Eternal Beauty | Chapter 10

“What is it in ourselves that whispers, ‘It is no longer you’?”

—C.S. Lewis

The air in the classroom felt heavier today, as though the weight of the unspoken clung to the corners unmoving. Ms. Hawkthorne’s voice cut crisply through the stillness, her every syllable deliberate and measured, as if she were carving her words into stone.

“The importance of preparation cannot be overstated,” she said, pacing slowly between the rows of desks. Her black heels clicked softly against the wooden floor, the sound echoing faintly. “History favors those who are ready to meet it.”

Kei shifted in his seat, his pen tapping absently against the edge of his notebook. The large windows behind Ms. Hawkthorne let in pale, filtered light that softened the edges of her figure. Her white hair shimmered faintly in the glow, tied back in a severe bun that emphasized the angular lines of her face. She wore a sleek black blazer over a crisp white blouse, and her round glasses caught the light every time she turned her head.

She stopped at the front of the class, raising a single paper in her hand. “Some of you have taken this lesson to heart.”

The faint shuffle of restless movements rippled through the room, but no one dared speak. The students exchanged nervous glances, a few sitting up straighter in their seats.

Kei glanced at the empty chair beside him, where Kukui usually sat, and his chest tightened. Without her there to break the monotony with her whispered commentary and sly grins, the room felt lifeless. He sighed softly, slouching slightly in his chair.

When Ms. Hawkthorne approached his desk, she stopped and held his paper aloft for the class to see. Her sharp, blue-gray eyes met his through her glasses, and her lips curved into a small, approving smile.

“Kei Yukimura,” she announced, her voice carrying a rare warmth, “once again demonstrating the value of diligence. An A.”

The word hung in the air, drawing murmurs and glances from his classmates. Kei felt his cheeks grow warm under their gaze, and he ducked his head slightly, offering Ms. Hawkthorne a quiet “Thank you” as she placed the paper on his desk.

Around him, the room erupted in hushed groans and sighs of frustration as students examined their own grades—scattered B’s and C’s, red-ink corrections scribbled across their answers.

“Some of you,” Ms. Hawkthorne continued, her tone sharp now, “would do well to learn from him.”

Kei focused on the paper in front of him, tracing the neat red “A” in the corner with his eyes. He didn’t feel particularly proud, only vaguely embarrassed by the attention. The sound of the bell broke his thoughts—a deep, resonant chime that reverberated through the room like the toll of a distant church bell.

Students began packing their things, the scrape of chairs and the hum of conversation filling the air. Kei moved slower than the others, slipping his test into his folder and tucking it neatly into his bag.

As he stepped into the hallway, the energy of the school hit him all at once. The corridors buzzed with life—students laughing, shouting, shoving their way through the crowds. Lockers slammed shut, sneakers squeaked against the floor, and fragments of conversations floated past him.

Kei kept his head down, his steps steady but unhurried. He wasn’t heading anywhere in particular, but his feet carried him toward the student council wing almost by instinct. His thoughts were a jumble of memories, disjointed and insistent.

Sugei.

The name lingered in his mind like an echo, bringing with it a flood of images.

Sugei pulling him to his feet after a fall, his grin wide and toothy. The two of them scaling trees that creaked and swayed under their weight. Sugei tossing rocks into the creek, the water catching the sunlight as he dared Kei to see who could make the biggest splash.

Kei clenched his fists, his steps faltering slightly.

Now, those memories felt like they belonged to someone else entirely. The Sugei he knew had been a whirlwind of energy, loud, reckless and alive. But Marin…Marin’s soft-spoken nature, her delicate movements, her quiet smile—it was like watching a ghost in a borrowed body.

He hated the way his eyes lingered on her, noticing things he shouldn’t. The graceful tilt of her head, the smooth curve of her neck, the faint scent of lavender that clung to her skin. It made him sick to his stomach, this awful, creepy sense of attraction to someone he knew wasn’t entirely her.

By the time Kei reached the council room, his chest felt tight, his breath shallow. He pushed the door open, the faint creak barely registering over the sound of voices inside.

“I’m not crazy!” Yuta’s voice rang out, sharp and indignant.

“Right,” Yuki drawled, her tone dripping with sarcasm. She leaned back in her chair, her legs propped up on the table as she waved a pen lazily through the air. “Because nothing says ‘sports festival’ like science experiments.”

“Science can be exciting!” Yuta snapped, slamming her hands on the table. “Foam explosions, chemical reactions—”

“Yeah, because everyone wants to see something blow up during a relay race,” Yuki shot back, rolling her eyes.

“Enough,” Marin said, her voice cutting cleanly through the argument.

The room fell silent instantly, Yuki and Yuta exchanging sheepish glances. Marin’s gaze swept over them, calm but firm, her hands folded neatly on the table in front of her.

“We need to focus,” she said, her tone steady but with an unmistakable weight. “This festival is for everyone, not just your interests. Let’s keep that in mind.”

Yuki muttered a half-hearted apology, while Yuta crossed her arms and sank back into her chair, still fuming but silent.

Kei slipped into the seat beside Marin, pulling a folder from his bag. He opened it and revealed the neatly typed report he’d been working on for the festival. Marin leaned toward him, allowing her hair to brush against his shoulder as she glanced over the pages.

The scent of lavender hit him immediately, soft and faintly sweet. Her hand rested on the edge of the paper, the pale skin smooth and unblemished. Kei’s pulse quickened, his chest tightening in discomfort.

Marin glanced at him briefly, her eyes sharp but curious, before shifting her focus back to the report. She didn’t say anything, but the slight quirk of her brow told Kei she’d noticed his unease.

“Not bad,” Yuki remarked, leaning over the table to glance at the report. “You’re shaping up to be a decent secretary, newbie.”

Kei cleared his throat, forcing a weak smile. “Thanks.”

“You should join us for lunch,” Yuki added, grinning. Kei hesitated, glancing at his phone. A message from Kukui lit up the screen, inviting him to the dining hall. He quickly typed out a reply that declined Yuki’s offer with an apologetic shrug.

Kei stepped into the dining hall. The scent of freshly baked bread and steaming miso soup filling the air. The hall stretched out before him, its vaulted ceiling adorned with intricate carvings that twisted in the chandelier light. The warm glow of golden accents contrasted with the murmur of voices, the silence occasionally broken by bursts of laughter.