Chapter 4 - A week in the shadows

Seven days passed.

Seven days since his world was broken and sewn back together with borrowed threads. Seven days since he abandoned the face of the villain and assumed the mask of an ordinary student.

He was now called Tokura Yoshi.

It was a name without weight, without history. One that floated through the academic records as a provincial newcomer with average grades and little magical ability. A name no one questioned. A face no one remembered. That was what he had asked for. That was what he needed.

But even a new identity could not silence the echoes of a history that had not been forgotten.

During that week at the inn near the academy, he had kept his door locked. He had slept with a minor barrier activated, though he had barely enough mana to maintain it through the nights. It wasn't paranoia. Not entirely. For from his window, on more than one occasion, he saw familiar figures pass by.

One with brown hair tied back. Another with an elegant silhouette and a distracted look. Yet another, tall and serene. They walked along the path in front of the inn as if nothing, as if the path was part of their routine. But they never looked his way. They never stopped. Yet their steps were too slow to be casual.

He knew why they were there.

'If they find me... my death will not be quick, nor painless.'

He wasn't telling anyone. Because there was no one. But the thought stayed with him like a shadow stuck to his back. And now, this day, he was finally back. Not as Tokugawa Hideyoshi. As Tokura Yoshi.

First day.

Room 2-B. Third level of the east tower. General magic, history of combat theory and arcane rhetoric. The class was mixed. A group of students from all the noble houses, with impeccable uniforms and looks that exuded boredom or superiority.

Tokura Yoshi sat at the back, next to a window. A strategic spot. From there he could see everyone and be seen by no one.

The murmur in the classroom was soft. Most were talking to each other with a bored familiarity. And then, among the voices, one stood out.

-Hey, is it really mandatory to hand that in today? I thought it was due tomorrow? said a male voice, somewhat absent-minded but loaded with friendliness.

Yoshi looked up.

There he was. The protagonist.

Tall, dark hair slightly messy, friendly smile. He seemed to glow naturally, as if the world was simply made to fit his presence. He was talking to a brown-haired girl... Haruka.

The protagonist's sister.

She looked at him with a tempered patience, as if she was always on the verge of sighing. Her voice was calm as she replied:

-I told you three times yesterday. But as usual, you don't listen.

-Ah... hehe... I guess you caught me again...

Haruka barely smiled. A smile that would have seemed warm to many. But Yoshi knew that look. It was identical to the one he had seen when she fell to the ground, her eyes unfocused. The one he pretended not to remember now.

'They act like nothing happened...'

He looked back at the desk. She couldn't just stare. He couldn't allow himself to fall into the habit of staring. People would stare at him if he stared.

The teacher came in. Class began. Slow pace. Archaic theory. Nothing he hadn't read before in the books he devoured when he was still just a reader. Sometimes he answered questions mentally, but he didn't raise his voice. Never.

Whenever someone laughed nearby, or a girl turned to talk to someone behind him, his heart stopped for a second.

-Tokugaw...! -someone would say, instantly interrupted by a different comment.

'No, no. I'm not him anymore. I am not him.'

And so the hours passed. Every second a taut rope. Every pause a noose. But no one pointed it out. No one asked. No one recognised him.

Yoshi took a deep breath as he heard the final bell ring.

Class dismissed. First day, he survived.

He got up before anyone else. He picked up his notebook without looking at anyone, and walked out into the hallway. The murmur continued behind him, but he didn't care. He walked with a firm step, as if he wasn't afraid. As if his identity didn't hang by a thread.

But as he reached the stairs, he saw a familiar silhouette at the other end of the hallway.

Haruka.

Her gaze was fixed on him. For a split second. Then she turned, as if she hadn't seen him.

But he had seen her.

And the tremor in her hand returned.

'They're still looking for me... even if they pretend not to.'

And so her new life began: not with an exhibition, not with an accusing cry.

But with the unbearable silence of the fear of being found.

And the constant suspicion that the past still walked beside him.