Hana stepped forward. She was always quickest to take charge.

  “Sir…? Are you okay? Should we get someone?”

  The headmaster lifted his eyes. They were bloodshot and for one terrifying moment, Arata couldn’t help but think the man looked like a corpse.

  The office itself felt like a tomb, somewhere they shouldn’t intrude. A place where breath and life were alien and unwelcome.

  Mr. Okasei’s response broke the silence in a weary drone.

  “You three... you're second years aren't you? I heard you were set a report on Minakasa’s local history. I don’t suppose any of you chose to look into that

  obscure doomsday cult that originated here? It's not something the prefecture authorities like to remind people about.”

  Arata swallowed. He didn't like where this was going, but his curiosity kept him quiet.

  “You… you must have seen it too,” Okasei continued, voice ragged. “That burning symbol... in... in that vision... it’s just like the one used thirty years ago.

  The burning crest of Minakasa.”

  Arata’s eyes dropped to his blazer. He knew those burning rings were familiar. It was just like the pattern of rings on the school's coat of arms. His lapel badge gleamed faintly in the dim light. His pulse quickened as he regarded it.

  Were the answers to this crisis hidden in the town’s history? How widespread was the voice? Could it have just affected the people of their sleepy town?

  He knew these questions would have to wait for now.

  “That voice… that promise of judgment.”

  Okasei’s hands shook as he spoke.

  “My sins run too deep. The lives I took in war. Every time I held my tongue as I witnessed an injustice.”

  His shoulders sagged.

  “I don’t need to wait a year to know my fate. Waiting will just prolong my suffering. I’ve already had decades to repent, and I’ve done nothing to make amends. Nothing of merit.”

  Arata could see Hana’s fists tightening.

  “That’s not true,” she said. “You’ve helped us. Your students. Whatever you’ve done doesn’t matter! Besides, those visions… they could just be a trick.”

  A harsh laugh escaped the man as he eyed the trio, his features etched with pity at what he evidently saw as naivety.

  “I did nothing. Just enforced a bunch of pointless, archaic rules and gave speeches. Lorded my authority over the youths I envied.”

  Okasei grabbed the letter opener in a sudden motion that made Hana flinch. The silver gleamed even stronger as he held it up to his throat.

  This. This was what Arata had seen in his vision. Okasei in this exact position, ready to end himself in terror. The fatherly headmaster he’d known for over a year, reduced to this.

  And Arata was letting it happen. He felt powerless. If he couldn’t prevent this, then did that mean everything else he saw was inevitable?

  “Run along now, children. You shouldn’t be here. You’ve seen enough death for one day.”

  A slow, melodic clapping sound echoed from Arata’s left.

  He turned to see Toma giving a mocking gesture for an encore.

  “That was some soliloquy, Sir. A touch melodramatic, but who doesn’t like a bit of melodrama?" Toma's voice was layered with more scorn than Arata had ever heard there before.

  The shock of Toma’s flippantness seemed to jolt the headmaster awake.

  Toma stepped forward, slipping his hands into his blazer pockets as he continued, his voice even harsher.

  “If we’re gonna start confessing our regrets, can I go next? We could form a support group. I could use one after that acid trip." He chuckled in a forced way that made Arata feel sick. Hana made a noise as if to object, but Toma continued talking right over her.

  “I mean, I always knew I was an underachiever. Too much money, not enough ambition. Never took anything seriously. Life is long, after all.”

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  He paused.

  “I guess I got that bit wrong. It’s us who should feel bitter, old man. You’re what, three no... four times our age?”

  Okasei blinked. “Those… those visions…”

  “We all saw them,” Toma interrupted. There was no smirk now, but his voice was maybe a tad kinder.

  He continued to approach from the right, and as he did, he made a curious gesture with his left hand. Arata was apparently slow on the uptake, as Hana had sprung forward and approached from the other side of the desk.

  Okasei seemed transfixed by the letter opener, but he turned to regard Toma again as he reached his side.

  "I get it. A message like that… I'm sure it's even scarier when you’ve been living with guilt. But we’re sixteen. We haven’t lived long enough to have the privilege of regret. While you’re here tallying your mistakes, there are a couple hundred kids like us in the courtyard waiting to hear something comforting from someone in charge."

  At this point, Hana had reached the desk too and picked up the thread of the conversation: "We need someone like you, someone who’s been through hard times."

  Arata felt so useless, watching his friends take charge of the situation while he did nothing.

  Hana reached slowly and grabbed the letter opener. Okasei reflexively jolted at her touch, but at that exact moment, Toma's fist collided with his jaw.

  The old man barreled over the side of his chair with a loud thud; the letter opener went flying. Hana clasped her hands to her face in a quiet cry, and Arata heard himself yelling, "Are you crazy?!" as he ran forward to restrain Toma.

  “Don't you dare quit on us, you deadbeat!" Arata was stunned to see Toma tearing up; his voice was cracking.

  "You don’t get to call your life a waste when so many people are depending on you. If the rest of the school could see you now, how do you think they’d react?!”

  There was a long silence full of heavy breathing. Arata was suddenly aware of the sweat on his forehead. He didn't dare let go of Toma's arm.

  Okasei turned on the floor and stared at them. His face was full of outrage. His hands trembled. His lips parted, but the expected rebuke for Toma's violent outburst never came.

  “…Creator preserve me. To think I’m being talked down to by a student.”

  Toma relaxed, and Arata felt safe enough to let him go, the pair exhaling in relief.

  “Well, that’s a start,” Toma said, wiping his cheeks.

  Okasei slowly, carefully got to his feet. He reached for the Bible on the desk and slammed it shut, his fingers lingering on the cover as if grounding himself.

  “…I don’t know what to do.” His voice was quieter now, hoarse but no longer distant. “I’ve spent my whole life thinking I had the answers, but I don’t.”

  “Just project authority, the rest will fall into place,” Toma said with a genuine smile this time. Arata thought it sounded like he was quoting someone else.

  Okasei let out a breathy, bitter chuckle and rubbed his chin.

  “That's some right arm you have. You really are your father’s son.”

  Toma stiffened for a second, but after a moment, his smirk returned.

  “Well, it's been a lifelong dream to hit a teacher. I'm glad I got to do it before the end."

  The headmaster bristled in his familiar, pompous way. “Hey, now!”

  His voice had steadied. Just a little, but it was enough.

  Okasei walked forward, a determined look crossing his face.

  “I’ll do what I can to calm everyone until we get word from the mayor’s office,” he said with a brave attempt at his old stoic demeanor. He stood tall and made his way to the door, where he paused.

  “Thank you,” he added, and with that, he rushed out into the hall.

  “Well, that was something,” Toma said dryly.

  Hana and Arata stared at him as he stretched and cracked his knuckles like he was doing a warm-up routine.

  Hana exhaled sharply. “You’re unbelievable.”

  “I think you mean incredible,” Toma said with a wink.

  Arata chuckled. “How the hell did you do that?”

  Toma shrugged. “I grew up in Sekikyo. Overworked salarymen off themselves every other day there. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen someone need a friend who speaks harsh truths.”

  Arata could tell there was more to it, but just before he could press the point, he felt his pocket vibrating.

  He looked down to see several messages from his stepmom.

  [Feima: Are you okay?]

  [Feima: The neighbors heard it too.]

  [Feima: Should I come get you?]

  For the first time since hearing the voice, Arata thought about her. With his mom and dad gone, Feima was all he had left. They weren’t particularly close, but he knew she tried. As the trio walked out in the headmaster's wake, he sent a quick message telling her it was okay, and that he’d come home as soon as possible.

  As he finished typing, his eyes caught the flood of news notifications. Arata subtly popped in his earsets.

  The three friends had just exited to the courtyard where most assemblies were held. The dull concrete square was filled with tense muttering, a marked change from the boring atmosphere that usually radiated off it. Students and teachers clumped in uneasy groups, their faces pale, eyes darting around. The sun felt harsh above their heads.

  Toma led them to seats near the back, while Arata’s eyes stayed glued to his screen.

  He flexed a tentative finger and clicked the first link he saw.

  It was a livestream. The camera shook as it panned over Sekikyo’s skyline, smoke rising in the distance. The news anchor on screen looked incredibly distressed despite his professional tone.

  “…repeating now for those just joining us. At exactly 8:01 NST, every person on planet Honua simultaneously heard the same voice. The governments of the world are scrambling for answers, and already reports are pouring in of panic, accidents, and looting…”

  So much for this being isolated to Minakasa, Arata thought grimly.

  The feed cut to Trafdon, the capital of Churchill. The rich streets were gridlocked with mangled speedsters. People were running, many in masks.

  The anchor’s voice cracked.

  “Countless workers worldwide are giving their notices to be with their families, and we have confirmed that this event has no national boundaries. The voice was heard simultaneously in every language. Those who were asleep were awakened in the middle of the night. So far, sample interviews have indicated people received the exact same vision, without exception. Children as young as two have been confirmed to exhibit signs of post-vision trauma, and doctors report that even coma patients showed increased brain activity…”

  Arata’s fingers tightened around his pocket screen.

  He scrolled fast through news articles, videos, and message boards. Scientists and theologians of every faith were speculating on the cause of the voice.

  The World Council was asking for calm. Hana and Toma leaned in over his shoulders, reading too.

  Everyone was talking about the same thing. The voice. The visions. The apocalypse.

  But that was all.

  There were no mentions of more specific sights like what had just happened in Okasei’s office.

  Arata’s heart was racing now. His visions were definitely different. More specific to him. His perspective.

  And he had just watched one of them come true.

  A sick thought ran through him. If he could change something, anything, from those personal visions, would that prove the world’s fate wasn’t set?

  He had to try.

  There was also the connection to Minakasa. He had briefly touched on the infamous cult's activities when reporting on the abandoned shrine near his house, but he never put much thought into it.

  He doubted that many people worldwide would look for answers in an obscure town's local legends for this global phenomenon.

  He locked his screen and peered down into the black void, at the end of which his own lime eyes stared back at him.