Scaramouche had already gotten used to his new lifestyle. He felt safer—in a way. Not being able to see the disgusted look his mother had on her face, not being able to hear the disappointment in his sister's tone and not being able to notice the piercing gazes his classmates gave him. It was peaceful.

Seeing X's on people's faces besides himself makes it hard for him to recognize others. To know who that person is, he relies on their voice, looks, and attitude to identify them.

He heard there was a new student in school—everyone was excited. Wonder why. But he didn't care.

He walked down the halls only to notice students flocking someone. "What's with the commotion?" He thought to himself. But he just shrugged and pushed through the crowd with one goal in mind—Get to class quickly.

But he soon paused in his tracks once he laid his eyes on the person within the center—

"...Huh?" He muttered to himself.

...They didn't have an X. He could see them. Their face. Their expression. He can hear them loud and clear. They didn't have an X.