Old Memories, and the Scars That Cover Me

I took my seat, pulled out my writing tools, and got ready for class. I opened my notebook and textbook and checked the day's lesson in advance.

Having joined a full month late, I was behind the other students in the curriculum.

My sister had homeschooled me, but the rhythm of it didn't match the school's system at all.

If I wanted to catch up on everything I'd missed, reviewing on my own was non-negotiable.

Besides, if I wanted to become an ordinary human being, I needed more than knowledge — I needed emotional exchange with others.

How was I supposed to reclaim my emotions?

While I was lost in that thought, the first class began.

The lesson content turned out to be surprisingly simple. The classroom wasn't just a tedious place where you read books and took notes.

Using holograms and virtual reality to let students experience things firsthand, the teaching ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠style maximized their interest and immersion to the fullest.

The classroom was always charged with excitement. But for someone like me, who was used to studying from books, all this dazzling spectacle felt foreign.

While everyone else cheered and moved about inside the virtual reality, I quietly turned to the next page, feeling the cold texture of the paper textbooks spread across my desk.

That was the only way I knew how to participate in this class.

To summarize the lesson briefly: the dominant races of this world numbered eight in total, with two more classified as exceptions.

I found myself growing curious about these exceptional races. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠That blank space — no name, no defined classification.

Perhaps they would suit me well, drifting aimlessly through existence without belonging anywhere, just like this hollow version of me.

That was when it happened.

My eyes met those of the student sitting next to me, who had been checking their notes. The student flinched, shoulders twitching, then pointed hesitantly at my notebook and asked carefully,

"You're… Shiota, right?"

"Yeah, that's me."

The moment my answer ended, the student's face drained of color. Why were they so flustered?

"C-could I ask… what your relationship is with our homeroom teacher…?"

It wasn't something that needed hiding, so I answered matter-of-factly.

"We're family. We share the same surname to begin with."

In that instant, the noise in the classroom stopped as if a lie had been called out. A vacuum-sealed silence.

Wondering if I'd said something wrong, I looked around.

The classroom looked peaceful enough, but in truth it was stretched taut with an invisible hierarchy.

The Celestial children, one of the higher races, had claimed the seats by the window, and below them the Elves and Beastkin were seated in their own strata.

Seat number five, where I sat, belonged to none of those territories. It was a 'neutral zone.'

The moment my connection to the homeroom teacher — my 'sister' — came to light, that neutral zone had become the most attention-grabbing 'area of interest' in the entire school.

"No way, THE Shiota!?"

"Then the homeroom teacher is his sister!? Or is he a direct descendant of the Family Head!?"

These were the same students who had backed away from my hollow, void-filled eyes not a moment ago.

Yet once my connection to the teacher was revealed, the fear in their eyes vanished, replaced by nothing but blatant curiosity.

Even as they gawked at my answer, they seemed, in some part of themselves, to be envying the 'privilege' of sitting beside me.

What they wanted wasn't me as a person, was it — but access to the power of the 'Shiota family' or the 'homeroom teacher'? The cold thought crept into my head before I could stop it.

Shiota.

The surname of the parents who adopted me. Before I received that name, I hadn't had the capacity to think deeply about anything — not as the price of my 'loss.'

But to understand the weight this name carried, I had to drag up the memories of my past that I'd buried and forgotten.

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And so, I closed my eyes.

Back then, it was when feelings I couldn't name — 'curiosity' and 'possessiveness' — were first beginning to sprout inside me.

The boy must have found my reactions entertaining, because he kept poking at me. He provoked me so relentlessly that when the Director finally stepped in to say something—

"That's enough. You're making him hate you."

A young girl's voice rang out.

"Sorry… I didn't even realize…"

The boy who'd been tormenting me had genuinely just wanted to play.

"Are you okay? You're not hurt, are you?"

The girl asked me worriedly, but back then I couldn't understand what those gentle words meant.

Still, something strange resonated deep in my chest.

What I learned much later was that this resonance was the very first moment I, as a being, had ever made my heart echo with another person's warmth.

And then—

"I'm… fine……"

For the first time, I spoke.

The Director shed tears of joy at seeing me talk. And she taught speech to me, the boy who could barely manage words.

The boy's name was 'Hinata.' The girl's name was 'Mizuki.' Back then, like me, they had no surnames — only given names.

Hinata and Mizuki learned language alongside me. Both of them could already speak fluently, but I think their desire to teach me was the stronger pull.

And with the storybook I received as a birthday present, my curiosity was sparked by the expressions on the humans' faces.

"This… per… son… why does he… make… this… face……?"

When I, just barely learning to speak, said this—

"That's the face you can make when you're 'happy.'"

the Director told me.

"I see…"

Hinata nodded, as if something had clicked.

"When we grow up… I'll make Otonashi happy…"

Mizuki said.

Looking back now, there was probably more to "making happy" than just that.

I didn't understand what her words meant at the time, but the other kids seemed to.

"Whoa! He got confessed to!!!"

"So are you two dating now?"

"You're way too young for that!!"

"I liked him first, though!!"

"Mizuki!!! Can't you pick anyone but that guy?!"

…You might think I'm twisting the story, but I'm only stating facts.

What on earth did these kids see growing up, that kindergarteners could spout lines like that? Even the present me finds it absurd.

Thanks to the commotion over Mizuki's confession(?), the other children at the orphanage grew closer and closer to us.

The three of us — me, Hinata, and Mizuki — played together, but a few of the other kids started giving us pointed looks, apparently wanting to join in.

Hinata, quick to read the room, promptly rounded up a few of them and introduced us.

"You've gotta introduce yourselves first if you're gonna be friends, right? I'll go first — I'm Hinata! Let's get along from now on!"

"I'm Mizuki. And you?"

"I'm… Shinichi…"

Shyer than the others, the boy introduced himself as 'Shinichi.'

"I'm Soma… just call me Soma."

The boy who introduced himself as 'Soma' — even more outgoing than Hinata.

"I'm… Shiro…"

The girl who asked to be called 'Shiro.' Like Mizuki, her features were strikingly defined, which made her easy to remember.

"I'm Otonashi. Nice to meet you all."

And just like that, we went from three to six.

The orphanage wasn't big — a small place with only about ten children — so I imagine the atmosphere was similar to the school I attend now.

In fact, it really did resemble our current classroom.

The Orphanage's Social Hierarchy — Top Ranks

First: Hinata. Naturally sociable, the kind of kid who'd be called an 'insider' these days.

Quick to read the room, quick to grant the other kids' wishes — a genuinely good kid.

Second: Mizuki. Widely considered the prettiest girl in the orphanage.

Of course, I had no idea what 'pretty' even meant back then, but compared to the other children her features were sharper and more distinct.

With her gentle nature, she was probably very popular.

Third: Shiro. Beautiful like Mizuki, but with an entirely different air about her, and so shy around strangers that playing with the other kids didn't come naturally.

Which is why she gave off the exact opposite vibe of Mizuki.

Shinichi and Soma were mid-tier, and I was dead last. My expression was probably the problem.

Though I still don't know whether being pretty automatically guarantees a high rank among children.

We learned our letters in a small classroom the Director had built by converting an abandoned storage shed.

It got poor sunlight and smelled faintly of musty mold, but to us, that place was the whole world.

The Director gave us books, and through those books we began to dream of the future.

Talking about what we wanted to be when we grew up — looking back on it now, even that counts as a 'memory' worth keeping.

"What do you think we'll all be doing when we're grown up?"

At Hinata's innocent question, we all fell to thinking.

"I wanna be a knight! It'd be so cool, saving people and all!"

"If Soma's gonna be a knight, then I wanna be an agent. Agents are like spies — that's awesome!"

"Shinichi as an agent… Soma as a knight… then I'll be a king! Because a king stands above everyone! Our women will…?"

"Hinata… you're putting me on the spot… Mizuki… you should answer first……"

"I'm… no, I am……"

Mizuki couldn't finish the sentence. Her face went red, she dropped her gaze, then stole a glance at me. Even Mizuki had been embarrassed, then.

Every gaze in the room turned to me. Apparently, it was my turn.

Mizuki and Shiro both seemed oddly self-conscious under my eyes. My eyes must have frightened them.

Back then, we believed it would last forever. Now I don't even know where any of them are.

Then I heard a voice calling me.

Otonashi.

At the sound of my name, I opened my eyes. The classroom swam back into view.

"Shiota Otonashi?"

Pristine white wings and a halo… a Celestial student.

"Can I help you?"

"The next class is practical training, so… we have to head out to the Outdoor Training Grounds."

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"I see. Thank you."

"Um… I cleared away the students who'd gathered around you."

"Ah… thanks… sorry, what was your name again…?"

"It's Lucia."

"Sorry. I haven't memorized everyone's names yet…"

"That's alright, you just transferred in today. Just change into your gym clothes and head to the Outdoor Training Grounds~"

And so the Celestial student called Lucia told me where the next class would be held.

"Oh dear! What was I thinking? You transferred in today, and I never even told you where the Outdoor Training Grounds are!"

Lucia had come back to find me again. But the moment she saw me changing into my gym clothes, she looked stricken. Why?

"S-Shiota… your body…!"

"…? What about my body? Did I get something on it?"

The instant I pulled off my uniform shirt and bared my torso, Lucia sucked in a sharp breath.

Her gaze was locked on the scar slashing across my chest.

It was no ordinary wound. The flesh had been forced apart along the grain of the skin, and around it — it wasn't a scar that had been stitched shut with needle and thread, but one where the skin had been pressed back together by sheer force.

"No, not that one — all those scars!"

And when she saw my abdomen, Lucia's face went chalk-white. The warmth with which she'd looked after me moments ago was nowhere to be found.

"Oh… these? They're nothing. Same scars anyone gets.

People pick up plenty of injuries living their lives, don't they? Anyway, that's all it is."

Reeling backward in fear, she still stared at my scars with eyes tangled up in something — pity, maybe, or awe — impossible to say which.

"…Those aren't like anything anyone else has. Shiota… what kind of life have you been living…?"

Lucia looked at me with an expression of genuine concern. Did people normally not carry this many scars?

Or was it just that Celestials were so kind-hearted by nature? Unfortunately, I had no way of knowing.