Ten Tales At Midnight - Chapter 3

? Chapter 3 ? #First Story -­ Note (2)

After that, for a while, the relationship between me and the class president became awkward.

I wanted to ask why she wrote that note… but whenever she saw me, she would blush and quickly turn away.

From my perspective, it made no sense. The class president wrote the note, so why should I be treated like that?

Looking back now, I realize that her behavior stemmed from immature emotions.

Of course, I didn’t know that at the time. I was oblivious.

And what bothered me wasn’t the class president’s behavior.

What bothered me was directly related to 15.

Why did 15 claim to have written a note that she didn’t even write?

? ? ?

A week after the note incident.

Our class rearranged seats.

I was completely surprised.

My new seat partner was 15.

Mixed emotions flooded within me.

Coincidentally, she was the one I had been concerned about, and I thought it would be a good opportunity to get to know her if we could open up to each other.

However, on the other hand, I felt a little worried.

15 was a bit… peculiar.

I didn’t believe the rumors about her. While I may have been oblivious, I didn’t believe in superstitions.

But it was true that dealing with 15 was difficult.

She was strangely silent and always had a gloomy expression on her face.

An empty gaze, as if looking into nothingness. Sometimes, when I looked at her, I felt a chilling sensation as if a ghost had entered the room.

“Uh, hello…?”

Nevertheless, I mustered up the courage to greet 15, my new seat partner.

“…..”

But 15 didn’t even acknowledge that she heard me.

I at least hoped for a nod or some kind of response, but 15 didn’t even look in my direction.

I was being treated like a ghost.

This happened last time. Back then, I was angry at being ignored, but now it didn’t bother me at all.

I came to accept that she had an unusual personality.

“Hey.”

Someone approached and spoke to me. It was the class president.

She was making an effort to alleviate the awkwardness between us.

Just two days ago, she used to avoid me and run away, but now she was initiating greetings and conversations.

She was trying, in her own way, to restore our previous relationship.

In that aspect, the class president definitely had a mature side.

“Would you like to switch seats with me…?”

The target of the class president’s words was not me, but 15 next to me.

The class president said it was because she couldn’t see the blackboard due to being short, but looking back now, it was just an excuse.

Even before changing seats, she was sitting in the back row.

The class president wanted to become my seat partner.

And while observing such a class president, I felt a sense of relief and regret at the same time.

I felt a sense of relief, thinking that I could fully restore my relationship with the class president, but at the same time, I felt a sense of regret as the opportunity to become closer to 15 vanished.

However…

“…..”

15’s reaction was unexpected.

She shook her head at the class president.

It was a clear refusal.

No one expected it. No one anticipated that 15 would reject the class president’s request.

She wasn’t unfairly forced, and there was a legitimate reason (excuse) of ‘not being able to see the blackboard due to being short’.

The class president’s face stiffened in an instant.

The feigned smile on her face contorted.

The class president had always treated 15 with disdain, like a bug. So, the shame from getting rejected was probably as big as her disgust.

The class president returned to her seat without saying a word.

I stared blankly at her figure. I could sense anger in the tightly clenched fist of the class president.

Ha..

Suddenly, I heard laughter from beside me. It was a mocking laughter.

Startled, I turned my head to see 15 with an expressionless face.

Who was laughing?

A small, quaint tone that lingers in my ears.

? ? ?

The next morning.

“Hello…?”

“…..”

Once again, 15 ignored my greeting as expected. By now, it no longer surprised me.

Feeling like an invisible person, I took my seat.

Glancing briefly at the side, I noticed a bruise on 15’s lip.

Who could have caused it? Her shaman mother? Or maybe her father? Brother? Sister?

The decisive reason why I couldn’t help 15 was that I knew nothing about her.

Just like how you can’t solve a math problem without knowing the formula.

I couldn’t approach 15 blindly on a subject I knew nothing about.

I have never seen 15 engage in a conversation with a friend.

Can she even speak in the first place? Does she have any friends?

During lunchtime, seeing her eating alone, separated from the crowd, she looked incredibly lonely.

Even if I couldn’t provide direct help… at the very least, couldn’t I be a friend to her?

I had that thought.

To break through 15’s impenetrable barrier of ignoring me, I needed a tactic of my own.

The tactic I chose was none other than writing notes.

Hello.

I wrote on the note and handed it to 15. She didn’t even glance at it.

She seemed completely uninterested.

I had put some thought into this tactic, so being completely ignored like this made me feel embarrassed and frustrated.

With a sense of indignation, I unfolded the note I had folded and placed it on 15’s desk.

15 looked down at the note. She still seemed disinterested, but at least she didn’t crumple it up or tear it apart.

She just left it there.

About five minutes passed like that.

A small piece of paper fell on my desk.

It was the note that 15, who was sitting next to me, had thrown.

It felt like receiving a birthday present from someone I had just met.

Startled, I looked at 15, but she acted as if nothing had happened.

Her note said this:

Yeah.

It was the first time she acknowledged my greeting.

Although her handwriting was a bit messy, I was very happy.

Taking the first step towards becoming friends through a note.

That’s how 15 and I started exchanging notes.

Yeah.

No.

Okay.

Those were the brief and curt responses in 15’s notes.

In contrast, I wrote my notes with sincerity. I put effort into making jokes or doodling.

If she had been focused on the class, I would have felt sorry, but 15 wasn’t particularly interested in studying.

Her gaze was fixed forward, but her mind was elsewhere.

What are you thinking about?

So, without hesitation, I handed a note to 15.

Watching her nonchalantly write back, I felt a sense of pride.

I’m not thinking about anything.

Not thinking about anything. I glanced at 15 next to me.

A slightly slouched posture. Pale skin and lingering bruises. Eyes hidden behind long bangs.

I couldn’t quite figure out what she was thinking.

What’s your hobby? What do you like?

None.

What kind of conversation can I have with a girl who has no hobbies or interests?

I grabbed my head and desperately tried to think on how to start the conversation.

We’re doing a big cleaning today. Which area are you in charge of?

Corridor.

I’m envious. I’m in the music room.

I must have seemed strange to the other kids. To think that I was exchanging notes with 15 that everyone avoids.

But I wasn’t concerned about other people’s opinions. 

And the fact that I’m having a conversation with the silent 15 brought me a strange sense of excitement. 

It felt like I had caught a glimpse of her voice, even though she had never opened her mouth.

When it was time for cleaning, I headed towards the music room, humming a tune.

The class president was also there.

The class president scolded me, asking what I was doing with 15.

They had caught sight of us exchanging notes in the back.

When I replied that we were exchanging notes, the class president became furious.

“Are you crazy? Why are you exchanging notes with someone like her?”

“What business is it of yours who I exchange notes with?”

As I responded, the class president looked at me with a look of disbelief.

Tears welled up in those big eyes of hers.

I couldn’t understand why the class president was so upset.

“… Don’t exchange notes with her anymore. If I catch you attracting attention again, I’ll report it to the teacher.” 

The class president said, her voice trembling.

I was dumbfounded.

She even teamed up with other girls to bombard me with notes. And now she’s telling me not to exchange notes anymore?

I was put off when I saw her coming out with an air of superiority. 

Without saying a word, I left the music room.

The class president’s voice asking where I was going pierced my back, but I simply ignored it.

The class president seemed visibly upset, but I wasn’t in a good mood either.

Then, I saw 15 at the end of the corridor.

Seeing her cleaning with a mop, my irritation seemed to dissipate.

Would she acknowledge my presence this time? After all, we had been exchanging notes.

I approached 15 with giddy anticipation.

But I couldn’t bring myself to say ‘hello.’

Before I even came face to face with her, 15 bent over…

“Blergh…”

Suddenly, she vomited.

She quickly covered her mouth with her hand, but the vomit splattered through her fingers and onto the corridor floor.

The kids passing by screamed. Within the puddle of yellow vomit, a circle was forming around 15’s feet.

“Hey… are you okay?!”

I hurriedly ran to support 15. She staggered as if she could collapse at any moment.

Leaving the commotion behind, I took 15 to the school infirmary and explained the situation to the nurse.

When the nurse asked if there was any pain, 15 remained silent.

It was incredibly frustrating for me to witness her silence.

The complexion of 15, who was exercising her right to remain silent, was visibly unhealthy.

Her eyes, visible through the tangled hair, lacked focus. She appeared lifeless, as if she were a corpse.

I had to muster all my strength to walk steadily when the nurse asked me to step outside for a moment.

As I walked towards the corridor, I noticed the children whispering and grimacing around the vomit that 15 had expelled.

“Ugh… I think I’m going to throw up too.”

“Is it her? The girl from Class 2?”

“Yeah, yeah. The shaman’s daughter.”

“I always felt uneasy around her.”

“She suddenly vomited.”

“Did she see a ghost in the corridor?”

“How disgusting.”

No one had any intention of cleaning up the mess. Seeing that, I felt a surge of anger.

I picked up the fallen mop in the corridor. Then I pushed the kids aside and began to mop the floor.

Swish, swish…

As I angrily cleaned the floor, the kids finally scattered in all directions.

My grip on the mop handle grew tighter and tighter.

Why did 15 vomit?

Why am I so angry?

“…..”

After finishing mopping, I lifted my head and found the class president standing in front of me.

With arms crossed, she glared at me, clearly wanting to say something.

Even though I didn’t say anything, she spoke.

“Why are you…”

“Get lost.”

Get lost.

I shot back at the class president.

My voice was filled with such unexpected anger. It was a voice that resembled the growl of a wild animal.

Upon hearing that, the class president’s eyes and she froze in place.

I walked past the frozen class president and slammed the mop with force into the storage locker. Then, until the end of the class, I lay face down on the desk.

Suddenly, I heard a sniffle from behind. It was followed by comforting words from the other kids.

The class president was crying.

Why was there no one comforting 15?

Regardless of whether she vomited or not, the homeroom teacher didn’t even show any concern.

I was filled with frustration.

As soon as the bell rang, I grabbed 15’s bag and headed to the infirmary.

However, I couldn’t find 15 anywhere.

“She took an early leave.”

“Ah…”

I felt disappointed. I had even brought her bag with me.

My mind went blank. Just as I was about to take a step to leave, the school nurse grabbed my arm.

“Ah. Wait. She asked me to give this to you.”

The school nurse handed me a small note.

It was a red piece of paper. 15 asked me to have this?

With trembling hands, I opened the note.