[ONE DAY LATER | KIYORAKANA KAGE’S POV]
The bell rings, signalling the end of class. And school for this day.
Instructor Shinoda dismisses the class, prompting everyone to immediately gather their belongings and leave.
I follow suit, packing my notebook and textbook into my bag and leaving the classroom.
As I exit the classroom, I take a brief moment to observe the hallway. Students rush about, their laughter and chatter filling the air. I watch them with a detached curiosity, analysing their movements and expressions. It’s fascinating, really, how unaware they are of the curse they possess.
I remember the cashier job I took on the first day of school; it starts today. But just as I am about to head there, Kokoro Ai walks towards me. I can’t help but feel a mixture of irritation and amusement at the timing.
“U-uhm.”
“Hello, Kokoro Ai. What can I do for you?” I respond, my tone measured and calm.
She fidgets with her hands, seemingly struggling to find the right words. It’s almost endearing how easily she can be thrown off balance. I wait patiently, masking my inner amusement.
“I-I noticed you’re heading somewhere. Um, if it’s not too much trouble, could I…um, walk with you?”
Kokoro Ai asks, her eyes avoiding direct contact. I respond with a subtle nod and grant her request.
“Of course, Kokoro Ai. Let us walk together.”
We navigate the school’s winding corridors in companionable silence, the rhythm of our footsteps syncing. As we stroll, Kokoro Ai occasionally steals glances in my direction, her reticent nature painted across her features.
“I believe upperclassmen are not supposed to be in underclassmen areas.”
I glance at Kokoro Ai, a hint of amusement flickering in my eyes.
“True, but rules are meant to be bent occasionally. Besides, I find the underclassmen areas to be more enlightening.”
Kokoro Ai nods, a faint smile touching her lips.
We continue our stroll, the conversation ebbing and flowing. Kokoro Ai occasionally shares snippets of her day, her experiences coloured with the innocence that defines her character. I reciprocate with measured responses, carefully revealing only what I deem necessary.
As we approach the school’s exit, Kokoro Ai glances at her watch, a subtle sign of anxiety creeping into her expression.
“Oh, I didn’t realise it’s getting late. I need to head to the association meeting.”
I feign surprise, concealing my prior knowledge of her schedule.
“Association meeting? What club are you part of?”
Kokoro Ai hesitates for a moment before answering.
“Um, the Art and Creativity Association. We have a project to work on, and I shouldn’t be late.”
“The Art and Creativity Association? In this institute? That sounds like a fable.”
Kokoro Ai’s eyes widen slightly, a hint of uncertainty crossing her face.
“W-well, yes. It’s a small group of students who share a passion for artistic expression. We work on various projects together.”
“Interesting… I wasn’t aware such a group existed here. But it’s commendable that students find avenues for creativity within the confines of this institution.”
Kokoro Ai smiles, relieved that I haven’t dismissed her explanation outright.
“Yes, it’s a wonderful way for us to explore our artistic interests and collaborate on different projects. I find it quite fulfilling.”
“… Do you mind telling me who’s in your association? Are they your friends?”
“Ah! Yes! They’re good friends of mine! The best friends I could ever ask for! There’s Sora; I think you already know him; there’s also… Akane Enishi, Renjiro Taniguchi, Emi Sato, Miyu Kato, Airi Abe, and Daichi Yamashita! They’re all so amazing and talented, and we always have such a fun time together! We work on the coolest projects, and the creativity just flows when we’re together! It’s like a little family, and I’m so… so lucky to have them as my friends!”
Kokoro Ai’s eyes sparkle with genuine enthusiasm as she speaks about her friends and the Art and Creativity Association.
We eventually arrive in front of the store I’m supposed to be working at.
“Well, Kokoro Ai, it sounds like you have a wonderful group of friends. I hope your meeting goes well. Perhaps we’ll cross paths again soon.”
“Thank you, Kage! I hope so too! Have a good day at work!”
With a parting smile, Kokoro Ai hurries off towards the association meeting. I go to the front desk, my footsteps silent against the polished floor. I sit behind the counter and watch the students continue flowing through the hallway. My mind is already racing, planning out how I will approach my task.
I have a penchant for blending in, making people underestimate me. I can use that to my advantage.
***
After working incessantly for four hours, I finally arrive at my dorm.
The room is quiet and still, a merciless variance from the lively hallway from earlier. I take a deep breath, relieved to be away from the noise and chaos.
As I slip into bed, my thoughts wander back to Kokoro Ai and the Art and Creativity Association she’s a part of. Based on her description, the members seem to have a genuine communion, their creative energies intertwining.
It is a rare and compelling phenomenon that I have never encountered before. But perhaps, given time, I will.
But I must not get sidetracked, for my primary focus currently is on learning about humans and how best to control them.
Dissonance Affinity’s obliteration is my top priority overall. However, I am also driven to uncover the reasons behind why. It is odd that the Outer Gods, who created it, have not taken any measures to stop me. Perhaps there’s something I am yet to perceive, but I shall find out soon enough.
Falling flat onto my bed, I stare at the ceiling. My past is irrelevant, but still…
What would my life be like if I was not exiled? Would I have friends like Kokoro Ai has? No, I never once had friends. I do not see why that would change. But in the slight chance that a change does happen…
… I suppose there is no use in thinking of hypotheticals. But it is hard not to wonder.
I look at the smartphone lying on my desk beside me.
“I have no one to contact…”
I already told Yuka Nanami that I do not have a Cognitive Affinity, so telepathy is not an option. I guess trying to obtain people’s contact information would be the smartest choice.
I sigh and pick up the phone, staring at it for a moment. It feels strange holding one, and it feels strange using it.
But it will be essential to communicate with others. I cannot depend on human interaction alone.
So, I open my phone and look for the contacts section. I cannot see any existing contacts. However, there is an option to create one.
After some careful thought, I created one contact, using the name “Yuka Nanami.”.
However, a new problem arises.
I require this thing called a ‘Dial ID’. You can only input five digits. So Yuka Nanami’s Dial ID is between one and ninety-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine.
I stare at the phone screen, puzzled by the request for a ‘Dial ID.’ The concept is foreign to me, and I’m unsure how to proceed. I consider my options and decide to tackle the problem methodically.
My Dial ID seems to be 86778. Maybe I could use that to find Yuka Nanami’s ID. Maybe I should ask her; it would be easier if I did that.
I open the phone’s settings, looking for any clues or hints about how this ‘Dial ID’ system works. As I navigate through the settings menu, I come across an option labelled ‘Student Information.’ Intrigued, I press on it.
The screen displays details—enrollment year, class seat number, and class number. My enrollment year stands at 2037, class seat at 86, and class number at 3. A straightforward multiplication yields an astronomical figure of 525546. Yet, Dial IDs cannot exceed 99,999, prompting me to employ the modulo operation, resulting in 25551.
Closer, but still not quite. There is something I am missing.
My mind races through the information I’ve gathered so far: enrollment year, class seat number, and class number. These elements must hold the key, but how?
Suddenly, a thought strikes me.
What if there is a constant value? And that value is somehow related to the school year? It makes sense; schools often have a fixed starting point, a reference that remains constant.
I delve into the settings menu once again, searching for any indication of the school’s foundation year or a similar landmark. To my delight, I discover an option labelled ‘School Information.’ I press on it, hoping for a revelation. It is convenient; it is as if they want you to figure out the formula for Dial IDs.
The screen reveals the school’s establishment year: 2015. If the constant value is linked to the school’s inception, then adding the establishment year to the current enrollment year might give me the missing constant.
2,037 + 2,015 = 4,052. This is the constant value. I am sure of it.
Implementing this constant, I calculate 6,099 (enrollment year + constant) multiplied by 86, then by 3, resulting in 1,573,542. The modulo operation with 99,999 doesn’t yield my Dial ID. Experimentally halving the value and then applying modulo, I arrive at the correct Dial ID: 86778.
Theoretically, this formula could reveal every student’s Dial ID. Now, to enter Yuka Nanami’s ID.
Considering her class and year alignment with mine, the unchanging enrollment year, and the second multiplicative value, coupled with her observed desk number of 8, I implement the formula.
6,099 x 8 x 3 = 146376.
Halving that gets me 73188. That should be her Dial ID.
So if I enter that number here and press the ‘add’ button, is she saved on my smartphone?
To confirm this, I press on her name; a new screen appears, and a ringing sound plays.
A few seconds later, the sound halts, and I can hear Yuka Nanami’s voice.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
Her innocent enthusiasm amuses me. I find it intriguing how easily she accepts the explanation without delving into further questions.
A prolonged beep sound plays. I guess that means the call has ended.
Tomorrow is another day, and I am anticipating it already. Something ‘big’ is going to happen.
Something significant indeed…
***
The following morning feels early, judging by my calculations. The surroundings—I presume one could call them streets—are already bustling with students making their way to the institute. I suppose I will head there too; after all, I have no choice.
The lecture hall echoes the monotonous voice of Instructor Shinoda as I sit, feigning interest in the historical account of Dissonance Affinity. My eyes occasionally drift towards the window, observing the rhythmic dance of cherry blossoms in the wind.
The tale of Dissonance Affinity’s arrival on Earth unfolds like a disenchanted fairy tale. It was 2015, a time of burgeoning technological advancements and societal shifts. An anomaly occurred. The anomaly, a ripple in the fabric of existence, drew attention from scholars, scientists, and governments worldwide.
It was a moment that altered the course of human history, marking the arrival of Dissonance Affinity on Earth.
At least, that is what I gathered from her explanation.
Eventually, the lesson draws to an end, with the students shuffling out of the hall, a collective relief apparent.
My feet eventually carry me to a secluded spot, away from the crowds. The relative quiet is a welcome change and a much-needed respite.
Then a scream filled my ears.
I turn towards the source of the scream and begin approaching. The commotion, situated a short distance ahead, grows more pronounced as I get closer. A ring of individuals encircles two people.
I move through the crowd, closing in on the intensifying conflict. Their words emerge from the commotion.
“You rotten scumbag! I swear, you’re gonna pay for this.”
The brown-haired guy, his hand now transformed into a grotesque claw, sneers.
“Give it a shot! Your threats don’t scare me.”
A red-haired girl, distinct from Reiko Yami, retorts defiantly. The tension tightens, creating an almost tangible pressure, and I position myself as an observant audience within the pulsating arena.
“You repugnant piece of trash!”
“Rot in hell!”
The guy charges, seemingly in control. But things take a twist.
“HAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!”
His claw descends, but the nimble girl dodges, leaving only tattered shreds of her clothing in its wake. Swiftly, she retaliates, attacking his shadow and causing visible pain.
“What, are you some kind of freaking demon? Who fights like that?”
“Let me flip that question back at you. What kind of idiot gropes a girl’s ass like that?”
“What the hell are you talking about?!”
“Your perverted move back there. I’m just giving you a taste of your own medicine.”
Silence falls among the surrounding students, unsure whether to intervene in this clash of titans.
“You’ve got some nerve, bitch.”
“Likewise, you bastard.”
As the tension increases, a surge of pain courses through the guy’s transformed limb, eliciting a guttural scream. The inflicted agony contorts his face, adding a layer of desperation to his relentless assault.
“Fuck! What did you do?!”
A smirk graces the girl’s lips as she revels in her strategic retaliation.
“Simple, really. I found your weak spot. You’re not the only one with tricks up their sleeve.”
The crowd watches in rapt attention, captivated by the unfolding spectacle.
And here I thought humanity could reach interesting heights with Dissonance Affinity.
Just when things were about to get violent, a commanding voice cut through the chaos, demanding everyone’s attention.
“STOP RIGHT THIS INSTANT!”
It was Class Two’s instructor, a mature-looking woman with striking yellow hair and a usually easygoing aura. She strode towards the scene of the fight, followed closely by Instructor Shinoda.
“Miss Shinoda, these two students are engaged in an unnecessary dispute. It will be best if you separate them before anyone gets hurt.”
“Yes, Miss Onibi, we will ensure order is maintained. We wouldn’t want disturbances to escalate.”
With that, Miss Onibi turns and leads most of the students away.
“Now then..”
Shinoda’s sharp gaze lands on the male student, his twisted arm still held in a claw-like position.
“If memory serves, I’ve glimpsed your insignificant presence wandering these hallowed halls.”
In response, the boy grits his teeth and shoots her a hostile glare.
“I don’t remember introducing myself to a nobody like you.”
Shinoda raises a single eyebrow, somewhat impressed by his boldness. “Touche.”
She takes a step closer to the boy, her piercing gaze fixed on him.
“But do you grasp the repercussions of your actions?”
The boy looks away, clearly intimidated by her presence.
“I don’t recall doing anything.”
“Is that so?”
Her piercing stare seems to penetrate his very soul, causing him to feel uneasy and anxious.
“I recommend giving up.”
The red-haired girl stands her ground; her eyes lock with the boy’s. She wears a smirk on her face, as if daring him to make a move.
“Extend your sincerest apologies, unless you relish the impending turmoil. Save yourself from the imminent wreckage you’ve foolishly invited.” Instructor Shinoda demands nonchalantly.
“Yeah, pervert!”
But the boy is not having it. He growls and lunges forward; his arm extends.
“DON’T MESS WITH ME—”
Instructor Shinoda’s response is instantaneous. Her fist connects with his face, and the boy is sent soaring through the air, slamming into the nearest wall before the sound of the punch registers; it’s clear she’s holding back significantly.
The impact was so sudden and unpredictable that no one in the area had the chance to make even the slightest reaction in time.
Dazed and disoriented, the boy collapses to the ground. Instructor Shinoda approaches him gradually and lifts him, mercilessly grasping his hair.
“You’ve just made your miserable existence even more pitiable… Assaulting an instructor from the esteemed Twilight Institute, no less. Your future just took a nosedive, and I trust you comprehend the impending consequences. Or are the remnants of your intellect too feeble to grasp the inevitable fate awaiting you? Surely, even someone of your dubious calibre can fathom the impending descent that now shadows your pathetic excuse for a student record. Care to take a guess, or does the prospect of your own undoing leave you as perplexed as a lost child in the dark?”
Instructor Shinoda’s voice is cold and menacing, her eyes boring into the boy’s soul.
The whole room is silent. Everyone knows not to mess with Instructor Shinoda—she is a force to be reckoned with, and she made sure everyone knew it.
As the boy rises weakly from the floor, his entire body shakes from the force of Instructor Shinoda’s blows. His eyes are bloodshot, and his breath is laboured.
He stares at Instructor Shinoda and the red-haired girl, unable to utter a single word.
Instructor Shinoda turns her attention towards the girl with a strict expression on her face.
“Don’t think you won’t be getting punished as well.”
“Hey, that’s unfair.”
She nods silently, her gaze cast downward.
“Is it? You were part of the fight, and fights are not tolerated here. You’ll simply receive a lighter punishment—consider it a merciful gesture on my part.”
“But that’s still not fair! He—”
“Your protest is pointless! No one cares! No matter how incessantly you chant ‘it’s not fair,’ unleashing your pitiful wails and temperamental tantrums, understand this—your desperate pleas will yield nothing. Consider yourself fortunate for this seemingly lenient judgement, as the courtroom is devoid of mercy. Whether innocence or guilt clings to your pathetic existence is irrelevant; justice remains elusive until the accused acknowledges their sins and grovels in repentance for their transgressions.”
“But he—”
“Are you attempting to goad me into escalating your punishment?”
“… No.”
Instructor Shinoda gives off a very murderous intent, making everyone shiver in fear.
“Get out of my sight before I change my mind. Both of you.”
The boy tries scurrying off, clearly frightened by the instructor’s words, but ultimately fails and stumbles to the ground. The red-haired girl bows slightly before walking away.
The tension finally releases its grip, and the spectators dissipate, murmuring amongst themselves.
Instructor Shinoda lets out a sigh and walks away, leaving the mess behind her.
That was interesting. This scum just taught me a thing about humans.
They are violent, aggressive, and predictable.
The aftermath of the clash lingers in the air as the crowd disperses. I find myself drawn towards the red-haired girl, who had faced Instructor Shinoda’s judgement with an air of defiance. As she walks away, our eyes briefly meet, and I see a glimmer of resilience in her gaze.
“Quite the spectacle, was it not?”
I remark, joining her as she navigates the now-quieter surroundings.
She seems reluctant to speak to me.
“I do not believe we have been formally introduced. My name is Kiyorakana Kage.”
She turns away from me.
“Name’s Ryuko Homura. Don’t talk to me; I’m not in the mood.”
Fair enough.
I decide to respect her space and walk alongside her in silence. The institute’s ambience shifts, and the lingering tension slowly dissipates.
As we approach a less crowded area, I notice a small courtyard bathed in dappled sunlight. Without a word, Ryuko Homura sits on a bench, seemingly lost in thought. I join her, allowing the silence to linger for a moment.
“So, what was that all about?” I ask, breaking the silence between us.
“Didn’t I say not to talk to me?”
The tension persists, but I press on.
“I am just curious.”
Ryuko Homura gives me a sidelong glance; her expression is guarded.
“Look, this isn’t any of your business. Just drop it.”
I nod, acknowledging her desire for privacy, but my curiosity persists. We sit in the courtyard, each lost in our thoughts.
She sighs, relenting slightly.
“I guess I can tell you a little bit…”
I lean in, my curiosity piqued, eager to hear what she has to say. The afternoon sun casts a warm glow on her face as she begins to open up.
“As you probably heard during my earlier fight, that wretched existence groped my ass; I let out a scream, which is most likely what alerted everyone. It was infuriating, humiliating, and straight-up perverted. I couldn’t just let him get away with it, so I confronted him. But instead of apologising or showing any remorse, he laughed it off like it was some kind of joke.”
I can feel the anger radiating off of her as she recounts the incident. It is clear that this is not the first time she has faced such harassment.
Ryuko Homura’s gaze remains distant, fixated on a distant point as she recounts the incident. I observe her closely, noting the clenched fists and the subtle quiver in her voice. She may project strength, but beneath the surface lies a current of vulnerability.
“Sorry to pry, but understanding these conflicts is essential for navigating this institute. How often does this kind of harassment happen here?”
“From my past experiences, it happens a lot. But from what others have told me, it’s basically nonexistent. Maybe I’m cursed or something; I don’t really know, but it’s infuriating.”
“Ryuko Homura, you handled that situation quite well. It is unfortunate that these kinds of things happen more frequently than one might think.”
“Yeah, well, life in this institute isn’t exactly a walk in the park.”
“I can understand that much, even though we have only been here for three days. But, Ryuko Homura, do you believe incidents like the one today are common in this institute?”
Ryuko sighs, contemplating her response.
“They shouldn’t be. But for some reason, they happen to me more often than I’d like.”
I lean back on the bench as Ryuko’s eyes narrow slightly, trying to discern my intentions.
“I don’t know if there’s a pattern. It just feels like I attract trouble. Like I’m a magnet for it.”
“I see… Hey, mind telling me what class you are in?”
Ryuko Homura hesitates for a moment before revealing.
“Class Two—Ayame Onibi is my instructor—why?”
“Class Two, you say? Interesting. I am in class three.”
Ryuko looks up at the sky and lets out a small sigh.
“I guess that explains why I haven’t seen you around before.”
“Well, it is nice to meet you, Ryuko.”
I extend my hand for a handshake; Ryuko hesitates for a moment before tentatively reaching out and shaking my hand.
Her grip is firm, but there is a hint of vulnerability in her eyes.
“Likewise.”