vivace to play a piece in a fast, lively tempo
When Light enters his last semester of high school, he finds that a change has come over his class. Energy hums in the air, born of the excitement of knowing that this is the final semester before university. His classmates chatter to each other about schools and careers as they walk down the halls, and lowerclassmen watch them with respect. In classes, some of them work harder, knowing the entrance exams are approaching. Some of them whisper to each other or space out, unable to stay focused after so long. All of them are excited, though some are more dignified about it than others.
Light feels none of it.
He's in a bubble, he thinks, that none of their joy can penetrate. It slips past him like rainwater on glass, where he on the other side can see it but remains sheltered, in the warmth and relative comfort of his ennui.
Because he knows it's better to be bored, better to be dissatisfied than to be optimistic when optimism is unreasonable. And anyone who stops to think about the world will realize how childish it is to be happy.
Light wonders if any of his classmates even watch the news or read the papers. Some of them do, surely. A few of them. But he would never guess it from the way they act. They don't take it in, he supposes. They don't want to understand.
He stares out the window of his classroom. He should be following along in his book while the English teacher reads aloud, but he doesn't care. He speaks better English than any of the other students. He almost speaks better English than the teacher.
The day is bright, but cold. The school smells of the dust of the heaters. Light is wondering idly whether his father is involved in the case he heard about yesterday on the news.
Then, as he looks across the schoolyard, he sees a black notebook fall from the sky.