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The Last Classroom
墨書 Inktalez
"Ran Ge! Ran Ge! It exploded! It really exploded!"
My arm was suddenly grabbed, nails digging into my flesh.
Fat Li's voice burst in my ear, hoarse and breathless. He pointed towards the end of the corridor where a wall was plastered with white paper, the crowd dense and surging forward, the noise overwhelming.
"Look... look at Chen Shuo!" Fat Li nearly twisted my head around.
A mass of names and numbers crowded the paper. My gaze raced over those familiar, struggling names before finally locking onto one spot.
Tenth place: Chen Shuo.
Total score: 698.
The air I inhaled felt icy in my lungs.
698? Chen Shuo?
The same Chen Shuo who had laughed carelessly in the art studio, paint smeared all over his face, saying, "If worse comes to worst, I'll just repeat a year to get into art school"?
I pushed through the sweaty shoulders in front of me, the heat and smell of sweat clinging to my skin.
Chen Shuo stood on the outskirts of the crowd, leaning against the cold tiled wall. He wore the same blue-and-white school uniform as us, buttoned all the way to the top, meticulous in appearance. His face was devoid of color.
"Chen Shuo!" I squeezed my way over, punching his shoulder with all my strength, just like we used to when celebrating a goal. "Awesome! 698! You kept it well hidden!"
His head slowly turned towards me.
His eyes met mine, but there was no focus, no shine in his pupils. The muscles at the corners of his mouth didn’t twitch at all.
The gazes from those around us—envy, jealousy, curiosity—fell upon him, but he showed no reaction whatsoever.
He didn’t even care about this? What about this? This thing that used to light up his eyes?
I stared at his unresponsive face, fingers tightening around the paintbrush in my pocket, its metal coolness piercing into my palm.
I pulled my hand back, the silver-gray pen slipping slightly in my sweaty palm. With a flick of my wrist, I nearly slammed it down, letting it fall straight onto the gray-white concrete at Chen Shuo's feet.
"Thud!" The sound was louder and crisper than I had imagined. The pen bounced once, rolling over the tip of his dusty white sneakers before coming to a stop. Chen Shuo's gaze slowly shifted downward, halting half an inch above the pen. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Then that slight downward movement disappeared. His eyes leveled again, drifting past my shoulder to stare into the void behind the crowd. His feet remained firmly planted on the ground, not even his toes curling.
A chill shot up from the soles of my feet straight to the top of my head.
"...Monster." A soft intake of breath behind me, a girl's whisper.
"Shh! Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Another voice immediately cut in, laced with fear. "He's a potential candidate for Qingbei now! Director Wang's prized student!"
"Really got in? Just a few weeks?"
"What else? His parents are practically begging Director Wang on their knees... I heard the competition was fierce..."
"Once you're in, it's either soaring high or... ruined. Just look at him..."
"Ran Ge?" Fat Li tugged at my arm, "What are you spacing out for? Chen Shuo... does this count as success?"
Success? I stared into his eyes. There was no reflection of the pen, no trace of me—nothing but a blank grayness.
The buzzing voices around me mingled with the scent of sweat and the ink from report cards, alongside that solitary, dust-covered silver-gray brush at my feet.
"The Last Classroom..." The words slipped through my teeth, icy and heavy.
I clenched my fingers in my pocket, nails digging into my palm, a dull pain spreading through me. What had happened to Chen Shuo?
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