[40] Another Genius (2)
"Which of the two teachers do you prefer, Etella or Shiina? Ah, Shirone probably doesn't care—Amy-senpai's already taken him, right? Nade, what about you?"
"Hm. I prefer Etella. Shiina's fine too, though."
"Oho! Comrade. Etella's the best. She looks so young and her figure's killer. Especially her breasts… ugh."
Etella was attractive. Her oversized glasses lent her a slightly dopey look, and she tied her waist‑length hair up carelessly, but she was still a beauty. Above all, her body looked like a child's face grown to an adult physique—full and voluptuous—which made her the students' top crush.
The kids who had been arguing loudly suddenly fell quiet and drifted away. Shirone thought it odd, paused his Spirit Zone, and turned his head.
A oddly featured boy was walking toward them. He was Iruki, Class Five's eccentric. His blunt manner kept most classmates at a distance, but Nade—friends with everyone—was the exception.
"Yo, Iruki. You not here to practice or anything?"
"No. Dorm patrol. What were you lot talking about so excitedly?"
"Same as always—who's the better teacher."
Nade suddenly realized and pointed at Shirone.
"Oh, Shirone! First time meeting him, right? This is Iruki. He's the outsider of Class Five."
It had been almost a month since Shirone was promoted to Class Five, but this was his first time meeting Iruki. It wasn't that Iruki avoided him—he simply skipped class more often than he attended.
"Hoho! Arian Shirone. You're the genius the school's keeping an eye on, aren't you? I should write that down in my diary—what an honor."
Shirone understood why the others kept their distance. Iruki's gaze dissected people and his tone had a curled, teasing edge.
"Hi. I'm Shirone. Nice to meet you."
"Kukuku, a genius asking for favors. I've been watching you since Class Seven. When you pulled off that detachment form, when you crossed that uncrossable bridge—those times, too."
"Huh? You were watching me?"
Shirone realized then. A thin, metallic-scraping voice—the same voice that had given him advice when his Spirit Zone had trembled under the students' criticism.
"So you were the one who told me that?"
"I spoke up because it annoyed me. I don't like seeing you get pushed around by kids."
Iruki waved his hand as if it were a bother, but Shirone was grateful. Without that remark, getting out of his slump would've been far harder.
"Thanks. It really helped."
Iruki stared at him.
"You're a really boring kid, aren't you?"
"Huh? Boring?"
It was the first time Shirone had heard that, and it left him oddly stung. Nade, with instinctive tact, shifted the mood.
"Hey, hey! Iruki. It's rude to say that to someone who just thanked you."
Iruki shrugged and turned away.
"Oh really? I meant it as praise. Anyway, do your best. It won't be easy—Class Five has a lot of weirdos. Kekekeke."
As Iruki walked off, Nade called after him.
"Hey, where're you going? Practice with us."
"Nah. I'd rather sleep."
Shirone gaped in disbelief. Sleeping because practice was a hassle. Class Five was one of the top advanced groups—how someone like that had gotten this far was beyond him.
"He's… got a strange personality."
"Sorry, Shirone. Once you get to know him he's not that bad."
"But—"
"Haha! I know what you're thinking. Don't dig too deep or you'll just tire yourself out. He's a genius, too. Just a different kind of genius, which makes him a problem."
"A genius? Iruki's a genius?"
"Aha! You're new enough you haven't noticed."
Nade explained Iruki. Despite the label of genius, his grades were about the same as Nade's. But no one in the class underestimated his ability.
Iruki was the archetype of a one-sided person. In subjects ruled by sensitivity—literature, art—he scored zeros without fail, but in anything requiring calculation he could get perfect marks with his eyes closed.
At first the teachers vied to mentor him, but his reckless temperament drove most away.
Still, his mathematical ability reportedly surpassed even some graduates, so many teachers expected him to leave Class Five soon.
Iruki's specialty was computational physics—a field only those with rare brain functions could practice—modeling phenomena at extremes like temperatures above a hundred million degrees and turning them into numbers.
Academia called a brain capable of that savant syndrome. It usually appears in autistic people but can show up in otherwise normal individuals.
The cause is unclear, but the prevailing theory is that some fetal brain region was damaged and then naturally healed, opening an unusual thought circuit. It's similar to insight in that a different circuit is used, but Iruki's savantism leaned toward mechanical computation.
He could calculate the date forty thousand years from now within a minute. If he didn't sleep, he could spend his life reciting the digits of pi.
Shirone gaped at Nade's description. If any of it were true, it was an incredible talent.
"Why's someone like that still in Class Five? And how can he get zeros like that? Even guessing would get some right."
"Kukuku. It's always like that. A month ago—this happened…"
Nade told the tale of Iruki's theory exam. As expected, he had aced the natural science section, but his answer on the literature question angered the literature teacher.
The question quoted part of Gilberto's poem "Life Is a Fallen Leaf."
The final line—"O fallen leaf drifting in a zigzag"—asked why the leaf fell in a zigzag. Most students answered with themes like the fear of death.
Iruki's answer read:
- Because fluids (in this case, gases) flowing over the leaf's surface encounter varying air resistance; the resultant vector sum of pressure forces makes it move toward the direction of greater magnitude.
He attached equations using the standard falling-leaf model.
Underneath were strange, indecipherable formulas. Teachers familiar with Iruki's temperament let it slide—but Adelia, the literature teacher, could not.
A mother of three with a plump figure, she stormed into the classroom, set the test paper down in front of Iruki, and demanded an explanation.
"Iruki! What is this?"
"It's a test paper."
"No, not that! Look at the answer you wrote! This is a literature exam, not a math test!"
"Isn't distinguishing math from literature itself proof of literature's fictionality?"
Adelia's round face went beet red.
"Who do you think you are, acting so smart? You're a student. You have no right to act like a specialist! There are deep, mysterious thoughts you can't grasp with math."
"Teacher, there aren't any. If parts of the world were illogical, how could we live without fear? What if my body suddenly turned into an orc right now?"
"So you're saying everything is logical? Even Gilberto's lines?"
"Of course. That's why I wrote the answer that way."
Adelia huffed for a long time, then jabbed a finger and shouted.
"Then answer this. A thousand innocent people are about to die. But you have the authority to kill one other innocent person to save them all. What do you choose?"
"Kill the thousand. A thousand lives are proof; one life is a hypothesis. You can't equate them."
Adelia clenched, forcing down the rage rising in her gut. If reasoning wouldn't work, she had to try another angle.
"Is there a god or not? Answer!"
"It might not exist."
Adelia's voice turned more vicious.
"Who do you love more, your mother or your father? Answer one!"
"Both my parents."
"Out."
Adelia's finger trembled as she pointed to the door.
"Out, you brat! You have no right to be in my class! Out!"
A faculty meeting followed at her request. The teachers ultimately judged Iruki's answers to be mocking of their authority and gave him zeroes across all humanities subjects.
"Wow. That's brutal."
Hearing the story, Shirone couldn't believe Iruki was the same age as him—eighteen. Not just the way he argued with teachers, but the resolve to insist on his reasoning as a student was striking.
"Haha! Told you. That's his personality. Hard to get close to him."
"Now that you put it like that, I get why he called me boring. But why would he mean that as praise?"
"Who knows. Maybe he saw something exceptional in you. That's probably why I introduced you—figured you two might get along."
Shirone found himself curious. He should've talked more. As he looked around for Iruki, Nade nudged him.
"Hey? Nade, look over there."
Iruki, face slack as if half-asleep, was heading for the Image Zone. As he approached, the others made room. It wasn't avoidance so much as yielding space.
"Damn it! What's that guy thinking now? Let's go."
Shirone followed Nade toward the Image Zone. Other students gathered too.
"Is he gonna strip and lie down again?"
At that remark Shirone's eyes widened. There were girls nearby—he really hoped not.
Contrary to fears, Iruki opened his Spirit Zone normally: a sphere fifteen meters in diameter, small for Class Five.
But size wasn't the point. He was using the detachment form—the hardest among the spatial types—with complete ease.
"Whoa! Iruki, haven't seen you do that in a while."
"Shouldn't someone stop him? Etella banned Image Zone use."
"Leave him. He won't listen if you tell him to stop."
The slightly shrunken sphere darted through an enormous radius. Iruki met Shirone's eyes, snapped his fingers, and targets popped up and began racing around.
The students sighed and rubbed their foreheads. Raising targets without permission was forbidden. That thought lasted only a moment—the demonstration stole their attention.
"Wow…"
Iruki's zone tracked the targets as if it had a mind of its own. His movements were eerily fluid; the speed was incredible—each time the sphere sliced the air it created a roaring wind.
"Hey? Iruki! What are you doing?"
Etella, who taught Class Four, came running in, flustered. But Iruki kept going, as if determined. Small lights bubbled like foam at the center of the Spirit Zone that had swallowed the targets.
"Atomic Bomb."
"That madman!"
As the students recoiled, a blast powerful enough to throw people went off. The thunderous roar, unlike anything Shirone had heard, made his head swim. Every student tumbled onto their rear.
Shirone turned pale and looked ahead. Iruki stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching him.
"See you next time, Shirone."