A dull beginning

Show me a hero, and I’ll write you a tragedy.

F. Scott Fitzgerald

The city of Kyoto was an unremarkable one, its streets lined with sagging, weary towers. The sky emotionless like the leaden cement and the clouds blank. Between the city square and the rail station, there lies a small insignificant cluster of houses. Grey, wooden, frail. With every gust of wind, they creaked and shuddered. Fifty years have passed since the last renovation, to supply the area with electricity. The district is designated as A400.

Within A400, there lived a certain Mr. and Mrs. Hatsu, and their son, Kenji. The relationship between the family and their neighbors remained amicable for decades. The Hatsus were well respected within the community for their hard work, but also envied for their fortunes. The district was small, and the feelings between each family, intimate.

***

Kenji, shivering in his jacket, stepped from the front porch onto the streets. The cold wind rustled the trees, clothed in white, as if their branches sailed on the rough seas. The blast hit the boy with a numbing sharp blow. Snow falling down, down, down. Gently assembling into one pool of ice and water. Winter has come earlier than predicted, and the weather became pitiless.

After crossing two streets, Kenji quickened his pace. Beside him, pedestrians stared mindlessly forward, their ears plugged with the same electronic earbud. He paid no attention to them, and hurried towards a glass door decorated with a greasy bronze doorknob. The knob turned and a gush of warmth engulfed him eagerly. A thick aroma of roasted coffee surrounded Kenji. He disliked the faint taste of tea and preferred the strong excitement from coffee. He ordered a cup and sat down by the window side.

The sun created a halo around the silhouette of the dark buildings. The contrast brightened the yellow glow and blinded the view of onlookers. Kenji yawned and turned his back towards the window. The crowd thickened; it flowed through the passages like a thick muddy stream, clogging at each intersection. Kenji eyes the electric clock.

“7:35, school is going to begin soon.”

In fact, every public clock was electric. It saved time for the busy salaryman to read. But most of all, there was no ticking. The old clocks at home ticked and ticked, one , two, one two, tick, tock, one tick, two ticks. It constantly reminded him of the time passing by.

The snow had stopped, and Kenji once again stepped towards the freezing concrete floor. Chills went down his back and coldness seized his breath, strangling his lungs.

He stopped.

The school gates towered over Kenji. The metallic structure glistened under the beaming light. The sun had crawled above the barricade of skyscrapers. The school was quite modern despite its looks. The last renovation was only five years ago, but it was decided that the outside architecture should be kept the same as when it was founded. The sleek modern skyscrapers imposed on the shorter, yet grander school premise.

Kenji was never really interested in school. It bored him, the teachers, the courses, the students. The problem was not that he failed in academics, but rather the opposite. The programmed voice of the teachers reading a script to mindless absorption of the students. He wasn’t interested by the constant flow of facts waiting to be memorized.

A group of students walked past him; the silence bothered him. Their eyes were fixated on their phones. There was no conversation between the friends. He felt a nudge on the back and turned around.

“What are you loitering around for Hatsu, you’re going to be late!”

Before Kenji stood a brutish fellow, slightly taller than himself. Shinjiro Takahashi, a stubborn athlete, is an old friend of Kenji. He was the exact opposite of Kenji in stature, but their relationship remained stable and exceptionally well.

“Hold on, I’m coming…” His voice trailed off amid the crowd of students.

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