(CONTINUED FROM CHAP 2)
"The heaviest threads are often the quietest."
It was another fine morning at Mounagiri Gakuen. Birds chirped outside. The sun beamed down warm and gentle. A fresh breeze drifted in from the silent hills. Students played outside.
Kodokuna sat at his usual corner, just staring at the scenery and landscapes.
And then she walked in — the Megami-sama of the class. Tamara.
She sat on the adjacent bench, sunlight catching in her hair, once again envied in whispers by the others.
Mr. Haro then entered Class 11A.
The entire class stood in silence and greeted him.
The English Literature teacher, usually cheerful, came in gloomy — his face pale, devastated. The class whispered, wondering what was wrong.
But Kodokuna saw something else.
Thick, black, oil-like threads oozed from Mr. Haro — heavy and suffocating. They pulsed slowly and densely, pressing down on the whole room like unseen chains.
Kodokuna thought: these were not just threads... these were chains that imprison a person.
His chest tightened. The weight pressed against him like iron shackles.
His white threads flickered nervously, straining, but they would not move.
The atmosphere shifted.
Maya, the quiet girl Tamara had once helped, lowered her head, hands trembling under the desk. She emanated violet threads — weak, wobbling.
The black threads from Mr. Haro slithered outwards, hunting. One of them shot straight towards Maya like a predator to prey.
Kodokuna's body froze. His hands clenched under the desk until his nails bit into his skin.
He had seen this before.
The strong shadows... they hunt the quiet ones.
A vague memory surfaced — terrifying and familiar. His throat burned with the urge to shout, to move, to shield Maya — but his threads wrapped tighter, trapping him in silent chains.
And then Tamara stood up.
She sensed the danger. Her golden threads spread out like sunlight breaking into a storm. They rushed like firefighters into the black tide.
Her voice, soft but steady, cut through the silence:
"Sir... how are you feeling today? Is anything disturbing you?"
The entire class stared at her in awe. She had asked what they all wanted to, but none dared.
Her golden threads rippled through the black ones — and then something unbelievable happened. Kodokuna's eyes widened.
The oily black threads faltered. The darkness wavered. Their colour shifted — from suffocating black to a moss-green calm, like stone covered in soft grass.
Mr. Haro blinked, as if waking from a fog. His shoulders relaxed.
"Y-Yeah... no... I'm fine, Tamara," he muttered, still dazed. "Just feeling exhausted. Thank you for asking. You may sit down."
The storm had shifted course.
The class atmosphere softened. Maya let out a trembling sigh, her violet threads fading to a pale green calm.
Kodokuna sat stunned. His body still trembled, shame and awe mixing in his chest.
Tamara's art wasn't just kindness — it was polished, practiced, and powerful. Beyond anything Kodokuna had ever seen.
She didn't fight the darkness. She spoke to it.
As Mr. Haro turned to write on the board, Kodokuna noticed something scratched into the wood of his desk.
He didn't remember writing it.
Not all threads are what they appear to be.
And beneath it... a single black-crimson thread curled away, slow and silent — slithering into the shadows.