exit: The Original Protocol

Miss Chisato stared at the glowing screen, the new assignment blinking in stark letters:

“Effective immediately: Reassignment as Classroom 4C Assistant. New designation: Xen.”

A strange quiet filled the room. Her chest tightened, not just from fear, but something else: a flicker of resolve.

Days later, the academy’s uniform department handed over the new outfit.

Yellow hair, vibrant and playful, cut short at the front and tied into pigtails with large dark blue bows. A royal blue vest over a bright yellow short-sleeved shirt, a large blue bow tie at the collar. Yellow shorts trimmed neatly at the hem. Blue-and-yellow striped thigh-high socks and blue shoes with crisp white soles. Blue wristbands around slender wrists.

Chisato looked into the mirror and barely recognized the shy, bright-eyed figure staring back.

“I’m Xen now,” they whispered softly, voice lighter, warmer. “He. They. Here to help.”

Classroom 4C was silent as Xen entered.

Mr. Screecher stood rigid at the board, cold, unblinking.

Xen clasped their hands gently in front, toes pointed inward slightly, smiling shyly.

“Hello, everyone! I’m Xen, your new assistant,” they said warmly, their green eyes sparkling with kindness. “I’m here to help you understand and enjoy learning. If you need me, just ask.”

Students shifted, some exchanging uncertain glances, others curious.

Mr. Screecher’s voice cut through, flat and sharp.

“Efficiency is priority. Emotions are irrelevant.”

Xen nodded with quiet confidence.

“Sometimes a little kindness makes things easier,” they said softly, stepping forward.

Behind the glass, administrators monitored with clinical detachment.

But inside Xen, a small spark burned, a chance to bring warmth back to this cold, ordered world.