Before the second morning class began, Yamashiro Takuma came in carrying a cloth bag.
The bag was not large, but when he set it on the podium, it made a series of soft clattering sounds, like a string of crisp, gentle raindrops. Kiyo's ears perked up first, and his eyes lit up. "Is there food in there?"
Morita Yu did not even look at him. "What exactly is inside your head whenever you hear the word food?"
Yamashiro Takuma loosened the bag's opening and poured out a small handful of grayish-white pebbles. They were roughly the same size, their edges worn smooth. As they landed on the wooden desk, they rolled apart slightly, making brief, scattered clicks.
"Today, we practice listening," the teacher said.
The moment those words fell, every child in the classroom sat a little straighter. In the past few days, they had practiced repeating information, roll call, relaying messages, as well as the order before the Fire Line and chakra leaf-sticking. With listening being singled out again, everyone knew it would not be as simple as seeing whose ears were sharper.
Che looked at the small pile of pebbles, and a familiar feeling surfaced in his heart.
When the landing point could not be seen, first identify the sound, then the position, and only then move. This was actually part of the same thread as those classes before the Fire Line. Fire made people afraid, while pebbles made them let down their guard more easily. The more ordinary something seemed, the more easily it exposed one's true habits.
Yamashiro Takuma quickly wrote the rules on the blackboard.
No peeking.
Call the direction first.
Before the pebble comes to rest, do not add the second half of your answer.
Kiyo stared at the third rule for a long