The next morning came faster than Timeo expected. The sky was still overcast, streaked with pale blue and muted gray, and the school grounds bustled with more energy than usual. Tuesday had arrived—Minazuki Rotation day.
Students filled the hallways in clusters, chattering louder than normal, some checking their phones, others heading straight for the announcement boards near the central stairwell. Timeo moved calmly through the crowd, his headphones resting around his neck as always, eyes scanning for the main listing board.
The school had set up tall folding stands with large printed charts taped across them, color-coded and lined with names and assignments. Each chart was divided into separate categories: Group A – First Aid, Group B – Field Cooking, Group C – Architectural Design, Group D – Urban Survival, and more.
Timeo stepped closer, his gaze sharp but quiet. He scanned the rows of names until he spotted his own.
"Group F – Traditional Weapon Handling."
His eyes lingered on the title for a moment. It wasn't what he expected.
Behind him, other students muttered about their placements—some groaned, others cheered. Someone nearby said something about building tents, while another cursed about having to learn CPR again. But Timeo stayed focused.
Traditional Weapon Handling. It was vague… and oddly specific at the same time.
That's not something most schools would put on a rotation board, he thought.
He adjusted the strap of his bag and took a mental note of the classroom number listed beside the group name: Room 3-K, located in the far wing of the third floor, one of the older parts of the school.
He started walking, unaware that this particular rotation wouldn't just be unusual—it would lead him into something far more important than just a school activity.
Timeo stepped closer to the board, noticing a small QR code printed at the bottom of each group listing. Above it was a note written in clear block letters:
"Scan for detailed instructions, group schedule, and roster."
He pulled out his phone and opened the camera, letting it hover over the code under Group F – Traditional Weapon Handling. A loading screen popped up before opening a sleek school-issued interface, styled with Aokusa's logo at the top.
The page displayed the day's breakdown:
~ Group F
Course: Traditional Weapon Handling
Instructor: Mr. Souta Nishizawa
Location: Room 3-K – East Wing, Third Floor
Time Slot: 9:00 AM – 11:00 AM ~
Just below that, a list of students appeared. Timeo's eyes skimmed down until they landed on two names right below his:
~ Marin Aoyama
Leo Kobayashi ~
His brow furrowed slightly, phone still in hand.
Of all people… he thought. He hadn't expected to land in the same group as Marin, and especially not Leo. And yet, maybe that was a good thing—familiar faces in something that already felt strange.
But then his eyes moved back up to the instructor's name.
~ Souta Nishizawa ~
The screen seemed to dim around those words. The same man who had them locked in a cell. The one who claimed not to remember. The one whose face Timeo couldn't forget.
His grip on the phone tightened just slightly.
This isn't a coincidence.
He lowered the phone slowly, slipping it into his pocket without breaking his stride. His next destination: Room 3-K. And whatever awaited them there.
"What the hell!"
Leo came storming down the corridor, his footsteps loud, his expression twisted with frustration. His phone was clenched tightly in one hand, and from the moment he reached Timeo, it was obvious something had seriously pissed him off.
"Yo, dude! Did you see the website?!" he snapped, waving the phone toward Timeo like it was cursed. "We got stuck in freakin' Nishizawa's class today! Traditional Weapon Handling? Are you kidding me?! This is complete bullshit!"
He practically growled the words, pacing back and forth as students passed by and gave him odd looks. But Leo didn't care. He was locked in his own one-man war.
"This has gotta be some kind of twisted joke! There's no way this is just random, man!"
He furiously scrolled through the school's rotation site again, double-checking as if it might magically change. "No damn way our names just happened to land in the same damn group—with him! After everything that happened?! He definitely rigged this!"
Meanwhile, Timeo stood beside him, calm as ever, reviewing the same website on his own phone. He said nothing, but his silence spoke volumes.
Leo's voice dropped, still heated but more serious now.
"He had to pull some strings to drag us into his class. There ain't no way in hell this is just 'bad luck.' Not after what we saw. He's up to something, I know it."
Timeo shifted his stance, sliding his phone back into his pocket before slipping both hands into his uniform jacket. His posture was composed, but his eyes stayed fixed ahead, thoughtful.
He knew this was more than just an inconvenience. It wasn't just about ending up in Nishizawa's class—it was about what the class was.
"I'm more concerned about the class itself," he said quietly. "Traditional Weapon Handling… that doesn't sound like something a high school should be teaching."
He repeated the words under his breath, as if testing them. They didn't feel right.
Leo's expression tightened even more as the weight of that fact hit him. "Oh—right…" he muttered, then immediately flared up again. "Yeah, what the hell?! How the hell did that get approved?! Who in their right mind thinks letting high schoolers mess around with weapons is a good idea?"
His voice dropped into a low growl as he kept ranting, more to Timeo than anyone else.
"And Nishizawa of all people—why him? How'd the principal even agree to that bastard's request? I swear, man, this shit is off the rails. They better hope the police don't hear about this crap, or there's gonna be headlines."
He shook his head, jaw clenched.
"This ain't a rotation anymore. It's a setup."
A familiar voice cut through the tension behind them—clear, light, and unmistakably Marin's.
"What's with all the yelling, you two?" she asked, approaching with her usual balance of cheer and composure. "No need to scream like maniacs. Pretty sure the entire hallway heard you."
She gestured with a nod toward a few students nearby, who were clearly disturbed by Leo's outburst and had started whispering among themselves.
Realizing the attention he'd drawn, Leo let out an awkward grunt and quickly turned away, pretending to study the rotation board like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
Marin stepped up beside them, her hands casually clasped behind her rear, grinning as she looked up at Timeo.
"Anyway, that reminds me—we're in the same rotation today," she said with a spark in her voice. "Pretty cool, huh? Guess my wish came true after all. Looks like I am in the same class as you, Yamamoto."
She laughed lightly, her presence easing the tension, while Timeo stood silently, thankful she hadn't drawn too much extra attention his way.
Timeo kept his gaze steady on Marin, the right side of his hair falling over his eye, casting a soft shadow across his expression. He didn't complain. He didn't react much at all. But behind his stillness, his thoughts were spinning—trying to piece together the pattern that led him, Leo, and Marin into a class under Souta Nishizawa.
"Lucky," he murmured flatly, his voice low as he glanced at Marin, then turned his attention briefly to the other students nearby—some groaning about their rotations, others already arguing over who got the worst assignment.
Marin raised an eyebrow, pulled out her phone, and started skimming through the official site. "Hold up," she said. "I'm looking up the course description. Might as well know what we're walking into."
After a few taps, she found it and read aloud:
"Group F – Traditional Weapon Handling
Instructor: Mr. Souta Nishizawa
Location: Room 3-K – East Wing
This course focuses on the basic theory, history, and physical practice of traditional Japanese weaponry. Students will receive controlled instruction in handling bokken (wooden swords), shinai (bamboo swords), and practice spears. Techniques will be taught in pairs under instructor supervision. The class aims to build coordination, self-discipline, and respect for the cultural heritage behind classical martial arts. Protective gear is mandatory. Participation is required unless otherwise excused for medical reasons."
She paused, blinking.
"Well... that sounds intense," she said, looking up at the two boys. "And also, kind of like something they shouldn't be letting students do unless they've signed a waiver or something."
Leo leaned in slightly, muttering under his breath with a sharp edge in his tone. "Of course Nishizawa's class would be about weaponry."
Timeo heard him clearly and didn't need to respond. The tension between them wasn't just about wooden swords—it was about who was behind the lesson.
Marin, who had been cheerful just moments ago, suddenly looked uneasy. The smile on her face had faded, and she nervously shifted her grip on her phone.
"Um... do you guys really think this class should even exist?" she asked quietly, glancing between the two of them. "Learning how to use wooden weapons in school? That's not something I'm comfortable with. I mean, sure, some students seem excited, but..." she hesitated, "do you think this is even safe?"
Before Timeo could reply, Leo cut in, eyes locked on the board like he wanted to set it on fire.
"Course not. This is a load of crap," he snapped. "I'd rather be stuck peelin' potatoes in a cooking class than swingin' fake swords around under his supervision."
Marin and Timeo stood beside him in silence for a moment, tension hanging in the air.
Then Timeo spoke, his voice steady and low.
"I don't think we need to worry about the weapons," he said. "I doubt we'll be doing anything that extreme right away. It'll probably start with history. Maybe some demonstrations. But it is an opportunity."
Leo glanced at him, one brow raised. "Opportunity?"
Timeo nodded slightly. "If we pay attention, we might learn more about Souta. His habits, his intentions. If something's off—we'll know."
Leo's expression shifted. He blinked a few times, then grinned slowly, clenching a fist.
"Oh, hell yeah. That's exactly what we need. If he slips up even once, we'll be right there to see it. We'll prove what we saw wasn't some messed-up dream."
Marin looked between the two of them, her face a mix of concern and confusion.
"Wait... what are you guys talking about?" she asked, her voice cautious. "What exactly happened that I don't know about?"
To be continued...