Sakuramoria

Leaning her back against the wall, Futaba exhaled several rings of bluish smoke and glanced lazily over her shoulder. Down there, a dramatic scene was unfolding, filled with cries, tears, and sobs, marking the expulsion of the annoying wasp named Stella Horst from the dormitory. This event in itself caused some disturbance, as Futaba had no intention of memorizing the names of the extras who filled the already cramped corridors of life with their useless bodies, but now it was involuntarily etched in her mind, thanks to the endless gossip coming from every corner. From this floor, through the thick and dusty glass, indistinct figures flitted back and forth, hugging, making convulsive gestures with their limbs, and generally behaving like they were on a theater stage, acting out the entire spectrum of emotions without ever quite deciding to let one of them go for good, beyond the gates. From a side room, a janitor ran out, waving a broom and gesticulating just as frantically, pointing his finger around the unfolding scene and making a characteristic gesture with his hand, as if shooing away a stray cat. From this vantage point in the gallery, it wasn't clear what he was getting at; perhaps he didn't like the students stirring up road dust with their endless dancing, which, in fact, he should have been sweeping up. In response, one of them recoiled in fright, another put her hands on her hips and began to answer him angrily, and a third awkwardly swung a makeup bag at him. This scene lasted for about a minute, when another well-wisher jumped out from around the corner and intervened in the scuffle in an attempt to break it up, but ended up getting hit with the makeup bag and a broom handle – which made Futaba burst out laughing, something that had been happening extremely rarely in recent years, because it looked so comical and absurd. What happened after that was left out of the picture, because the action soon moved beyond the area visible from the school toilet window. Even if Bella hadn't been expelled right now for her stupidity and weakness, her future life within the walls of this school probably wouldn't have been worth it. After that embarrassing childish outburst in gym class, which the entire class laughed at, her social standing in the eyes of primate society had fallen so low that she would never be able to restore it; in this regard, it was impossible to feel any sympathy for her, even though she was "one of them," as she had said on her first day. The performance that could be observed from the window five minutes ago was not a sign of deep friendly affection from her fellow students, but merely a projection of their insecurity and uncertainty about the future, stemming from the fact that the thing, event, or environment to which they dedicate themselves – in this case, the school – has lost one of its cogs, which, even if it doesn't directly affect them, partially undermines the value and authority of that very thing, in their own eyes. In the end, a poorly done test was just another nail in an already sealed coffin. By the way, Futaba thought, taking a cigarette in her teeth and simultaneously inhaling, she pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of her skirt pocket – her own work. She hadn't bothered to check her grades in the last few years, but they had given them back, signed. A three-plus or a four-minus? Who knows. She would have rated herself a solid four, but perhaps the sharp remarks she made about her hometown to the teacher played a negative role. Despite the calls to express her personal, unbiased assessment, the complex provincial nobody apparently didn't like seeing a sharply negative opinion from a privileged resident of a successful and sovereign country. Perhaps someone close to him died there. Or maybe he believes that only he, as a resident, has the exclusive right to judge his failed state. Well, what can you say – bad luck, you can only blame yourself for being born in such a dump. If she's lucky, she won't have any additional courses. Or maybe this is one of those "trials of war" that her grandfather kept talking about? Sometimes life is just unfair. Who knows, maybe it is. For example, Futaba received an "automatic" grade in physical education without even lifting a finger – easy come, easy go. From conversations in the hallways and the bouncy gait of the Barbarian, it became clear that her neighbor had received the maximum score for the essay. She didn't seem stupid and spent a lot of time studying, but a hundred out of a hundred? It inevitably raises the question – is there some kind of… how was it called?… Dunning-Kruger effect at play here? Never mind. A separate amusement was watching the face of Nirianna Melvans – who knows what grade she got, but the level of self-satisfaction had slightly decreased since the beginning of the semester, although an unobservant person might not have noticed it. And the Barbarian's strange affection for the painting in their room looked like she was being hit in the face with a dusty, moldy bag – there you have it, "number one." I wonder (not really), what grade did the class monitor get? He showed himself surprisingly well in physical education, which is funny, because all he did physically was walk back and forth about fifty meters the entire time. Exhaling a thick cloud of smoke, Futaba burned the word "Eolia" on her paper, leaving only a hole. Thinking, she also destroyed "Sakuramor". But even that wasn't enough – in the final smoldering of the cigarette butt, she burned "Lafrenia". This action seemed funny and symbolic to her when it first came to her, but in its execution, she felt neither satisfaction nor any other feeling. Crumpling the paper, she threw it into the hole in the floor, followed by the cigarette butt, so that under the action of the septic tank contents, it would soon dissolve into the smallest, invisible particles of Mana, and return to the great cycle of divine matter. Leaving the toilet, Futaba went to rattle the doors of the gym and the greenhouse.