That day, when Teacher Mizuno erased the blackboard, chalk dust fell all over her sleeve.
Kiyo stared at it for a long time before finally blurting out, "Teacher, your sleeve is snowing."
Someone in the classroom laughed. Teacher Mizuno glanced down, patted her sleeve, and instead of all the dust coming off, it smeared into a larger patch.
"Then today, we'll write about dust," she said.
Kiyo's smile froze on his face.
Morita Yu said quietly, "Congratulations on contributing the topic."
Teacher Mizuno did not write the topic on the board. She only brushed the dust from her cuff onto the edge of the podium.
As the dust scattered, she had each of them write three lines: one thing still in their hands, one thing already handed over, and one thing they did not want to write for others to see. Once they finished, they were not to read them aloud, only turn them in to her.
East Corridor Group Two fell quiet very quickly.
Che stared at the paper, his pen hovering before the first line. The notice on the old wooden board, the white line beneath his feet, the paper lantern, the new light, the wooden tag, the record and retelling, the side-door verification, the temporary list, the old classroom door, the East Corridor bell—all of it crowded into his mind without any order.
Beside him, Kiyo scratched at his head, clearly stuck on the three lines too.
"One thing still in my hands..." he murmured. "Does a rice ball count as being in my hands?"
Morita Yu said, "It's already in your stomach."
"Then I'm carrying it internally."
Teacher Mizuno looked over.
Kiyo immediately lowered his head and began writing.
On his first line, Che wrote: The old wrist guard isn't being worn, but it's at the