Copyright Notice: This story is an original work by Muntasib_Ihshan789. All rights reserved. Do not copy or redistribute without permission.
The road to school looked the same as always, and that was what unsettled Shinichi the most.
In Japan, the season was set at the end of winter and begging of spring. Cherry blossom trees stretched along the roads. Some flowers had opened too early, fragile and exposed, their petals trembling as a cold wind passed through them. A few petals broke loose and drifted down, brushing against shoes, clinging briefly to sleeves before being crushed under people's feet.
Students passed one another with talks of laughter and joy. Many of them were discussing on the upcoming student council election and whom to vote. Someone running late, bag bouncing against their back. Everything moved as always.
Shinichi moved with them.
He had dressed carefully enough to look normal. It was the kind of effort meant to convince the world, and himself, that nothing had changed. That whatever had happened was behind him now.
But inside, he felt hollow. Not empty in a clean way, but scraped out, like something had been forcibly removed and never replaced. His chest felt tight, breathing shallow.
His eyes kept drifting. An alley between buildings. The school gate and exits.
He didn't consciously think the word, but his body did. Every few steps, his gaze flicked somewhere else, mapping escape routes he hoped he wouldn't need. By the time he reached the school grounds, his shoulders already ached from being held too stiff for too long.
When he entered the classrooms, the loud noise hit him.
Voices overlapped until they lost meaning. Chairs scraped. The chalk screeched across the board, a sound so harsh it made his jaw clench, metal against metal inside his head.
He sat down, hands resting on the desk. His eyes were automatically shifting to the classroom door whenever someone entered. He was being too cautious.
A few moments later, Shuhi entered.
Right after entering, she greeted the students near the door with a 'good morning', smiling the way she always did.
But her eyes were already moving. She had that habit of never missing visual details.
They slid across the classroom without pause. Desk, bags, body language, Conversations. And then they stopped on Shinichi.
Their gazes met. Only for a second. Shinichi immediately removed his eyes from the door to anywhere else.
His face wasn't tired. It wasn't annoyed. It wasn't distracted. It was strained in a way that didn't belong in a classroom. Like someone holding a scream behind their teeth.
Shuhi looked away first, her smile never faltering as she took her seat. But the image stayed with her.
___
Break time came came as usual.
The bell rang, sharp and sudden, and chairs scraped back as students stood up in unison. The room shifted from controlled noise to chaos. Students opened lunch boxes and some exchanged food with others. Conversations of many people took place
Shuhi watched Shinichi without appearing to.
His red lunch box stayed closed.
When he finally opened it, he ate slowly, showing no feeling of eating it.No irritation either. Just movement, as if his body remembered the steps but not the purpose. His posture was wrong, shoulders tense, back too straight.
He didn't taste anything. She approached him casually.
"Shinichi, what's wrong? You look worried." she asked.
He barely looked at her. "Nothing."
Up close, Shuhi could see the signs stacked neatly into place.
His response contained close to no energy. He wasn't maintaining proper eye contact and his response was hesitant with a fraction little pause.
"He's lying", she thought. "Or trying very hard not to. Either way, something is not right."
She didn't push. Not yet.
"Meet me at the science lab after you're finished, will you?" she said.
Her eyes lingered on him for half a second longer than necessary.
Shinichi watched her leave, the door closing behind her with a soft click.
"Science lab? Why there?" Shinichi thought.
Right when he got up from his desk to ask her that, she had already left the classroom, door closed.
"What does she want?"
The hallway outside the science rooms was quiet in a way that felt intentional. No people there.
Shinichi stepped to the side and his foot struck a cardboard box stacked against the wall. It tipped over, crashing to the floor.
His heart jumped. For a split second, his body reacted before his mind could catch up. His breath got caught and muscles got stretched. His eyes darted toward the end of the hall.
Nothing. No one came running. No shouting. All his overthinking paranoia.
"Get a grip," he told himself.
He pushed open the science lab door.
Inside was filled with darkness. Only a dim light could be seen coming in from the slightly opened window on the wall.
The air felt heavier inside, colder. He reached for the switch. Nothing happened. Lights didn't turn on.. He tried again. Still nothing.
As he stepped further in, his shoe nudged something small. Glass rolled lightly, then stopped.
It was a bottle of pen ink.
The smell reached him instantly.
It was sharp and familiar in a way that made his stomach twist violently. His throat tightened before he could stop it.
"It seems like you almost stopped breathing."
Shuhi's voice came from the side.
She stood beside the skeleton model, pale bones towering behind her, its hollow eye sockets fixed eternally forward. She was there observing him.
"You got addicted to drugs," she said, walking slowly, circling around Shinichi, her tone calm, almost gentle. "You stole money or took a loan. The person you owed was very influential. When you couldn't pay, he or she captured you."
She took a slow step closer, still rounding.
"They made you do horrible things."
Her eyes didn't leave his face.
"You're scared. Not just of what happened, but of what people would think. So you don't tell anyone."
She gave a pause.
"How much of that is true?" her voice was cold.
Shinichi stepped back without thinking. His shoulder slammed into stacked boxes, sending them crashing to the floor. The sound echoed too loudly in the dark room. Fell fell on the floor.
For a moment, he still believed he could talk his way out. Lie. Laugh it off. Anything would do. But his mind was empty. No words came.
Shuhi leaned slightly, trying to see his face in the dim light.
"Listen, Shinichi," she said quietly. "We've been friends for a long time. There's no need to hide anything from me."
Her voice softened.
"If something is bothering you, you can tell me. I won't tell anyone. I promise."
Something inside him gave way. He exhaled shakily and stood up, brushing dust from his pants with trembling hands.
"The drug part is true," he said.
Then, after a pause, "At least most of it."
Shuhi reached for the main power switch and pressed it.
The lights flickered once, then came on.
The science lab revealed itself fully. Long tables scarred. Cabinets filled with beakers and test tubes, labels faded. Preserved specimens floating in cloudy liquid. Posters peeling at the corners. The skeleton stood between them now.
They sat across from each other on a bench.
Shinichi struggled to explain. He was struggling to connect words to say, as if the words physically hurt to retrieve.
When he finished, he leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers buried in his hair. He looked exhausted.
This time, he again skipped the part of Utaro and filled it with gang violence as he said to the police.
"So that's how it is," Shuhi thought. "Not exactly what I had deduced…but close enough." She thought.
"But how did you know?" he asked suddenly, lifting his head. His eyes were desperate. "The drug thing. You didn't even know what happened. How did you figure it out?"
She answered honestly.
"We've known each other too long. The concern on your face told me enough to build a theory."
Her gaze flicked toward the fallen bottle.
"The ink was a test. Some drugs smell similar such as PCP or Phencyclidine. Smell is indeed an effective way of trauma recall, you know that? Unlike other senses, olfactory information travels a direct 'VIP pathway' to the amygdala and hippocampus which are heavily involved in emotions and memory. This is why smell can often trigger memories and emotions sometimes before a person is even aware of."
She stood, her expression shifting.
"But that aside," she continued, voice serious now, "I can't do anything about it right now. I have my own problem."
He frowned. "Your problem?"
She looked away, eyes darkening.
"Some old people I knew have returned," she said. "And they're challenging me."
She met his gaze again.
"Especially with the upcoming student council president election."
Dead Logic © 2025 by Muntasib_Ihshan789 is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International