After a few weeks of settling into the rhythm of high school, I was heading to my class as usual  but the glares are more fierce than usual. I ignore the stares, the whispers. 

Near the end of the day, I'm called to the staff office. When I walk in, my homeroom teacher, Ms. Miyamoto, homeroom teacher looks up with a tense expression. She's usually calm, unbothered by the everyday drama that circulates among students, but today there's a flicker of concern behind her usual stoicism.

"Akihiko," she says quietly, gesturing for me to sit. I do, meeting her gaze without flinching.

"Do you know why I called you here?" she asks. I shake my head.

She hesitates, watching me with a troubled look, as if searching for something in my expression. I keep my face blank. Finally, she sighs.

"There have been... rumors circulating today," she says, carefully. "Rumors that you might... have cheated in the entrance exam" She pauses, as if hoping for a reaction.

I say nothing. I don't owe her or anyone else an explanation. It's not like anyone would believe me if I did.

But instead of pressing further, Ms. Miyamoto's gaze softens, and she leans back, frowning slightly. "I don't believe the rumors, Akihiko," she says, surprising me. " Just try to stay out of any trouble." I nod and she lets me go. As I close the door of the staff room I see her face somewhat troubled.  

*Ms. Miyamoto* 

"I watch him, sitting in the back row, staring at his textbook like it's the only thing holding him together. Akihiko Yamioka. Every day, he walks into this classroom, sits down without a word, and disappears into whatever he's reading. It's as if he's trying to make himself invisible, as if he knows he's already a ghost in their eyes.

I remember him from middle school, when the rumors began to circulate more viciously. There was that one incident in the library—it still bothers me. Students claimed he tried to assault his classmate. The accusations spread fast, and by the time I heard about it, he'd already become "guilty" in the eyes of most of the staff. But I'd spoken to him, looked him in the eye, and I knew it wasn't true. I saw that blank, haunted look he had—the kind of look kids like him wear when they've learned that no one's going to believe them.

I tried to get someone, anyone, to take the situation seriously. I went to my colleagues, one by one, hoping at least one of them might see what I saw, hoping they might recognize that this was more than just "teenage antics." But the responses were the same: 'Akihiko? Again,' they'd say. 'That kid should be expelled.' Or I'd hear them suggest that maybe Akihiko belonged in prison—that "predator."

I pushed, gently at first, then more insistently, for some kind of inquiry into what had really happened. But each time, I hit a wall of indifference. I could see it in their faces—they were already convinced that Akihiko was the criminal and that it would be best to expel him.

Every time I see him, it's a reminder of how I failed him. As a teacher, I'm supposed to protect my students, to see beyond what's on the surface. But for all my efforts, Akihiko is still sitting there, cut off from everyone around him, holding everything inside. It's clear he's learned not to hope for support or fairness, and I can't shake the feeling that I played a part in making him that way.

I tell myself I've done what I could, but that's a lie, isn't it? Watching him now, blending into the background as if he's trying to disappear, I realize I haven't done enough. He's still here, still burdened by the past, and he's still alone. And I can't ignore it any longer: if Akihiko has slipped through the cracks, it's because I wasn't strong enough, wasn't relentless enough.

The truth is, I've failed him."

*Ms. Miyamoto*

That was unexpected," I thought as I walked down the hallway, feeling the weight of the stares around me. Eyes narrowed in judgment, people glaring at me like I was some kind of criminal—a cheater, no less. But honestly, I didn't care. Let them think what they want. I glanced at my watch. It was almost time for my shift, and I'd rather get out of here than deal with all these looks.

I picked up the pace, weaving through the crowd and dodging the sideways glances without a second thought. I slipped out of the building and into the cool evening air, eager to trade the whispers and glares for the routine of work.

The next morning, Ms. Miyamoto addressed the class with a seriousness that caught everyone's attention. She warned against spreading and believing baseless rumors, her eyes scanning the room with the slightest hint of disappointment. She even asked who started it. But of course, no one spoke up. I didn't expect them to. People like that never do.

The rumor itself didn't bother me. It was ridiculous, really, that someone would waste time concocting a story like that. Whoever started it must have a lot of free time—or maybe they just couldn't stand seeing me here, going about my life as if their petty words meant nothing.

Today was different, though. Today, I was going to treat myself. I had earned it. The salary from my part-time job was coming in, and it wasn't much, but it was mine—every penny hard-earned and untouched by anyone else's expectations. I could already taste the sweetness of the cake I was planning to get for myself. I smiled faintly at the thought. A small pleasure, but sometimes that's all you need to get through another day.

It was the little things, the moments where I could carve out a tiny piece of happiness for myself, that kept me going. The cake wasn't going to solve anything, but it felt like a small rebellion against everything else—against the rumors, the stares, the whispers. Just me, my cake, and a moment of peace. I deserved that. I thought to myself as I walked, the weight of the day lighter on my shoulders than it had been in a long time.

*Yamioka Residence at dining table* Hiroshi (father), Miho (Step-Mother), Miku (Step-sister)

Miku: "Mom, Dad... something happened at school today," I start, my voice hesitant. I don't want to make things worse, but I feel like I have to say something. "They're saying Oni chan cheated on his entrance exam."

Both of them freeze for a moment. My mother sighs loudly, her fingers tightening around the chopsticks in her hand. Her expression shifts into something unreadable.

Miho: "Akihiko, he never learns, does he?" she mutters under her breath, her voice tinged with annoyance. She leans back in her chair, shaking her head. "It's always something with him. I told you before, he's trouble. He doesn't fit in, and he doesn't seem to care about that."

*Hiroshi*

Hearing my wife's words, I can feel my chest tighten. I've heard her talk about Akihiko before, and it always feels like she's blaming him for things that aren't his fault. Sure, the kid's distant, but I've never doubted his potential—especially not in something like academics.

"He's good at his studies, Why would he cheat? He doesn't need to." I pause for a moment, letting my words sink in. "Has anyone proven it? Is there any actual evidence?"

I glance over at my wife, hoping she might stop casting judgment so quickly. I don't trust everything I hear, but I also know Akihiko. He's the type of kid who pushes himself hard, maybe too hard sometimes. So why would he risk it all with something so stupid?

My wife doesn't respond right away, and I can feel the unease in the room, but I'm not about to let this pass without questioning the facts. *Hiroshi*

*Miku*

I watch them both, feeling the space between us widen. My mom's still not convinced, but my dad's standing his ground. Oni chan might not be the easiest person to get along with, but I don't think he's the kind of person who'd cheat. I don't even know how he'd go about it. It's not like he's ever really been social, let alone interested in that kind of stuff.

But even with Dad defending him, I can see how the tension is still there. It's the same old cycle: Oni chan doing something that makes people talk, and Dad trying to stick up for him, while Mom just sighs and wonders why he can't just be "normal." I wonder, though—if Oni chan had done something wrong, would he even care what they thought? Would it matter? *Miku*

Hiroshi sits alone in the dimly lit living room, the faint sound of a clock ticking in the background. His hands shake as he looks at an old photograph of Akihiko, a young boy smiling in a moment of innocence. Hiroshi sighs deeply, his voice cracking as he begins to speak aloud, more to himself than anyone else.

Hiroshi:
"Where did I go wrong? How did I miss it? Akihiko... he was always there, wasn't he? A boy full of promise, so much potential... but I never truly saw it. I was too busy, too wrapped up in my own world. Too focused on my work, on maintaining appearances. And Akihiko? He just... he just grew up on his own. I was blind to it. The signs were there, all along. He started changing, becoming distant, but I was too preoccupied to notice. All those little things... I should've paid attention, but I didn't. I didn't listen to him when he needed me the most. I should have believed in him at least tried to listen to his side of the story."