Class Time

The teacher begins writing on the blackboard.

I stare at the board for a moment.

I have absolutely no idea what she’s teaching.

Whatever she has written on the board, I can’t seem to read it.

If it was a different language it would make sense why I can’t read it, but it’s not that. Whenever she finishes writing a letter, it becomes blurry immediately after.

I look around.

The sound of pencil scribbles fills the classroom.

Seems like I’m the only one who doesn’t understand the teacher.

I guess I should take her advice.

I turn toward the student sitting beside me.

“Excuse me.”

No response.

I try again.

“Would you mind sharing your textbook with me?”

The student continues writing.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

It’s like I don’t even exist to them.

I glance toward the other students.

Maybe they’re just shy…

I turn toward another student.

“Excuse me, can I—”

They don’t react either.

I look around the classroom again.

None of the students seem to notice me.

This is going to be a problem. I’m going to get in trouble again at this rate.

Any ideas, Princess?

< You will have to make them notice you. >

< Do you not remember whose power you wield? >

I pause.

My power.

I look toward the student beside me again.

I’m not quite sure what I can actually do here.

The only thing I’ve really done with it so far is stop those creatures back then.

Still, the Princess seems pretty confident. Not that I’ve ever seen her not confident, but still.

I take a breath.

So, what should I do?

< Command them. >

That’s it?

< That is all you need. >

I stare at the student.

Then I clear my throat.

“Share”

The student stops writing.

Slowly, they turn toward me.

Their face is still covered by that strange cloud.

Being this close, I thought that I could maybe see their face, but it doesn’t seem like the case.

They look at me for a few seconds.

Then they shift their desk towards mine.

Did it work?

They look down at their textbook.

They pick it up.

And slide it toward me.

I stare at it.

…It actually worked.

That actually worked.

< Of course it did. >

Could I always do this?

< Not always. >

< But now that your body has grown more accustomed to my power, more possibilities have become available. >

I see.

< It also helps that our affinity for each other seems to have grown. >

< It allows my power to flow more smoothly. >

I guess all those nights watching TV weren’t a complete waste of time.

I open the textbook.

The words in the textbook are still blurry.

I blink a few times and rub my eyes.

Nothing changes.

I can’t read this either.

< That is unfortunate. >

Can you read it?

< I perceive what you perceive. >

< I am unable to read it as well. >

Tough.

Still, I guess this is better than having nothing in front of me. Disobeying the teacher feels like bad news. I should try my best to not do it again.

I glance toward the student beside me.

They’re already back to writing.

It feels like I should say something.

“Thanks.”

Nothing.

Right.

They can’t hear me.

I turn toward the blackboard again.

The teacher continues her lessons as if nothing happened.

Even her speaking is like the words on the board.

It’s uncanny. It sounds like she’s speaking in a language I understand at first, but her voice seems to get distorted after every other word. Even if I do catch a word, it just sounds like gibberish.

I look around the classroom again.

The students are all doing the same thing.

Writing. Listening. Occasionally turning a page.

It’s sort of nostalgic. A little peaceful even.

Then I notice someone isn’t doing what everyone else is.

The student sitting in front me is sitting completely still.

Their pencil is resting on the desk. Their textbook is closed. And they’re staring directly at the teacher.

That’s strange.

Everyone else is following along.

The student suddenly turns around.

Our eyes meet.

Wait.

I freeze.

Unlike the others, this one is different.

I can see their face.

For the first time since entering the school, I can see somebody’s face.

And they look terrified.

Their eyes are wide and twitching.

Staring directly at me.

Not at the teacher. Not at the blackboard.

Me.

I glance behind me.

There’s nobody else sitting there.

I look back at them.

They’re still staring.

I slowly raise my hand.

The student immediately shakes their hand.

Then they put a finger to their lips.

I don’t know what to make of that.

Are they telling me to be quiet?

I look toward the teacher.

She’s still writing on the blackboard. The other students haven’t reacted either.

I turn back toward the student.

This time, they aren’t pointing at me anymore. They’re pointing toward the door.

Are they telling me to leave?

I glance toward the classroom door before looking back at the student. They’re still pointing toward it, their hand trembling slightly as they hold their finger up. I’m not sure what they’re trying to tell me.

But judging by their expression, it doesn’t seem like they’re asking me to simply walk out.

I point toward the door.

“Leave?”

The student immediately shakes their head.

I pause.

Then what?

They point toward the door again, this time with more urgency. Their eyes dart toward the teacher before returning to me, as if they’re worried she might notice what we’re doing.

I whisper to him.

“What are you trying to tell me?”

They hesitate.

For a moment, I think they aren’t going to answer.

Then they lean slightly toward me.

“Don’t leave.”

I blink.

“What?”

The student glances toward the classroom again.

“Don’t leave the classroom.”

I stare at them.

That’s the opposite of what I thought they were trying to tell me.

“Why?”

Their expression changes.

The fear in their eyes becomes more apparent.

“Because she doesn’t like it when students leave.”

“Who is she?”

The student doesn’t answer immediately.

Instead, they look around the classroom, making sure none of the other students are paying attention to us.

Then they whisper.

“The teacher.”

“Yeah, I figured that much.”

The student shakes their head.

“No. You don’t understand.”

Their voice drops even lower.

“She isn’t really our teacher.”

I pause.

“What do you mean?”

The student grips the edge of their desk.

“I don’t know what she is.”

They swallow.

“But she’s been keeping us here”

I’m not sure how to react to that information.

There’s something about the way he says it that makes me hesitate. He doesn’t sound like someone who has just been trapped. There’s a tiredness in his voice that doesn’t seem to belong to someone who is still trying to escape.

It feels like he has a solid understanding of this place.

I should pry more.

“How long have you been here?”

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, his eyes move toward the clock hanging above the blackboard.

I follow his gaze.

The second hand is moving. But the other hands aren’t.

“Are you saying that you don’t know?”

He nods his head rapidly.

“Days, weeks, who knows anymore. I stopped counting a very long time ago…”

Weeks.

Supposedly, even longer than that. It shouldn’t be possible for somebody to survive here for that long.

“How did you survive?”

He looks at me.

“I don’t get hungry here. I don’t get thirsty. I don’t get tired.”

He looks down at his hands.

“It was a lot better before. I could still talk to everybody. But at some point, everybody began changing.”

“In what way?”

“They started forgetting things.”

He looks toward one of them.

“First, they forgot why they were here.”

His eyes move to another.

“Then they eventually forgot who they were. They stopped being people.”

I feel a chill run through me.

“I try to talk to the others but nothing gets through anymore.”

The rest of the students continue writing. Completely unaware of our conversation. Or maybe they just can’t hear it even if they wanted to.

“All I remember is being in class one day and ending up here somehow.”

His voice is quiet. Practically on the verge of breaking down.

“Class is supposed to end, right?.”

He looks down at his hands, his fingers tightening around the desk.

“But it never did.”

His breath becomes uneven.

“The days just keep repeating. No matter what I do, I can’t leave. I try to ask the teacher questions but she just gets mad and starts talking about nonsense again.”

He swallows.

“I tell her I want to go home.”

He grips the desk even harder.

“But she just keeps teaching.”

For a moment, he freezes.

Then his breathing suddenly quickens.

“I don’t even know how long I’ve been here anymore.”

He wipes at his eyes.

“I just want to go home. I want to see everybody again.”

He points to the teacher.

“That thing is not my teacher. She used to…”

He stares at her for a moment, as if trying to remember her.

“She used to be…”

He trails off.

His expression twists.

“Who was she?”

He looks at me.

Then back at the teacher.

“I know she used to be someone I cared about.”

His voice begins to shake.

“I remember talking to her. I remember seeing her every day.”

He presses a hand against his forehead.

“But I can’t remember her face. Her name. What she was like.”

He suddenly looks terrified.

“I can’t remember my classmates either.”

He’s panicking.

“I know I had friends. I know I knew their names.”

He looks around the classroom in a hurry.

“But I don’t remember any of them.”

He stares at me.

“Hey, mister…”

He hesitates.

I’ve never seen a more scared face in my life.

“What’s my na—”

His voice cuts off.

His body suddenly jerks.

I barely have time to react before his face begins to distort.

The skin around his eyes ripples, as if something underneath it is moving.

He reaches for his face.

“Wait…”

Strange clouds start forming across his face.

He tries to pull it away.

It doesn’t move.

The clouds spread further, swallowing his nose, his mouth, his eyes.

“Help—”

His voice distorts.

Then his face is gone.

His pencil rolls between his fingers.

He picks it up.

And begins writing.

I tap him on the shoulder to try to get a response.

But it doesn’t work.

He doesn’t look at me.

He’s one of them now.

I stare at him, unable to make sense of what I just watched happen. A few seconds ago, he was sitting right in front of me, desperately trying to remember who he was. And now he’s sitting there like nothing happened, his pencil moving across the page lifelessly.

I look around, waiting for somebody to react.

Nobody does.

My hands begin to tremble.

I reach over and grab his shoulder.

“Hey, talk to me. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

He doesn’t respond.

I shake him a little harder.

“Hey!”

< Yusuke! >

< Stop already. His fate is already tragic enough. Unhand him. >

I let go of his shoulder and slowly pull my hand back.

Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.

His pencil keeps moving across the page, completely unaffected by me.

There’s no trace of the person who was talking to me a moment ago. Whatever was happening to the others has happened to him too, and I just watched it happen right in front of me.

I feel sick.

Then the teacher stops writing.

The sound of chalk against the blackboard disappears.

I freeze.

Slowly, she turns around.

Her cloud-covered face points directly toward me.

“Is there a problem?”

Her tone is completely ordinary.

The kind of question a teacher would ask after noticing two students messing around in the middle of class.

“No.”

“Then please return your attention to the lesson.”

She turns back toward the blackboard.

The chalk begins moving again.

I look toward the student in front of me.

A complete shell of the person who was just talking to me.

How long until the same thing happens to me?

< Yusuke. >

The Princess’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

What?

< We should leave. >

I look toward the classroom door.

The same door I was told not to leave through.

You heard him. He said we can’t leave.

< I am aware. >

Then what are we supposed to do?

She doesn’t answer immediately.

I look at the student in front of me.

A few minutes ago, he was talking to me.

He was scared. He could still remember wanting to go home. He could still remember that there were people outside this classroom waiting for him.

Now he can’t even remember who he was.

I look around.

All of these people have been trapped here for weeks. Maybe even longer.

And if I do nothing, they’ll never find peace.

I don’t know what this place is.

I don’t know what the teacher is.

And I have no idea how I’m supposed to stop it.

But I can’t just leave them here.

I take a breath.

I’m going to leave.

The Princess is silent for a moment.

Then I hear the faintest hint of amusement in her voice.

< Much better. >

<Now, you are thinking like my knight. >

I stand up.

The moment my chair moves, the classroom falls silent.

Every pencil stops.

I slowly turn toward the door.

< Now, let us see what happens. >