Happy Life
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Futaba had never been to this kind of ceremony before, but everything turned out to be pretty much as she expected.
They were made to stand around in the hall for twenty extra minutes, even though the event was supposed to have already started, while the adults slowly and listlessly chatted and waved at each other, putting on a show of busy preparation. During this time, they were surrounded by indistinct chatter and silly jokes from bored classmates, punctuated by giggles.
Then, while waiting for the director to arrive, an unremarkable woman performed what initially seemed to be the school anthem, but Futaba couldn't make out most of the words or music from the distance, with all the background noise of whispering, coughing, fidgeting, and the rustling of uniforms.
After the performance, this woman, who seemed to be a music teacher or some kind of guest performer, gave a short speech, during which Futaba realized that she was probably the director of the school, and the whole preliminary process was an act of self-admiration.
Futaba opened her student ID and reread the page with the school's name – it seemed that this was indeed Levizia Starlight. Judging by her frail appearance and trembling voice, it was not at all clear what she had done to deserve having a school named after her. Apparently, she was the daughter of some wealthy parents; judging by the smug faces of most of the prospective students, this was probably the kind of school it was. It was all the more strange, perverse, and alien to Futaba that she was here.
The speech itself was not particularly interesting; from what Futaba could hear, it consisted of standard clichés for pampered, wealthy simpletons who had never lifted a finger in their lives – slogans about finding oneself, conquering the world, and other pompous nonsense, which somehow correlated with solving equations and memorizing random historical dates, most of which were fabricated. But, perhaps, when you have trillions of reiks in your account, and a life-size dollhouse named after you, with toys that stand at attention before you, your thoughts really do revolve around matters of "hearts" and "destinies."
As it turned out, the words "first generation" of students flashed by, which further diminished the importance of all the previous words. That is, this is not just a game, but also a social experiment.
At the end of this spectacle, three excellent students were called up and held up as an example, to inspire the rest of the crowd. Of course, such a trick could not evoke any feelings of solidarity or admiration in anyone except the most hopeless simpletons. On the contrary, the human nature of many of those present certainly filled their hearts with all kinds of negative emotions – envy, contempt, and a demonstrative disdain for the upstarts.
To top it all off, the director decided to make her job easier and smooth over the impression of her weak speech by bringing one of those girls into the spotlight, who, caught off guard and obviously unprepared for such a step, giggled and chirped the words most typical of her flighty and smug type, something about enjoying every day and so on.
Looking at the director's predatory smile and unfriendly squint during this improvisation, Futaba realized that if she had any talent, it was probably this – using people who happened to be at hand for her own selfish purposes.
After all the formalities were over, the old man, whom Futaba could remember patrolling the rows between the desks during exams, performed an uncharacteristic magic trick with a cloth – judging by his sour expression, he didn't particularly like this theater, and it was most likely another bright idea of the self-willed director.
Staying away from the mass of sweaty bodies that filled all the passageways, and trying not to overdo it with her breaths, Futaba listlessly scans the various weapons that were offered to them.
The old man's words, which designated the training for war as the main priority of this school, did not fit with the director's vague and ambiguous words, which promised the wide-eyed teenagers mountains of gold and spiritual self-development. Most likely, they are all being prepared for the upcoming bloodbath in the coming years or decades, for the benefit of those in power.
Sighing heavily, Futaba wanders between the stands like a lost soul, until her gaze stops on a katana. "I wonder if I can use something like this?" she thinks, testing the blade for sharpness and stroking the intricate design on the long hilt.
They were made to stand around in the hall for twenty extra minutes, even though the event was supposed to have already started, while the adults slowly and listlessly chatted and waved at each other, putting on a show of busy preparation. During this time, they were surrounded by indistinct chatter and silly jokes from bored classmates, punctuated by giggles.
Then, while waiting for the director to arrive, an unremarkable woman performed what initially seemed to be the school anthem, but Futaba couldn't make out most of the words or music from the distance, with all the background noise of whispering, coughing, fidgeting, and the rustling of uniforms.
After the performance, this woman, who seemed to be a music teacher or some kind of guest performer, gave a short speech, during which Futaba realized that she was probably the director of the school, and the whole preliminary process was an act of self-admiration.
Futaba opened her student ID and reread the page with the school's name – it seemed that this was indeed Levizia Starlight. Judging by her frail appearance and trembling voice, it was not at all clear what she had done to deserve having a school named after her. Apparently, she was the daughter of some wealthy parents; judging by the smug faces of most of the prospective students, this was probably the kind of school it was. It was all the more strange, perverse, and alien to Futaba that she was here.
The speech itself was not particularly interesting; from what Futaba could hear, it consisted of standard clichés for pampered, wealthy simpletons who had never lifted a finger in their lives – slogans about finding oneself, conquering the world, and other pompous nonsense, which somehow correlated with solving equations and memorizing random historical dates, most of which were fabricated. But, perhaps, when you have trillions of reiks in your account, and a life-size dollhouse named after you, with toys that stand at attention before you, your thoughts really do revolve around matters of "hearts" and "destinies."
As it turned out, the words "first generation" of students flashed by, which further diminished the importance of all the previous words. That is, this is not just a game, but also a social experiment.
At the end of this spectacle, three excellent students were called up and held up as an example, to inspire the rest of the crowd. Of course, such a trick could not evoke any feelings of solidarity or admiration in anyone except the most hopeless simpletons. On the contrary, the human nature of many of those present certainly filled their hearts with all kinds of negative emotions – envy, contempt, and a demonstrative disdain for the upstarts.
To top it all off, the director decided to make her job easier and smooth over the impression of her weak speech by bringing one of those girls into the spotlight, who, caught off guard and obviously unprepared for such a step, giggled and chirped the words most typical of her flighty and smug type, something about enjoying every day and so on.
Looking at the director's predatory smile and unfriendly squint during this improvisation, Futaba realized that if she had any talent, it was probably this – using people who happened to be at hand for her own selfish purposes.
After all the formalities were over, the old man, whom Futaba could remember patrolling the rows between the desks during exams, performed an uncharacteristic magic trick with a cloth – judging by his sour expression, he didn't particularly like this theater, and it was most likely another bright idea of the self-willed director.
Staying away from the mass of sweaty bodies that filled all the passageways, and trying not to overdo it with her breaths, Futaba listlessly scans the various weapons that were offered to them.
The old man's words, which designated the training for war as the main priority of this school, did not fit with the director's vague and ambiguous words, which promised the wide-eyed teenagers mountains of gold and spiritual self-development. Most likely, they are all being prepared for the upcoming bloodbath in the coming years or decades, for the benefit of those in power.
Sighing heavily, Futaba wanders between the stands like a lost soul, until her gaze stops on a katana. "I wonder if I can use something like this?" she thinks, testing the blade for sharpness and stroking the intricate design on the long hilt.
My sword, my trusted ally, unphased by my aspect.
