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The afternoon sun slanted through the wide windows of Class 2-3 as golden light streamed in, casting a blinding glow over those in the room. Haruaki stood at the front, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a piece of chalk in hand. Wearing his usual soft smile, he eased the class into attention.
“All right, everyone,” he began, a hint of patience and firmness in his voice. “As you all remember, I gave each of you an assignment—to research families that have had a significant influence on youkai or human society, or perhaps other beings whose stories are worth remembering. So, who’d like to go first?”
A few hands shot up. Haruaki pointed to his student, Ogata Rin, who used to be a god. “All right, Rin, you may begin.”
“Seimei, can I do the presentation with my brother?” Ogata Rin asked as he stood up from his chair and walked to the front.
“Sure… as long as both of you will present it,” Haruaki said, agreeing to the request. Just then, Ogata Kou—Rin’s brother—stood up and immediately joined him before their teacher could change his mind.
“All right then, my brother and I will discuss the history of the Abe Clan,” Ogata Kou said, as the room suddenly fell silent, unsure how to react.
All eyes flicked toward the man at the front of the class—Abe Haruaki, their Japanese Literature teacher, their homeroom adviser, and, to many of them, the kindest human they knew. A few eyes twitched nervously, students exchanging uneasy glances.
Haruaki only smiled lightly. “Proceed,” he said, his tone calm as if the topic didn’t concern him. But his hand, resting on the desk, tensed ever so slightly.
Both brothers nodded, and Ogata Rin began speaking.
“As we all know, the Abe Clan is one of the families well known not only in the human community but also among the youkai and gods,” he began. “Based on our research—according to both documents and rumors from the realm of the gods—the Abe Clan were known among humans as servants of the Imperial Family, acting as their advisers and scholars. At that time, it was never mentioned that they had any connection to the gods or to the youkai. It seems they had no intention of revealing such ties—until the day the youkai attacked their manor. Those were the days when youkai were still wild, mindless creatures, ready to devour everything in their path.”
When Rin paused, he glanced at his classmates and noticed the uneasiness their presentation had brought, as tense silence enveloped the room.
Then Kou continued, his tone steadier than before. “The clan was helpless. They were still ordinary humans, powerless against the youkai that tore through their walls. But just as they were about to be devoured—” he paused, glancing awkwardly toward Haruaki, “—the gods descended. They called the youkai sinners of the world, struck them down, and saved the Abe Clan from destruction.”
A few students fidgeted uncomfortably. Tamao, who was listening intently, muttered under his breath, “Sinners, huh…”
Kou went on, his voice more confident now. “Afterward, the gods granted the Abe Clan divine power—anti-youkai energy meant to cleanse corruption and defend humanity. From then on, they built shrines to honor the gods and vowed to serve the Imperial Family for generations. Even to us who once were gods, it’s still unclear why the youkai attacked only the Abe manor at that time, or why the gods gave them such power. It remains a mystery we could never figure out.”
When the Ogata brothers finished their presentation, no one clapped. The silence remained heavy—almost suffocating.
Haruaki rose slowly, brushing chalk dust from his fingers. His smile was gentle, but his eyes… there was something unreadable in them.
“Thank you, you two,” he said softly. “That was…a well-presented report.”
He looked around at his students—his youkai students—each one avoiding his gaze, unsure whether to feel guilty, afraid, or simply curious.
Then Haruaki spoke again, his tone calm yet faintly melancholic.
“The Abe Clan did receive that power,” he said. “But history forgets that it came at a cost. Many of my ancestors didn’t hate youkai—they pitied them. They saw what the gods didn’t: that youkai were creatures of emotion, not evil. Their hunger, their rage, their sorrow…all came from imbalance.”
A murmur rippled through the class.
“The truth,” Haruaki continued, “is that we didn’t destroy youkai—we learned to understand them. That’s why I stand here today. Teaching you isn’t rebellion against my lineage—it’s a continuation of it.”
Silence again—but this time, it wasn’t heavy. It was warm, tentative, and full of unspoken respect.
Zashiki, who had remained silent until now, raised her hand and asked her teacher confidently, though part of her didn’t want to hear the answer. “Seimei… does that mean you don’t see us as sinners?”
Haruaki chuckled quietly. “Sinners?” he repeated, shaking his head. “No. Just students. And maybe… reminders that the gods don’t always see the whole picture.”
The bell rang as the tension shifted. Chairs scraped, their usual chatter returned—but something in the air had changed. The students of Class 2-3 looked at their teacher with new eyes—not as the descendant of their ancient enemy, but as the man who chose to teach them despite the history written in his blood.
And as the last student left, Haruaki remained by the window, sunlight tracing the faint shadow of a small Abe crest embroidered on his sleeve.
The gods called them sinners… but maybe the gods were wrong, he thought.