I’m My Own High School Rival: Nakamura’s Arc: Heritage

  I marched down the empty hall fifteen minutes before the second period. My echoing footsteps matched the rhythm of my heart as I passed a series of sliding doors, for what I had to tell Ms. Igarashi was paramount, required all of my drive because I had to warn her that her death was approaching; I would not sit through her funeral again.

  I passed Jenie, who gave me a slightly more serious glance, yet I could not afford the time to talk, though she claimed to be the catalyst of my second life.

  Finally arriving at Ms. Igarashi’s room—my future classroom—I entered to find her lesson planning—like always, her eyes did not see nor search for me.

  “Nakamura, you’re a bit early,” she said, eyes thoroughly scanning her lesson plan.

  I walked past columns of empty desks awaiting budding minds until I stood before her.

  “Sigh, well, Nakamura. You’re here early, so what do you want?”

  I steeled myself, pacing my breathing until I could speak with grace, focusing on what must be said, dreading the notion of rejection of any magnitude. She looked up with a sharp glare, reminding me of her stalwart legacy to the Iron Fan Court.

  But how was I to engage her?

  “Nakamura, speak up, because you’re starting to worry me, kid.”

  The lump in my throat burned. “Ms. Igarashi— you’re going to die soon,” I said, as something lodged itself in my throat, making every word sound choked; she looked at me, and her visage blurred behind watery eyes, as I emitted uncanny noises through gritted teeth.

  I held my hands up to my chest, clenching my fist to regain composure. She set the stack of papers on her desk and removed her glasses, scanning my face for cracks, which she could find in abundance.

  “You’re…serious. Okay, Nakamura,” she said, laying her lessons down. She stood up and circled around her desk. She patted my head. “Shhh. Calm down, Nakamura, and tell me what happened.”

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  I cleared my throat as much as possible. “I know that you are,” I stammered. “Don’t go after the killer,” I whispered. Her hand rested on my head.

  “Now, why would I do something reckless like that?” Her voice was low, and her hand trembled slightly. “What are you getting at?”

  I forced myself to make eye contact. Her black, empty eyes waited for my next word, and time was of the essence. “Y-you go after the killer…after they kill someone else, but you don’t bring any weapons with you—”

  “Because carrying weapons outside of a clan is illegal, but—”

  I gently pushed Igarashi’s hand away. “Then tell me that you haven’t considered it.”

  She sighed and crossed her arms. “I don’t even know why I’m entertaining this. Please go wait in the hallway, Nakamura.”

  And just like that, I had failed—the future was fated to repeat itself. I stepped closer to her, pressing my head against her chest, forcing myself to remember everything that happened the day of her wake.

  “If not for someone who holds you in reverence, do it for Trish Tetsusen, whose love for you is more profound than any.”

  She grabbed my shoulders and brought ?me to a fair distance. She analyzed me, like I held some great mystery. “A-at your wake, she laments, but I’ve never heard of a queen mourning the loss of…a soldier the way she did.”

  Her expression was that of one unconvinced.

  “She cried and…said, “A dragon is nothing without its heart.”

  Finally, her expression softened. “Kid, I—”

  The door slid open.

  “Hello! Oh, I didn’t know you were with a student. Is she okay?”

  I craned my neck to see who it was, because nobody was supposed to be here. My jaw dropped, and my knees wobbled until they surrendered to fear. I used what strength I had in my arms to prostrate myself properly.

  “Nakamura,” Ms. Igarashi said. “What the heck are you doing bowing to Ms. Etsuko?”

  That was a lie, for before me stood the Iron Dragon, Trish Tetsusen: current queen of the Iron Fan Court. Why is she here!?

  “N-no, but I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said. I—am I dreaming this?

  “Young lady,” said a voice directly above my head. I slowly looked up, first seeing a pair of black dress shoes, then knees, followed by large black eyes. Her hair was smartly done into a traditional bun, and her skin was vibrant; she didn’t resemble the Trish Tetsusen at Igarashi’s wake, but it was her. “Dry your tears lest some young man catch you and deem you irredeemable.”

  After Igarashi died, she waged war on the Ash and Moonbind, a heartless beast, seeking her own death. I shivered because that’s when Christina’s bullying drove me to where I wanted to die, too. “Y-yes, ma’am,” I muttered as the bell blared in my ear.