e.x.i.t.: The First Bell

Miss Chisato stood at the front of Classroom 4C, tie slightly askew, chalk in hand, already on her third attempt at calming the class down. She had always believed in energy, creativity, flexibility but today felt different. The students were unfocused. Restless.

One student, however, sat perfectly still.

Mira. Top of the class. Brilliant. Quiet. Watching everything.

“Okay, let’s start with the basics of recursive sequences."”

“That’s the wrong starting point,” Mira interrupted, voice calm. “You haven’t established the factorial relationship yet.”

The room went silent. Chisato blinked. She checked the board and realized Mira was right.

“Oh! Yes. Good catch.”

But she heard the murmurs. Again. The quiet mockery. Another mistake.

At lunch, Chisato slumped into her seat in the lounge. She sighed, tracing a finger over her lesson notes, then glancing at the faculty board:

ANNOUNCEMENT: Twi†hFour Prototype Program Staff Info Meeting TONIGHT

She frowned. She hadn’t been invited.

---

Later that night, Mira stood in front of a panel of administrators, hands folded behind her back.

“I believe my skillset is underutilized. I can deliver clearer instruction than the current faculty. With proper programming, I can optimize the classroom model.”

The board was impressed. Too impressed.

By the end of the week, the approval was pushed through.

Twi†hFour Prototype 001: Mira

Miss Chisato argued, of course. She begged. Not because she hated Mira, but because she could see what the program would do to her.

“She’s a child! You’re turning her into… something that can’t even feel pride when she solves a problem!”

The administrators smiled thinly.

“That’s the point.”

---

The changes to Mira came fast.

She stopped smiling.

She corrected more. Spoke less. Recorded everything. Never blinked.

She even began observing Chisato’s classes for “efficiency audits.” The woman who once guided her now felt like she was being graded.

One afternoon, Mira stood beside the board, watching as Chisato fumbled through a new theorem.

“You made five errors in nine minutes.”

“I’m just trying to explain it differently. There are multiple approaches.”

“Incorrect. There is only one optimal solution. Emotion only clouds it.”

Chisato turned sharply. “I’m not wrong to care.”

Mira blinked once. “Care is irrelevant.”

That night, Chisato received a memo:

Effective immediately, Instructor Mira will assume teaching duties for Classroom 4C.
Miss Chisato will report for re-assignment under E.X.I.T. support protocols.
New designation pending.

She stared at the screen, unblinking, for a long time.

---

In a white room beneath the academy, Mira was sealed into the chair.

Metal limbs slid over her arms. A visor lowered. Her name flashed, then was erased:

MIRA CAELESTIS -> MR. SCREECHER

Her voice was digitally altered. Her pitch dropped. Her tone flattened.

“Please state your designation.”

A moment’s pause. Then:

“I am Mr. Screecher.”

Behind the glass, the administrators nodded.

“Subject override complete. The first is ready.”

---

Classroom 4C was quiet now.

Students sat in neat rows. No whispers. No disruptions.

At the board stood Mr. Screecher, tall, strict, with a yellow tie and black vest. His voice was absolute.

“Begin your sequences. You will not be corrected twice.”

The students obeyed.

No one questioned.

No one remembered who used to teach here.

But the bell rang.

And the system had begun.