It's [not] Just A Sketch.

"Get it off!" Ten shouted, yanking at the band. But it wouldn't just budge. It was stuck. It was mocking Ten with the way it was pulsing against his palm like a heartbeat, or so he thought. "Get this thing off me!"

The man rolled his eyes and folded his arms. Ten's panic was so uncalled for. "It doesn't come off. This is part of your integration. It identifies you as a member of the country, this community, and this world. This is how the world works now."

Ten's breath hitched, his glare hardening as he bit the inside of his cheek. Why did this feel so intrusive? It was just a band, right? But everything about it screamed control. It was wrong. All of this was wrong.

"Why do I have to be part of anything identifications? Everyone already knows who I am! And I am sure other countries as well have heard of my name."

The man was unfazed; he didn't give a shit. "You are not exempted. No one is. This ensures a living. It's like a passport, ID, everything identification by paperwork but in easier and simple form."

Ten's mouth opened to argue, but before he could, Aokimoto let out a dramatic sigh along with rolling his eyes. "Oh, for crying out loud. It's simple." He pointed to Ten's palm.

"That band? It's called an HTA-ID Aid. It scans your eyes for identification, captures your face, ensures that your whole detail is put in the government system to make you identify as who you are. Can be useful as well like a phone; calls, messages, research. And it sends real-time updates on your body; sickness, whatever. You know, in case you drop dead in the hallway. The government would be alerted on time."

Ten's fingers twitched. He stared at the band, trying to push back the rising panic gnawing at his chest. It was like being shackled. All this talk about monitoring him, tracking him. Was this what the world had become while he was asleep?

"If I wanted to get checked, I'd go to a hospital. I'm Ten Shaw. I don't need this thing monitoring me like I'm some lab rat!"

Aokimoto didn't miss a chance to fire back. "Oh, so what? You're Ten Shaw, the National star, so that makes you worldwide known, right?" His smirk turned cruel. "Well, guess what? No one gives a damn anymore. Now, you're just a dude trying to keep up with the rest of the world after a weak sleep."

Ten's fist clenched so tightly it ached. His chest burned with a familiar helplessness that had clawed at him since the moment he woke up. "Did I ask you to talk?"

Aokimoto tilted his head, his expression smug but his tone sharp. "I was put in charge of you by the school director. So yeah, you did."

Tension.

That old, same kind of tension between them had returned and was doubled in thickness. Their rivalry was like a sharp double-edged sword, cutting. But before Ten could launch into a full-blown argument, something slipped from his left hand. A piece of paper.

It was a copy of the Mecha Jin sketch the officers who dropped him off had given him with an instruction: KEEP LOOKING AT IT UNTIL YOU REMEMBER WHO THIS DRAWING BELONGS TO AND HOW IT GOT THERE. It fluttered to the floor between them.

Time slowed.

Aokimoto's gaze dropped, and his eyes locked on the paper. For a split second, his entire demeanor shifted. The smirk vanished from his smug face. His jaw instantly tightened. His shoulders stiffened.

Ten noticed the change in the atmosphere between them, immediately.

Aokimoto's hand by his side twitched for some reason. His eyes darted up to meet Ten's own with a sharp and calculating intensity. Then, as well, those same eyes fell back to the sketch again. His gaze lingered on the jagged lines of the figure.

"Where the hell did you get this?" His voice had been stripped of its usual bravado now. He didn't wait for an answer, though. He took a single step forward, and his foot came down on the fallen sketch paper, crumpling the fragile thing beneath his weight.

"Don't," Ten warned. "What are you doing?" He bent down, trying to grab the edge. But Aokimoto crushed harder, twisting his boot, grinding the paper on the floor. He was aggressive, like he was trying to erase it from existence or something like that.

"You don't bring shit in here," Aokimoto barked.

Ten could somehow find something else beneath Aokimoto's aggressive voice. Was it panic? He wasn't sure, but it did sound like that. "What's your problem?"

Aokimoto didn't answer.

Ten straightened up, meeting Aokimoto's gaze. "Why do you care? It's just a sketch."

Aokimoto said nothing still. Just glaring at Ten.

Ten was a hell lot of confused at this point. "You're acting crazy. It's just a drawing!"

But Aokimoto wasn't listening. He nonchalantly tucked his hands into his pocket, then gave Ten a look, that of warning, and walked away back into the class.

Ten stared at him as he walked away. That crazy kid. The way Aokimoto had reacted just now… the way his entire demeanor had suddenly shifted, there was certainly doubt in Ten's mind.

This sketch, was it connected to Aokimoto? What was the deal with everyone going haywire over this sketch anyway?

Whatever it was, Ten had drawn his conclusion: Aokimoto didn't want anyone to know.

But wasn't it something the officers already knew?

"If you're done playing besties, we need to finalize your registration."

Ten looked to the side. It was the big guy. So he had been watching all this while? Watching as that untrained kid bullied him, his senior by age? "What's next? Handcuffs?" Ten sneered, obviously pissed.

"Stand still."

A sudden snap of light burst from the band in Ten's palm right into Ten's eyes. It was sharp, fast, cold, and blinding.

"Shit!" Ten stumbled back, blinking furiously. His vision warped. Shapes twisted and colors smeared together like it was melting paint. Ah, this was worse than the silent blurriness from earlier. "What was that?"

"Face capture," the man simply said. "It updates your face in line with your identity as Ten Shaw on all systems. Standard tech for humanity registration. You'll get used to it."

But Ten's head was spinning. His vision wouldn't settle. The blurriness from since when he awoke from that coma now enhanced, and his eyes burned.

He staggered to the side, gripping the wall. "This… isn't right."