Lessons had officially begun. After the morning attendance and announcements, the day quickly fell into the rhythm of lectures and hurried notes.
The first subject teacher for the day entered briskly, and each successive educator seemed determined to squeeze every second of class time into their lessons, trying to make up for the late start.
"Alright, class. Today we're going to dive into the world of conic sections, specifically parabolas," said a man in his early thirties, his neatly trimmed black beard accentuating his friendly smile.
Hartford Loren, affectionately referred to as Mr. Hart by his students, was a favorite among the tenth-grade arm A1. His approachable demeanor and knack for breaking down complex mathematical concepts made him well-liked, even by those who struggled with the subject.
Dressed casually in a white short-sleeved button-down shirt, black trousers, and shiny oxfords, Mr. Hart strode confidently to the front of the room, exuding both charm and authority.
He turned to the board, writing Parabola in bold letters, underlining it twice with a squeak of chalk.
"A parabola," he began, "is a type of quadratic function that can be represented in the form y = ax² + bx + c."
Angela sat at her desk, resting her chin on her hand as she watched him write, her vibrant blue eyes duller than usual.
Her thoughts drifted as Mr. Hart's words blended into the background noise of scratching pens and murmured explanations. She glanced toward the board, then back to her desk, her fingers pressing lightly against her temples.
Did I take my meds this morning?
Her brows furrowed slightly as a faint headache pulsed behind her eyes. She tried to focus on the equations scrawled across the board, but they blurred together.
"Can anyone tell me what determines the direction of the parabola's opening?" Mr. Hart's voice snapped her back to reality.
Angela stiffened as she realized he was looking in her direction.
No way—me?!
Before panic could fully settle in, a voice from behind her spoke up.
"Is it the coefficient of x², sir?"
Angela exhaled sharply as Mr. Hart's gaze shifted toward the speaker.
"That's absolutely right, Emily!" he said, beaming. "The coefficient of x² determines the direction of the parabola's opening."
Angela turned slightly to see a girl a few rows back sitting down, a shy smile spreading across her face as her classmates murmured faint praise.
"Get it together," Angela muttered to herself, frustration flickering across her features.
Mr. Hart launched into a series of examples, filling the board with diagrams and equations. The classroom buzzed with the quiet sounds of pens scratching against paper and the occasional rustle of notes.
"...so, the parabola intersects the x-axis at these two points, which we call the roots of the quadratic equation." Mr. Hart turned back to the class, scanning the sea of faces. "Can anyone tell me what happens to the graph if we increase the coefficient of x²?"
The room fell silent for a moment before a hesitant voice spoke up.
"Uh… it becomes narrower?"
Adelia, seated behind Angela, barely whispered the words.
Mr. Hart's smile widened. "Correct! Increasing the coefficient of x² does indeed make the parabola narrower. A point for you, Adelia!"
Adelia flushed slightly, her lips twitching upward in a pleased smile.
"And what if the coefficient is negative?" Mr. Hart pressed, his gaze sweeping the room.
A boy near the back answered confidently, his voice carrying a hint of pride. "It flips."
Angela turned her head slightly, catching sight of the speaker. Dark-skinned, slim and fit, his dark hair was styled neatly in a fade cut. His voice carried the unmistakable arrogance of someone used to being right.
"Exactly!" Mr. Hart said, nodding approvingly. "The graph is reflected across the x-axis. Alright, let's solve this example..."
He turned back to the board, writing another equation when the door creaked open, the sound slicing through the focused silence like a knife.
The classroom stilled as every pair of eyes went to the entrance.
A figure stepped into the room, his titian-colored hair catching the light. The fiery hue seemed to glow against the pristine white of his Schulerin uniform shirt.
He hesitated at the threshold, scanning the room with an unreadable expression before adjusting the black headphones resting on his ears.
Angela's breath hitched as she watched him.
The boy's amber eyes swept across the classroom, landing briefly on Ethan, whose grin broke wide. Finally, his gaze locked with hers, and Angela felt her chest tighten.
That face…
Her stomach churned as a wave of déjà vu swept over her. His striking appearance, his piercing gaze—it all felt too familiar.
"G–good morning, Mr. Hart," the boy said, his voice smooth but carrying an undertone of nervousness. "Sorry I'm late."
The classroom erupted into whispers.
"That's Daniel?!"
"No way…"
"He's back?"
"Wow, he looks so different!"
Mr. Hart stared at the boy, his jaw slack for a moment before he snapped out of his daze.
"Daniel?!" he exclaimed. "W–wow! I almost didn't recognize you!"
Daniel offered a sheepish smile. "You're not the first," he said, adjusting the strap of his bag.
The whispers grew louder as the students tried to reconcile the boy they remembered with the one standing before them.
Seemingly oblivious to the attention, Daniel glanced around the room again, his gaze briefly meeting Angela's before flicking away.
"Well, I must say, rather than someone returning from an accident, you look like you've returned from a vacation," Mr. Hart quipped, breaking the tension with a laugh.
Daniel scratched his cheek awkwardly. "I–it's the hair, right?"
"It's all of you, kiddo!" Mr. Hart said, chuckling.
The class's whispers continued to rise, and Daniel's jaw tightened. Sensing his discomfort, Mr. Hart cleared his throat, silencing the room.
"Well, welcome back, Daniel," he said warmly. "We're glad to have you with us again. Take your seat, and I'll catch you up."
Daniel nodded, flashing a dazzling smile as Ethan waved at him from the back of the room.
Angela's heart skipped a beat at the sight of that smile.
One of the girls seated around her muttered softly, "My babies…"
Daniel stumbled slightly, his body faltering midway through his step.
Angela's lips parted in surprise. Had he… reacted to that?
He quickly steadied himself, his expression remaining composed, but Angela couldn't shake the feeling that settled over her.
"Oh! And," The teacher suddenly call out.
Daniel turned to face him.
"Could you?" Mr. Hart gestured toward his ears, mimicking the motion of removing headphones.
Daniel hesitated, adjusting his headphones, his gaze lowering momentarily, then shook his head slightly. "The doctor advised me to keep them on," he explained. "My ears have been really... sensitive since the…"
A heavy silence fell over the room.
"Right," Mr. Hart said gently. "That's fine. Let's continue."
As Daniel moved toward his seat, the classroom buzzed with subdued excitement.
Angela sat frozen, her thoughts spiraling.
He's different.
His appearance, his demeanor—everything about him seemed to radiate something otherworldly.
Her nightmare flashed through her mind unbidden: the chaos, bloodshed, murder, and the figure orchestrating the end of everything.
Her hands clenched into fists beneath the desk, a deep, gnawing fear had taking root in her chest.
It's just a coincidence… right?