Ah, ignorance. No greater bliss exists than a person, man, woman, or child, absolutely unaware of their own foolish mistakes. Kyle, never suspecting Mr. Spizer expertly prepared him for utter failure, launched into an inspired tirade, flush with knowledge nobody else admitted.
"Japan? They lost. Lost big. Pearl Harbor set us straight, gave us identity and purpose; we'd be part of the war after all. So, we bombed 'em! Why not?" Kyle misunderstood the titters rising around him like hungry vipers, starved and ready to feed upon his uncertainty. Were the walls filled with crawling terrors, he'd join them in a second; suddenly, nothing seemed normal, not even the hum of the classroom bulbs hanging over his head. It was perverse, vibrating the world directly out of sync, forcing his acceptance, for what choice did he truly have?
So he strove on. Unabashed and unapologetic, even if any flaw existed in his argument, he had an answer. Screw them, all of them, if skepticism so ruled their lives. "We bombed 'em, hard and fast. Little Boy and Fat man? Nothing left. They surrendered, just as they should. Hell, we'd surrender if faced with such overwhelming weaponry." And why not? It was all over the news right before he moved. Late 1945, Japan devastated with unparalleled destructive engines that threatened to annihilate their identity, country, and livelihood. The last, great Emperor bowed, and the war with Japan was over, just as Germany wound down. Everyone knew that.
Mr. Spizer looked incredulous. "Surrender? Are you mad!? Japan is one of the proudest countries on this Earth. They'd no sooner surrender than you'd resort to cannibalism."
The classroom laughed as one, a rippling beast, bloated and thirsty for his missteps; thrashing beneath a veil of evil mirth, their distended cheers rose to an oppressive din. Were Kyle to stumble upon a raft of survivors supping upon the flesh of an unfortunate comrade against overwhelming tides, he'd understand, even disturbed and sickened. But this was bleak and raw. If he could rise above the world, he would have heard a sharp and distinct snap just then, as bones of the underworld reshaped, and demons ground uncooperative realities together, forging their vision of life against all logic. And those influences had no choice—darker things crept through the spaces of thought and vision, and each slithered and inhaled deeply while mortals shuddered and collapsed in internal agony.
Mental pressure has always been the easiest way to befuddle a man, or woman. And so Kyle witnessed the crowd turn upon him, prompted only by Spizer's hateful ire. Laughing or insults he could handle, but each barking rebuke and girlish giggle carried the weight of Elder Things, dripping froth and invisibly fraying his nerves. The teacher, resplendent in his unassailable position, looked upon Kyle as a father might, almost pitying the utmost necessity in dismantling Kyle's delusion.
"No, Kyle. Not at all. Never. Japan? Surrender? Surely your father sneaks whiskey into your cereal each morning." More laughter flowed through the room at his creative rebuke. He grinned, and cruelly forged onward. "Why... their attack on Pearl Harbor was a stroke of genius! One we could never hope to return equally. Their island would be vanquished if we bombed them as they so viciously assailed us. We don't follow the path of genocide, and as superior as we are, and as destined for victory as we surely are, their defeat will only come with absolute obliteration. Each solder will fight until his dying breath, even throw himself upon our bombs, missiles, and grenades in hope of glory—a rightful place with their emperor for serving the dynasty."
Kyle blinked. Was this some kind of test? Japan hadn't lost? Even after being subjected to two horrible devices that instantly vaporized several hundred thousand of their citizens? Were they truly that stupid? Of course not. Impossible. Even Hitler would have floundered under such adversity. "Sir, I–"
"No, sadly you've obviously learned nothing in your previous schools, save that we're likely to retaliate in force eventually. I'm sorry to say we're like ancient Rome, complacent in our position, more than willing to ignore a mere worldwide conflagration, unless seeking revenge later. I fear Japan will be the next great empire, with their swelling nationalism and forthright dedication. We could firebomb them from now until Kingdom Come, and we'd still lose. Tell me, Kyle, where did you come up with those intriguing names... Little Boy and Fat Man, you said?"
Was he serious? It had to be another probe at his supposed naïveté. "Um... The government was testing the yield of the atomic bombs, and had two planned ever since the Harbor. One was like a test... a proof of concept that nuclear bombs worked. Fat man... well, that was the end. It told them we could strike any time, and slaughter untold thousands in mere minutes. Nothing like it existed before or since, and if Europe didn't finish Germany first, we'd have ended it with one or two air strikes." Simple. Kyle wondered if he'd get a medal later.
Dr. Spizer glared at Kyle, a look that demanded an after-class discussion. Kyle gulped, retreated backwards without thinking, and cowered while his normally innocuous examples were ripped apart by a rabid wolverine of a teacher. Asshole extraordinaire.
"A vein pulsed in Mr. Spizer's forehead. "No!" he roared, hurling a pencil against the ground, which split cleanly in two and scattered to opposing corners of the room. Any remaining jocularity immediately ceased; students sobered as if goaded by a whip, rigid and straight in uncomfortable desks; that was an outburst worthy of song. Easily angered or not, the History teacher everyone feared, surged unbridled, seething rage. "No! And further, if you ever suggest such a thing again, I'll give you detention for sheer ignorance! No!" He apparently cleansed his palate with that word: no, for it defined the contract, and the syllabus for the remainder of the year. For now, it only meant Kyle should have known better than to contradict this particular teacher, even on accident.
If the world went dark, and Kyle managed to continue existing with only Mr. Spizer as company, hell would be a welcome reprieve. The rest of the class was secondary; this was war! Kyle shrunk down in his seat, attempting to escape, though he only quoted the last newscasts he remembered before moving to Tammond Dale. Maybe the old man was so lost within assurances of history, he'd finally snapped, driven irretrievably mad by a situation that dictated Japan's utter defiance to the bitter end.
"Do you know the definition of Kamikaze? It means 'God Wind', the breath of God, the will of the creator. Their death, down to smashing their planes into viable targets, would be our undoing. Their entire military is hinged on this ideal! Death, for the emperor! Death, for Japan! We are less than scum to them, a pitiful fungus barely capable of speech, let alone cognitive thought. People accuse us of arrogance, but Japanese define the word. Every other nationality is like a cute little circus chimp to them! How could such people surrender to anything? Would you surrender to your dog? They are superior, it's how they think. Even if we defeated them, they would seethe. Even after that, they would accept us only as entertainment.
"Don't you understand, damn it!? They can never give up! Until the last man, woman, and child are a bloody pile of organs on the road, the rest of the world will never measure-up. They are racist, they are xenophobic, and their navy will assail every port until they succeed, or are pulverized to the very last man. That you would even suggest two measly bombs of any strength would bring them low is an insult to their demented pride, and this class!"
Kyle was shocked dumb, tongue like sawdust in a mouth full of sand. His jaw hung slack as he gazed, unfocused and unbelieving, to the sweating, red-faced, ragged man standing a few inches from him, full of teeth and bluster. But the news didn't lie! Why would it? What was the motivation? Japan surrendered! It was in the damn news, the books, everywhere! What the hell had drilled itself into Mr. Spizer's head, to accuse Kyle of fabricating history?
The uneasy silence broke only when the school bell clanged the end of fifth-period. Teens scrambled to the door, desperate to breach the hallway, run to the final class of the day, before their teacher realized class had ended. Only Kyle remained, still stunned at Mr. Spizer's bizarre diatribe and locked painfully within range of the man's searing anger.
"See me after class," he hissed, still somehow unaware class ended moments ago.
Kyle longed to follow Sam, Jason, and the others, but he was still new, and his normally easy rapport with the older generation was failing miserably with the inscrutable History teacher. With a tired sigh, he rose from his desk and plodded, as if to his death, to Mr. Spizer's desk, resigned to his fate, bolstered—ever so slightly—by the impending end of the day. Detention? Extra homework? Bring it on!
It was a great surprise then, when Dr. Spizer presented Kyle with a choice.