Classroom of Accomplices: The Honor Student Falls by Her Hand - The Mask Is Torn Off

The air in the classroom was heavy and damp. Shuumon High School stood on a hill in the southern part of Kasumigahara City. A private college-prep school with a deviation score of 62. Total enrollment: 720 students. The school motto was "Self-Discipline and Coexistence"—but those words only breathed inside the bulletin board. In reality, grades and college admission results ruled everything, and the students held their breath inside a cage called "normal." Classroom 2-1. Murakami Hiroto was straightening a stack of handouts in front of the teacher's desk. Short brown hair. His bangs were a little long, and when he got tired, he unconsciously swept them up with his hand. His dark brown eyes usually narrowed softly when he smiled. Well-proportioned features. His 174-centimeter frame had been trained by the soccer club, and his shoulders were solid. A perfect class representative whom everyone liked. That was how the people around him saw Murakami Hiroto. "Here, pass these to the back, okay?" He began distributing the handouts with a smile. The classroom buzzed with noise. It was mid-June, just after the rainy season had begun. Outside the window, heavy clouds covered the green of the hill behind the school. Humidity clung to the skin. Here and there, students stretched lazily. "Ugh, isn't the humidity insane again today?" "Seriously. My hair won't stay put." "Is the AC still not on?" Voices like that drifted over. Murakami clicked his tongue quietly in his mind. (It's not like we can do anything about the AC ourselves.) But what came out of his mouth was different. "I'll go mention it to the staff room. The teachers will probably let us use the AC soon." The faces around him brightened instantly. "That's our Hiroto-kun!" The one who called out was Yano Yuina. Brightly colored semi-long hair. The ends were curled, and she had it tied up in a single ponytail with a pink scrunchie. Big, round, charming eyes. When she smiled, dimples appeared. In her left ear was a heart-shaped earring that violated school rules. 156 centimeters. A flashy girl at the center of the class. Yano stood close to Murakami, almost nestling up against him. The distance was just a little too close. "Want me to help pass out the handouts? Being class rep must be tough, right?" Yano's voice was bright and bouncy. Murakami answered with a refreshing smile. "Sorry about that. That helps." Yano smiled happily and took half of the handouts. Her fingertips touched Murakami's hand for just a moment. (...I touched him.) Yano felt her heart leap. But she didn't let it show on her face. "Okay, I'll pass them out from the window side. Hiroto-kun, you take the back!" With that, Yano headed toward the window side of the classroom. Her bright hair swayed through the air, carrying a soft fragrance. Murakami found himself watching her back as she walked away. At that moment, Yano's feet stopped dead. Second row from the window, fifth seat from the front. Uchiyama Sara was sitting there. Glossy black long hair. It flowed down to her back, and the bangs falling over her cheeks cast shadows over her eyes. Deep black pupils. Unreadable emotions. A small frame. 152 centimeters. Not flashy, but well-proportioned features. There was a peculiar pull to her—once you met her eyes, you couldn't look away. Uchiyama had her gaze lowered to a paperback open on her desk. Abe Kobo's *The Woman in the Dunes*. Her fingertips rested quietly on the edge of the page, motionless. Yano stared at Uchiyama's presence for just a moment. Then she immediately averted her eyes and raised her bright voice. "Okaaay, passing out handouts~" Still smiling, she placed a handout on Uchiyama's desk. Uchiyama didn't look up. Even so, Yano kept smiling. (Lately, I heard Hiroto-kun and Uchiyama-san have been talking.) A rumor she'd heard somewhere in the classroom replayed in her head. Yano gripped the ends of her own hair tightly. So hard her fingers turned white. (No way. With Uchiyama-san, of all people?) Yano followed Murakami's gaze. He was near the podium, talking to a male student about something. But his gaze, for just an instant, drifted toward the window-side row. Toward Uchiyama. The smile vanished from Yano's lips. Just for an instant. But she immediately rebuilt her smile. The dimples rose softly. (What am I even thinking? Whoever Hiroto-kun looks at has nothing to do with me.) Even as she muttered that in her mind, she couldn't let go of the hair she was gripping. --- Lunch break. Murakami was writing in the class journal on the teacher's desk. His handwriting was neat, and the day's announcements were being recorded one by one, carefully. In the classroom, groups of girls were pushing their desks together to eat their lunches, and boys were heading out into the hallway with their soccer club friends. Behind Murakami, Yano's bright voice could be heard. "Hey, did you watch that drama yesterday? Wasn't it insane? That last scene literally gave me goosebumps." "I watched it! That was totally unfair!" Yano was surrounded by friends, laughing happily. Listening to that voice from behind, Murakami quietly continued writing in the journal. (...She's always so energetic.) He thought it with a slight coldness in his heart. But then it happened. "Hiroto-kun." Yano had come up beside him without him noticing. In her hand was a small paper carton of orange juice. "Here, I bought this at the school store. You're writing the journal? It's hot, so drink up." Murakami hesitated for a moment, then accepted it with a smile. "Thanks, Yano. How much was it?" "It's fine, it's fine. I just bought it on my own." Yano was beaming. Murakami gave a small nod and, in the end, accepted it honestly. (...This kind of thing is a little heavy, honestly.) His mind was elsewhere. But Murakami opened the orange juice carton, careful not to crush Yano's smile. A cold, sweet taste spread through his mouth. "Good." "Right? I picked a cold one." Yano was staring at Murakami's face. The movement of his throat as he drank. The sweat running down. His bangs, slightly disheveled. (Hiroto-kun's hair looks messier than usual today.) Yano's eyes traced the details of Murakami. He was supposed to always look perfectly put-together, never without a smile. (Is he... a little tired?) Just as she was about to put it into words, Uchiyama appeared at the edge of Yano's vision again. Uchiyama was sitting in her seat, looking out the window. A presence too quiet. A small thorn pricked inside Yano. "Hey, Hiroto-kun. You've been getting along with Uchiyama-san lately, haven't you?" Her tone rose unnaturally. Yano stared at Murakami, still smiling. Murakami's hand stopped for a moment. (...Why would she bring that up?) "It's nothing special. Just normal." "Hmm, is that so? It's just, you two talk sometimes. I always thought it was amazing how you get along with everyone equally, Hiroto-kun." (Amazing? What's that supposed to mean?) Behind his smile, Murakami's mind was spinning. "Uchiyama ended up sitting next to me, so of course we talk sometimes. And as class rep, if I hear someone's isolated in class, I can't just leave it alone." Yano's smile stiffened—just barely, ever so slightly. "...You really are kind, Hiroto-kun." There was a faint edge mixed into her voice. "But you know, there's a difference between talking to someone as class rep and getting too close, right? It's not like everyone badmouths Uchiyama-san, but there's this vibe like, nobody really gets her." Murakami set the orange juice down on the desk. "...Is that so?" "Yeah. Well, maybe it's not my place to say. I just hope you don't get dragged into anything weird, Hiroto-kun. Being class rep is hard enough." With that, Yano lightly tapped Murakami's shoulder. The warmth of her hand came through his uniform. Murakami responded with a smile. *I'm fine.* A stock phrase, with a manufactured smile. Yano stared at that smile for a moment, then returned to her circle of friends. The instant she turned her back, her smile clearly vanished. (Uchiyama-san, huh.) Inside her clenched fist, Yano dug her nails in slightly. The shape of her jealousy was still vague, not yet put into words. But it was definitely there, heavy in her chest, beginning to stir. --- After school. Murakami was at his desk in the classroom. His classmates were leaving in twos and threes for club activities or to go home. A soccer club friend called out, "Hiroto, what about today? The field's open." But Murakami replied with a smile: "I'll come after I finish the class journal. Go on ahead." (As if I have any intention of going.) Another version of himself muttered in his mind. Murakami dropped his gaze to the journal spread open on his desk. But the words didn't register. Quietness wrapped around the classroom. From the hallway, the distant shouts of sports clubs could be heard. A faint breeze came in through the window, swaying the edge of the curtain. That's when it happened. With a rattle, the front door of the classroom opened. It was Uchiyama Sara. Expressionless, she quietly entered the classroom. Her black long hair swayed slowly with her movements. Murakami's body tensed, just slightly. (...Uchiyama.) Without a word, she sat down in the seat next to him. Second row from the window, fifth seat from the front. Uchiyama's usual spot. The seat she'd ended up next to by chance in the seating change a few weeks ago. She took out a paperback and opened it on her desk. Silence continued for a while. Murakami pretended to write in the journal. Uchiyama pretended to read her book. But both of them were aware of the other. "...Murakami-kun." Uchiyama quietly opened her mouth. Her voice was small and cool. "Your smile this morning was stiffer than yesterday. You didn't push up your bangs even once, did you?" Murakami's hand stopped completely. "...What, were you watching me?" "I was just looking. I like watching people." Uchiyama said it without lifting her eyes from the book. No emotion could be read in her profile. "During lunch too, you were only half-listening to Yano-san. Your timing on the responses was slower than usual." Murakami searched for a reply. (...She sees through everything.) That night flashed through his mind. *I feel the same way.* The face of Uchiyama, saying that with a small laugh. It sent a chill down his spine, yet somehow, it put him at ease. Murakami let out a small breath. "...You really do watch people closely." "I don't just watch. I think. You look tired, but you're smiling. That's very unnatural." Uchiyama closed the paperback. A soft *thump*. "Yano-san's smile is also a mask. Her mouth is smiling, but her eyes aren't. The same as you—a face hiding something." Murakami found himself staring at Uchiyama's profile. The evening light cast a faint orange tint on her white skin. Smooth as porcelain. In front of his eyes, Yano's morning smile surfaced. (The same... mask.) Murakami gave a bitter smile. "...Can't deny it. I thought she was a completely different type from me. But I wonder—are my mask and Yano's mask really the same?" Uchiyama tilted her head slightly. "What matters is that they're the same kind. You and I are different in many ways. But at the root, we have a similar scent." "Scent?" "Yes. When people don't breathe deeply, the smell seeps into their clothes. You have the smell of tired water. I used to be like that too, a long time ago." Uchiyama's words were quiet, and yet sharp. Something heavy sank deep in Murakami's chest. (If I talk to her, I'll be stripped completely bare.) It was frightening. But he couldn't stop. "...You really do say terrifying things with a straight face sometimes." "Do I? I'm just stating facts." With that, Uchiyama relaxed her mouth just a little. It wasn't quite a smile—just the shape of her lips changing slightly. Seeing th

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Episode 2

Name: Classroom of Accomplices: The Honor Student Falls by Her Hand
Author: Novelia

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