There are schools that operate on timetables, rules, and structure.Then there's Jeremy High, where logic went to die and chaos rented a full-time classroom.
After Riyura Shiko's second week of unpredictable "performance art" and Shoehead Gloveohiko's reputation as "the student who eats shoes but in a poetic way," the school ecosystem had evolved. Teachers no longer lectured; they observed. Students didn't gossip; they documented events for future historians. The hamster Riyura once used as a hair accessory had become both class pet and symbol of resilience.
For one brief moment, peace reigned.
Then—
"FEAR NOT, CITIZENS! FOR I… HAVE ARRIVED!"
The hallway doors burst open like an anime budget explosion. Flyers scattered, lockers rattled, and one unfortunate janitor's mop fell in slow motion.
Standing in the doorway was not a student.He was a phenomenon.
Silver hair spiked heavenward, defying the known laws of physics and conditioner. A crimson scarf trailed behind him like destiny's banner, and a wooden sword hung across his back—shiny, pointless, and extremely dramatic. His eyes shimmered with the fiery intensity of someone who had clearly practiced poses in the mirror for three hours straight.
"I am Subarashī Saiyahito!" he declared, his voice echoing through the hall. "Chosen hero of fate! Wielder of the Infinite Flame! Savior of this school from its encroaching darkness!"
Riyura gasped, eyes wide with unearned awe. "Finally! Someone who talks like my internal monologue!"
Subarashī struck a pose that could cause permanent back pain. "And who… might you be, citizen of destiny?"
"Riyura Shiko!" Riyura saluted with a grin. "Local chaos representative, part-time hairstylist, full-time existential hazard!"
The two locked eyes.Somewhere, imaginary wind howled.In the background, Shoehead muttered while roasting a shoelace over a portable stove, "Great. We've summoned another one."
Riyura leaned forward eagerly. "So, Subby—can I call you Subby?—do you actually have powers?"
"Of course," Subarashī said solemnly. "I possess the legendary will of flame, the spirit of courage… and an S-tier Fortnite reflex ratio."
Students watching whispered, "Is he for real?"
Riyura clapped. "You're hired."
And that's how the chaos doubled.
By Period Two, the hallways had transformed into a live-action anime set.
Subarashī narrated everything he did, loudly:"Behold! I open the locker of destiny!""Observe as I eat the nutrient square of champions—granola!""Fear not, Ms. Kobayashi, for I shall absorb knowledge through osmosis!"
Teachers gave up. One even added "Subarashī monologues" to the attendance sheet.
During lunch, Riyura and Subarashī held an impromptu Hero Training Session in the courtyard. Riyura wielded two rulers like dual blades; Subarashī twirled his wooden sword like it was the key to unlocking the universe.
"SHOW ME YOUR STRENGTH, DISCIPLE OF MADNESS!" Subarashī shouted.
Riyura leapt dramatically, tripped over a lunch tray, and landed in a victory pose anyway. "Behold! I've defeated gravity!"
Shoehead, eating a slightly burnt slipper, commented dryly, "It surrendered to your brain cells first."
Students recorded everything. The internet was flooded with clips titled "Jeremy High: Shonen Anime But It's Real?"
Later that day — the gymnasium.
"Witness my ultimate form!" Subarashī bellowed, standing before the high-jump bar. "I shall defy mortal limits!"
He sprinted. The crowd held its breath.
He leapt—And promptly collided with the foam pit like a human meteor.
"I HAVE BEEN STRUCK BY FATE!" he cried from inside the pit.
Riyura gave a standing ovation. "Encore!"
Shoehead sipped from a thermos. "At least gravity's consistent."
Lunch Period: The Duel of Chocolate Destiny.
Riyura and Subarashī sat across from each other, each with a carton of chocolate milk.
"The rules are simple," Subarashī declared. "One breath. One destiny. Whoever finishes first ascends to herohood."
"Sounds like lactose-based suicide," Shoehead muttered.
"BEGIN!"
They chugged. Riyura inhaled the milk like a black hole; Subarashī's face turned the color of existential panic.
Riyura slammed his empty carton triumphantly. "I have ascended!"
Subarashī bowed dramatically. "You have merely awakened your second form."
Riyura grinned. "I call it... Calcium Rage Mode."
That afternoon, something shifted. Subarashī, for all his delusions of grandeur, suddenly looked… quiet.
He led Riyura to the school roof, where the wind carried the smell of cafeteria regret. Standing at the edge, scarf flapping like a flag of misplaced confidence, he whispered, "Riyura… I think I've unlocked flight."
Riyura blinked. "Subby, listen. Gravity's undefeated. Not even I've beaten it. Yet."
"The world is my shonen arc," Subarashī said, eyes glinting with destiny. "If I believe—"
"Don't you—"
"—I can FLY!"
He stepped forward.And immediately began plummeting.
"SUBBYYYYY!" Riyura shrieked, sprinting to the ledge. Below, Subarashī clung to a lower balcony, scarf flailing like a white flag.
Shoehead appeared beside him, unfazed. "So, what's the rescue plan, hero number two?"
"Improvise!" Riyura yelled, grabbing his bow tie like it was a grappling hook (it wasn't). Together, they hauled Subarashī up, wheezing and laughing.
Subarashī collapsed, trembling but alive. "…Guess my flight stat's underleveled."
"Idiot," Riyura said, softer than usual. "You're not a protagonist. You're my friend. Friends don't die for cool lighting."
Subarashī blinked. Then smiled, small and real. "Then… I'll train harder to live."
"Still dramatic," Shoehead muttered, but his smirk gave him away.
The next morning:
Jeremy High buzzed with whispers of Subarashī's "flight attempt." Most retellings added special effects and background music. Subarashī, undeterred by physics or shame, unveiled his next event:
"THE FLARE OF THE SOUP HORIZON!"
Posters covered the school: "Unlock Your Inner Broth!" and "Soup is Truth."
At noon, the courtyard looked like a mix between a festival and a fever dream. Banners waved. A suspiciously heroic soundtrack blared from someone's Bluetooth speaker.
Subarashī stood center stage, cape made of paper towels, holding a bowl decorated with a chicken sticker.
"BEHOLD!" he cried. "THE CHICKEN NOODLE SOUP OF LEGENDS!"
Riyura squinted. "It's empty."
Subarashī pointed dramatically. "It is not emptiness—it is potential!"
Principal Jeremy Poleheadedsandwich (no one questioned the name anymore) sipped coffee nearby. "Poetic. I'll allow it."
Subarashī continued, "To prove your soul's flame, you must strike a heroic pose, shout your destiny, and pass the bowl. The winner earns… recognition by fate itself!"
"Translation: nothing," Shoehead said.
Riyura went first, brandishing the bowl like the Holy Grail."IF I FALL, LET THE SOUP RISE IN MY PLACE!" he shouted, striking a pose that would make chiropractors weep.
The crowd cheered.
Shoehead reluctantly took his turn. "Soup reminds me that I could be eating shoes instead," he said, roasting a sandal mid-pose. The crowd roared anyway.
Principal Jeremy held up the bowl solemnly. "Truly, destiny simmers."
Finally, Subarashī stepped forward. His scarf billowed. The world slowed.
"BEHOLD!" he declared. "I SHALL TRANSCEND THE MORTAL BROTH!"
He leapt—off the second-floor balcony. Again.
Gasps. Screams. A single "Not again!" from Riyura.
Subarashī soared for half a glorious second before crashing directly onto Shoehead, who somehow caught him out of reflex. The bowl arced gracefully through the air and landed—perfectly—on the principal's head.
Silence.
Then Principal Jeremy rose, bowl glinting in the sun. "The winner… is friendship."
The courtyard erupted in cheers. Riyura hugged Subarashī. Shoehead groaned under their combined weight.
"Subby," Riyura said breathlessly, "maybe next time we try metaphorical flight."
"Impossible," Subarashī grinned. "The hero's journey demands altitude!"
Shoehead sighed. "You demand therapy."
As the sun dipped behind the city, the trio sat on the roof again—just three weird kids, laughing into the wind.
"I think we're getting famous," Riyura said.
"Good," Subarashī replied. "Heroes deserve legends."
"Legends deserve rest," Shoehead countered, lying back with his shoe snack.
They laughed.
Somewhere, a hamster squeaked like applause.
And in big, bold letters, the screen froze on their grins:
"NEXT TIME ON THE BOW-TIED HURRICANE:'THE GREAT PENCIL UPRISING!'"
Cue upbeat ending theme, paper-towel cape fluttering majestically against the sunset.
TO BE CONTINUED...