The days had started to blend together, yet somehow each felt a little less heavy than the one before. Arthur moved through Forest Sunlight High School like a shadow that had begun to learn how to walk. He spoke a little more now — not much, and still carefully, but enough that teachers occasionally noticed his presence, and a few classmates stopped whispering as he passed.
The bullying, too, had waned. Not because he had changed drastically, but because people lost interest. The thrill of picking on someone so quiet faded faster than the memories of it, leaving Arthur in a quiet bubble of relative peace. He didn't know if he was relieved or disappointed. Perhaps a little of both.
That morning, the sun struggled through the blinds as he sat in B-2, his notebook open and pencil in hand. He felt the familiar flutter in his chest — the nervousness that came with trying to adjust to a world that still didn't fully understand him.
During third period, the hallway outside erupted in shouts. Arthur looked up from his notebook just in time to witness the chaos: two boys from B-1, the neighboring class, were fighting. Desks toppled, chairs scraped across the floor, voices echoing with anger and frustration. Arthur's heart thumped in his chest, a strange mixture of fascination and dread coursing through him.
He stayed in his seat, watching as the fight unfolded. Part of him wanted to run, to intervene, but he knew his own strength was nothing against theirs. Even if he tried, it wouldn't matter. It wasn't his fight. Not really. So he stayed quiet, eyes wide, breathing shallow, observing the storm from a distance.
The fight ended as abruptly as it had begun. Teachers finally arrived, breaking it up, and the hallways settled into uneasy silence. Arthur exhaled slowly, letting the tension drain out. He stood, adjusted his uniform, and returned to his own classroom.
Miyu Takahashi, Head of Class, was waiting.
"Arthur," she said softly, "let's go over the homework. I promised yesterday I'd help if I had time."
Her presence made his chest tighten in a way that wasn't entirely unfamiliar. There was a warmth in her voice, a patient gentleness in her manner, that made him feel… noticed. Safe, even, in a world that had largely ignored him.
As she explained the problems one by one, Arthur tried to focus. But his mind wandered — to the fight, to the empty chairs outside the classroom, to the steady, kind rhythm of Miyu's voice. And then it happened.
A voice spoke — clear, calm, and impossibly certain.
"B."
Arthur froze, pencil hovering above the page. He blinked at Miyu, whose smile remained kind and normal. "Yes," she said, "that's correct."
His pulse quickened. The voice had answered for him, inside his own head. Not a memory, not a guess — a voice that wasn't him, yet undeniably inside him.
He swallowed. That… can't be real.
Miyu continued to explain, asking another question. Once again, before he could think:
"C."
Arthur's hands shook slightly as he wrote down the answer. The voice, calm and precise, had saved him twice now. Each answer made his heart race, his mind spin, a mix of fear and awe crawling through him.
"Arthur? Are you okay?" Miyu's eyes met his, soft concern in her gaze.
He nodded quickly. "Yeah… fine. Just… thinking."
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. Arthur tried to concentrate on the lessons, but each question Miyu asked was now accompanied by the subtle, inexplicable whisper guiding him: "A," "D," "B."
It was like having a teacher inside his mind, yet… not.
When the final bell rang, he left the classroom with Haruka waiting outside. She bounced slightly on the balls of her feet, eyes bright.
"You survived another day," she said cheerfully. "Getting used to it yet?"
Arthur shrugged, a faint smile touching his lips. "I think so."
Haruka linked arms with him and began explaining some Japanese words he hadn't yet mastered. Her laughter — soft, light, genuine — drifted through the evening air. And for a few moments, Arthur let himself forget the strange voice, the prickling tension in his mind. He laughed too, feeling almost… normal.
But when he returned to his apartment, the quiet of the room amplified the strange sense that had been growing all day. Sitting at his desk, staring at his homework, he tried to ignore it.
Then, again, it spoke:
"C."
Arthur froze, staring at the paper. His fingers trembled. "No… that's not possible," he whispered, voice barely audible.
Another question came. Without thinking, he opened his mouth:
"A."
He pressed the pencil to paper, writing the answer mechanically. The voice inside him remained calm, unhurried, almost guiding.
Arthur leaned back, breath shallow. His chest felt tight, heart pounding. His mind raced with a thousand questions he had no answers to.
Is this real?
Am I… losing my mind?
Or… is it something else?
The more he tried to rationalize it, the more he realized he couldn't. Something had awakened, something beyond him, yet somehow tied to him. And though the voice had spoken only a few times today, Arthur felt its presence like a pulse beneath his skin — steady, unyielding, waiting.
He rubbed his eyes and exhaled slowly. "Tomorrow," he whispered to himself, "I'll figure it out."
And deep down, he already knew he wouldn't be able to ignore it much longer.