Classroom of Accomplices: The Honor Student Falls by Her Hand
At Shuubun High School, class 2-1, the class representative Murakami Hiroto plays the perfect honor student—kind to everyone and at the center of the classroom. But inside, he is falling apart from the chaotic class and his mother's suffocating control.
After a seat change, he sits next to Uchiyama Sara, a quiet, expressionless girl who is isolated from the rest of the class. One afternoon, when Hiroto mutters complaints alone in the classroom, Sara appears to retrieve a forgotten item. She giv
Classroom of Accomplices: The Honor Student Falls by Her Hand - I can't breathe without you anymore.
At the end of July, Kasumigahara City was blanketed day after day by heat that seemed to exceed body temperature. The walls of the private Shumon High School building absorbed the late-morning sunlight, and even as evening approached, they continued to radiate a faint, lingering warmth.
Murakami Hiroto stood in the hallway in front of the faculty office.
In his hand was a mock exam score report with sharp, distinct creases. It had been returned and carelessly distributed on the teacher's desk. He had repeatedly glanced sideways at the desk next to his—Uchiyama Sara's seat. Today, as always, she sat with her textbook propped up, hiding her face behind it.
(*I want to touch her.*)
In the classroom, under the desk, he wanted to touch her little finger. That was all he thought about as he endured his classes. When had it come to this?
"Murakami."
From behind the office desk, his homeroom teacher, Hotta, looked up. A Japanese language teacher, forty-five years old. His small eyes behind round glasses stared steadily at Hiroto from beneath his high-collared uniform.
"I called you here for one reason. What's going on with you lately?"
Hotta placed the score report on the desk. A thin booklet containing the mock exam results. He opened it and pointed to a page.
"Your ranking has dropped forty-two places in the past three months. Your behavior in class is clearly off, too. ...If something's troubling you, tell me. You're the class representative—having you in this state is a problem."
Hiroto tried to open his mouth. Then, he smiled.
"I'm sorry for worrying you. I've been having trouble sleeping lately. It might be summer fatigue. I'll get back on track right away."
A refreshing voice. The face of a serious class representative. But behind that smile, Hiroto was thinking of only one thing, obsessively.
(*I want to touch Uchiyama.*)
His mind refused to accept any other information. His mother's abuse, the clamor of the classroom, his mock exam ranking—all of it faded into a blur before her cold fingertips and deep, dark eyes.
"I see. ...Well, if that's all. Just don't push yourself too hard. You're a capable kid, so I trust you."
"Thank you. Excuse me."
Hiroto bowed at a perfect angle and left the faculty office.
The afternoon hallway was oppressively hot. The sound of cicadas continued to screech outside the closed windows.
As he walked along the connecting corridor, familiar voices leaked from beyond the wall.
"Hey, isn't Murakami kind of messed up lately?"
"Yeah, he doesn't come to club practice, and he's totally spaced out during class. Apparently his mock exam results were terrible the other day."
"Seriously? Maybe he got a girlfriend or something."
"A girlfriend, huh... If it's Murakami, he could date anyone. He's popular."
Laughter spread like ripples. It was the voices of the soccer club members. Hiroto stopped walking.
(*A girlfriend, huh.*)
The corner of his lips twisted bitterly.
She wasn't his girlfriend. Uchiyama wasn't something like that. The word "girlfriend" was nowhere near enough. Without her, he couldn't breathe anymore.
Hiroto started walking again. His footsteps echoed strangely against the floor. The laughter faded into the distance.
His chest felt like it was being crushed.
He felt like throwing up.
That night, Hiroto spread the mock exam booklet open in his room.
The Murakami household was a neat two-story house in South Hills Kasumigaoka. Hiroto's room was a six-tatami room on the north side of the second floor. Reference books lined up in perfect order, and the walls had no decoration other than a calendar.
His mother, Murakami Youko, opened the door without knocking.
"Hiroto. I got a call from your cram school teacher."
A low voice. The tense voice of a forty-nine-year-old woman. A neat bob, bangs perfectly even, dyed black hair mixed with gray. Her large double-lidded eyes fixed steadily on Hiroto.
"What kind of call?"
"Don't play dumb. Your mock exam results have been terrible three times in a row. And they say you've been falling asleep more at cram school too. ...Hiroto, what have you been doing lately?"
She spoke rapidly. Shrill. As if talking over him, Youko walked to the center of Hiroto's room.
"Nothing, really."
"Don't lie to me. You're lying to your mother. It's written all over your face."
Youko snatched the mock exam booklet from Hiroto's hands. She flipped through several pages roughly. Her eyes followed the numbers, and her brows rose sharply.
"What is this grade?! There's no point in sending you to cram school! Do you have any idea how much I've endured for your future?! Every single day, I cook for you, do your laundry, even drive you places—and this is how you repay me?!"
Her angry voice echoed through the room.
"...I'm sorry."
Hiroto lowered his head.
"It's not 'I'm sorry'! Look me in the face and apologize properly! I'm saying this for your own good! Why don't you understand that?!"
Youko grabbed Hiroto's arm.
"Don't make me say it over and over. I am your mother. I think about your life more than anyone. Do you understand?"
Hiroto slowly raised his head.
He smiled.
"I understand, Mom."
The perfect face of a son.
For just a moment, Youko stared into Hiroto's eyes as if searching for something. But then, with a triumphant look, she released his arm.
"Good. Then it's fine. But this can't continue. Show me your phone. I'm going to see what's been distracting you so much."
Hiroto's chest let out a silent scream.
(*Please, no.*)
He bit down on the words that nearly escaped, grinding his back teeth.
"...Go ahead."
Hiroto took his phone from his pocket. He handed it over. Youko's fingers snatched it away.
The screen lit up.
Youko's thumb tapped the screen.
"Oh. ...What's this girl? Uchiyama again? You two contact each other every single day, don't you. ...'I want to see you again today'? ...You've been doing something this pathetic with a girl from school, every day?"
The color drained from Youko's face.
No, it was the opposite. It was turning red with anger.
"What is this?! You've been fooling around with some girl like this instead of studying?! Do you have any idea how much I think about your future?!"
Youko raised the phone high.
And then, she slammed it onto the floor.
CRASH!!
The LCD screen shattered into pieces, and fragments scattered around Hiroto's bare feet.
"—!!"
Hiroto gasped.
(*It's broken.*)
His only means of contacting Uchiyama.
"Is that why you've been getting close to that girl?! Is that it, Murakami Hiroto! Just because she sits next to you in class, some brat who doesn't know anything, a girl who'd spread her legs so easily! A child from a dirty house with no father!"
Youko's voice was no longer shouting—it was closer to a scream.
"Every single day, I wait for you to come home, I prepare your meals, just so you can go to that woman's place... What did I do so wrong... I'm the one who loves you more than anyone..."
Tears welled up in Youko's eyes.
"I'm the one protecting you. I do everything for your sake. Why, why do you betray my feelings...?"
She clung to Hiroto's chest.
She struck his chest with her fists, over and over.
Hiroto clenched his fists.
His bones cracked.
His nails dug into his palms.
He felt like he might bleed.
(*But I can't talk back.*)
(*I have to help my mother. I can't leave her alone.*)
(*But Uchiyama—*)
(*Uchiyama—*)
Hiroto stood on trembling legs.
In his line of sight, the shattered phone lay on the floor.
That night, Hiroto left the house.
Two in the morning.
He raced through the silent residential neighborhood on his bicycle. The lukewarm wind of the tropical night clung to his sweat-soaked T-shirt. His breathing was ragged. His eyes were clear.
He knew where he was going.
Uchiyama Sara's house. An old apartment twelve minutes on foot from Higashi-Kasumi Station on the private Minase Line, in the eastern part of Kasumigahara City. "Co-op Himawari," Room 205.
The road he had traveled countless times before—today, he pedaled desperately, as if he might fall.
Without pressing the intercom, he ran up the stairs.
He stood in front of Room 205. His breath leaked from his lungs with a wheezing sound.
Hiroto knocked on the door quietly.
Twice, three times.
After a brief pause, the door opened narrowly from inside.
"...Hiroto?"
A dark room. The chain still on, through a gap of about three centimeters, long glossy black hair and deep dark eyes peered out. Skin as white as porcelain. A thin T-shirt for sleepwear.
"...Let me in."
Hiroto spoke in a voice that barely formed words.
Uchiyama silently removed the chain.
The door opened.
Hiroto collapsed onto the floor of the entryway, sitting down as if his legs had given out.
"..."
His breathing was shallow. Sweat from his forehead dripped onto the floor.
"Hiroto, what's wrong? At this hour. ...You still have your shoes on."
Uchiyama's voice trembled slightly with surprise.
"...Mom found out."
Hiroto forced the words out.
"She broke my phone. And about you... everything."
Hiroto hugged his knees.
"...She's right, you know. I'm an idiot. I want to see you. That's all it takes for me to run out of the house at this hour. ...I'm so stupid it's laughable."
Hiroto's shoulders trembled faintly.
(*At school, all I think about is wanting to touch Uchiyama.*)
(*At home, my mother corners me.*)
(*There's nowhere I can be.*)
"..."
Tears spilled from Hiroto's eyes.
He sobbed like a child. He struck his fist against the entryway floor, over and over. His bones scraped, and it hurt. But just that allowed him to breathe, if only a little.
Uchiyama crouched down beside Hiroto.
Her cold palm gently wrapped around his head.
"...Hiroto, take off your shoes."
She slowly ran her fingers through his hair.
"Hey, come here. My room. No one's here today. ...My dad's on the night shift, so he won't be back until morning."
Hiroto nodded, still hiccupping.
Led by Uchiyama's hand, Hiroto stepped up from the entryway into the hallway.
Uchiyama's four-and-a-half-tatami room.
The curtains were closed, and the room was dim. A bookshelf overflowing with paperback books leaned against the corner of the room. A neatly made bed. Hiroto collapsed onto it, lying down.
Uchiyama sat down beside him.
She placed his head on her lap.
"...What happened at school?"
A quiet voice.
"...I was looking at you. Thinking I wanted to touch you. That's all. ...My mock exam results, club activities—none of it matters anymore. ...My head is so full of you that I'm starting to see the bad parts too."
Hiroto stared at the ceiling.
"...Are Yano and the others still saying things about you?"
Uchiyama paused for a moment.
"...No. Nothing in particular. Since that day, everyone treats me like I'm invisible. It's been easier."
"...Don't lie. They left papers on your desk. And your gym clothes went missing. ...I know about it."
Hiroto's voice trembled with anger.
"...Oh, that? That was me. I threw them away myself. Or rather, I gave them to someone who wanted them. ...Those girls really wanted my gym clothes. They wrote 'disgusting' all over them and laughed. ...I don't care. School doesn't matter to me anymore."
Uchiyama said it calmly, as if it were nothing.
But her fingertips trembled ever so slightly each time they stroked Hiroto's hair.
Hiroto grasped her hand.
Cold.
Like a ghost.
"...School doesn't matter anymore. ...In the classroom, I'm desperate every day just to hold back from touching you. And then when I go home, my mother is there. ...There's nowhere I belong."
Hiroto pressed Uchiyama's hand against his face.
A cool palm. It grew slightly lukewarm from Hiroto's tears.
"...You can stay here, Hiroto. I've always told you, haven't I. ...My room is the only place where you don't have to think about anything. Not school, not your mother. ...Forget everything."
Uchiyama's voice was sweet.
It melted into Hiroto's ears.
".
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