"So, Leo," the homeroom teacher said, leaning against the podium and gesturing for him to stay at the front for a moment longer. "Why don't you tell us a bit about your hobbies? What do you do for fun back in Seattle?"
The teacher was trying to throw him a lifeline. He'd seen it a dozen times with transfer students—the class had already formed its little fortresses of social cliques. If Leo didn't find a way to bridge the gap now, he'd be a ghost in this room for the rest of the year.
Leo stood there, his hands casually shoved into his trouser pockets. With his Qi-enhanced perception, the classroom wasn't just a room full of teenagers anymore; it was a sea of shifting emotional frequencies.
He could feel the curiosity from the girls—a warm, bright hum of interest. To them, he was the exotic American guy with the sharp jawline and the "don't care" attitude. The boys, however, were a jagged mess of signals. Some were indifferent, but a few radiated a sharp, cold spike of resentment. He didn't need a super-brain to figure out why—he was a threat to the local hierarchy just by standing there.
Look at these kids, Leo thought, his internal monologue sounding more like a veteran scout than a student. Terrified of standing out, but desperate for power. It's the classic Japanese social trap. Lucky for them, I'm not here to play by their rules.
"I've got some expertise in painting and music," Leo said, a small, confident smile playing on his lips. "Specifically classical oil painting and digital composition."
He aimed the words toward the back of the room, letting them hang in the air like a hook. He knew exactly who he was baiting. To join a team like Aki Tomoya's, you didn't just ask—you made yourself indispensable. Even before the System, Leo had been a pro-tier illustrator. Now? He was a god-tier machine. His style was a fusion of Western meticulous detail and classical technique.
The teacher chimed in, looking impressed. "Leo is actually a special talent. He's already been scouted by the Tokyo University of the Arts. Due to some age and residency technicalities, he's finishing his high school credits here before he officially starts his university track. We're lucky to have him."
The room erupted into a low-level buzz of whispers. "University of the Arts?" "Wait, like, he's already in?"
Leo watched the girls' faces soften even more—the 'artistic youth' persona was working like a charm. But he wasn't done. He needed to polarize the room to find his target.
"Oh, I forgot to mention," Leo added, his voice dropping into a casual, almost conversational tone. "I'm a massive anime enthusiast. A total 2D otaku, honestly."
The teacher's smile faltered. The room went dead silent.
It was a social tactical nuke. In a high-end school like Toyonosaki, calling yourself an 'otaku' was usually the equivalent of admitting you didn't shower. It was the bottom of the food chain. He saw the girls in the front row blink, their idealized image of the 'cool American' suddenly clashing with the 'weird loner' label. The boys who already disliked him didn't even hide their smirks.
But Leo didn't care about them. He was watching the back row.
Aki Tomoya, who had been half-asleep and doodling in a notebook, suddenly sat bolt upright. His eyes, magnified behind his thick glasses, were wide and shimmering with a sudden, fanatical light. A comrade.
Step one: Complete, Leo thought, shifting his gaze away before Tomoya could lock eyes with him.
The teacher cleared his throat, looking a bit awkward. "Well... that's... very honest of you, Leo. Why don't you take that empty seat by the window?"
Leo walked down the aisle, the soles of his shoes clicking softly on the linoleum. He ignored the stares and the hushed snickers. He sat down, set his leather briefcase aside, and immediately checked out mentally.
The curriculum in Japanese high schools was a joke compared to the high-pressure grind he'd studied back in the States, especially now that his brain was running on NZT-48. He didn't need to listen to a lecture on basic algebra or history. Instead, he pulled out a high-quality sketchbook and a 2B pencil.
The world narrowed down to the tip of the graphite.
He could feel the Qi flowing into his fingers, making his movements impossibly precise. He didn't need to plan the lines; the image was already burned into his mind like a high-res file. His hand moved with a blur of speed that looked effortless.
Scratch-scratch-scratch. The sound of the pencil was rhythmic, a soft percussion against the heavy paper. Within forty minutes, a masterpiece was emerging. He was drawing a black-and-white figure study—a white-haired girl in flowing, ethereal robes, her expression cool and aloof. Behind her, coiled in the shadows, was a massive, blue-eyed dragon, its scales rendered with such detail they looked like they could cut his fingers.
He was drawing a tribute to Yu-Gi-Oh!—the Blue-Eyes White Dragon girl. Even in this world, the card game was a cultural phenomenon. It was the perfect blend of 'mainstream cool' and 'hardcore nerd.'
The bell rang, signaling the end of the period. The classroom immediately filled with the sound of chairs scraping and the high-pitched chatter of teenagers released from their cages.
Leo didn't move. He just stared at the drawing, adding one last tiny highlight to the dragon's eye.
"Whoa... dude, are you serious right now?"
The voice was high-pitched, breathless, and right next to his ear.
Leo looked up, blinking as if coming out of a trance. Aki Tomoya was leaning over his desk, his face inches from the paper, his glasses nearly sliding off the bridge of his nose. He looked like he'd just seen a religious miracle.
"Oh? What's up?" Leo asked, putting on his best 'friendly but confused' American smile. He closed the sketchbook just enough to pique the boy's interest, pretending he hadn't spent the last hour waiting for this exact moment. "Can I help you, classmate?"
Tomoya's hands were literally shaking. "Help me? You—you just drew that in one class? That's professional-level work! No, that's better than professional! Who are you?!"
Leo leaned back, his chair creaking softly. He caught the scent of Tomoya's citrusy deodorant and the faint smell of old paper that seemed to cling to the boy.
"I'm Leo," he said, extending a hand. "I just moved here. And yeah, I guess I got a bit carried away. I get bored easily if I'm not creating something."
Internal monologue: Hook, line, and sinker. Now let's see how much you're willing to beg to get me on your little 'dating sim' project, Tomoya.