Those words still hung over the room. No one answered.
The silence stretched a little longer, then footsteps broke it.
Among the desks near the door, a hand rose. Not high, and without wavering. Its owner stood, his chair making no sound.
He headed down the aisle, each step firm.
Both hands were free. Each footfall landed solidly.
A second table stood, taking care even with the chair legs.
The door swung twice behind them. The sound of it opening and closing grew more familiar each time.
Behind the lectern, Ibiki drew a chalk mark beside the roster, crossing out a name before moving to the next line.
The marks behind the lectern came at an unhurried pace, keeping time with the footsteps in the hall.
Another mark on the paper, another set of footsteps in the hall. A glance was enough to tell which mark belonged to which table.
However quickly the marks fell, they could not keep up with the raised hands.
Before the first set of footsteps reached the stairs, a hand rose at a table diagonally behind them. Only one chair made a sound.
One table left, then another. Hands rose, people stood, footsteps passed through the door, and another mark followed at the lectern. Pair after pair of feet headed down the hall toward the stairs. Halfway there, their steps merged into a wash of sound against the corridor tiles, making it impossible to tell who stepped first.
One table was slow to stand. An elbow knocked a test paper askew, then pushed it back.
No one called out or looked back. Their footsteps said everything.
Hands rose at one table after another, their owners' chins angled toward their own papers.
At the abandoned tables, test papers lay where they had been, pens resting across