Have You Seen That One Face?

The next Introduction to Philosophy lecture had been moved to a different classroom.

It was easily twice the size of the old one. The tiered seats climbed higher, the blackboard stretched wider, and the windows were grand for no good reason at all.

There was one upside.

Even with a crowd, it didn't feel cramped.

There was one downside.

There was a crowd.

"……."

I stopped for a moment in front of the classroom door.

Students were already seated inside. Not just the official enrollees. The number of auditors had grown.

Sword Department. Magic Department. Holy Department. General Studies.

A few professors were even sitting in the back.

Why did they come?

I muttered inwardly.

This was Introduction to Philosophy. An unpopular elective. Until last week it had been treated like a sleep debuff.

Apparently word had gotten out for no good reason.

Professor Werner has gotten weird. Students nearly cried in Introduction to Philosophy. Something about futures and monsters. Listening makes you feel filthy, but somehow you can't stop.

Probably rumors of that sort.

"Professor."

Martin, standing beside me, spoke in a low voice.

"The numbers really have gone up."

"I can see that."

"Seventeen audit applications alone."

"A lot."

"I've already processed the classroom change request, the seating reassignment form, the class safety management confirmation, and even the faculty observation request."

The circles under Martin's eyes were dark.

"You've worked hard."

Martin looked at me.

His expression was odd. He still seemed unused to the sight of Ian Werner offering genuine thanks.

"……Yes."

Martin gave a small cough.

"And Professor."

"What is it?"

"You need to be a little careful today."

"I'm always careful."

"No. You're more dangerous precisely when you think you're being careful."

"……."

I couldn't argue.

As expected of a philosophy department assistant.

I adjusted my glasses and looked into the classroom.

In the front row on the left sat Elise Morgan. Her book was open, but her eyes were on the blackboard, not the page.

By the window sat Leonora Wallenstein. Arms crossed, posture still insolent. But she had arrived earlier than last time.

In the center sat Serena Arcelia. Hands neatly folded, last lecture's notes already organized on her desk.

Near the very back sat Rina Everett, in an auditor's seat. She still looked a little awkward, but the page in front of her was no longer blank. This time she held a pen.

And then—

Karen Astra.

The golden-haired Hero candidate sat with perfect posture. The bright smile that usually lived on her face was gone.

She was waiting for me.

No.

She was waiting for my answer.

Last time's question.

If you see that one person's face completely, and you still have to kill them—what should you do then?

I drew a slow breath.

A good question.

A truly good question.

So good I wanted to run from it.

This kind of question pierces people easily. And ruins them just as easily.

Answer lightly and I ruin Karen. Answer too firmly and I still ruin Karen. Frame it like a correct answer about good and evil, and this child will carry that answer around like a blade.

So I had to be careful.

Philosophy is a sword. And Karen Astra was a child who held swords far too well.

I stepped into the classroom.

The noise died.

Dozens of gazes turned toward me. Some students looked tense. Others made no effort to hide their curiosity. The professors in the back sat with arms crossed, appraising. A few of the young women pulled their books a little closer as I passed.

It's fine.

I told myself inwardly.

Behave.

This face is a long campaign.

I took my place at the lectern, set down the attendance book, and wrote today's topic on the board.

The sound of chalk filled the room.

No one yawned.

Good.

No—I shouldn't be glad about that.

I looked out at the students with a composed face.

"Last time, Miss Astra asked a question."

Karen's gaze locked onto me.

I repeated her question exactly as she had put it.

"If you see that one person's face completely, and you still have to kill them—what should you do then?"

A heavy silence settled over the classroom.

"Today we begin with that question."

I picked up the chalk.

"First, let's run a thought experiment."

I drew a set of tracks on the board.

Very badly.

The chalk tracks looked more like earthworms than rails. A few students' eyebrows twitched faintly. I pretended not to notice.

"A mine cart is coming down these tracks."

I drew a square on the left side of the board.

Even worse.

Martin looked away from the doorway.

"This cart will not stop. If it continues, five people tied to the tracks will die."

I drew five circles beneath the rails.

"But in front of you is a switch."

The chalk tip drew another set of tracks.

"Pull the switch and the cart goes onto the other track. One person is tied to that track."

I drew a single circle.

I turned around.

"Would you pull the switch?"

The students stirred.

It was an extremely famous thought experiment. Of course, most students in this world were hearing it for the first time.

But the situation was simple.

Five people. One person. A choice.

Faced with that kind of simplicity, humans reveal a little of their true colors.

I looked at Karen.

"Miss Astra."

"Yes, Professor."

"What would you do?"

Karen did not hesitate.

"I would pull it."

A faint murmur ran through the room.

"Reason?"

"Because five is more than one."

Clear.

Too clear.

Karen continued.

"If I do nothing, five people die. If I pull the switch, one dies. So I'm not choosing to kill one person—I'm choosing to save five."

A few students nodded.

It was a rational answer. Efficient. Clear. Good outcome.

And therefore dangerous.

I looked at Elise.

"Miss Morgan?"

Elise regarded the board for a moment.

"The question is incomplete."

"Go on."

"I don't know who that one person is."

Karen's eyes shifted slightly.

Elise spoke coldly.

"If that one person is someone who betrayed me, I would pull it."

The classroom went quiet.

"If that one person is a complete stranger, I would hesitate."

She paused, then added,

"If that one person is me, I would ask whether anyone else has the right to pull the switch."

Good.

Very like Elise.

A problem of trust. Of betrayal. Of consent.

I nodded.

"Miss Wallenstein."

Leonora gave a short, sharp laugh.

"Whether I pull it or not depends on whether I can take responsibility for it."

"Responsibility?"

"Yeah."

She propped her chin on her hand.

"If after pulling the switch I hide behind 'I had no choice,' better not to pull it at all. If you choose, you have to be able to say the same thing in front of that one dead person's family."

The air in the classroom settled again.

I admired her inwardly.

Leonora's problem is the worship of strength. But she still has a sense of responsibility.

Still has it.

That matters.

I looked at Serena.

"Miss Arcelia."

Serena quietly folded her hands.

"If I could be that one person……"

I cut her off at once.

"That option does not exist."

Serena blinked.

"Pardon?"

"In this thought experiment, there is no option for you to lie down on the tracks yourself."

The classroom went still.

Serena's lips pressed tight.

I spoke with deliberate calm.

"Do not escape into the answer of self-sacrifice."

Serena's hands trembled.

Had I spoken too hard?

But it was necessary.

Serena tries to resolve every question through self-sacrifice. It looks like goodness, but in truth it is the escape she knows best.

I lowered my voice a little.

"What we are asking today is not whether you can die."

I pointed at the five figures and the one on the board.

"It is whether you can choose another person's life."

Serena could not speak.

Rina carefully raised her hand.

"Professor."

"Go ahead, Miss Everett."

Rina looked at the board as she spoke.

"I…… would want to ask first who put the switch in my hands."

Eyes in the classroom turned toward her.

Rina looked a little cowed, but she did not stop.

"Why am I standing in that place?"

"Why do I have to choose?"

"Why are those five and that one tied down?"

"Why won't the cart stop?"

Her grip tightened on the pen.

"If the only question is whether I pull the switch or not, it feels like far too much has already been decided."

Silence filled the room.

I looked at Rina.

Good.

No.

Honestly, it gave me chills.

The blank-slate protagonist was starting to look outside the question itself.

That mattered.

In the original game the protagonist is always thrown into the middle of events. And the player chooses from the options given.

But Rina had just questioned the options themselves.

I nodded.

"A good point."

Rina's eyes widened a little.

I wrote large on the board.

"Most people only ask whether to pull the switch or not."

I said,

"But Miss Everett's question is important as well."

The chalk tapped the board.

"Who tied people to the tracks."

Click.

"Who made it so the cart cannot stop."

Click.

"Who put the switch in my hand and said there is no choice but this."

The air in the classroom changed.

Karen looked at me.

I turned my gaze to her.

"Miss Astra."

"Yes."

"Your answer was not wrong."

Karen's expression did not move.

"But it is not enough."

Her pupils wavered.

I spoke slowly.

"You can kill one to save five. In certain situations that judgment may be necessary."

The students' breathing quieted.

"But in that moment, there is something you are most likely to lose first."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"What is it?"

"Anger."

Karen blinked.

Not a word she had expected.

I said,

"You may pull the switch. But you must be angry at the situation that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠handed you that choice in the first place."

I tapped the board.

"Why are five people and one person on the tracks."

Click.

"Why must someone die."

Click.

"Why was this choice dumped into one person's hands."

I looked at Karen.

"If you lose that anger, you grow used to pulling the switch."

Karen's lips parted, just slightly.

"Used to it……"

"Yes."

I nodded.

"At first you kill one to save five."

I wrote numbers with the chalk.

"Next you sacrifice ten for a hundred."

"After that you abandon a village for the nation."

"At last you take one person's freedom for the world."

I wrote the final line slowly.

Karen's eyes fixed on it.

The entire classroom stared at that sentence.

"When it comes to that, you are no longer a hero who killed a monster."

I said,

"You become a monster named peace."

No one spoke.

Karen Astra did not smile.

I let out a very slow breath inside.

It had landed.

Perhaps too deeply.

But Karen needed it.

One day she will save the world. And to protect that world she will try to manage human beings.

The words that will come out of her mouth then will probably be these:

I had no choice. It was for the greater number. It was necessary for world peace.

That sentence had to be broken now.

I wrote a new line on the board.

The tip of the chalk snapped a little.

Snap.

A small sound rang out.

"The dead cannot call their own deaths a necessary sacrifice."

My voice settled low.

"The one who attaches that phrase is always someone who survived."

Serena clenched both hands tight.

Elise lowered her eyes.

Leonora stopped drumming her fingers on the desk.

Rina swallowed her breath.

Karen asked quietly,

"Then are we not allowed to use the words necessary sacrifice?"

"You may use them."

I answered.

"But you must be careful."

"How?"

I wrote three sentences on the board.

Students began to copy them down.

I said,

"First."

I pointed to the first line with the chalk.

"Did you search to the very end for another path?"

I looked at Karen.

"Before you pull the switch you must ask whether there is any way to stop the cart. Whether there is any way to break the tracks. Whether there is any way to free the people who are bound."

Karen's gaze wavered.

"But what if there is no time?"

"There may not be."

I granted it.

"Even then you must ask. Was there truly none? Or did I decide there was none because I wanted a quick correct answer?"

Silence.

"Second."

I pointed to the next line.

"Do you know that person's name?"

Karen looked at me.

"Does the name matter?"

"It does."

I spoke firmly.

"Numbers hide people. Names bring them back into view."

I wrote the number 1 on the board.

"One person."

Beside it I wrote a name.

"Mila."

Students drew in their breath.

"She might have a daughter. She might have been dragged here while baking bread that morning. She might have been about to confess to someone tomorrow. She might be so frightened she is crying."

I pointed again at the number 1.

"Erase all of that and the choice becomes easy."

Then I pointed at the name.

"See all of that and the choice becomes hard."

Karen said,

"If the choice becomes hard, more people might die."

An ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠exact rebuttal.

I nodded.

"Correct."

The students looked at me.

"So courage is not the ability to become cruel."

I said,

"It is the ability to see the hard thing as hard, and still not run."

Karen's pupils trembled.

I pointed to the third line.

"Third."

"If you pulled the switch, that choice is yours."

Karen was silent.

"Five people lived, so I am clean."

I shook my head.

"No."

"I had no choice, so I have no sin."

I shook my head again.

"No."

"It was an order, so I have no responsibility."

The chalk tip touched the board.

"No."

The classroom froze.

I said,

"Even a choice you could not help carries responsibility."

Karen's expression wavered.

"Then how am I supposed to live?"

Her voice shook for the first time, just a little.

"If I don't kill one, five die."

Karen looked straight at me.

"If I kill one, I become a sinner."

There was no anger in the words. No protest either.

She was simply asking in earnest.

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

The entire classroom looked at me.

Ah.

Good.

No. I must not call it good.

It was a truly fine question, and at the same time a truly painful one.

Karen was searching for an answer. She was not yet the hero who wants to control the world. She was still a student afraid that her hands might be stained with blood.

I had to hold onto that fear while it still remained.

I opened my mouth slowly.

"If you only search for a path that keeps you from becoming a sinner, you will one day manufacture sins for others."

Karen stopped.

"Pardon?"

"A person obsessed with remaining clean hands the filthy work to someone else."

I said,

"And then says, I never touched it."

Serena's face hardened. The Holy Department students fell silent as well.

"Conversely, a person who does not fear becoming dirty falls into another danger."

I looked at Karen.

"They grow used to dirty hands."

Karen said nothing.

"So what is needed is neither of those alone."

I wrote a new sentence in the center of the board.

Chalk dust fell.

"A moment may come when you have no choice but to kill one."

I spoke slowly.

"To say such a moment will never come would be a lie."

The students' faces grew heavy.

"But after making that choice, do not call it a good deed."

Karen's eyes widened.

"Even if you saved five."

I said,

"You killed one."

Silence.

"Do not erase that fact."

Karen seemed to hold her breath.

"Then must I carry guilt for the rest of my life?"

"Perhaps."

For the first time a dark emotion crossed Karen's face.

I continued carefully.

"But guilt is not always a bad thing."

The classroom went quiet.

"That guilt remains can mean you are still judging your own choice."

Karen's hands slowly curled on the desk.

"What makes a monster frightening is not that they feel nothing."

I said,

"It is that they no longer call what they have done wrong."

Karen could not answer.

I looked straight at her.

"Miss Astra."

"……Yes."

"If one day you truly stand before such a choice."

I spoke slowly.

"Search to the end for another path."

One.

"Do not erase the name of the person who dies."

Two.

"And if you choose, do not pass the weight of it onto someone else."

Three.

"That is the answer I can give you now."

Karen bowed her head.

There was no sound in the classroom.

The silence stretched long.

Then Leonora spoke in a low voice.

"Then what is a hero supposed to be?"

I looked at her.

The red-haired princess was staring at the board.

"If you can save many people and still never become clean."

She gave a short, sharp laugh.

"Is a hero just the prettiest packaging for a sinner?"

A few students drew in their breath.

I thought for a moment.

A good question. A truly good question.

Today was a bumper crop of questions.

If I'd had even one classroom like this in my previous life, I might not have gone under so fast.

No.

Philosophy still wouldn't have paid the bills.

I answered.

"A hero is not a person without sin."

Karen lifted her head.

I wrote briefly on the board.

"Then what is it?"

Serena asked softly.

I said,

"A person who does not hide behind the people they saved."

The classroom went still.

"I saved so many, so let's pretend the ones I hurt don't count."

I shook my head.

"A person who does not say that."

"I had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a good purpose, so my methods are good as well."

I shook my head again.

"A person who does not believe that."

I looked at Karen.

"A hero is someone who, even after saving people, looks back at what they stepped on."

Karen's eyes wavered.

"Then isn't that too painful?"

she asked.

"If you keep looking back…… isn't it always painful?"

"Yes."

I answered.

"A hero's place is a painful one."

A few students looked startled.

In this world the word hero is probably brighter and more glorious than that.

Someone who takes up a sword, cuts down evil, saves people, and receives applause.

But I know.

Karen Astra will become a hero one day. And in the middle of the applause she will become a monster.

So I have to say it now.

"A hero who feels no pain is dangerous."

I said low.

"If someone dies because of your choice and you feel no pain, there is a high chance that person has already grown used to seeing people as numbers."

Karen closed her mouth.

I took my eyes from her and looked at the whole class.

"Today's conclusion."

I wrote large at the bottom of the board.

The chalk trembled as if it might break.

"That does not make the choice easy."

I said,

"It makes it harder."

I drew a breath.

"But it must be hard."

The students said nothing.

"A judgment that handles human lives must be hard."

Then—

Karen raised her hand.

"Professor."

"Go ahead."

She looked at me.

"What would you have done, Professor?"

Here it came.

I had expected it. But expecting it did not make the question easy.

If it were me in that situation. Five and one. The switch. The cart. The choice.

In my previous life I had been a philosopher. I had handled situations like that a thousand times in words.

But if the switch were actually in my hand?

I was silent for a moment.

I had to be honest.

I must not say something impressive here. These children are far too easily wounded by impressive words.

I answered.

"I don't know."

The classroom stirred.

Someone drew a small breath.

Karen's eyes widened.

"You don't know?"

"Yes."

I nodded.

"What the me of that moment would choose—the me of this moment cannot be certain."

Karen looked thrown.

She had probably thought a professor would give the correct answer.

I said,

"I would probably search like a madman for another way."

I looked at the tracks on the board.

"I would try to stop the cart, try to cut the ropes, shout at the people around me, look for any method that means I do not have to pull the switch."

A moment later.

"And if even then there is none."

The entire classroom watched me.

"I might pull the switch."

Karen's face stiffened.

"But afterward I would not say only that I saved five people."

I spoke slowly.

"I would say that I killed one."

Silence.

"I would try to remember that name."

Deeper silence.

"And I would fight so that I never again hold that kind of switch alone."

Rina lifted her head.

I looked at her and added,

"The people who made the options."

I looked at Elise.

"The people who tied others down."

I looked at Leonora.

"The people who forced the choice with power."

I looked at Serena.

"The people who wrapped sacrifice in beauty."

I looked at Karen.

"The people who dumped the sin onto one hero."

I tapped the board lightly.

"I would question them, stop them, and try to change them."

Karen said nothing for a long while.

Then she asked, very quietly,

"Alone?"

The question was strangely still.

Hard to believe it came from the Hero candidate who always smiled so brightly.

I looked at her.

And answered.

"No."

Karen's pupils trembled.

"The moment you carry it alone, you fall into the delusion that you are carrying the world."

I said,

"And a person who believes they carry the world eventually wants to set the world down however they please."

Karen's breath seemed to stop.

I had struck exactly.

Too exactly.

I had named a future illness she herself did not yet know she would have.

I lowered my voice.

"So do not carry it alone."

Karen looked at me.

"Do not be deceived by the name of Hero."

The classroom froze.

It was not something one should say to a Hero candidate. Dangerous even for an academy professor. If the Administration Bureau heard it, the report would grow by three pages at least.

But I did not stop.

"A hero is not a person who saves the world alone."

I said,

"The moment you believe you can save it alone, you become the most dangerous person of all."

The last trace of a smile left Karen's face.

For the first time she truly looked like a student.

Strong. Bright. Gifted. Dangerous.

But still a child who was alone.

I said to her,

"If you ever truly stand before a choice that requires you to sacrifice someone."

One beat.

"Before that, shout to the people around you."

Karen blinked.

"Ask for help."

A small ripple ran through the classroom.

"A hero?"

Karen asked.

I nodded.

"Yes."

"Is a hero…… allowed to say help me?"

"Of course."

I spoke firmly.

"A hero who cannot ask for help does not last long."

Serena bowed her head. Rina's pen stopped. Elise watched me in silence. Leonora smiled without a word.

Karen slowly closed her mouth.

And then—

for the first time in a long while, she smiled a very small smile.

But it was not the bright, hollow smile she usually wore.

A little awkward. A little unsteady. A little human smile.

"It's hard."

Karen said.

"Philosophy is hard by nature."

I answered.

"And still we have to listen?"

"Because there are too many people who answer hard things too easily."

Karen looked at me for a moment.

Then she bowed her head.

"I understand."

When those words ended—

the bell rang.

Dong. Dong. Dong.

Class was over.

But the students did not move.

This had been repeating lately.

Class ends and no one stands. I don't know if it's a good sign or a bad one.

Administratively it is probably not good. It delays preparation for the next class.

Martin was already wearing a pained face by the door.

I closed the attendance book.

"Today's assignment."

The students lifted their pens almost in unison.

They no longer flee the moment I assign work. A little frightening.

I wrote on the board.

The students copied it down quietly.

I added,

"If there was none, you may write that there was none."

I paused briefly.

"But think carefully whether there truly was none, and then write."

A few students bowed their heads.

I gathered the papers from the lectern.

"I'll see you next time."

Just as I was about to leave the classroom—

someone in the back clapped softly.

Clap.

I stopped.

Who?

Surely not one of the professors.

But then another student clapped as well.

Clap. Clap.

And other sounds followed.

It was small applause. Not fervent cheering. Cautious, rather.

But unmistakable.

Applause was rising in an Introduction to Philosophy classroom.

I was flustered.

Genuinely flustered.

In my previous life the sound that followed the end of my lectures was usually chairs scraping. Occasionally snoring. Never applause.

I tried to keep my face blank.

But the corners of my mouth wanted to lift.

No.

I must not smile with this face.

Instead of a professor moved by applause, I could look like a demon who had just harvested the students' souls.

I forced my expression down with all my strength.

The result—

was probably an even more suspicious face.

Elise said quietly,

"It would be better if you didn't smile after all."

"……."

A few students laughed softly.

Leonora laughed outright.

Karen smiled a little too. Like a person this time.

I cleared my throat.

"Class dismissed."

With that I left the classroom.

The door closed.

The moment I stepped into the corridor I put a hand against the wall.

Martin asked in alarm,

"Professor, are you all right?"

"Martin."

"Yes."

"Was that just now applause?"

Martin looked at me for a moment.

Then nodded.

"Yes. It was applause."

"In Introduction to Philosophy?"

"Yes."

"In my class?"

"Yes."

I looked at the ceiling for a while.

Another world.

A real other world.

A world where a philosophy class gets applause.

I muttered under my breath,

"What a mad world."

Martin smiled very slightly.

"Professor."

"What is it?"

"Your face was still frightening today."

"I know."

"But the class……"

He chose his words carefully.

"Was fine."

I looked at him.

Martin averted his eyes.

Praise seemed awkward for him.

It was awkward for me too.

So I simply nodded.

"Thank you."

Sunlight came in through the corridor window.

The academy still looked peaceful.

But I knew.

Peace demands choices. And choices always try to erase someone's face.

Karen Astra.

Future hero. Future controller. Future psychopathic savior.

Today she had asked for the first time.

Is a hero allowed to say help me?

That one question was enough.

It was not too late yet.

I brushed the chalk dust from my fingertips.

"Martin."

"Yes."

"We'll need the large classroom for the next lecture as well."

"……Do you think it will grow even more?"

I looked down the length of the corridor.

Beyond the classroom door I could still hear the students' voices. A little excited. Low voices in discussion. Someone was still copying sentences from the board.

I answered.

"It will."

Martin let out a deep sigh.

"The Administration Bureau is going to hate you, Professor."

"That's fine."

I said,

"They never liked me much to begin with."

Martin looked at me for a moment.

Then smiled very slightly.

"That's true enough."

We walked the corridor together.

I thought.

The first crack had formed in Elise. The second in Rina. The third in Serena. And today a very small fracture had appeared even in Karen's smile.

Leonora is still enjoying herself. That is dangerous too, but not bad.

The questions were spreading.

Philosophy is contagious.

It mostly doesn't pay.

But in this world—

perhaps.

I adjusted my glasses.

I had to prepare for the next class.

Because the future calamities had begun, little by little, to ask questions.