The next morning, Masao left the Sawamura household, a wide yawn cracking his jaw.
After the exertions of the previous day, he was running on severe sleep deprivation, and a dull ache still lingered in his hand. The thought of skipping school was tempting.
But today was results day. He couldn't miss that.
Riding the train, Masao stifled another yawn and sighed to himself. "A two-hour commute to university. I must be the hardest-working student on the planet."
His eyes scanned the nearly empty carriage and landed on a lone figure a few seats away.
A girl with a shock of pink hair, dressed in an unfamiliar school uniform with a matching pink track jacket. A large, hard-shell guitar case was strapped to her back.
Masao's sleep-addled brain offered a lazy assessment.
'Her look is so frumpy. A total otaku. Not like me—I just look like a fat otaku.'
—
Meanwhile, in the same carriage…
The girl was Gotoh Hitori, a student at Shuka University.
She was a paradox: a soul that craved the spotlight yet was crippled by such profound social anxiety that her favorite place was any dark, lonely corner.
A TV show's promise that "even social recluses can shine in a band" had become her gospel, fueling countless hours of obsessive guitar practice.
Online, she was "Guitar Hero," an account with a respectable following for her instrumental covers.
Though she lived in Tokyo, she commuted all the way to a university in Chiba, desperate for a fresh start where no one from her past knew her. This daily pilgrimage stole four hours from her day.
Yet, this drastic change of scenery had done nothing to change her solitary status.
Hitori always caught the first train, a ritual she cherished. The empty, silent carts were her sanctuary, a peaceful bubble between home and the social battlefield of school.
But today, her sanctuary had been violated. A chubby boy had boarded. And despite the acres of empty seats, he had settled a little close to her.
'He… he's looking this way. He's seen me.'
Under Masao's gaze, Hitori's shoulders hunched. She stared fixedly at her shoes, fists clenched tight enough to turn her knuckles white.
After a full minute of playing turtle, she dared a glance upward—and immediately locked eyes with him. He was smiling at her.
She flinched back into her seat as if struck.
'H-he's still looking! What's wrong? Did I do something weird?'
She risked another peek. The smile remained.
'This is terrifying! Why is he smiling?! D-don't tell me… I've attracted the attention of a train pervert? So my face is finally molester-worthy… hehehe… I have some charm after all…'
'Wait, no! This is no time for self-congratulation! I need a survival strategy! We're alone in this cart! I don't want… I don't want something awful to happen!'
'Okay! My wallet! I'll offer him all my money! If I give him everything and beg for mercy, maybe he'll let me go!'
'B-but… what if he takes the money and… and still doesn't let me go…?'
Her thoughts spiraled, a vortex of panic and absurd scenarios. Her body began to tremble, then twitch, her form contorting into a physical manifestation of her internal meltdown.
—
Masao watched the pink-haired girl, his thoughts shifting.
'Okay, the fashion sense is a total otaku disaster, but her face is actually really cute. She's on par with Yukinoshita and Fujiwara-senpai. And that jacket's hiding some serious curves. She's definitely well-equipped.'
'A girl this pretty, carrying a guitar… by the laws of this world, she's gotta be a main character.'
Having navigated this strange, anime-amalgam world, Masao had learned to spot them. The main characters always stood out, radiating a unique aura you couldn't miss. This girl had it.
He was pulled from his thoughts when he noticed her stealing glances his way.
'Ah, captivated by my dashing looks, are we?' Amused, he gave her a friendly smile.
But the reaction was not what he expected. The girl started to shake. Violently. Her body twisted, her eyes rolling back into her head.
'A seizure!' Masao's mind screamed. He bolted from his seat and rushed over.
"Hey! Are you okay?!"
At the sound of his voice, Hitori convulsed right off the seat and onto the grimy train floor, her limbs flailing.
"This is bad," Masao muttered. "Where's your medicine? Tell me where it is!"
No response but ragged breathing. He scanned the empty carriage—no one to help. Gritting his teeth, he reached for her.
'It's for her own good. A medical necessity.'
He justified the invasion of privacy as he patted down the pockets of her track jacket. He found only a phone and a tangled mess of earphones. No medicine.
"Old-school method it is, then."
He pressed his thumb hard against the philtrum under her nose, applying firm pressure.
In less than ten seconds, the violent convulsions ceased. Masao let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and wiped his brow.
"Phew. Crisis averted. My good deed for the day is done."
He gave her a gentle shake. No response. He checked her breathing—a soft puff of air against his hand. Good.
"As for a heartbeat…"
His eyes drifted to the pronounced rise of her chest, emphasized by her position on the floor. He shook his head.
'I'm not that kind of guy. And with a jacket that thick, I wouldn't feel a thing anyway. Yukinoshita's got the right idea. In a medical emergency, her… aerodynamic profile is a distinct advantage. No point making this harder than it needs to be.'
Satisfied she was stable, if unconscious, he carefully lifted her and placed her back on the seat.
Deciding to see the good deed through, he settled beside her, resolved to call an ambulance if she didn't come around soon. He retrieved her heavy guitar case and placed it by his feet.
'This thing weighs a ton. Carrying this every day must be a nightmare. And it definitely makes you a target for attention.'
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