tears of mercury | beastars

chapter 23. THOSE WHO SIT NEXT TO ME

𖤣𖥧.𖤣𖥧𓆏𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧
━━━━━━━━━━━

Oceanic Life Sciences Class always began with a kind of quiet order that felt almost unnatural, as if even the seating arrangement had been carefully calculated to control distance, interaction, and inevitability. The room was bright that morning, sunlight slipping through the tall windows in pale, shifting bands that stretched across the desks and softened the edges of everything it touched.

(Name) had long since learned that she rarely sat where she chose.

She sat where she was placed.

To her left was Legoshi, quiet and withdrawn as usual, his presence steady in a way that did not demand attention but still occupied space in a noticeable way. To her right was a male golden retriever who never seemed to run out of things to say.

Jack was already talking before the professor even finished writing on the board.

He talked about everything—his morning routine, something Legoshi supposedly did at breakfast, a story about running late, a comment about the weather shifting toward summer. It was not overwhelming in volume, but in continuity, like a stream that never paused long enough for silence to form.

(Name) responded the way she usually did.

A small sound here. A short acknowledgment there. Most of the time, nothing at all.

Her attention stayed forward, fixed on the lecture about marine ecosystems and oceanic adaptation, though even that felt slightly distant, as if she were observing information rather than absorbing it. The professor's voice moved steadily through concepts of aquatic balance and environmental systems, but her mind remained slightly removed from it, held just far enough away to avoid being fully pulled in.

Jack, however, did not seem to notice her silence as resistance.

"And then Legoshi almost burned the kitchen again this morning," he continued casually, leaning slightly closer as if sharing something confidential. "So I told him—"

A faint, almost uninterested sound escaped her in response. Not agreement, not disagreement. Just acknowledgment of sound existing near her.

Legoshi shifted slightly beside her but did not interrupt. He looked like he wanted to disappear into the space between his chair and the floor, especially whenever Jack spoke about him so freely.

It was always like this.

A triangle of imbalance that somehow functioned without collapsing.

When the brief break between lectures arrived, the shift in the room was immediate. Chairs scraped softly, papers were gathered, and conversations began to rise in scattered pockets across the classroom.

(Name) stood without hesitation.

She always did.

There was no pause, no glance backward. She simply moved toward the back where Yukimura usually sat, slipping into place beside him as though the transition had already been decided long before she arrived. He did not question it. He rarely did.

It was routine now. Unspoken, repeated, accepted.

And as expected, Jack moved immediately into her empty seat.

He always took it like it belonged to him for that specific moment.

He continued talking to Legoshi, who was now quietly eating an egg sandwich from the school shop, responding in short, hesitant replies between bites. Jack filled the space easily, comfortably, as if silence itself was something he refused to allow near him.

(Name) did not look back for long.

Not because she was avoiding them.

But because she already understood what she would see.

Familiarity she was not part of.

Ease she did not share.

Instead, she remained with Yukimura, the conversation between them minimal, comfortable in its lack of demand. There was no need to fill silence here, no expectation of participation beyond presence.

This pattern had become her life at Cherryton Academy.

And with it came the weight of what everyone already knew.

She was the Detective Chief's daughter.

Amamiya Hoshi.

A name that carried itself through the city long before she ever entered Cherryton.

Her father was widely known for leading a major public safety operation—one that focused heavily on protecting hybrid individuals and reducing violent predator-related incidents across urban districts. Under his leadership, enforcement had grown stricter, investigative systems more structured, and response units more efficient in handling cases involving those who did not fit cleanly into herbivore or carnivore categories.

To many, he was a stabilizing force. To others, a symbol of control. But regardless of opinion, his presence shaped policy, reputation, and fear in equal measure.

And at Cherryton, that influence followed her quietly.

It did not need to be spoken loudly anymore. It existed in how students looked at her, in how conversations softened when she passed, in how distance formed before she ever asked for it.

There were also rumors—always rumors—about her mother, a businesswoman from overseas with influence that only deepened the idea that (Name) existed slightly outside the usual student world. Whether true or exaggerated no longer mattered. What mattered was what people believed they already understood about her.

That she was untouchable.

That she was distant.

That she did not need anyone.

And over time, she stopped correcting it.

Stopped reacting to it.

Stopped expecting anything different.

It was easier that way.

Even if it meant conversations rarely lasted, even if it meant most people never stayed close long enough to try again.

Because in her mind, connections were temporary things.

And she had already accepted a life that did not require many of them.

✅ EDITED