At twelve thirty that afternoon, the train came screeching to a halt, and I immersed myself in the crowd of Ketsumu students on the platform. It was noisy and crowded, but I was able to make my way across it, toward a thin, straight-laced sort of man who was shouting, "Ketsumu students, come this way!"
The other students and I lined up behind the professor. And since I was one of the first, I was able to get a better look at him. He was taller than me, but not taller than average. His hair was slicked to one side, and he wore a crisp Ketsumu Academy uniform. I assumed he was wearing a special teacher's uniform, since his was black as opposed to my navy blue one.
Soon enough, I was surrounded by about thirty boys and girls, all shivering in the pouring rain. Nivaré was cold and desolate; our campus was like a small town of its own, with nothing else around it besides the train station. The building that the professor seemed to be leading us to was shrunken from distance. We looked across the vast fields, wet and sticky from the rainwater. The thought of crossing was looming and ominous. And yet, I would have gladly crossed them — lay on my belly and rolled across them — in nothing but my underwear, as long as it got me to Ketsumu.
I looked around my shoulder at the other first year students who were walking with me. One of them was a very disgruntled Himeko Himura, who was complaining to two other girls about the mud that was getting on her new designer shoes. The other girls were listening in earnest. But when they spotted me, they started whispering madly.
What was it? Had Himeko already told them about me? They continued in hushed voices that I couldn't listen in on. Even after they caught me looking at them, they kept stealing glances at me. Frustrated, I turned my attention to the professor.
"Is everybody with me now?" he called. "We are almost there."
The rest of the first year students and I continued along our path to the Academy. Rain was splashing into my eyes, but I was still thoroughly enjoying myself. I had never been out of Jukyuu City before, and it was wonderful. I couldn't keep my gaze from wandering all around me: from the forest of barren trees, to a misshapen little lake whose surface was pocked with bits of ice.
But I think that I was the only one enjoying the trek. Most of the students were scowling at the weather, and furiously trying to pick the mud from the bottoms of their pants. Others looked pale and sick, probably nervous to start the new year. I hardly watched the other students since I was at the head of the line, but I took pleasure in taking a glance at Ken'ichi Kuwabara, who had apparently slipped into a large puddle and was covered in muck. His pasty, recently bruised face had formed the largest grimace of anyone.
Our school buildings had become apparent as we neared them. Two high-rises were silvery contrasts to the nature around them. But rather than entering one of those, the professor took us into a squat third building with glass paneling and a marble façade. Above the tremendous double-doors was a bronzed plaque that read the words: 'Ketsumu Academy, Pride and Excellence in Learning since 1891,' and I knew I was home.
We all huddled in the entry hall, sopping wet and freezing. It was beautiful inside, more attractive than any other room I had ever seen. Even the glitzy department store that Auntie Setona and I had gone shopping at. But maybe I was biased, since I knew I would be living here instead of there.
We were lead to take our seats, our path lined with staggering portraits of headmasters prior. The professor stood before us, and cleared his throat for our attention. I peeled my hood from my head, and turned my eyes toward him. Suddenly, I became very conscious of the fact that the floor was flooded from our dripping rain jackets.
"Hello, everyone," he started. "Welcome to Ketsumu Academy. It is so good to see all of these fresh young faces, so eager to learn and grow within our walls. My name is Professor Daiwa, and I am the assistant to the headmaster. I will also be teaching your mathematics courses. But don't worry about your ol' math teacher being so high up in the administration — if you can't remember your algebra on the first day of class, I won't report you!"
YOU ARE READING
Ishiki (Consciousness)
Novela JuvenilJoey Jyaki will kill, but he doesn't know it yet. How does an ordinary Japanese boy turn into a murderer? Guided by the mysterious spectre from his nightmares, Joey slowly descends into a place where dreams meet reality.