School days are one of the worst periods of my life, there is no time for gaming and only time for assignments which I certainly do not need for the path I choose has nothing to do with scientific names. Megan says it gets better as you understand, but why will he decide to calculate the distance of a fruit falling? If he could have just eaten the damn apple, now I have to find the velocity and capacity of an object I know nothing of or even want to know. My class is three rooms away from Megan’s. Not that it matters — we barely get to talk during school hours. She’s always caught up in something, surrounded by people who somehow get the material like they were born solving equations in their cribs. Meanwhile, I’m stuck trying to figure out why a triangle needs a name, or why I should care about the acceleration of a ball I didn’t throw.

Sometimes, during lunch, we meet by the vending machines behind the gym. Megan brings the usual: her quiet smile and way-too-optimistic advice. “It’ll make sense eventually,” she says, handing me a grape soda. I don’t have the heart to tell her I’ve already given up on it making sense — I’m just trying to survive until the next break, maybe sneak in a few hours of gaming without passing out from exhaustion.

The worst part? I used to like learning. I really did. But somewhere between memorizing kanji I’ll never write and pretending I care about frog dissection, I lost whatever spark I had left. Megan still has hers. I think that’s why I keep listening to her, even if I roll my eyes every time she says it’s going to get better.

Maybe it will.
Maybe it won’t.
But for now, I just need to get through the next class… and pray it doesn’t involve more apples.

It will not.

I stare at the equation.

It stares back — all symbols and numbers, mocking me like it knows I have no clue what I’m doing. v=d/tv? Cool. So what. What even is “d”? Distance? From what — sanity?

The teacher is talking. His voice blends into the hum of the air conditioner and the scribbles of other students who apparently do get it. I don't ask questions anymore. Last time I did, I ended up more confused and walked out with a headache and a pity smile from the teacher. I hate pity smiles.

I glance out the window. Megan’s classroom is out of sight, but somehow I imagine her taking notes, nodding like all of this makes sense, like the world is some giant puzzle she’s almost solved. I envy that. I envy how she believes in something — even if it’s just the idea that this, all of this, might be worth it.

I look back at the equation. The page is still blank. My pen hasn’t moved.
Neither have I.

The bell is an eternity away.

I lower my eyes back to the paper, and there it is: the apple. Again.

This time it’s falling from a tree at a height of twelve meters, and I’m supposed to calculate how long it takes to hit the ground.
Why?
Because apparently, some dead guy a hundred years ago thought watching fruit fall was a good excuse to ruin students’ futures.

I sigh and press my pen to the page. I copy it down like I’m writing a spell in a language I don't believe in. I know the formula. We’ve been over it a dozen times. Still, my brain stalls at the “g.” Gravity. 9.8 m/s². Fine. Whatever.

What I really want to write is:

The apple fell. It hit the ground. The end.
Zero seconds. Instant impact. Game over.

But that’s not what the question’s asking.

It wants numbers. Units. Proof I paid attention.
Proof I care.

I look around. Everyone else is busy calculating, solving, obeying.

I scribble the formula and pretend to solve it.
But all I see in my mind is the apple smashing into the dirt — over and over — and me right there with it. Megan would say, “Try again. Just break it down.”
She always says that.

But this isn’t just an apple. It’s everything I don’t understand. And no matter how many times I try to catch it, it always falls faster than I can think. The apple hits the ground. My will to keep going follows it. Finally, the bell rings — not salvation, but a pause. Like coming up for air, even if you're still in the middle of drowning. I shove my books into my bag and drag myself outside. Not far, just the corridor near the vending machines, where the school lets you pretend you have privacy even though you’re under constant watch.

That’s when I spotted Osaki.

He’s leaning against the wall, hood pulled up even though we’re indoors. Not unusual — Osaki’s always had a thing for drama. But today? There’s something off.

I walk closer and say nothing. Just raise an eyebrow.

He flinches when he sees me. Quick. Almost like a reflex.
His sleeve shifts for a second, revealing the faintest blur of blue near his jawline. He tugs it back immediately, pretending to yawn.

“Ran into a door,” he mutters.

“Yeah?” I say. “Door punch you and call you a disappointment too?” He snorts, but it’s hollow. His eyes flick to the side. Not ready to talk. That’s when I notice the hair — bright green, freshly dyed, the cheap kind that still smells like ammonia. It doesn’t suit him. He’s smaller than me, wiry, always twitching like he’s ready to bolt, but the green makes him look like he’s trying too hard to look like someone else.

I don’t say anything about it.

“You look like hell,” he mumbles instead, voice rough.

“Thanks. It’s the academic glow.” He chuckles. Then he stops. His hand trembles slightly as he opens his soda. The fizz is the loudest sound between us.

“She told me,” he says after a pause. “Yesterday.”

“Told you what?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

“Yuka slept with my cousin.”

The words hang there — raw, jagged. He stares ahead like if he meets my eyes, he’ll crack open.

“Damn,” I whisper. That’s all I can say. What else is there?

“I dyed my hair so I wouldn’t feel like myself,” he adds, biting the inside of his cheek. “But I still do. That’s the worst part.”

I nod, silent.
Because yeah — I get that.
You can change the color, the clothes, the equations — but sometimes the hurt stays exactly where it is.

We sit in silence for a while, letting the vending machine hum and the hallway buzz with the noise of others passing through their own private hells.

Two kids with broken thoughts and falling apples. Then, out of nowhere—

“Ah! There you are!”

Megan.

She appears like a gust of wind — fast, loud, and entirely unaware of the emotional crater she’s just walked into. Her ponytail bounces as she skips over and drops herself right between us, squeezing into the small space without asking.

“I’ve been looking all over. I thought you went to the roof or something,” she says cheerfully, unwrapping a rice ball and taking a bite like this is the happiest moment of her day.

Neither Osaki nor I said anything.

She doesn’t notice the tension. Or maybe she does and just doesn’t care.

“Oh, oh!” she says with a mouthful of food. “Guess what? I found a new game. It’s called Hollow Zone—some sci-fi pixel thing with survival mechanics and creepy background music. And guess what again—!”

She leans in like she’s telling a state secret. “I met these two boys this morning while logging in,” Megan says, turning to Osaki, completely oblivious to the storm cloud hovering over his head. “Ren and Mook. Ren’s like, super stiff and serious, but Mook—he’s Thai, and he’s so sweet! Like, the kind of guy who says ‘thank you’ after you shoot him in-game.”

She grins, proud of this discovery like she found treasure in a trash can.

“I mean, I don’t even know how he ended up on the Japanese server, but his accent is kinda cute, and he kept apologizing every time he missed a shot. Like—‘So sorry, madam, I will cover you next time’.” She even mimics it in a dramatic low bow, barely avoiding dropping her rice ball on Osaki’s knee.

He blinks at her.

Then, despite the chaos behind his eyes, the tiniest smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth.

Megan beams. “See? I knew you’d like it.”

“I met Ren and Mook too,” I say, folding my arms. “Mook’s not as gentle as you say.”

Megan blinks, surprised. “What do you mean?”

I shrug. “He got mad at me earlier, when I said gaming is sometimes repetitive and boring. Like, full-on grumpy mode.”

Osaki raises an eyebrow. “Sounds about right.”

“Yeah,” I continued. “Mook’s might be sweet when he apologizes and might talk all polite, but the moment the game starts, he snaps. It’s like… two different people.”

Megan giggles. “Maybe he just cares a lot.”

“Or maybe he just has no patience,” I reply, smirking.

Osaki laughs for the first time today. “I’d take grumpy over quiet any day.”

Megan looks thoughtful, then smiles. “Well, everyone’s got layers, right? Even apples that fall from trees.” She glances at the equation in my bag and grins a little. I pull the paper with the apple equation from my notebook and hold it out to Megan.

“Fine,” I say, smirking. “Since you’re so excited about games and all this stuff, why don’t you solve it?”

Megan’s eyes lit up like I handed her a power-up. “Really? You want me to?”

“Yeah. And Osaki, you’re not off the hook either,” I add, nodding at him.

Osaki shrugs but steps forward. “I’m in. Might as well make this torture a little less painful.”

Megan grabs the paper eagerly and pulls out her phone, already tapping away.

“We just have to rearrange the formula and figure out how long the apple takes to fall,” she says, glancing up with a confident smile.

Osaki leans in, and together they talk it through quietly, tossing ideas back and forth.

I watch as the equation starts to look less like a wall and more like a puzzle—one we might actually be able to solve.

Megan grins. “Got it! That wasn’t so bad.”

“See?” I say. “Maybe you do know a thing or two.”

Megan laughs. “It’s like a game—learn by doing.”

Osaki smirks. “Guess we’re not complete noobs.”

For once, the hallway feels less like a trap and more like a place where we might figure things out—together. As we start putting our stuff away, Megan nudges Osaki with a sly smile.

“Oh! Yuka’s birthday is next Sunday,” she says, eyes gleaming with mischief. “What have you prepared for her?” Osaki stiffens instantly, his jaw tightening. The bruise on his cheek almost seems to darken. I watch him carefully. He doesn’t say a word. “I bet you’ll surprise her,” I say, nudging him lightly. Megan giggles. “Or forget entirely and panic at the last minute, ah I love, love”

“I wish I did too” he says before standing to leave but stops, “can you add me in that new game of yours?” Megan just nods as he leaves and turns to me confused.