Psycho Pass: Redemption (UPDATING)

10 (UPDATED)

Literature classes used to elicit yawns from students, the teacher's stern demeanor and monotone lectures turning the subject into a bore. Yet, on this particular day, a shift was palpable. The class had been granted an outdoor session in the academy's courtyard, a refreshing departure from the norm. Though most students wielded electronic tablets, Yashiro, holding a book, was an exception. She had slipped into the class unnoticed despite her recent suspension.

As classmates engaged in the activity, a split emerged between those who believed their efforts would go unnoticed and those who vied to impress. Yashiro's attention oscillated between her own book and the discussions taking place. The assigned topics had to relate to modernity, and one by one, students stepped forward to share their insights. The air was charged with anticipation, each presentation met with either grades or critiques from the observant teacher.

Amidst a backdrop of murmurs and exchanged papers, Yashiro sat quietly on a bench, immersed in her book's narrative. The words seemed to transport her beyond the courtyard, transcending the ordinary chatter. As her turn neared, she closed the book, met the teacher's inquisitive gaze, and rose to stand before her peers. The sunlight bathed the scene, casting a warm sheen over the proceedings.

"The theme I've chosen is love in modernity," Yashiro began, her voice a confident cadence that drew the focus of her audience.

For a moment she glanced at the figure of Shibata, who stood some distance away in his beige suit, an unexpected and curious spectator among the students. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly at his intense gaze, but she quickly refocused her attention on her presentation.

"In our current age, love has transformed into a fluid entity, much like water that takes the shape of its container," Yashiro's gaze drifted to the book she had referenced. "As described in Bauman's Liquid Love. We find ourselves navigating a society where connections and emotions can be malleable, where the pursuit of happiness and mental well-being often leads us to create transient bonds."

A subtle exchange of glances passed between Yashiro and Shibata.

"Traditionally, love was seen as a driving force, an impetus that fueled an individual's desire to truly live, to confront mortality head-on," Yashiro's voice remained steady, her expression determined. "However, in a world where personal autonomy is exchanged for security and convenience, love often becomes a transaction, a commodity offered to those who provide for us."

She noticed Shibata's subtle change in posture, with his hands tucked into his pants pockets and his full attention on her.

"Modern dating and interactions have evolved into digital encounters, profiles and messages replacing face-to-face connections," Yashiro's gaze swept over her classmates, the seriousness of her tone resonating with them. "People become disposable, easily replaceable entities, and the question arises: why commit to one when countless others are just a swipe away? Why invest years in a single relationship when the allure of novelty beckons?"

A cryptic smile played at the corner of Shibata's lips, a silent acknowledgment of her words.

"The eternal pleasure," Shibata interjected, his voice carrying a thoughtful weight. The class turned to him, surprised by his interruption.

"And the eternal boredom," Yashiro looked him in the eye.

"The pursuit of love, much like friendship, has undergone a metamorphosis over time," he continued, raising his head slightly.

"And in the pursuit of immortality, a prospect that has intrigued humanity for centuries, the landscape becomes even more complex. We are a generation that embraces novelty, yet fears the specter of boredom," Yashiro's eyes narrowed, a spark of challenge in her gaze as she continued, her words laced with irony and defiance. "We are less bored than our ancestors were, but we are more afraid of boredom."

Shibata's eyes widened and his smile slowly broadened, showing white teeth, until he let out a short, soft laugh.

"And as Bertrand Russell also warned: a generation that cannot endure boredom will be a generation of little men, of men unduly divorced from the slow processes of nature, of men in whom every vital impulse slowly withers, as though they were cut flowers in a vase."

A weighty silence lingered between the two for what felt like an eternity. The teacher's attempt to intervene was thwarted by the arrival of other students, their voices and footsteps flooding the courtyard, dispersing the tension that had momentarily held the space captive, as they found solace in the shade of trees or perched on benches, engaging in lively conversations.

"Shouldn't you be teaching...?" the woman turned to Shibata, her voice edged with a mix of hesitancy and annoyance as she adjusted her glasses.

"My class is over," came Shibata's dry reply, his gaze shifting from Yashiro to the teacher. The unspoken tension between the two educators was palpable, a subtle contest of wills that did not escape the notice of the students who had gathered nearby.

"Shibata-sensei helped me with my research, offering book recommendations," Yashiro stepped forward, her voice calm and measured as she provided an explanation. Her words held a confident assurance, and she moved closer to Shibata, meeting his raised eyebrow with a steady gaze. "His interest in the outcome of my work is only natural."

The teacher regarded Yashiro closely, her initial stern expression softening under the weight of Yashiro's unwavering confidence. A few moments passed as the woman seemed to consider Yashiro's words before finally relenting.

"I expect to receive written topics from each of you for our next class," the teacher announced, her gaze sweeping over the assembled students before coming to rest on Yashiro once more. "A fundamental part of living is learning the ability to adapt and improvise."

With the class finally concluded, the teacher turned to retrace her steps back to the academy building, her departure signifying the dispersal of Yashiro's classmates throughout the courtyard. Grumbling about impending homework assignments, the students moved away, leaving Yashiro with her book.

Meanwhile, Shibata found himself approached by a handful of students who clearly had an interest in his presence. Yashiro overheard snippets of conversation, learning that he was the art teacher. Paying little heed to the unfolding scene, she carefully tucked her book into her backpack and slung it over one shoulder.

Shibata's attention shifted, his gaze subtly finding its way back to Yashiro. Breaking away from the students who had surrounded him, he approached her with a soft-spoken inquiry, a note of intrigue lacing his voice, "Takahashi Yashiro, aren't you?"

Arching an eyebrow, Yashiro turned to face him fully, a curious expression on her features.

"I see. Well then, Takahashi-san, would you like to have a cup of tea with me?" His words carried a hint of charm and invitation.

"I appreciate the offer," she replied, her tone composed.

His response was a smile, accompanied by a subtle narrowing of his eyes and a sigh.