Minus One

—

1.0

—

As expected, my name took its rightful place at the top of the list. Yet, it was not the recognition that stirred the most intriguing reaction, but rather the response from a young girl positioned amidst the crowd. Her lips quivered in shock as she read the names written on the board, a palpable shock emanating from her being.

“How?”

Her voice trembled, just managing to escape her throat. It was a question laced with doubt, a plea for understanding amidst the tumult of emotions swirling within her. Her world appeared to spin on its axis in that fleeting moment, and she grappled with the stark reality before her.

Meanwhile, a sense of triumph surged within me as I observed her turmoil. The result of careful preparation and unwavering will had paid off, and the sight of her shattered composure only fueled my satisfaction. She turned to face me with poise and rage, a powerful mixture of resentment and anger burning in her gaze.

I met her gaze with a serene smile, a mask concealing the turbulent currents of triumph coursing through my veins. Our quiet exchange at that instant spoke so much—her disbelief and my unspoken declaration of victory intertwined in a silent symphony of rivalry.

Sure enough, I'd won, exactly like I'd promised. However, beneath the façade of victory hid the indisputable reality—a truth veiled by the shadow of uncertainty and the echoes of an unmet challenge.

—

1.1

—

The voices from the video I watched could be heard from across the room. Usually, I would have my earpiece with me, but I was too lazy to reach for it because it was on my desk. So, I blasted the sound from the speaker on my phone. Fully immersed in the lengthy video essay, I lay on my side with the screen just inches from my face. It was about an awful TV show that had aired at some point last year. Then, unexpectedly, a notification appeared, pausing the video. A familiar rhythm began to play—it was my alarm. The time read 7:30.

This was odd because I usually wake up around this time, but today, I had woken up about an hour earlier. I had already showered and changed into my uniform. I let the alarm play for a little while longer, then switched it off and got out of bed. Stretching, I walked over to the standing mirror and made adjustments, straightening out the wrinkles that had formed in my uniform from lying down too long.

With my uniform properly in place, I proceeded to the small cabinet above the stove and took out a bowl, some milk and a box of cereal. I quickly made breakfast for myself and set the bowl on my desk. Propping my phone up again, I resumed watching the video while eating, quickly making good work of my meal. The crunch of the cereal and the commentary of the video essayist blended into a strangely satisfying morning soundtrack.

After washing the bowl and leaving it out to dry, I glanced around the room to see if there was anything left to do before leaving. Feeling content, I put on my shoes that I had carefully placed by the entrance and slung my bag across my chest. After taking a final glance around, I switched off the lights and closed the door.

As I locked my door, my neighbor's door swung open. He, too, was dressed and ready for the day. Noticing me, he closed his door first before turning to face me.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning, Ozawa,” I replied, maintaining a neutral expression.

“We've still got some time before morning assembly, so can we talk?” he asked.

For a number of reasons, this was unusual, but I understood why he wanted to talk. The events of the last year had been surprising and unpredictable, with me at the centre of it all. I calculated the risks and benefits of this conversation quickly in my mind. I decided it was worth entertaining what he had to say.

“Sure,” I replied calmly

We stepped into the elevator. With a gentle hiss, the doors shut and the familiar hum of the elevator accompanied our descent. The doors opened as soon as we arrived at the ground floor, and we stepped out. As we strolled to the auditorium, I could sense the looks and sideways glances I received.

“So, what exactly is your deal?” Ozawa asked abruptly.

I could simply act naive and ask what he meant, but that would only drag things out. I chose a more direct approach.

“I am just a student who came here like everyone else, hoping to graduate in the top 15,” I offered, though the words rang hollow even to my own ears.

“First of all, you are not a student like everyone else. No student has been admitted into the school after the entrance years except you, and all of a sudden you topped your class,” Ozawa answered sharply and quickly.

“Maybe it was just sheer luck,” I replied in a composed, unfazed tone.

“Luck my ass,” he snapped. His fists clenched and his eyes flashed with wrath. “Just know that you are placing a target on your back, Marcus.”

As he stormed ahead, leaving me trailing in his wake, I couldn't shake the feeling that this conversation was just the beginning of a storm brewing on the horizon.

—

1.2

—

There was excitement and conversation in the air as Hachin Academy's first day of classes began with the bustling energy of students returning from break. With the general assembly being held in the Kurosawa Auditorium and some time on my hands, I decided to stroll slowly there, taking in my surroundings.

As I entered the auditorium, I noted the segmented seating arrangements. With the presence of the middle and high schools, the entire area was packed. I chose a seat at the end of the row, ensuring I wouldn't be sandwiched between people.

The seat beside me remained vacant until the eleventh hour, when a girl sat down—a classmate by the name of Stella, with whom I had not spoken at all. I subtly glanced at her, assessing her demeanour. She seemed to be engrossed in conversation with the person next to her.

Out of the 20 people in my class, I only knew about five or so. I was primarily to blame for this, as I didn't come across as social, which made people just not bother with me. Except for one individual who persisted in extending their friendship—a gesture I still found perplexing and undeserved.

The whole hall fell silent as someone made their way onto the stage. He was a middle-aged man in a fine black suit, holding a small piece of paper—likely containing the contents of the assembly. His presence commanded immediate respect.

“All stand,” he instructed. Everyone stood up and greeted the man, our director, Furuya Itsuki-sensei, in unison. “Begin the anthem.”

An orchestra began playing a tune, and we all started singing the school’s anthem, composed by Hiroyuki Sawano. The anthem was beautifully crafted, each note meticulously placed.

The orchestra played on after we were done singing, and then the performance came to a close with a beautiful violin solo by none other than Diya Avery, the only person I considered a friend in the school. Her form was exquisite and first-class, on par with some of the world's greats. I watched her closely, noting the precision and emotion in her performance.

“All sit,” Furuya-sensei commanded, and we did so, breathing collective relief as we returned to our seats.

“First, I congratulate and extend a warm welcome to every one of you as we embark upon a new year and semester.” He spoke in a firm voice that echoed across the auditorium.

My mind began to wander as he launched into the customary welcome-back speech, reminiscing about setbacks and successes. The monotony of his words, however, lulled me into a state of trance as he spoke, and I found my attention and thoughts straying to faraway worlds.

“As we are all aware, at this school, we pride ourselves on our academic brilliance and excellence in superior skills and talents in various fields.”

I noted the shift in his tone as he moved to the crux of his speech.

“We have had strict rules and protocols that we abide by since the inception of this school, but last year one of these rules was apparently broken when we admitted a student into the 11th grade.” Many eyes turned to me after I said this; even Stella, who was sitting beside me, gave me a quick glance before looking away. This type of attention was uncalled for but anticipated.

“This change is the first of many that the school will make this year to make things more competitive than they already were.”

I watched as others around me reacted, with students shifting in their chairs and murmurs resonating across the auditorium.

“To start things off, I would like to announce that we will be launching software in a few months that determines a student's overall rating, which in turn determines their ranking.”

The idea of this new approach caused curiosity in all of the assembled students, including me.

“I must emphasise this: Your rating and ranking will have a significant impact on you and your class when this is fully implemented,” he warned us.

“More details will be revealed soon,” he continued. After this, he delved into recounting the events of last year, a section I deemed less critical. He concluded after roughly twenty minutes.

“Thank you all for your time, and now some words from your student council president, Haku Hotaka,” the director said, leaving the stage. In his place stood Haku Hotaka, the embodiment of confidence and authority, his light brown hair catching the light as he took centre stage. He easily held the attention of the assembled students with his quiet power of demeanour.

“Good morning, everyone. I am going to make this quick,” he said, standing with his arms behind his back. “My tenure is close to its end, and that means a new president will take up the mantle, so I officially declare this election season.”

“Class 11, the ball is now in your court.” Haku-senpai declared, his eyes sweeping across the room, lingering for a moment on me—or so it seemed. Was it mere coincidence, or did his gaze hold a deeper significance? That thought hovered there, a faint murmur of doubt, in the recesses of my consciousness.

“I will wait to see who rises above you all to claim this spot,” Haku-senpai said with a sense of challenge and possibility in his voice, concluding his statement. He thanked everyone one more time and made his way off stage to a round of applause.

A teacher from one of the final years came on and dismissed everyone. I waited behind as everyone left in droves, not wanting to push through the crowd.

Some minutes passed, and the hall was practically empty except for a few who stayed back, probably having the same idea as I did. I then stood up, preparing to leave for my class.

“Marcus,” a familiar voice called my name. I turned around to see Hazel Terrell sitting a few rows behind me. Had she been there the entire time?

“I was hoping to see you in class,” I said, trying to lighten the mood with a joke. Yet, her response was anything but expected.

“You got lucky,” she said quickly, her eyes locked on mine.

“Oh, really? Then you're saying you can beat me during the next assessment.”

“I know I can,” she said, standing up and walking away. She paused, turning back to face me.

“I am declaring war on you, Marcus; be prepared,” she said, then left.

Someone accustomed to occupying the pinnacle of success often grows complacent, lulled into a false sense of security by the familiarity of their lofty perch. For years, she had reigned supreme, her position at the pinnacle of academic achievement seemingly unassailable.

This caused her to forget that victory was not guaranteed, nor was her position immune to challenge. Complacency was the enemy, a seductive siren's call tempting one to rest on their laurels and bask in the glow of past achievements.

In the blink of an eye, the balance of power had shifted, the mantle of superiority passing from her to me with startling swiftness. My triumph in the previous semester's exams had not only toppled her from her pedestal but had also thrust me into the unforgiving glare of the spotlight.

Hazel's declaration of war was a challenge I could not ignore, a call to arms that I accepted with unwavering resolve. The battlefield of academia awaited, its terrain fraught with pitfalls and obstacles, but I was undeterred.

—

1.3

—

I settled into my usual spot by the window, just one row from the back of the classroom. My lonesome self fiddled with my phone while the rest of the class went about their business. I had both my ears blocked by my earpiece, but I could still hear the chatter since I decided not to turn up the volume. The class buzzed with the typical hum of conversations, laughter, and the occasional debate.

As the noise gradually subsided, my attention was drawn to the front of the room, where our lecturer, Nomura Naomi-sensei, had just entered. She moved with a fluid grace, her presence commanding attention without uttering a word. This prompted me to put away my device and prepare for the class. She stood behind a podium that was placed in front of the class, placing her materials on top of it with practiced ease.

“Good morning, everyone,” she said, her voice clear and warm.

“Good morning, Nomura-sensei,” most of us answered in unison, our voices echoing slightly in the room.

“It is nice seeing you all again. This semester will be busier than most for you all, as you can see you already have the student council election upon you,” she started, looking around the room and making quick but meaningful eye contact with several students.

A student in the front row raised his hand, seeking clarification amidst the sea of information. “Sensei, a question?” he asked, drawing Nomura-sensei's attention.

“Go on, Ritter,” Nomura-sensei nodded, acknowledging him.

“I am wondering what the exact impact all of this could have on our studies,” he asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

“Don't worry,” she reassured. “The school is well aware and always reduces the number of classes offered around this time of the year. Your subjects for this semester will be registered at the end of the day. Sorry about the delay.”

Every student had a profile that included all of our personal details as well as the courses we studied. A timetable was derived from this, but it seemed they had experienced some form of delay at this stage, probably due to the new system that the director mentioned was being implemented.

“With that being said, today will be a free day for you all,” Nomura-sensei announced and there was a round of clapping and shouts. Cheers erupted around the room, a chorus of relief and joy. I would be lying if I said I wasn't pleased as well.

“Before that, let's discuss the upcoming student council elections.” The board behind her flickered to life, displaying detailed information divided into two parts: in-class voting and the main event.

“The election has two main parts,” Nomura-sensei continued, her tone now more formal. “The first is the in-class voting, and next is the debate and election event. Each of the three classes of this year is expected to have one candidate that will run for the role of student council president.”

I leaned forward slightly, intrigued by the competitive aspect of this process. Direct competition between our classes was a thrilling prospect.

“To pick the class nominee, in-class voting is used. In this class, many people can volunteer to be the representatives for the class. You will then campaign and convince your classmates to nominate you,” Nomura-sensei explained.

A hand rose above the class and Nomura-sensei acknowledged him with a nod, inviting his question with an encouraging smile.

“Yes, Aryan?” she prompted.

“Sensei, are we also doing the same for the other positions on the student council?” With evident curiosity, Aryan asked.

Whatever doubt remained was dispelled when Nomura-sensei shook her head.

“No,” Nomura-sensei replied. “When the nominee for a class is chosen, he or she can then pick those that they want to fill those positions. But don't worry about that for now.” Her explanation was concise, leaving no room for confusion.

“Thank you,” Aryan said, nodding in understanding.

“If you're interested in running for the position, feel free to meet me in the afternoon at my office,” Nomura-sensei said in an open and supportive tone. “The deadline for registering is tomorrow, so I encourage you to act quickly.”

She paused, giving us a moment to digest the information. When no further questions arose, she concluded, “That would be all. Enjoy your day.” With that, she gathered her materials, her movements efficient and purposeful, and left the class.

As the chatter of my classmates grew louder, signalling the onset of their excitement for the free day ahead, I found myself increasingly restless. Feeling the need for some alone time in the hallways of Hachin Academy, I sighed and pushed back my chair as I left the classroom.

I strolled down the hallway, the polished tiles reflecting the bright fluorescent lights overhead. The corridor was relatively empty, the occasional echo of distant footsteps breaking the silence. As I walked, I passed by the sign for Class 2. From inside, the lively chatter of students spilled out into the hall, indicating they were likely done with their briefing from their sensei.

I was not interested and began walking away, even ignoring the unmistakable sound of the door opening behind me.

“Is that you, Marcus?” I was startled out of my trance by a voice.

I turned around and saw an average-height female staring back at me with a lean figure. However, her toned, lengthy legs drew my attention, serving as a silent testament to her commitment to tracking activities.

“Can I help you?”

“It's nothing really; I just wanted to get a good look at you,” she said as her eyes darted over me, surprising me with her boldness. “So, I'm assuming you're running in the elections?”

“I haven't made up my mind yet,” I admitted, unsure of my own intentions.

“Well, I want you to run so that I can face you,” she said with confidence oozing from her being.

“Face me? Why would you want to do that?” Not that I had any issue with that.

“You seem interesting and might be a fine challenge for me,” she stated, her eyes glimmering with excitement. She took a step closer, her presence almost magnetic.

“I see, but is that also dependent on whether we both win the in-class voting?” To put it mildly, the idea of getting votes from classmates I barely knew was going to be a challenge.

She waved off my concerns with a dismissive flick of her hand.

“Don't worry about me; I have the in-class voting covered for my class, and there's no way I'm going to lose. Just focus on getting nominated, alright?” Her confidence was really palpable.

Agreeing with her challenge, I was about to say goodbye to her when I felt her hand slide into mine. I was startled and confused by her unexpected touch as I turned to face her.

“You didn’t even ask for my name; that is so rude,” she said, pouting in a seemingly playful manner.

“Sorry about that.” I simply apologised. She giggled, her laughter resonating like a light-hearted tune in the hallway.

“It's cool; getting things jumbled up is normal. But you should not forget the name of your challenger, Hashimoto Natsumi from Year 11 Class 2. I look forward to a glorious battle,” she exclaimed, her smile turning into a cheeky smirk.

As she sauntered away, leaving me to ponder our peculiar encounter, I couldn't shake the feeling that Hashimoto Natsumi was unlike anyone I had ever met. I was fascinated by the mysterious girl who had come my way because of her fearless and self-assured demeanour.

Shaking my head in confusion, I carried on with my journey, resolved to forget about Hashimoto and her challenge for the time being. As I walked away from Class 2, a creeping unease enveloped me, coupled with the distinct sensation of being observed. Nonetheless, I chose to disregard the feeling.

—

1.4

—

The sounds of discussion, clinking cutlery, and sporadic giggles filled the cafeteria like normal. After finishing my chicken stew and mashed potatoes, I looked at my phone and saw that it was getting close to midday. I figured Nomura-sensei was at her office now.

As I mulled over the idea of running for student council president, the voices of my classmates echoed in the back of my mind. Hashimoto's challenge was looming huge, and I strongly felt she would be a very tough opponent. But did I really possess the zeal and motivation to start this kind of campaign? The thought lingered as I made my way back to class to gather my belongings.

Pushing open the door, I found only a handful of classmates lingering inside. Funai, Kimi, Jaden, Aryan, and Kaiya sat in a tight circle, engrossed in conversation that did not concern me.

“So she is really doing it, is she?” Funai's voice floated across the room.

“Of course she is,” Kimi said in a tone that hinted at admiration.

Their conversation had now drawn my attention and piqued my interest. I listened intently, silently weighing their words.

“What about the other classes? Do you think she stands a chance against whoever represents them?” Aryan's voice broke through the chatter, prompting a thoughtful pause.

Kimi's brow was furrowed in thought.

“Well, if I am to guess, Class 2 would most likely have Yuka or Tristin,” she said, her eyes darting around as she considered the possible candidates. “Then Class 3 would most likely be Andre.”

A brief pause occurred, which was interrupted by Jaden's dubious inquiry.

“But isn’t Andre bad at public speaking?” There was a tangible sense of unease, as Funai acknowledged.

“Is he? I never knew that,” she said, seeming surprised.

I saw that Hashimoto's name was left out of their discussions. Could it be that she was merely bluffing about her candidature? I pondered this as I gathered my belongings and prepared to leave. But I felt a sudden urge to stop at the door and turn back to the group.

“Hey guys,” I called out to them to get their attention.

“What’s up, Marcus?” The room rang with Kaiya's passionate response; her energy was infectious.

“I was thinking of running for student council president; what do you think?” I ventured, bracing myself for their reactions.

With a mixture of surprise and uncertainty flashing across their features, the group quickly exchanged glances. The first person to reply was Aryan, who was sitting next to Kaiya.

“I don’t think you should, considering you only just came into the school recently,” he said in a cautious but realistic tone.

His remarks struck a chord with me, reminding me of the inherent challenges of my relatively short tenure at the school. Nevertheless, the notion was too irresistible to resist; the thought of participating in the campaign process excited me.

“I get what you are saying,” I said, admitting that he had a point. “But it seems like it would be fun, even though I don’t make it through in-class voting.”

Kaiya's eyes gleamed with approval.

“That’s exactly what I told them! It's not like I want to be student council president or anything,” she said, erupting with excitement. “I just think it would be fun to think of speeches and how to convince people to vote for you, plus it could raise my social standing.”

Funai sighed as a disapproving murmur echoed through the group.

“Goddamn it, why are you like this?” She mumbled, clearly mocking Kaiya with contempt, who laughed unfazedly at Funai's response.

“You don’t just understand, Takara,” Kaiya retorted playfully, her laughter echoing through the room.

“Thanks for the advice, Kaiya,” I interjected, offering her a grateful smile.

“I'm happy to assist,” she replied with a grin, her playful demeanour contrasting with Funai's disapproval. “If you need anything, don't ask these downers because I'm here. Ouch!” She winced as Funai playfully nudged her foot.

With that, I bid the group farewell, their voices fading into the background as I exited the classroom. I strode with intent towards Nomura-sensei's office.

I'd have to admit that I had made up my mind to run in this election. A multitude of variables influenced my decision, all of which reinforced my resolve. The thrill of competition beckoned, promising an electrifying challenge. The prospect of facing off against Hashimoto added an extra layer of intrigue. Moreover, a lingering intuition whispered that another formidable opponent loomed on the horizon.

My prediction was swiftly validated as I pushed open the door to see a familiar figure hunched over a desk, diligently filling out a piece of paper. Nomura-sensei looked up as I entered, offering a welcoming smile before I closed the door behind me. As Hazel finished her paperwork, she turned her attention to me.

“Don't tell me you are also running for the position?” Her tone was slightly tinged with incredulity as she asked.

“I am,” I said, looking her in the eye. “Are you scared or something?”

Her response almost seemed indignant at first, but she steadied herself and took a big breath before answering.

“Have people told you that you are annoying?”

“Nope, not once. Just think of it as a challenge.” I casually shrugged.

Stepping forward, I approached Nomura-sensei, ready to officially declare my candidature.

“So, Marcus, you want to run as well?” Pulling a slip of paper out from behind her desk, she asked.

“I do,” I confirmed, accepting the paper and scanning the details I needed to fill out: my name, age, and class. With a few quick strokes of the pen, I completed the form and handed it back to her.

“Thank you; the in-class voting takes place on the 21st of this month,” Nomura-sensei informed me, her gaze lingering expectantly as I turned to leave.

“So, guess we are facing each other yet again.” An unmistakable air of challenge surrounds her presence.

“Marcus Luna, let's see who is the better person here. An official challenge from me to you,” she proclaimed, her words resonating deeply.

I took up her challenge with a fire burning inside of me and determination coursing through me. This would be more than just an election; it would be a test of resolve, fortitude, and willpower. As Hazel had said, let the showdown begin.