The morning dragged on, like always.
Kazuki sat in the back row, second seat from the window, eyes unfocused, his pen drawing lazy lines in the corner of his notebook. The teacher's voice faded in and out like a radio signal he was too tired to tune into.
He watched the clouds outside.Gray. Motionless.Almost peaceful.
He didn't notice the sirens at first.Didn't even look up when someone screamed in the hallway.
It wasn't until the classroom door slammed open—and masked men burst in, shouting in harsh, unfamiliar voices—that the entire class jolted to their feet. Desks screeched, chairs crashed, panic erupted like wildfire.
"Nobody move!""Hands where we can see them!"
Guns.
Real ones.Not like the ones in anime. Not like the props in dramas.Real.
Students dropped to the floor. Some screamed. Others froze. One girl fainted immediately. A boy in the front row started crying—loud, ugly sobs.
Kazuki didn't move.Didn't flinch.He just blinked.Watched.
Watched as chaos tore through the classroom like a storm.Watched as the "model students"—the ones on every honors board, every sports team, every scholarship flyer—crumbled in seconds.
The class president, Tanaka, was on his knees, trembling violently. His expensive glasses slid off his nose. He started muttering something under his breath—a prayer, maybe. Or a plea.
"Please... please don't kill me... I have exams next week, please..."
Satou—the debate champion, the one Kazuki's parents never shut up about—was hiding under a desk, his face soaked in sweat, his body shaking so hard he knocked over his own chair.
Even Kirishima—top athlete, future Olympian, the school's golden boy—had pissed himself. A dark patch bloomed on his gym pants as he gasped for breath, eyes wide and glassy.
It was pathetic.All of it.
Kazuki just sat there.Still.Silent.Not brave.Just… empty.
Because unlike them, he had no plans. No dreams. Nothing left to lose.Life or death—it didn't matter anymore. He wasn't clinging to anything.
One of the gunmen scanned the room, breathing heavy behind his mask. His eyes locked onto Kazuki.
"You."
He pointed.
"Why the hell are you just sitting there?"
Kazuki slowly looked up.Their eyes met.
And for the first time—the gunman hesitated.
Because Kazuki's face… it wasn't scared. It wasn't angry. It wasn't anything.Just blank.Dead-fish eyes, surrounded by shadows darker than the gunmetal aimed at him.
"You wanna die, is that it?" the man snapped.
Kazuki blinked once.Then nodded.
Silence.The room stopped breathing.The other students stared at him—horrified.
"Are you insane?" someone whispered.
"Kazuki, shut up!" another hissed.
But Kazuki just leaned back in his chair, resting his head against the wall like this was just another Monday.
Let them shoot.Let them blow the school up.Let it all end.
He had nothing left to be afraid of.
The terrorist looked at him a second longer.Then turned away.
Didn't tie him up.Didn't bark orders.Didn't even bother.
He wasn't a threat.He wasn't anything.
In the corner of the classroom, the rest of the students were bunched together in a trembling pile of uniforms, snot, and terror. Some whispered prayers. Others cried quietly. A few stared blankly at the floor, their minds already gone.
Kazuki just sat.Still in his seat.Still at his desk.Just bored.
He reached for his headphones and started watching the anime episode he had downloaded earlier.
He didn't look up when someone sobbed beside him.Didn't react when another student vomited into their blazer sleeve.
He only looked up when he heard sirens again.
Outside the window, flashing red and blue lights painted the buildings. Police cars. SWAT trucks. Drones. Megaphones crackling.
And further back—behind the barriers, behind the crowd control—parents.
Kazuki's gaze swept over the crowd with practiced detachment.
And there they were.
His family.
His father, stone-faced and stiff.His mother, arms folded tightly, lips pressed into a line.
Both of them standing beside—Ren.The little prodigy.Their beloved youngest son.
His mother had her arm around Ren's shoulder. His father was patting the boy's head, speaking calmly.
They hadn't even looked at the school building.Hadn't asked for Kazuki.Didn't even seem to remember he was inside.
They were there for Ren.Just Ren.
A voice crackled through the hallway, loud enough to echo through the classroom.
"This is the Tokyo Metropolitan Police. We are beginning negotiations. Do not harm the hostages. We are listening."
The terrorists started talking in hushed tones. One of them stepped outside to answer. The rest kept watch.
The clock ticked past noon.Negotiations were going nowhere.The terrorists grew restless. Agitated. One of them yelled something in a foreign language, then paced in circles, his gun twitching in his grip.
The classroom was thick with the stench of sweat, fear, and silence.Kazuki was still watching anime.
He barely heard the soft footsteps in the hallway.But the gunmen did.
They turned sharply. Weapons raised.
And then—chaos.
Glass shattered. Grenades exploded.Doors burst open. Smoke flooded the room.
"Go, go, go—targets armed—clear the room!"
Screams erupted. The students dove down, covering their heads, wailing, praying, sobbing all at once.
Kazuki didn't move.
He stayed in his seat.His drawing still in front of him.His pen still in his hand.
Through the smoke, dark shapes moved like shadows—black-armored, masked, precise.Laser sights sliced through the dust.
And then—one beam stopped.Right on him.
Kazuki looked up.
One of the commandos shouted something.
"Drop the weapon! Hands above your head!"
Kazuki blinked, put down his headphones.Looked down.
He was still holding the phone.A long, black phone.In the chaos, in the smoke, in the panic—it must've looked like something else.
He looked back up.Saw them moving toward him. Fast.
He could've said something.Could've shouted: "I'm not one of them."Could've raised his hands.Could've dropped the pen.
But he didn't.
Because he remembered—
'Stop making excuses.''Oh, now you're trying to play the victim?''Every time you open your mouth, you just make it worse for yourself.''Why can't you ever take responsibility?'
He had tried, once.He had defended himself. Explained himself. Begged for understanding.
And every time—it only made the knives go deeper.
So now?
Now, he didn't say anything.Didn't move.Didn't explain.
He just closed his eyes.
And let it happen.
Three gunshots.Sharp. Final.
A scream rang out—someone from the class.
The last thing Kazuki heard before the world went quiet.