Juson drove without turning on the radio. The silence inside the car was not the comforting kind that often accompanied an early morning journey. It settled around him like an invisible weight, pressing gently yet persistently against his thoughts until even the steady vibration of the engine seemed distant. The image of the injured woman refused to leave his mind. He could still see her lying beside the roadside barrier, hear the weak tremor in her voice, and remember the guilt that had spread through him the moment he realised she was alive. Although he had taken her to the hospital and ensured she received treatment, the incident had left behind an uneasiness that refused to fade. His hands remained steady on the steering wheel, yet his fingers unconsciously tightened around it every few moments, betraying the tension that continued building inside him. The road ahead remained almost empty, lined with familiar buildings that passed one after another without leaving any impression. Suddenly, the shrill ringing of his phone shattered the silence. The sound felt unnaturally loud inside the enclosed cabin, startling him despite his already restless state. He lowered his eyes toward the screen for only a brief instant. Yokina's name glowed brightly beneath the incoming call notification. His thumb hovered near the device, yet he made no attempt to answer. He simply looked away again, allowing the ringing to continue until it finally stopped on its own. A slow breath escaped his lips. Whatever Yokina wished to tell him could wait. At least, that was what he tried convincing himself. Deep inside, however, he already knew the real reason. He was not ready to hear another ordinary conversation while his mind remained trapped between impossible memories and unanswered questions.
The familiar gates of the school gradually appeared ahead as the road curved gently toward the campus. Juson slowed the vehicle before bringing it to a smooth stop outside the entrance. For several seconds he remained seated without moving. Through the windshield he watched groups of students entering the building, their conversations blending together into a lively murmur that carried across the courtyard. Some laughed loudly. Others hurried toward their classrooms with bags slung carelessly over their shoulders. Everything looked exactly as it always had. The sight should have offered reassurance. Instead, it felt strangely distant, almost as though he were observing someone else's world rather than returning to his own workplace. He adjusted his collar after noticing it had shifted slightly during the drive, then glanced briefly at his reflection in the rear-view mirror. Dark circles rested beneath his eyes, and the fatigue on his face seemed impossible to hide. He ignored it. Stepping out of the car, he closed the door quietly before making his way through the school gate. The entrance corridor buzzed with the familiar energy of a new academic session. Fresh faces mingled with returning students, teachers exchanged greetings with one another, and notice boards carried newly pinned schedules waiting to be memorised. Juson's arrival attracted little attention, yet a handful of students glanced toward him before whispering softly among themselves. They recognised him well enough to know his name, but not well enough to expect his presence every single day. He acknowledged none of them. His thoughts remained elsewhere as he walked steadily through the corridor until he reached the classroom assigned to him.
Standing briefly outside the doorway, Juson allowed his eyes to sweep across the room before entering. Most of the students seated inside were familiar faces carried over from the previous session. Their desks remained arranged exactly as before, and the atmosphere felt comfortably routine despite the beginning of another academic year. Yet something immediately caught his attention. Two unfamiliar boys occupied separate corners of the classroom, seated deliberately far from one another. The first kept his head lowered, fingers resting quietly upon the desk while avoiding eye contact with everyone around him. The second sat with remarkable composure, his posture straight and his expression calm as he silently observed the classroom without appearing uncomfortable in the slightest. Juson stepped fully inside and placed his hand lightly upon the teacher's desk before greeting the class. "Good morning." His voice remained relaxed, neither commanding nor overly warm. A scattered chorus of replies answered him from different corners of the room. Without lingering on the greeting, he turned away from the desk and looked toward the students. "The new students," he said evenly, "raise your hands." For several seconds nobody moved. Then, almost simultaneously, two hesitant hands rose into the air. Juson nodded once before leaving the front of the room and walking toward the first boy. "What's your name?" he asked. The boy stiffened immediately. His lips parted as though the answer had become unexpectedly difficult. "Omi... I mean..." He swallowed before correcting himself. "My name is Sanku." The hesitation lasted only a moment, yet Juson noticed it clearly. He neither questioned nor acknowledged the strange slip. Offering nothing more than a faint nod, he continued toward the second newcomer. "And you?" The second boy met his eyes directly without the slightest trace of uncertainty. "Shin," he answered calmly. "My name." Unlike the first introduction, there was no hesitation in his voice. Juson studied him for a quiet moment before returning to the front of the classroom without another word.
Picking up a piece of chalk from the tray beneath the blackboard, Juson remained silent for several seconds before speaking again. "Today," he began, writing nothing despite holding the chalk in his hand, "we'll talk about morality." The single word seemed to settle over the classroom more heavily than expected. Rather than opening a textbook or dictating definitions, he spoke slowly, almost thoughtfully, as though revisiting ideas that had once belonged to his own life rather than to an academic syllabus. "What defines a good person?" he asked quietly. "Is it intention? Is it action? Or is it simply the consequences left behind after both are gone?" Nobody answered. The room remained silent, allowing only the ticking wall clock to accompany his voice. Juson continued regardless, weaving together small observations about friendship, trust and the invisible choices people made when no one stood nearby to witness them. He avoided grand speeches, instead describing simple situations that felt strangely personal beneath their ordinary appearance. Some students listened with genuine interest. Others merely stared absentmindedly through the windows. Yet the two new boys remained completely attentive, neither shifting nor whispering while Juson's words filled the room. "There are friends who remain beside you when everything is easy," he said quietly. "There are friends who stay only when they benefit from staying. And then... there are those who remain even after every sensible reason to remain has disappeared." His grip tightened almost imperceptibly around the chalk. "I had friends once." A faint murmur passed among the students before fading again. Juson ignored it. He mentioned several names casually, almost as though recalling old classmates without emotional attachment. Then one final name left his mouth. "Hakiten."
The instant the name escaped him, the atmosphere inside the classroom changed so subtly that no ordinary observer would have noticed. The faint whispers vanished. Even the students who had not been paying attention instinctively lifted their heads. Juson himself could not explain why his own voice had faltered. The ticking of the clock above the blackboard suddenly became unnaturally loud, each second striking the silence with unsettling clarity. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. He stared absently at the chalk resting between his fingers, unable to remember what sentence he had intended to speak next. The lesson no longer existed within his thoughts. Something else had taken its place, something buried far deeper than memory alone. Without offering any explanation, Juson quietly lowered the chalk onto the desk. He turned away from the students before anyone could ask a question and walked out of the classroom. The corridor beyond felt noticeably colder than before. He stopped only after reaching the empty stretch outside, slipping his hand into his pocket before taking out his phone. The screen displayed several missed calls, every one of them from Yokina. He looked at the list silently before pressing the call button. The line connected after only a few rings. "...Hello," he said softly. For most of the conversation he simply listened, responding only with brief acknowledgements that revealed almost nothing of what occupied his mind. Eventually a long sigh escaped him. A few final words followed before he ended the call. He remained standing motionless for several moments, staring at the darkened screen. Then, without returning to the classroom, informing another teacher, or seeking permission from anyone, Juson turned toward the main exit of the building. His pace gradually quickened as he passed students moving between corridors, leaving behind the ordinary rhythm of the school without once looking back. Somewhere deep inside him, beyond reason and beyond explanation, an overwhelming certainty had begun taking shape. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. And every instinct he possessed urged him to leave before whatever had begun could finally reveal itself.