Late afternoon sun poured through the classroom windows. It turned the dust motes into gold. The air smelled of chalk dust and old paper. The school was quiet. Most clubs had finished. The only sounds were the scratch of pens and the turning of pages.
Four desks pushed together. A square island in the sea of empty rows.
Kaito sat at the corner. Back to the wall. View of the door. His notebook was open. Neat handwriting. Solutions marked in black ink.
Ryota sat opposite him. He was chewing on the end of his pen. He looked desperate.
I do not understand. Why does X move? Who told X it could move? It was fine yesterday. It was a number. Now it is a variable. It is identity crisis.
Jin sat beside Ryota. He was reading a textbook. He did not look up. He reached out. He took Ryota's notebook. He corrected a line with a red pen. He slid it back.
Ryota looked at the correction. He blinked.
Oh. Right. Obviously. I knew that. I was testing you.
Jin turned a page. He did not respond.
