Blossoms of the Dark

LXXXIX Shouto: Dawn

"Alright. Where's her classroom?" I ask.

"Follow me!" Akira exclaims.

The hallways are as I remember. The doors are the same. The floors are unchanged.

It's like the school was frozen in time.

Just like my memories.

But I guess the only thing that's changed is my sense of direction. After a series of winding twists and turns, we finally stand outside Yasuda-sensei's classroom. My least favorite teacher and one of the reasons I became an artist - just to spite her.

Luckily, the door's unlocked and we step in. Her classroom is also unchanged. A long stretch of windows, just as long counter in front of them, on that counter lies art supplies, construction paper, scissors, and tape. Opposite of that is her computer desk, which is piled with just as much paper. Toward the back of the classroom is a large metal file cabinet. In the middle of the room are the student desks, the only objects devoid of any clutter.

I look up at the ceiling, where there's a camera. But if this is anything like what I remember from my memories, then this camera doesn't work. I ask Akira for confirmation, and he affirms.

"Akira, does Yasuda-sensei still ask her students to help her grade art projects because she's 'too busy' to do them herself?"

"Yeah! She chooses someone different every time. Whoever is the first person to come to class becomes her victim. Last week, she called on me. I wanted to give everyone a 100, but that would have made her suspicious," he whines.

An idea comes to mind. "Did she already submit grades for those projects or not? And where did she store them?"

"Not yet. She puts all our work in that file cabinet."

Weaving through the desks, I open the cabinet. Indeed, the projects are there. It's easy to identify amongst the clutter of other papers by dates. I pull them out and notice that each one has a number written in the corner in large size and pencil. Turning to Akira, I tell him, "Grab an eraser and pen and change all these grades to 100%, Akira. Meanwhile, I'm going to write an anonymous letter of complaint."

"Isn't that risky?"

"Actually no. Yasuda-sensei doesn't bother remembering names and faces, so she won't know it was you who changed the grades. In fact, she's so distracted with 'busy stuff' that she won't suspect everyone getting a perfect score, despite all the rude comments she passes out as easily as she breathes."

He's understandably comforted by my analysis, but some doubt remains. "What are you going to write in the complaint? Do you think the principal will care?"

Good point. "Is there a new principal?"

"Yeah. He was hired last year."

"Then he will care. He has an image to maintain, and a complaint letter is a threat to that image. If I write about how careless and unkind Yasuda-sensei is to her students, he will have to take action." Akira looks confused, so in simpler terms, I tell him, "The principal will care. Don't worry."

For the next fifteen minutes, Akira and I complete our roles. There's so much I want to include in my letter of complaint, but with forged handwriting and Hanada waiting, I don't. I keep it simple and concrete. There's a stash of empty envelopes in Sensei's drawers. I fold the letter and put it inside one.

Akira and I hide all evidence and leave the classroom. I leave the envelope on the principal's secretary's desk when they get up to go to the restroom.

But just before we meet up with Hanada in the cafeteria, I stop outside the doors. "Hey, I almost forgot!" I pull out the scoresheet and pencil in my blazer pocket and give it to him. "Just like how you were assigned a project, so were Hanada and I. The difference is that Hanada and I need your guys' ratings to get a 100 on ours."

Akira gleams as he circles the highest score in each criterion of the scoresheet. He passes it back to me and shouts his thanks as he goes back inside.

It takes me longer. Being with Akira allowed me to forget my memories of this place. Temporarily. But now that he's gone, they come rushing back. I take a deep breath before going in.

Inside the cafeteria, Hanada is bent down, talking to a little girl. She points to a drawing on the graph paper and then the girl, making the girl squeal with delight. She proceeds to summon a flower - I presume the one she was pointing at - and gives it to the girl. Akira approaches her, too, and she smiles and gives him a blue morning glory. The gesture makes me pause in my tracks. I know that, as the name implies, morning glories bloom in the morning, but I also know what they symbolize. And Hanada must know their meaning, too.

From a distance, I hear her say, "This flower symbolizes unrequited love, but it also symbolizes life. Just as the dawn marks the start of a new day, morning glories depict the start of a new life. And Akira-kun, you have plenty of life within you. Don't ever let that die. Don't ever let someone tell you your worth."

"You'll make an awesome artist," I add on. They both look at me as I resume walking toward them. "I saw your self-portrait back in the classroom. It's phenomenal. Honestly, that teacher is either jealous or doesn't know what she's talking about."

Akira's face brightens like a new dawn as he accepts the flower and thanks us both. He dashes toward the other tables to see their playground projects. Meanwhile, I offer my hand to Hanada to help her up. She glances at it for a second before accepting it.

Once she stands, she leans against her cane for support.

"Just how many flowers did you give?" I ask, worried.

"Seventeen. Akira-kun was the last. But the pain isn't from that right now; it's from the bending."

"Here, sit down." I move the box resting on a stool and make space.

She instantly looks better once she sits. "So, what prank did you and Akira-kun pull off?"

"It was less of a prank and more of doing something due for a long time." I recount everything that happened.

Once I finish, she speaks again. "That explains why you are familiar with this primary school. You attended school here."

"Yeah, I did."

The memories flood back.

And I can't do anything to stop the tide. 

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