Ten minutes to decide if she would give herself up...Or let them all die.
Keira could feel every pair of eyes in the room drilling into her.
Ten minutes. That’s what he said.
But already, each second felt like an hour.
She looked around.No one said anything. Not anymore.
Some looked at her with horror. Others with pity. And a few... a few already looked like they were beginning to hope she would do it.
So they wouldn’t have to.
Her throat tightened.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t real. She was just in class. Just wearing her uniform. Just having another regular day in her very normal, very controllable life.
And yet here she was, being offered up to a monster, in front of everyone—by a teacher who still hadn’t raised his voice once.
A small sob broke out to her left.
Keira turned and saw a girl—Maria, she thought her name was—hunched over in her seat, covering her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes.
Another student backed up into the wall, muttering something under their breath. One boy started laughing—short, broken giggles that had no joy in them.
"Why her?" a voice asked.
It was a thin boy near the front—Tim, maybe. His eyes were wide with fear, his hands trembling. "Why does it have to be her? What if someone else volunteers?"
Ethan blinked, then stood upright.
"Well," he said slowly, "that would be interesting. But you see... I picked Keira for a reason."
He turned to her again, as if remembering something beautiful.
"She understands youth," he said, as though it were the highest compliment in the world. "She understands guilt. She’s perfect for the lesson."
Tim stepped back, but another voice chimed in.
"I mean..." Ravi muttered, not looking at Keira. "She’s the one who bullied Rin, right?"
Keira’s mouth parted slightly.
She didn’t thought that somone would use his name here.
Now his name was being used like a sentence.
"I... I didn’t..." she tried to speak, but the words choked in her throat.
"Oh, you did," Ethan said gently. "But don’t worry. We all make mistakes. That’s why this class is so important."
He pointed to the blackboard again.
The words were still there in his loopy handwriting.
—Failure is the lesson of life. It’s beautiful.
"This is your moment to grow, Keira," he said.
The centipede hissed behind him, inching closer.
Her knees buckled slightly, but she stayed upright.
The room was getting smaller. The air thinner.
And then a girl spoke up, quiet but sharp.
"Would you really let the rest of us go if she... if she does it?"
All eyes shifted to Ethan again.
He beamed. "Of course. I’m not a liar."
Then he clasped his hands together and looked at Keira once more.
"Tick, tock, Keira. Time’s slipping."
Keira stared down at her trembling hands.
And no one—not one person—was going to save her.
Not the teacher. Not the students. Not herself.
Is this my punishment? she wondered.
For all the people she made cry, just because she could?
She swallowed hard, forcing her legs to stop shaking.
"Fine," she said, barely above a whisper. "I’ll do it."
A wave of silence crashed through the classroom.
Ethan’s smile grew just a little wider.
Then he tilted his head, studying her like a curious animal.
"You’ll do it?" he echoed, softly.
Keira gave a slight nod, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her knees still trembled, but she stood.
Ethan took a slow step forward.
His shoes clicked softly against the tile floor.
Until he stood barely two feet away from her.
From this distance, Keira could see it clearly—the way his pupils were dilated, the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth, the almost imperceptible tension in his jaw.
"You’re not... trying to stall, are you?" he asked suddenly, voice still light.
The question dropped like a stone in the middle of the room.
"What?" Keira blinked. "No—I said I’d—"
Ethan raised a hand, cutting her off gently.
"No need to explain," he said, his voice dangerously calm now. "But you see... I’ve been around long enough to recognize the signs."
He took another step, and the centipede shifted beside him, its pincers clicking softly.
"You’re trembling. Your voice is too quiet. You said it too easily. Too fast."
He leaned in, his voice dropping into a whisper only she could hear.
"Are you hoping someone will interrupt? Hoping I’ll change my mind? That a teacher will barge in and stop this? Or maybe... maybe you’re just waiting for a hero to stand up and say, ’Don’t worry, I’ll take her place.’"
Keira’s lips parted, but no sound came out.
Ethan smiled again, brighter this time—almost boyish.
"That’s the problem with liars, Keira," he said. "They think everyone else is as clever as they are."
He stepped back, spinning on his heel to face the rest of the class again.
"Let’s give her a hand, everyone!" he announced cheerfully. "Our first volunteer of the day!"
Keira’s heart thudded painfully against her chest. She could feel the sweat trickling down her back.
She’d meant it—didn’t she?
She was going to step forward. She was going to do it. She just needed a moment to breathe. To steady herself.
But now Ethan had peeled that away.
He wasn’t going to let her die with dignity.
He was going to tear her apart—slowly, publicly, emotionally—before the monster even got to her.
The insect-humnoid shifted again, its eyes locked on her, antennae twitching.
And Ethan, standing beside it with arms open, looked positively delighted.
"Come now," he said gently. "It’s rude to keep your class waiting."