The numbers on the report blurred before his eyes. No. It wasn't the numbers that were blurring. Sensei kept his gaze lowered, blinking slowly. His eyes weren't dry. He just couldn't tell anymore what he was actually looking at. Casualties: 12. School buildings damaged: 3 partially destroyed. Discipline Committee headquarters: Total loss. Estimated restoration budget: Over 24 million credits. The figures lined up on the A4 paper. That was all. But each single number seemed to tighten around Sensei's hand with a creeping sensation. When he noticed, the edge of the paper was creased. Somewhere along the way, he'd been gripping it too hard. Looking at the crumpled corner, Sensei slowly released his grip. But his hands still trembled faintly. ——This was Schale headquarters. The third floor of an old tenant building called Federal Commons. The 35-year-old structure had an elevator at the entrance that only worked about half the time, and the hallway creaked with every step. The smell from the first-floor convenience store "Totem" drifted up at night—it bothered him at first. But now, even that didn't matter. The office was about 40 square meters. Four desks, an old sofa, a large monitor against the wall. Filing shelves lined the window side, and the morning light filtering through them looked dusty. This was Schale—the "Comprehensive Tactical Response Center" established by the Kivotos Federal Student Council. The name was grand. But the reality was this small. Sensei leaned back in his desk chair and looked up at the ceiling. His short black hair pressed against the backrest, bouncing slightly. White shirt, black slacks. Same outfit as always. He'd been uncertain since last night whether he even had the energy to change. A thin scar on his forehead gleamed white under the fluorescent light. (Why couldn't I do better back then?) He thought about it again. Every time he saw those numbers, this happened. Kivotos—in this academy city, teenagers managed everything themselves. The school was like a nation. Administration, security, diplomacy. Almost all of the roughly 480,000 people living here were teenagers. There were almost no adults. Almost, because—Sensei existed. The only adult in Kivotos. An external advisor invited by the Federal Student Council. He honestly didn't understand why he'd been chosen. The Council had said "we can only ask you," but they never gave him specific reasons. He couldn't give orders to the students. But he could offer advice and mediation. The one person allowed access to the entire academy—that was Sensei's position. And one more thing. The students here had "halos." Rings of light floating above their heads. They were linked to something like life force—they shone brightly when the students were energetic and dimmed when they weakened. And because of those halos, students didn't die easily even when shot. Guns circulated normally in Kivotos—having heavy weapons in a school was abnormal anywhere else, but here it was normal. Sensei had no halo. That alone made him an anomaly here. (Doesn't matter. Not now.) Sensei lowered his gaze back to the report. Casualties: 12. Every time he saw that number 12, something buzzed in the back of his head. It was a few months ago. Sensei had received an emergency declaration from the Kivotos Federal Student Council and faced a situation where Trinity General Academy and Gehenna General Academy—the two major academies representing this academy city—were attacked simultaneously. He couldn't save both. There wasn't time. He had to choose one. Sensei chose Trinity. Gehenna was not chosen. ——— The Federal Assembly Hall was the tallest building in Kivotos. Twelve stories above ground. Walking through the glass-walled lobby toward the main chamber, Sensei kept his eyes down the entire way. When he entered the conference room, representatives from each academy were already seated. "Sensei." The first to speak was Trinity's representative. Polite, but with cold eyes. "[serious]Could you explain the delayed response to Gehenna?" Explain. Sensei opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. What could he say? There wasn't time. He could only choose one. If he said that, the conversation would end. But that was—an excuse. "[angry]Staying silent won't change anything," Gehenna's representative spoke in a low voice. Younger than Sensei. But his eyes held hurt before anger. "[angry]Do you understand what our students went through? Before you came, we survived on our own. But after you arrived—after we heard the word 'protect,' we believed a little. And yet—" The words trailed off there. Sensei remained silent, unable to say anything. The meeting continued in heavy silence. Every academy seemed to want to say something, but no one touched the fundamental question. Why did this happen? Why were both academies attacked at the same time, in the same moment? As the meeting neared its end. One of the Millennium representatives sitting directly behind Sensei muttered something to the person next to him. "[whispers]...Attacking both at the same time seems too convenient to be coincidence, doesn't it?" Sensei's head snapped up. He started to turn around—but in that instant, the person was already talking about something else. Checking an agenda while looking at someone's notes. Whether they'd heard or not. Sensei faced forward again. ——Too convenient to be coincidence. Those words caught in his ear and wouldn't let go. ——— After the meeting ended, Sensei headed to Gehenna District alone. If asked why, he probably wouldn't have answered well. It wasn't to apologize. There was the pretext of inspection. But the real reason was—he felt he had to see it. What kind of choice he'd made. Where the consequences were. Gehenna District was about 30 km northeast of Central District. A completely different landscape from the clean office streets of Central. An industrial area adjacent to a rugged cityscape. The brick and black steel-frame school buildings were Gehenna General Academy's headquarters. But what he saw today was—charred. The smell of burnt brick still lingered. The remnants of smoke and that unique heaviness that catches in the back of your nose after something burns. Sensei stopped and took one deep breath. He took it and felt a little regret. Rubble was piled along the edges of the road. Fragments of burnt brick, blackened steel beams, chunks of shattered concrete. Mixed among them were the students' personal belongings. A single textbook lay on the ground. Sensei crouched down and picked it up. The cover was scorched, the corners blackened. But the pages inside—when he opened it, the text was readable. There were pencil marks where someone had underlined passages. Neat lines. He could tell a meticulous person had drawn them. That page remained unfinished. Sensei gently placed the textbook back where he'd found it. A little further ahead, a cracked smartphone lay in the dirt, half-buried. The screen was shattered, but it still faintly displayed something. A photo with friends. Several people lined up smiling. Probably in the cafeteria or somewhere. Arms linked, looking happy. A crack in the screen ran right through the middle, splitting the smiles in two. Sensei couldn't look away for a while. He walked deeper in. The Discipline Committee headquarters was there—or rather, where it used to be. Now only the blackened frame of the walls remained, the interior hollow. Near the entrance, an armband lay on the ground. A Discipline Committee armband. Navy cloth with embroidery. An armband stained with blood, with a name embroidered on it. Sensei read the name. A name he didn't know. But this was someone's name. Someone who had fought here. His knees folded naturally. He knelt on the ground. Not unable to stand so much as unable to find the will to stand. Not crying, not screaming. Just unable to move. The sky looked pale. Not cloudy, but somehow white. (This is the place I didn't choose.) That single thought circled in his head. Not numbers. Not reports. This was the weight of choice. Pressing in slowly from all five senses. He didn't know how long he stayed like that. Sensei slowly stood and retraced his steps. Before leaving Gehenna District, he noticed a rusted vending machine by the roadside. About half the buttons showed sold out, but it still worked somehow. Sensei unconsciously reached into his pocket, inserted coins. The canned coffee that came out was lukewarm. He still pulled the tab and took a sip. Too sweet. But—it was fine for now. ——— That night, he returned to Schale. The smell of fried food from the first-floor Totem drifted up. Sensei ignored it and climbed the stairs. Opening the third-floor door, the office lights were off. He felt for the switch in the dark. The fluorescent light flickered once before illuminating everything in white. A single piece of paper lay on his desk. Sensei approached and picked it up. ———————————————— We refuse any further intervention from Schale. Gehenna will solve Gehenna's problems. Never come back. Gehenna Discipline Committee Chair, Sayama Nagisa ———————————————— The handwriting was beautiful. Meticulous, without hesitation. Each character written carefully. Not messy from anger. That—was what made it sting slowly instead. If she were angry, he could think of it as the flip side of expectation. But this was different. She didn't even expect anything anymore. That coldness seeped from every letter. Sensei placed the paper on his desk. He read it again. Once more. ——Never come back. He sat in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. The fluorescent light shone quietly. Outside the window, the lights of some academy glowed distantly. Kivotos's night was brighter than he'd thought. Sensei spoke quietly. "[serious]...I still have to go." His voice fell small into the empty room. He wouldn't make excuses. He wasn't trying to apologize and be forgiven. He just had to face it. What he'd done. What he hadn't chosen. Sensei folded the paper and put it in a drawer. Then he spread out the Gehenna damage report again. Looking at the numbers, the words muttered in that meeting echoed in his head once more. ——Attacking both at the same time seems too convenient to be coincidence. (If it wasn't coincidence, then——) Sensei frowned. He still didn't understand. But the reason it bothered him was clear. The situation that had forced Sensei into that choice that day—someone might have created it intentionally. But now, there was no way to prove it. There was only one thing he could do. Tomorrow, go to Gehenna. Sensei rested his elbows on the desk and pressed his hand to his forehead. The distant light outside the window swayed slowly. Probably the wind was picking up. How was he supposed to face her? That was the only thing he still didn't know.