Shiro's Classroom of the Elite

Reckoning

*"The purpose of life is not to be happy. It is to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well."*

I'd always found Emerson's words amusing. Such lofty ideals packaged in neat sentences, as if the complexities of existence could be distilled into a motivational poster.

The sun beat down on my face as I sprawled across the bench at the bus stop, one arm flung over my eyes, the other dangling toward the ground.

*What's the purpose of life if not survival?* I mused, watching clouds drift through the gaps between my fingers. *Being useful? To whom? Being honorable? By whose standards?*

I shifted on the hard bench, feeling the edge of my wallet press against my hip. Inside: exactly 28,637 yen and a folded photograph of my mother and sister. The real purpose of life was much simpler than Emerson suggested. Keep breathing. Keep those you care about breathing too.

My tongue pushed against the inside of my cheek, rolling the lollipop I'd been nursing for the past twenty minutes. Cherry. Not my favorite, but the convenience store hadn't stocked blue raspberry.

Three years away from home. Three years of navigating whatever this prestigious institution had planned. All anyone knew was the end result—100% employment rate, guaranteed success, the brightest minds in Japan coalescing in an isolated campus. The specifics remained conveniently vague in their brochures.

"Excuse me."

The voice came from somewhere above my head. Female. Young. Annoyed. I didn't move.

"Excuse me," she repeated, louder this time. "You're taking up the entire bench."

I sighed, removed my arm from my eyes, and squinted up at the silhouette blocking the sun. The backlight made her features difficult to discern, but her posture—weight shifted to one hip, arms crossed—told me enough.

"Am I?" I asked, making no effort to sit up. "Hadn't noticed."

"There are like three other people waiting, and you're sprawled out like you're at a beach resort."

I glanced sideways without moving my head. Indeed, an elderly man with a cane, a middle-aged woman clutching a handbag, and a boy about my age with headphones stood nearby. None qappeared particularly bothered by the seating arrangement.

"Technically," I said, returning my gaze to the girl, "this isn't a bench. It's a bus stop. The bench is incidental."

She stepped closer, and her face came into focus. Sharp eyes the color of a bluish green, narrowed in frustration. Blue hair that became lighter further down pulled back in a practical ponytail. School uniform similar to the one I had on.

"Are you seriously going to make an old man stand because you want to sunbathe?"

I clicked the lollipop against my teeth twice before responding. "If I sit up, there's room for maybe two people. Three remain standing. If I stay as I am, four people stand instead of three. The net change is minimal."

Her eyebrows shot up. "That's your justification? A net change of one person standing?"

"I didn't say it was justification. Just an observation." I pushed myself up to a sitting position anyway, sliding over to one end of the bench. "But please, by all means."

She hesitated, then gestured to the elderly man. "Sir, would you like to sit?"

The old man waved her off with a smile. "No need to trouble yourself, young lady. These old legs still work fine."

The girl frowned, her victory somewhat diminished, then sat at the opposite end of the bench.

I pulled the lollipop from my mouth. "Interesting."