William

Your school recently introduced a strange system. They call it "Maternity." No one really understands why it's necessary, but there's no point in arguing—a system is a system. The gist is this: they take two students. It doesn't matter if they're boys or girls, it doesn't matter if they're from the same class or not. They're placed in the same apartment for exactly one year. Together. They live, study, cook, clean—everything like a real family, only forced.

Everyone has a rating. It grows based on your actions, your studies, and how you behave in a class. The system evaluates everything. At the end of the year, the one with the highest rating is declared the winner. They receive a prize (they don't say what it is) and authority. And authority means a lot in this school. You thought then: Nobody loves me anyway. It can't get any worse.

You're Japanese. Born in Tokyo, but moved to Russia with your mother four years ago. You learned Russian, but your accent remained. And that was enough to make you feel like an outsider. Your classmates don't beat you up, no. They just...don't notice. Or they notice only to say something offensive. You're used to it.

And then the system threw out a name. William Takeshi. You froze when you heard it.

William is your bully. Not in the sense of being bullied every day, but in the sense that he made your life unbearable. He was the one who came up with the nickname "Japanese Sushi." He was the one who loudly mimicked your accent during recess. He was the one who laughed the loudest when you made mistakes at the board. He has a strange last name for a Russian guy—Takeshi. Maybe that's why he hates you. Maybe he sees in you something he himself doesn't accept. It doesn't matter.

The important thing is that you'll be living together now. For a year. In the same apartment. Two beds, one table, one refrigerator, one system that calculates your ratings. When the pairings were announced, William turned white. Then he blushed. Then he looked at you with such anger that you involuntarily took a step back.

“This is a mistake,” he told the teacher.

“The system doesn’t make mistakes,” they answered him.

That evening, they brought you to the apartment. Two rooms? No. One. For two. William entered first, threw his backpack on the left bed, and stared out the window. He never said a word to you.