K-Koalas… Kickoff… What?

The second term began, and autumn arrived.

The noisy cries of cicadas had faded, replaced by the soft rustle of wind and dry leaves brushing together. This must be what people called the voice of autumn.

I gazed out the classroom window, lost in the season’s melancholy.

Everyone had at least one memory they wished had never happened. There were moments when we wondered why we did such things, or how we might have avoided them.

I was no different. Even zombies sometimes wanted to erase their failures.

They said people couldn’t grow up without making mistakes. But was that really true?

Wouldn’t an irreversible mistake only halt someone’s growth?

Ah, how I wanted to erase it. Why on earth had I worn that getup? Damn it.

Autumn, the season for sighs.

Summer break just ended, so I thought everyone in class would still be spacing out, but instead, voices filled the room.

The second term came with a string of events, the first being the school festival in October.

The school festival was that one time of year when students could do whatever they wanted, an event everyone looked forward to.

In high school, every class argued heatedly over what they should do for their booth.

Whether people had ideas or not, it always turned into a mess. Naturally, our class was no exception.

The blackboard was filled with suggestions, and every student was staring at it.

Our homeroom teacher, a.k.a. Mr. Bland, should have been up at the lectern, but instead had abandoned his duties and just gazed absently out the window.

The one currently running the class was neither teacher nor class rep.

“I say we go with a SWAT training course!”

A young girl with the looks of a middle schooler stood at the podium, smacking the word SWAT written on the board.

From the top of her shoulder-length brown hair, a cowlick stuck out and twitched left and right.

She had a mouth set like that of a kid always playing in the mud, her big eyes brimmed with a little too much curiosity, her chest had given up on growth, and her hips were barely there.

A weirdo from the magical world of Villiers, she hunted monsters here just to earn credits from some random school called Matellis Magic School.

The Magiclad Girl, Haruna.

Ever since she gave a lecture during home ec, for some reason she had been hanging around this classroom like one of us.

Not to attend class, of course. She only showed up whenever there was some kind of event, swooped in like a hyena to do however she pleased, then disappeared. That was her.

“Miss Haruna, can we even do SWAT training?”

“I’ll drill you guys good! Even with paint rounds, we’ll use real Kalashnikovs!”

Hands on her hips, Haruna leaned back and threw her chest out.

“K-Koalas… kickoff… what?”

Taeko Hiramatsu, the honor student with the braids hanging over her shoulders, sitting in the front row, tilted her head, not understanding a word.

I pictured a koala SWAT team playing soccer.

How many in class even knew what a Kalashnikov was? It was originally a man’s name, now more known as an assault rifle. Of course, SWAT wouldn’t use one.

Naturally, Haruna’s SWAT training course was rejected. These class booths usually ended up as haunted houses or maid cafés, basically safe choices.

And in these discussions, people always split into two camps: those who voiced their opinions actively, and those who simply went with the flow.

For example, Orito, the spiky-haired guy with glasses now standing and preaching the nobility of maid cafés, belonged to the former. While Hiramatsu, the beauty slumped over her desk in front of the lectern, was the latter.

Now as for me…

“I say if we’re doing it, a cosplay café is best.”

I was one of the former.

The class stared at me in shock. Judging by how I had been during the first term, no one would have expected such a statement.

“A SWAT café, then!” Haruna pointed a piece of chalk at me.

“Not even clo—”

“Shut it! Quiet!”

My rebuttal was drowned out by Haruna.

I sighed. “Fine, whatever.”

“Then, the customers will be SWAT, and we’ll be the terrorists!”

“So, it’s a terrorist café now?” quipped one of the guys.

I guess the Kalashnikovs were for the terrorist role.

“All right, let’s try it out! You—yeah, you, the guy who looks like a tissue box lid.”

Following Haruna’s old-school comedy skit opener, the spiky-haired Orito stepped out of the classroom. Amazing he even realized she meant him. Sure, the top of a tissue box lid did have jagged edges, but still.

“It’s me! Send the list to my device! It’s our only lead!” His desperate acting came from the hallway. Wasn’t that more counter-terrorism unit than SWAT?

Rattle, rattle.

Orito pretended to hold a gun as he stepped into the now silent classroom. Haruna instantly twisted his arm and drove him to his knees.

“Hands on your head and sit down!”

Yeah, the staff really did look more like SWAT.

“Optic Blast!” Orito’s glasses gleamed.

Haruna scrunched up her face like she was gearing up for a long infodump, but then frowned when the scene didn’t play out the way she’d imagined.

Orito kept tilting his head. “Cringe. This ain’t it.”

“Yeah, same.”

Orito returned to his seat, Haruna to the front.

Everyone ignored what just happened. Less a past you wanted to erase, more one you never wanted to see.

“Wh-What about the koalas?”

Only Hiramatsu waited eagerly for the koalas to play soccer, but Haruna seemed ready to pretend the whole skit had never happened.

In the end, the SWAT café was dropped.

Suggestions flew: yakisoba stall, pancake stand, and so on. At this rate, it would probably end up a café.

“Every idea is so cliché,” muttered the teacher, a.k.a. Mr. Insubstantial. He was still by the window, swathed in the curtain.

The mood instantly shifted to uncertainty.

“Isn’t the whole school festival itself just one big cliché?” Orito said, fiddling with his spiky hair.

True enough. Every year it was the same events. Or rather, that was all they could do.

Everyone racked their brains, wondering if there was some way to make a change.

Every class would end up doing the same things. Food stalls, plays, exhibits. And really, that was fine.

At least, that was how I felt. Since I’d never cared before, I wanted to see all those typical attractions this time.

Haunted houses, plays, band performances, art displays, food stalls. Stalls.

Stalls were impossible for me. I was dead, a zombie. I blacked out under the sun. If everything was kept indoors, great, but if there were stalls outside, then my grand plan to see everything would go up in smoke.

“If only they held it at night,” I mumbled.

The same stunned stares from before turned on me again.

What?

“That’s it, Aikawa!” Orito’s eyes gleamed behind his glasses.

“Yeah! Let’s make it a night festival!” Haruna’s eyes lit up the same way.

“That sounds… fun.” Even Hiramatsu, usually gloomy, seemed delighted by the idea.

Our homeroom teacher yawned. “Night, huh. Well, I’ll at least mention it to the vice principal,” he said lazily, making no effort to calm the students already excited about a night festival.

No, no, no, no.

“There’s no way one class’s idea would actually amount to anything,” I said.

But it did.

The night festival I suggested on a whim was accepted by the whole school as a good idea.

---

An emergency schoolwide assembly was called, and the vice principal kicked it off with, “I can feel your burning passion!”

His voice cracked with tears, the mic squealed with feedback, but he carried on.

Our vice principal always let students do what they truly wanted.

To him, school wasn’t built by teachers but shaped by students. From field trip destinations, to sports day events, even down to class shuffles—if students voiced their opinions, he honored them. That was the kind of fiery soul he was.

“If the neighbors complain, I’ll take full responsibility. I’ll go door to door, apologizing on my knees. So, go wild! That’s all. I’m so touched!”

Whether the neighbors would really accept that was doubtful, but none of us cared. The night festival was happening, and everyone was thrilled.

After the vice principal left in tears, Mr. Bland took the stage.

“Uh, I’m Kurisu, homeroom teacher for Class 1-C. The vice principal may be fired up, but honestly, it is very much a nuisance. Keep it under control, or the festival might actually get shut down midway.”

So, his name was Kurisu. Not as bland as I thought. Anyway, with that warning, the emergency assembly ended.

---

Things moved fast, and this year’s school festival was set for nighttime.

Before the excitement died down, we rushed back to the classroom to decide our event.

“It’s gotta be a SWAT house!” Haruna said before anyone else could even sit.

She was actually trying to pass it off like some kind of a haunted house. Just forget the SWAT thing already.

“What about… a yokai café?” Hiramatsu suggested.

I see. Mixing a haunted house and cosplay café. It was unique enough that other classes might not consider it.

“Yeah, that works.”

“Yokai,” Haruna groaned. Her face said she still couldn’t let go of SWAT.

“Um… yokai dressed as a SWAT team?” Hiramatsu added awkwardly.

“Perfect! Let’s go with that.” Haruna’s face lit up.

“A yokai café, huh.” Kurisu chuckled, still staring out the window. “Kind of like that one time.”

Orito frowned. “What time?”

“You know, when everyone turned into animals.”

Our homeroom teacher, real name Takeshi Kurisu, smiled.

Weird.

The students had no idea what he meant. Which was how it should be.

The school had actually faced that threat before. But Haruna and I erased everyone’s memories with my Magiclad Girl powers.

So of course no one remembered. No one could have remembered.

I alone glared hard at our teacher.