I smooth out my blue jacket, the badge of my position as president of the student council, and ascend the steps to the podium. I feel the rough fabric under my fingers. It's been through the washer too many times, and the folds are worn. Yet, it's my armor, my shield against them.
Hundreds of hormonal teenagers watch me from below, their faces a mix of excitement and boredom. Some yawn, others chat in whispers. The popular ones nudge each other and laugh in the back seats. The nerds in the front rows look at me with eager eyes, eager to please me.
What do they see when they look at me? The perfect student body president, all smiles and motivational speeches? That mask disgusts me, but I wear it well. Inside, I am a calm sea. I feel nothing for them, for this moment. I could set them on fire right now and watch their little insignificant lives burn. But I refrain.
I begin the speech, the same worn-out phrases of every year.
Unity. Potential. A Better Tomorrow.
Words as empty as my inside, but they lap it up. They applaud excitedly, like trained seals. Some girls sigh when I throw them a seductive glance. I have studied the gestures, the ways to draw them in like moths to the flame. Yet, I feel nothing.
The teachers look on proudly. Matsubara, the principal, smiles pleased as if I were his own flesh and blood. Would his world crumble if he knew of the rot within me? This charade tires me, but I must keep up appearances. They only see what they want to see: kindness, leadership, warmth... An exceptional boy.
They applaud again, the satisfied flock. Matsubara pats my back with his bony hand.
"Well done, Makoto. You're an example to us all."
I smile with false modesty, then step down from the podium with confident strides. The kind smiles, the handshakes, the pats on the back. Everything drips with falsehood, but I endure it. The torment soon ends, and I slip away through a side hallway, loosening my tie.
The library is empty at this hour. I make my way between the dusty shelves to my favorite nook, away from prying eyes. Here, I can take off the mask for a moment, be myself.
My fingers stroke the leather spines. These books are my only friends, the only minds that seem to understand mine. Among their pages I find echoes of my own thoughts. It's calming to know that others have shared my appetites.
The door opens at that moment. Heels click on the wooden floor. I recognize her steps, the floral perfume she's worn since she was twelve. Fumiko. She's come looking for me, as so many times before. I quickly put my mask back on and turn with a gentle smile.
"There you are... I've been looking for you. Why did you sneak away from the speech?" she says with a pout.
I feign an apologetic look.
"I'm sorry, I just needed a moment alone. You know, speeches make me nervous."
More lies, but she swallows them. She looks at me with shining eyes, full of admiration and another feeling I cannot reciprocate. She lays a hand on my arm.
"Makoto, it was incredible as always. You're a natural leader."
Her fingers tighten slightly on my skin. I know what she wants, what they all want from me. The attraction and desire I so easily awaken with a few looks and smiles. Another tool I use for my purposes when necessary.
But not now.
Gently, I pull away from her touch, feigning regret. She draws back her hand, her cheeks flushing. She mutters an apology. I know I have hurt her, but it's necessary to keep my distance. I cannot afford such weaknesses.
"We should get back, the welcome lunch is about to start. Will you join me?"
I offer her my arm chivalrously. Her discomfort vanishes and she accepts with a giggle. As we walk back, I think about how easy it would be to snap that arm like a twig. So much fragility, so much waste.
The noise of the cafeteria hits me. Laughter, screams, pointless chattering. To feign interest in their trivialities requires every gram of self-control I possess. Fumiko introduces me to some new classmates. I feign a warm welcome as I memorize their names and faces.
You never know when someone might be of use.
They seem delighted, spellbound by my looks and manners. One would think that at their age, they would have more substance in their heads, but they remain silly girls seeking approval. I give them what they want effortlessly. They're eating out of my hand within minutes.
The clock marks 10 pm. Time to return to the claustrophobic dormitories on campus. My roommate hasn't arrived yet, which allows me to finally take off the mask I've carried all day and be myself, even if only for a few minutes.
I slip silently into the small room, closing the door carefully behind me. The darkness wraps around me like a protective cloak. I take a deep breath, savoring these precious moments of solitude. Here I can afford to be vulnerable; I don't have to play a role.
My eyes slowly adjust to the dimness. I make out the familiar contours: the two single beds stuck to opposite walls, the cluttered desks, the shared wardrobe with its door ajar. Every corner of this concrete cell is painfully familiar to me.
I fumble for the switch and flick on the dim bulb hanging from the ceiling. Its yellowish halos of light cast unsettling shadows on the walls. I immediately regret it; the light seems to uncover thoughts I'd prefer to keep buried.
I collapse onto the old single bed by the window. The mattress squeaks under my weight. Without bothering to take off my shoes, I reach for the remote and turn on the small TV on the table in front of my bed.
I begin to flip through channels in a hypnotic zapping, not really paying attention. The images flicker in the darkness, reflecting in my empty eyes. News, game shows, movies... it all seems so banal, so distant from the reality I inhabit.
Suddenly, an explosion on the screen captures my interest for a moment. A building engulfed in flames, people running in panic... the reporter talks about a new terrorist attack in some city whose name I've already forgotten. Another tragedy to be added to the endless litany of horrors that make up our world.
Suddenly I hear the doorknob turn. I quickly turn off the TV and put my mask back on just before my roommate enters.
"Hey buddy, how's it going?" Tatsuya greets me with his usual geniality as he drops his sports bag on the floor.
"Fine, you know, the usual," I reply with my tone perfectly modulated and a practiced smile.
Tatsuya heads straight to the bathroom to change his sweat-soaked shirt from tennis practice. I watch his movements with a clinical gaze, looking for any hint in his gestures or micro-expressions that betray deeper thoughts behind his facade of normality. But no, Tatsuya is as predictably average as most. He perfectly fits the stereotype of the popular athlete with delusions of grandeur to a T.
"Phew, tough day today," he says as he peels off the damp shirt. "A new guy joined the team, Yoshiro. So arrogant. He beat me by a hair in practice just because I couldn't use my ice blessing. Can't believe they won't let us use our blessings in school sports. It's complete nonsense!"
That's Tatsuya, with an ego as fragile as fine china. Any threat to his self-perceived superiority is unacceptable.
"You know how school politics are..." I reply calmly. "They say it wouldn't be fair if some could use special abilities and others couldn't."
"But those are our talents!" Tatsuya exclaims with frustration. "It's like telling an artist he can't paint or a musician he can't play an instrument. My ice abilities are a part of me; I shouldn't have to hide them."
I watch with clinical curiosity as his face reddens with irritation. Tatsuya needs constant validation of his worth. Any questioning is a personal affront.
"They're afraid someone with a very powerful blessing could dominate all sports without giving others a chance."
"Bah! That sounds like a cheap excuse," Tatsuya scoffs. "They just want everyone to be equal so as not to hurt the fragile egos of the less talented. As if life were fair! We were born with different gifts; we should be able to use them freely."
I feign a nervous look and respond.
"It's true that not everyone has the same abilities... but I think school sports should focus more on the fun than on winning at all costs."
Tatsuya looks at me with disdain.
"You're too soft. In real life, no one's going to tell you 'oh, your blessing is too powerful, better not use it to be fair'. Everyone uses the tools they have to succeed and dominate others. The weak are left behind."
His words don't surprise me. Tatsuya's mindset fits perfectly with my hypothesis about human nature. Deep down, everyone craves power and control. Even the "kind" and "just" only maintain appearances for fear of being left behind. If they had the chance to be on top without consequences, they'd take it without hesitation.
Tatsuya perfectly represents the kind of person with power and influence who uses it solely to inflate their own fragile ego. His sense of superiority is based solely on the pure luck of having been born with a socially desirable blessing, not on true personal merit. Yet, he feels the right to look down on others and validate his existence by trampling the "inferior".
"I guess you're right," I murmur with a false tone of defeat. "Everyone plays with the cards they were dealt in life."
He smiles satisfied to see me validate his fantasy world where he reigns as a supreme being. Then, he plops heavily onto his bed, making the springs creak.
I remain silent, waiting for his next move. I know he won't take long to seek more conversation and validation. Tatsuya hates silence. It makes him feel small and insignificant. He needs constant attention and admiration like a plant needs the sun.
Only a few seconds pass before he speaks again, just as I predicted.
"Hey Makoto, you didn't tell me how it went with introducing the freshmen today. Tell me, what's the new generation like? Any interesting idiots for your drama club?" he asks with feigned interest while fiddling with a tennis ball in his hands.
I sigh internally, bracing myself for another performance.
"It went well, they're good kids. A bit shy still, but they'll loosen up over time," I reply with a smile.
Tatsuya looks at me with a raised eyebrow, clearly expecting more juicy details to laugh about and feel superior later.
"I saw a couple with potential, but none particularly stood out. I'll have to see them in action to know if they're good for the group," I add shrugging my shoulders.
"Come on, you must have noticed something more! You're not one to miss those details," Tatsuya insists, nudging me playfully. Too strong, by the way.
I pretend to ponder for a moment and then snap my fingers, as if I had just remembered something.
"Well, there was one girl who was a bit odd, quite peculiar... she could be interesting for some roles if we can polish her up," I make up on the spot.
The truth is I don't remember the faces of those insignificant freshmen, but I know this will catch his attention.
"Really? Don't tell me she's kind of geeky but cute, those are the best," Tatsuya says in an exaggeratedly mischievous tone.
I laugh bashfully, getting more into my role.
"Haha, yeah, she's kind of nerdy but pretty cute, I'll give you that. Although I'm happy with my girlfriend Fumiko, you know."
Tatsuya lets out a laugh so loud it echoes off the walls.
"Oh Makoto, you're quite a case. You need to learn to have more fun, buddy. A real man doesn't settle for just one woman," he declares arrogantly.
I nod faintly, feigning a bit of embarrassment.
"I suppose you're right... but for now I prefer to focus on my studies; there will be time for everything else," I respond timidly.
Tatsuya rolls his eyes and snorts with disdain.
"You're an incurable bore, that's what you are. But this time I'm determined to get you out of that shell of yours, you'll see. I'll get you some flexible cheerleaders, the kind that can't resist tennis players. They'll help you loosen up, yes sir."
I swallow and nod nervously.
"Hehe, thanks Tatsuya, you're a great friend."
Inside, I feel repelled by his words, but I manage to keep the mask in place. Tatsuya really believes he's being kind by offering to "help" me with women. His ego doesn't allow him to see beyond his own desires and prejudices. But it doesn't matter. The mask of normality has done its job once again.
Tatsuya stands up from the bed and walks to the mini-fridge, pulling out two beers. He tosses one to me without even asking. I catch it in the air by pure reflex.
"Let's have a few cold ones to celebrate the first day of classes, dude. Cheers!" Tatsuya says, opening his can and raising it toward me.
"Cheers," I reply weakly, mimicking his gesture.