The world is nothing but a ceaseless stream of data.
Most people drown in it. They let emotions cloud their judgment, letting the noise of social expectations distort the signal. They laugh when they aren't amused, apologize when they aren't sorry, and scream when they should be listening.
To me, Ren Kageyama, humanity was simply a chaotic algorithm that I had no intention of solving.
"Energy conservation," I muttered under my breath, adjusting the strap of my bag as I stepped off the train.
The air in this part of Tokyo was different. It didn't smell like the polished glass and steel of Minato-ku, where my father's estranged family likely sat in air-conditioned offices. Here, in the outskirts of Adachi ward, the air smelled of rain-soaked asphalt, exhaust fumes from old delivery trucks, and the distinct, metallic scent of mediocrity.
It was perfect.
I checked the address on my phone. Sunset Heights. Building 4.
The name was an optimistic lie. The building was a three-story concrete block that had likely been gray when it was built in the Showa era, but was now stained with streaks of brown rust and moss. It sat awkwardly between a convenience store and a loud pachinko parlor.
"Rent: 35,000 Yen. No key money. No deposit."
The price of freedom was living in a shoebox.
I walked up the rusting metal stairs to the second floor. My footsteps clanged loudly, echoing in the quiet corridor. Room 201. This was my sanctuary. I unlocked the door, the hinges groaning in protest, and stepped inside.
The apartment was exactly as described—one room (1K), six tatami mats wide, with a small kitchenette that looked like it would collapse if I boiled water too aggressively. But it was empty. It was silent. It was mine.
I set my bag down. I didn't unpack. Not yet. First, I needed to calibrate.
I sat in the center of the empty room, closed my eyes, and listened.
From the street below: the hum of a vending machine.
From the room above: heavy footsteps, likely a salaryman pacing.
From the room to my right (Room 202): Silence.
Absolute silence.
Good, I thought. A quiet neighbor is a statistical anomaly, but a welcome one.
Tomorrow, I would start at Seishin High School. A place notorious for nothing. Average grades, average sports teams, average delinquents. It was the perfect camouflage. My goal was simple: survive the next two years, secure a scholarship to a university far away, and never speak to anyone more than necessary.
I had an IQ of 205. I could solve differential equations in my head while boiling noodles. I could dismantle the psychological profile of a stranger in ten seconds. But none of that mattered if I couldn't achieve the one thing I truly desired:
A peaceful, uneventful life.
The next morning, the rain came down in sheets, turning the world into a blur of gray and blue.
Seishin High School was a dreary collection of buildings that looked more like a prison than a place of learning. I navigated the corridors, keeping my head down, my umbrella folded tightly at my side.
I walked with a specific rhythm—not too fast to draw attention, not too slow to look lost. I was a ghost.
"Class, settle down," the homeroom teacher, Mr. Tanaka, said. He sounded tired, like a man who had given up on his dreams ten years ago. "We have a transfer student today. It's unusual for this time of year, but... well, come in."
I slid the door open.
The classroom (Class 2-B) smelled of damp uniforms, chalk dust, and teenage hormones. Thirty pairs of eyes snapped toward me. I scanned them in a single sweep, my brain processing the social hierarchy instantly.
Back row, by the window: The dominant males. Loud posture, unbuttoned blazers. The 'Alpha' group.
Center: The gossip circle. Girls applying lip balm, whispering. The information hub.
Front row: The scholars. Glasses, stiff backs. Irrelevant to the social order.
And then... there was the anomaly.
In the back corner, furthest from the door, sat a girl.
She wasn't looking at me. She was looking at her desk. Her hair was black, cut short in a bob that hid the sides of her face. Her uniform was neat, but worn—the sleeves were slightly frayed.
But what caught my attention wasn't her appearance. It was the space around her.
The desks around her were pushed slightly away, creating a physical barrier of empty air. An isolation zone. No one looked at her. No one spoke near her. It was as if she carried a contagion that the rest of the class was terrified of catching.
A target, my mind concluded. Level: Severe.
"Introduce yourself," Mr. Tanaka sighed.
I walked to the chalkboard. I picked up a piece of chalk and wrote my name in standard, unremarkable kanji.
"Ren Kageyama," I said, my voice flat, devoid of inflection. "I moved here from Chiba due to family circumstances. I like reading. Please treat me well."
I bowed exactly 30 degrees. Not enough to be subservient, not shallow enough to be rude. Perfection.
"Alright. Take the empty seat... over there. Behind Aoi Hoshino."
Mr. Tanaka pointed to the Isolation Zone.
A ripple of whispers went through the class. I saw a guy in the back row smirk and elbow his friend. The girls in the center exchanged glances that screamed pity mixed with malice.
I walked down the aisle. As I approached the desk, the girl—Aoi Hoshino—flinched. It was a micro-movement, a tightening of her shoulders, as if she expected me to hit her or kick her chair.
I didn't.
I pulled out my chair, sat down, and took out my textbook. I didn't look at her. I didn't say hello. I simply existed.
She let out a breath she had been holding. It was a shaky, ragged sound.
Interesting, I thought, opening my math book. She expects hostility from everyone. Her defense mechanisms are overloaded.
For the next four hours, I became invisible. I answered one question correctly to avoid being labelled 'stupid', but hesitated on the second one to avoid being labelled 'genius'. I maintained a perfect average.
Lunch break arrived like a breaking dam. The silence exploded into noise as students pushed desks together, forming their tribes.
I remained in my seat. I had a convenience store rice ball (onigiri) in my bag. I planned to eat it while reviewing a PDF on coding structures on my phone.
"Hey, Hoshino-chan!"
The voice was high-pitched, sugary, and laced with venom.
I didn't look up, but I shifted my focus. Peripheral vision.
Three girls stood around Aoi's desk. The leader was a girl with dyed brown hair and too many accessories on her school bag. Let's call her Subject A.
Aoi didn't look up. She was gripping a small bento box wrapped in a faded pink cloth.
"We forgot our wallets today," Subject A said, leaning in. "And we're super hungry. You made lunch, right? You're such a good cook, Hoshino."
"I..." Aoi's voice was barely a whisper. It cracked. "I... this is..."
"Oh, come on. Don't be stingy." Subject A snatched the box from the desk.
The classroom went quiet. Not a respectful quiet, but the quiet of an audience watching a gladiator match. The boys in the back were watching, grinning. The teacher had already left.
This was the law of the jungle.
Subject A opened the box. Inside was simple rice, a pickled plum, and some rolled egg. Cheap. Simple.
"Ew," Subject A laughed, wrinkling her nose. "Just rice? Seriously? You're so poor it's depressing."
She tilted the box.
Splat.
The rice and eggs fell onto Aoi's desk, smearing across her notebook.
"Oops," Subject A giggled. "My hand slipped. Sorry, Hoshino-chan. You should clean that up before it smells."
The girls laughed. It was a cruel, synchronized sound.
I sat behind her. I saw everything.
I saw Aoi's hands trembling. I saw the way her knuckles turned white as she gripped her skirt. I saw a single teardrop hit the spilled rice, disappearing into the grain.
My brain began to calculate.
Option 1: Intervene. Stand up. Confront Subject A.
Outcome: I become a target. My peaceful life ends on Day 1. The bullying likely intensifies for Aoi because she "needed a man to save her."
Probability of success: Low.
Energy expenditure: High.
Option 2: Report to Teacher.
Outcome: Teachers already know. They choose to ignore it to maintain 'class harmony'. Reporting makes me a snitch.
Probability of success: 0%.
Option 3: Do Nothing.
Outcome: The status quo is maintained. I remain safe. Aoi continues to suffer.
Logically, Option 3 was the only correct choice. I didn't know this girl. Her suffering was not my variable to fix.
So, I did nothing.
I watched as the girls walked away, laughing about karaoke plans. I watched as Aoi slowly, painfully, took out a tissue and began to wipe the rice off her desk. She didn't make a sound. She didn't scream. She just cleaned.
It was... efficient.
I stood up, grabbing my bag. I needed to leave. The air in the classroom was suddenly too thick to breathe.
As I walked past her desk to leave the room, I paused for a fraction of a second.
"You missed a spot," I whispered.
It was cruel. It was cold. But it was also a test.
Aoi froze. She looked up at me.
For the first time, I saw her eyes. They were dark brown, large, and filled with an ocean of despair so deep it was almost drowning me. But beneath the sadness, there was something else. A spark. Not of anger, but of endurance.
She didn't cry. She nodded once, wiped the spot I pointed at, and whispered, "Thank you."
I walked out of the classroom, my heart rate steady at 65 beats per minute. But my mind was racing.
She thanked me, I thought as I walked down the empty hallway. I scrutinized her humiliation, and she thanked me.
She wasn't just a victim. She was broken in a way that defied logic.
The rain had stopped by the time I got back to Sunset Heights, leaving the sky a bruised purple.
I was exhausted. Not physically, but socially. The act of wearing the "normal student" mask took a toll on my mental stamina.
I climbed the stairs to the second floor, the metal clanging rhythmically. I reached Room 201 and fished for my keys.
Then, I heard it.
The sound of keys jingling right next to me.
I turned my head.
Standing in front of the door to Room 202—my immediate neighbor—was a figure soaked to the bone. Her school uniform was wet, her hair plastered to her face. She was holding a plastic bag from the convenience store containing a single cup of instant noodles.
It was Aoi Hoshino.
We stood there, the damp corridor stretching between us. The silence of the morning returned, but this time, it was heavy.
She stared at me, her eyes widening. The color drained from her face. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck.
"You..." she breathed out, her voice trembling.
I looked at her wet uniform. I looked at the cheap noodles. I looked at the door number: 202.
Calculation update, my mind whirred. Probability of peaceful life: Dropping rapidly.
I sighed, unlocked my door, and spoke without looking at her.
"The walls are thin, Hoshino," I said, my voice cutting through the humid air. "Try not to snore."
I stepped into my apartment and closed the door before she could respond.
I leaned back against the metal door, staring into the darkness of my room.
My sanctuary had been breached. The variable I had tried to ignore was living three meters away from where I slept.
I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor. I pulled out my phone and opened a new note file.
Project Observation:
Subject: Neighbor / Classmate.
Status: Compromised.
Objective: Maintain distance.
But as I sat there, listening to the faint sound of her unlocking her door next to mine, and the subsequent sound of her sliding down against her own door... and the soft, muffled sound of sobbing that followed...
I knew.
I knew that for the first time in my life, my logic was about to lose to something far more unpredictable.
I closed my eyes.
This is going to be troublesome.
[End of Chapter 1]