[ Friday / 04:30 / Raining ]
Entry#21 - Error Code: Heartbreak
Can't believe I'm still awake at this hour. The rain taps like a metronome, my mind won't stop racing and it hurts…
The auditorium thrummed with quiet restlessness. Students and teachers alike leaned forward, faces pale under the harsh glare of overhead lights. The scent of polished wood mingled with nervous sweat, a fragile tension hanging in the air. Shadows stretched long along the walls, as if reaching toward the stage where the International High School Math Competition was about to unfold.
Whispers drifted through the crowd—Yūgen Academy, the reigning champion—its name spoken with equal parts reverence and expectation. The weight of legacy pressed softly but firmly, a silent current beneath the murmurs.
The head judge stood stiffly onstage, clearing his throat as his glasses caught the light. The silence tightened, stretched thin like a taut string. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but sharp, cutting through the murmurs with cold precision.
"Due to evidence suggesting prior knowledge of the competition problems," he said slowly, each word deliberate, "Yūgen Academy is disqualified from the International Math Competition."
A ripple passed through the crowd—soft gasps, held breaths. From the front row, Kisaragi Akari's breath faltered, the noise around her fading into a distant hum. Her chest tightened, and her red eyes flickered briefly toward her teammates, unreadable.
Beside her, Sakurai Hiroki's face twisted with fury, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened. Yukimura Yukiko, standing at Akari's other side, trembled slightly, her fingers stained red from the pen she'd been fidgeting with all morning. The ink had bled onto her hands, a vivid smear against her pale skin.
The murmurs swelled, a restless tide of shock and whispered speculation washing over the audience. Akari's lips parted, words trembling on their edge, but silence held them back. She glanced at Sakurai, searching for a crack in his unreadable gaze, but found only stillness.
Then Yukiko stepped forward. Instinctively, Akari's hand shot out, fingers curling tightly around Yukiko's. Beneath the weight of every stare, Yukiko's slight frame seemed to shrink, yet her voice rang out—clear, steady, slicing through the chaos like a blade.
"The responsibility lies with me," she said, her confession soft but resolute, a quiet surrender.
The room fell into a heavy silence, disbelief settling like dust in the air. Akari's heart thudded painfully. A silent plea rose within her, words struggling to form on her lips. She tried as hard as she could, but only a soft whisper escaped—No, Yukiko-chan, don't.
Panic churned like bitter bile, yet her grip only tightened, as if she could hold Yukiko back from the edge of an unseen cliff.
Their eyes met briefly—Yukiko's swirling with fear and resolve, a fleeting, apologetic smile passing between them before she turned back to the judge.
"I had the problems beforehand," Yukiko continued, voice unwavering despite the tremor in her hands. "It's my fault."
From the sidelines, Hoshino-sensei flinched, her face paling as if struck. "Yukiko, no—" she whispered, voice fragile, clutching her notes like a lifeline. Her wide eyes darted between Yukiko and the stage, disbelief etching deep lines across her expression.
She stepped forward, hands hovering helplessly as the authorities approached, guiding Yukiko with quiet firmness. Hoshino-sensei followed, steps faltering, gaze clouded with confusion and a silent, anguished question: What went wrong? Leaning close, she murmured something too soft for Akari to hear, her presence a fragile shield against the unfolding storm.
Sakurai's head snapped toward her, eyes narrowing, masked by a scowl. "Yukimura, what are you—"
The judge's gaze pinned her in place. "Miss Yukimura, this is a serious accusation. Are you certain?"
Yukiko nodded, chin lifting slightly. "Yes, certainly."
Akari's world reeled. She'd noticed the cracks, Sakurai's silences, his glances that lingered too long, the way his voice sharpened whenever Yukiko's name came up.
The moment slipped beyond her grasp. Authorities escorted Yukiko away, Hoshino-sensei trailing with a final, helpless glance back at Akari. Sakurai turned abruptly, disappearing into the wings, his silhouette swallowed by shadow.
The auditorium exploded into a clamor of whispers and shifting chairs, a storm of shame engulfing Yūgen.
Akari remained rooted, hand still outstretched, the fading warmth of Yukiko's touch lingering like a ghost against her skin. Yukiko's laughter, the moments they shared—all flashed through her mind. Silence roared in her ears, a hollow weight she could not shake.
Yukimura Yukiko's standing within the community suffered a profound blow…..
Honestly, I didn't know what to do…
One wrong input, and the whole function crashed. Too many bugs in the real world—glitches in trust, errors in judgment—and it's all tangled in corrupted code.
Sometimes it feels like everything's full of shit, and no amount of debugging can fix the damage done.
I keep replaying the moment, searching for the line where it all went wrong. The guilt lingers, like a virus I can't quarantine. If only I could trace back the error, find the hidden exception I missed…
I was stupid and naive. What have I done? My heart's buffer overflowed, and I don't know how to clear the stack. I hate myself. I can't bear it anymore. It's my fault… Please reset my memory drive.
I hope my beloved Hoshino sensei and senpai are fine…
Please erase the pain
Sigh…
By ★Spectral ◇ Alula ☆