievable.

Mr. Allen, their seventh period teacher, couldn’t have cared less that his classroom was filled with the groans of teenagers on the verge of tears. If anything, he seemed to welcome it. You could tell by his trademark sadistic grin and how he was speaking in that same depressing manner, as if he were cursing everyone around him to live the same miserable life that he was forced to.

“Alright, students. When I call your name, please come up and receive your final exam test score.”

Thirty students gulped in a rare unison. A foreboding air had filled their classroom, its grip so tight that it made them question if the ball of saliva in their throats had even truly completed its descent. Mr. Allen’s tests had an infamy of being difficult, but that most recent one was something else entirely.

After finishing up with the procedures on his laptop, Mr. Allen took the stack of thirty or so sheets on his desk and went through them one by one—each name a countdown to academic judgment.

“Derrick Pierson.”

The first name rang like a bell. Derrick stood tall, walked over to receive his test and returned to his seat in one smooth motion. However, even as he sat down, Derrick did not check his score. He waited until the others around him had received theirs first.

“Aniya Smitheman.”

Just as Derrick before her, Aniya walked over the teacher’s desk, was handed her score in a “hotdog style” folded manner and went back to her seat in an orderly fashion.

“Paul Writer.”

By now, students had realised that Mr. Allen was calling the names based on the order of seats in each row, rather than alphabetical or any other format.

A tedious cycle set in motion. Papers were handed off. Students leaned in relief, excitement, or their bodies simply curled into a ball of defeat and gloom. Some students clutched their papers like lottery tickets. Some snapped photos for group chats. Others collapsed into tearful embraces.

Eventually, after every student’s name had been called and they had all received their score, the once dampening classroom exploded into a zoo of various conversations and feelings.

From the back of the class, Akuma observed the students and their reactions to their test scores.

“Oh my god, I passed! I freakin passed!” exclaimed one student who was a part of the first row to get their tests back. With his arms pumped out wide, and a wide smile on his face, Derrick leaped out of his seat.

“Here he goes…” sighed a female student one row over. “With how he’s jumping you’d think he scored an A. In reality, I bet he barely scraped by with a C…”

“So? Last time I checked, a C’s still passing, Aniya! You’re only hating ‘cause you failed!”

“Huh?! Who failed?! You haven’t even seen my score yet!”

A few surrounding students, including the boy it was aimed towards, giggled at her retort.

“Anyways, that means you can come to my birthday party this summer, right, Derrick?”

“Yep! My parents said if I pass my finals, I get to go to the party. Geez, I’m so damn hyped! This summer’s gonna be a movie!”

“And what about you, John? What did you get?”

The student who was apparently hosting a birthday party this summer pointed her attention at a gloomy student in the first row.

“Huh? Oh, ah… Y–Yeah, I passed too…” The gloomy student forced an answer, his shaky tone contradicting his words. John attempted to hide the evidence, but Derrick snatched it out of his hands and defiled it with his gaze.

“You liar! Your score’s pathetic! You got a 23!” Derrick did not hesitate to put John’s score on full blast. “Aw look, you even missed the easy bonus questions!”

Whether he was doing it to get a laugh out of the others, or just trying to embarrass Derrick, the fact of the matter is that he had succeeded in both. Every student nearby burst out in a mocking laughter. Even students who hadn’t been in the conversation snickered.

“Ha! You should’ve asked Paul to help you study some more, John.” Another student butted in.

“Yeah, instead of playing the game all day, you should’ve asked him for some 1-on-1. I’m sure he would’ve helped you of all people out. Isn’t that right, Paul?”

Paul Writer, the class representative, fixed his glasses before calmly responding with, “I suppose.”

“See, even Paul agrees!”

At that moment, John wanted nothing more than to jump inside of a hole.

He had asked for a special 1-on-1 session. Without anyone else’s knowledge of the matter—save for Akuma who just so happened to be nearby—John and Paul had hosted a special study session in the library after school. John knew that if he only put in as much work as the others, he’d fail the exam. So he put in 3x the effort. Quitting his video games, and his manga and devoting every second of free time to studying.

But it still wasn’t enough.

Of course, Paul Writer knew this but chose not to say anything. Doing so would only work to embarrass John even more.

“Now then, students. I hope that I’ve eased at least some of your stress before the summer vacation." announced Mr. Allen, his voice devoid of any actual sincerity. Having said that, Mr. Allen resumed whatever work he had previously been doing on his laptop.

One student, however, was left feeling unsatisfied with the outcome. Not because they had received an unfavorable grade, but because they hadn’t even received a score at all. What should’ve been the last paper in the stack that was handed off to a female student, was in fact only the second to last one.

A plethora of problems could’ve caused such a situation, ranging from a simple error in the printer to a simple miscalculation, so the student didn’t give it another thought.

Instead, he mustered all his courage to raise his hand high.

“U–Um… Mr. Allen?”

The classroom died down and soon, every pair of eyes in the room snapped in his direction.

“What is it, Mr. Tiryns?”

The words almost hurt coming out of his throat, as if the mere idea of giving respect to the boy could be considered a crime on his morals. Mr. Allen did not have the eyes of a teacher at that moment—both his eyes and tone suggested that he was conversing with someone of lower status, someone who ordinarily wouldn’t even count as human, and thus shouldn’t be treated as one.

“Well, it’s um…” Akuma hesitated for a moment, unsure how to phrase his complaint. “Y–You forgot my paper…”

Immediately regretting his choice of words, Akuma restated it in another way.

“I think a mistake probably happened somewhere? Maybe the printer was one paper short?”

For a long moment, no one said a thing. Neither Mr. Allen. Nor any student. They just looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign language.

“No mistake.”

Mr. Allen answered with a very small snark. Then, in a casual manner, he closed down his computer and projection board and prepared for the dismissal of class in a few minutes. It was the last period, and Friday at that. Mr. Allen was the adviser for a few clubs still up and running in April so his day wouldn’t end at the bell unlike for many students.

“I…I don’t really understand… Sir.” Akuma made sure to add the honorifics.

“Agh, do I really need to spell everything out for you? Listen, I’m a busy man, you’re a busy man, we all have things we need to do. Don’t antagonize me over a test. I neither have the time nor the patience… Wait, don’t tell me, this isn’t your way of bragging, is it?”

“...”

An uncomfortable silence sprung forth. Akuma’s raised arm gradually sank like an anchor in water. He wanted to escape that attention. To escape their eyes. But it seemed as if the more he lowered his hand, the more uncomfortable the silence became.

“I understand the need to fish for compliments when your life is miserable, but it can sometimes come off as a bother. You wouldn’t want that, right, Mr. Tiryns?”

“...N–No, that’s not…”

Akuma’s words fell on deaf ears. His voice had been drowned out by the mocking laugh that gradually filled the entire class. It was like a virus in how quickly it spread.

Akuma’s eyes darkened. Eventually, he couldn't tell if their voices were actually rising in decibel or if he was just getting more sensitive to it. Before, it would’ve been appropriate to call it giggling. Now, it felt like undeniable laughter.

“That’s enough, class. I think he understands.” Mr. Allen remarked with a satisfied smirk. “I hope that answers your question, Mr. Tiryns?”

Akuma clenched his fist so tightly that his nails dug into his skin.

“Yes. Thank you… Sir.”

It didn’t surprise him. Not in the least. Mr. Allen was always like that.

One time, Mr. Allen gratuitously kicked Akuma out of class while going over one of the hardest materials of the unit, knowing that Akuma had no friends willing to give him the notes he’d missed.

Another time, he slipped a rather powerful sleeping agent in Akuma’s drink so that he’d sleep in class and miss the entire lecture. However, for whatever reason, the drug didn’t work.

The worst part about it all was that Akuma couldn’t even report him. It wasn’t as if Mr. Allen was the only one against him. Akuma doubted the faculty or staff would listen, much less act. If anything, they’d use Akuma’s complaints as a chance to finally kick him out of school.

“Teacher? Does that mean Akuma got a perfect score again?” A student suddenly asked, breaking the tension in the room instantly.

Despite having raised her hand like a model-student would, she did not wait for Mr. Allen to acknowledge her. She spoke clearly and confidently and at her own pace. But there was a clear undertone behind her words.

Irritation.

Alice Inari cleared her throat so dramatically that it was obvious she wanted the entire class’ attention.

“I mean no disrespect when I say this, teacher, but it’s pretty obvious that you have a nasty bias when it comes to Akuma. If he got a bad grade–no, even if he got a 99% you’d definitely rub it in his face… So, if you aren’t showing his score, isn't it because he got a perfect score? Again?”

She spoke with the kind of confidence that suggested she had been paying very close attention to Akuma.

Mr. Allen clicked his tongue, the gesture using his entire face for the action. “And what about it, Ms. Inari? What’s the point of asking such a pointless question? Surely you don’t intend on reporting me?”

“No, of course not. I just wanted you to admit it, that’s all.”

Alice had a satisfied smile that pissed Mr. Allen off completely. Mr. Allen clicked his tongue once more, visibly irritated. She had won their little duel. And so, Mr. Allen had nothing more to say to her.

In a similar manner, the students who were previously mocking Akuma turned their heads. Some did so with jealousy in their hearts. Some a regretful sigh—not because they were worried about Akuma but because if even the great Akuma Tiryns had failed, then that was just proof of how hard the midterm was. Except, since he hadn't failed the exam, they had to face the cruel reality. They themselves were the problem, not the test. The remaining few students removed their focus in an indifferent manner.

Akuma returned to his usual role in the class.

The demon in human skin.

No one in their right minds would call such a role “good” by any metric of the word. But it was familiar. Safe. Comfortable. It definitely beat everyone glaring at him in judgment. At least, like this, he could blend into the background and live out a peaceful life.

Akuma’s chest, however, was not as quiet as he thought it would be. It was drumming on like a military musician hyping him for battle.

His lips quivered at the thought of her, his hands moving to his face to hide his flustered face. Not only had she inserted herself into his mind, she had erased every other thought as if claiming them unnecessary.

Images of Alice Inari flooded his mind, dating back to their first interaction and going as far as a future that didn’t exist yet.

A future, for example, where she was wearing a pure-white dress and holding a set of equally white roses. To her right, a pastor who might’ve looked like the angel—whatever the hell he was doing here. But in front of Alice, was the space reserved for the groom. Akuma was that groom.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

The words rung through his drum like a pleasant song. He felt giddy, and slightly embarrassed. He could tell that Alice was feeling the same way. But, she built up the courage to initiate the actions. She closed her eyes and gently puckered her small, plump lips. Akuma was not going to leave her hanging.

Slowly, the distance between their lips got shorter and shorter, until…

“Akuma!”

Until, a voice forcibly dragged him away from such a sweet fantasy.

“!”

It was as if electricity had run through his spine.

“H–Huh?” Akuma scrambled for a response.

“Finally. Geez, that was my third time calling you.”

For a moment—just a moment—he could swear cherry blossoms were falling around the girl in front of him.

Then, a sheet of paper filled his vision.

“Be honest. What’s my score?”

“.......”

Akuma blinked several times, speechless. His brain hadn’t even fully registered her demand.

“Well? Don’t just keep me waiting. Tell me what I got already!"