The Leader's Gift

      Evening slowly descended upon the academy, painting its artificial nature in soft, warm tones. The garden, covered in the shadows of tall trees, reminded one of real autumn — a time when nature prepares for its winter slumber. Within the walls of this academy's courtyard, it felt so... strange. Was this real nature? Korekiyo stood among these trees, leaning his back against one of them, his gaze fixed on the ground where the last leaves were falling. Every rustle, every sound was familiar to him — like breathing, like the whisper of the wind.       Suddenly, like a shadow, Kokichi approached him. He made no sound, as if he were part of this autumn evening, his presence felt only by a slight movement of the air. Korekiyo did not turn around, continuing to watch the yellow and red leaves slowly swirl in a dance before touching the ground.       "Good evening, Kiyo," said Kokichi, his voice sounding playful, but with something vague yet very slight hidden within it. "You've been standing here for so long. To be honest, I'm even a little tired of watching you. It's as if you're waiting for someone here. Or maybe you're remembering something?" Kokichi asked, either out of genuine curiosity or boredom. But before Korekiyo could answer, Kokichi asked another, slightly unexpected question. "Kiyo... your sister... she also loved watching autumn, didn't she?"       The question didn't sound like a jab, but rather a sincere desire to understand. Korekiyo flinched slightly, but didn't answer right away. His sister often said that the changing colours of the leaves reminded her of how people change. How their masks changed. Kiyo couldn't put it too simply. He needed Kokichi to understand not only the answer, but its essence. He thought about cultures where death was revered as something sacred, about masks worn to communicate with spirits. In his world, masks were a symbol of respect for memory.       "In some cultures, autumn is considered a time to reflect on life and death," he began slowly. "People wear masks to communicate with their ancestors, to remember those who have passed away. It is a ritual of reverence."       Kokichi smiled, his eyes sparkling with interest. "But isn't it just a game? Masks are a way to hide the boring truth that everything passes. We are all just actors in this theatre of life. And you still haven't answered my question..."       Korekiyo looked at him, trying to grasp the meaning of his words. He felt that Kokichi was using the game as a defence mechanism, like a ritual to protect himself from reality. But there was something more to it — a reflection of both of them in this strange world.       "You don't quite understand," he said quietly. "It's not just a game. It's a way to stay connected to those who are no longer with us." Korekiyo paused for a moment, feeling his classmate's expectant gaze on him. "But... yes, you're right. My sister really did love watching autumn..."       Kokichi leaned closer, his voice becoming more serious. "Or maybe it's just a way to avoid loneliness? We're all lonely behind our masks."       At that moment, Kokichi crouched down and, after a moment's hesitation, handed Korekiyo a perfectly preserved bright yellow leaf. It looked as vivid and fresh as autumn itself. "Here, take this. A free gift from your kind leader! Nee-heehee."       Korekiyo turned his interested gaze towards him. Kokichi had changed the subject so abruptly... Did he want Kiyo to figure out the meaning of his suggestion on his own, rather than continuing the dialogue? Taking the leaf and spinning it between his fingers, he felt the coldness of its surface and the roughness of its edges. A slightly strange smell of fallen leaves and something resembling smoke enveloped them, creating an atmosphere of melancholy and solitude. He looked at Kokichi and saw in his eyes a sincerity that he usually hid behind his playfulness.       "Thank you," he finally said and let the leaf go with the wind. They both watched silently as it drifted away, disappearing into the twilight.       At that moment, a shared understanding of the transience of existence arose between them. No words were needed — they were two lonely islands in an ocean of fog and solitude. The cool evening enveloped them in long shadows, and the wind slowly played with the autumn leaves.