BRRRRRRRRRRNNNNGGGG—! BRRRRRRRRRRNNNNGGGG—!
The demonic wail of my alarm clock shattered the fragile peace of morning. I groaned like a dying RPG protagonist, rolling over with all the grace of a toppled golem. My hand flailed across the nightstand in a blind panic—slapping empty air, knocking over what was definitely an energy drink can, before finally silencing the mechanical banshee with a punishing smack.
Silence. Blessed silence.
I lay frozen in my futon, staring at the water-stained ceiling through half-lowered eyelids. My brain was still buffering, caught in that hazy limbo between sleep and consciousness. Somewhere in the fog, a single thought managed to load:
I. Hate. Mornings.
The realization hit with the force of a critical strike—I was expected to "function" now. Like some kind of productive NPC.
Disgusting.
With the enthusiasm of a zombie rising from its grave, I dragged myself upright. My apartment—if you could call this glorified storage closet an apartment—greeted me with its usual depressing charm. Twelve square meters of pure otaku real estate: bed, desk, shelves, and a kitchenette so small it might as well have been decorative. The whole place smelled faintly of instant ramen and despair.
But the walls? The walls told a different story.
Dozens of figures stood at attention on my shelves—precious plastic soldiers guarding the borders of my domain. Saber poised for battle. Guts mid-swing with Dragonslayer. A scale model EVA-01 frozen in its iconic roar. Above them, posters of fantasy landscapes and anime girls glowed under the dim morning light, their colors far more vibrant than anything in the real world.
My foot kicked something metallic. An empty Monsta can rolled across the floor, its hollow clatter a testament to last night's marathon dungeon run. Three AM. Four AM? Who could remember? The loot had been legendary. The boss fights brutal. The memories... probably better than whatever today had in store.
The mirror in my cramped bathroom showed me exactly what I expected: Messy black hair sticking up in five different directions. Dark circles that could rival a panda's. The face of a background character in someone else's story. I splashed icy water on my face—no geyser meant no mercy—and hissed as the cold shock traveled down my spine.
"Living the dream," I muttered to my reflection, the words tasting like lies and cheap toothpaste.
The school uniform went on with practiced efficiency. Not too wrinkled. Not too clean. Just right to avoid drawing attention. A quick spray of bargain-bin cologne (because teenage boy stink waits for no one), a final pat-down to make sure my phone and wallet were present, and I was out the door.
As I stepped into the hallway, the apartment door clicked shut behind me with finality. The lock sounded suspiciously like the start screen of a game I hadn't agreed to play.
<< DAILY QUEST ACCEPTED: SURVIVE ANOTHER DAY OF SCHOOL >>
I sighed, adjusting my bag strap. At least in games, the respawn points were clearly marked.
As I stepped outside, the morning chill brushed against my face as I walked down the street, my hands stuffed deep in my hoodie pockets. The scent of autumn was faint in the air—dry leaves, faint traces of coffee from a nearby café, and the occasional whiff of exhaust from passing cars. Winter was on its way.
Shops were just starting to open. Metal shutters rattled upward, lights flickering on behind glass windows. Somewhere nearby, birds chirped lazily, like they had nowhere important to be. Adults in suits passed by with briefcases, faces tired even though the day had barely begun. Cars rolled past in a steady rhythm, engines humming softly.
Everything moved forward.
I just walked.
The school came into view soon enough. Students were already gathering near the gates—laughing, talking, walking in pairs or groups. Some teased each other, their voices loud and carefree. Others groaned about incomplete homework or gossiped about the latest episode of some anime. A few simply basked in the shared warmth of their morning routine.
I slowed my steps without realizing it.
They looked… normal.
Friends walking shoulder to shoulder, conversations flowing effortlessly—the kind of thing I was never good at. Even in my third year, I still felt like an outsider, someone who'd stumbled into a game he didn't know the rules to.
But I did have someone I talked to.
Sort of.
My eyes drifted toward the main gate.
She was there.
Emi Fujikawa stood a little off to the side, clutching the strap of her school bag with both hands. Her sailor uniform was layered with a thick, oversized sweater, making her look even smaller than usual. She shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other, nearly tripping when a group of students brushed past her too close.
Same as always.
She was short, shy, and painfully clumsy. Her brown hair was tied into a loose ponytail that never stayed neat for long. Some strands of hair in front of her face. She had a soft face—cute, in a quiet way—and despite her small frame—yeah, never mind.
She was a second-year.
I was a third-year.
That made me her senpai.
For some reason, that still felt weird.
Her eyes lit up the moment she spotted me.
"Ah—! N-Nagano-senpai!"
She bowed too quickly, nearly losing her balance in the process.
I stepped forward without thinking. "Careful."
"I-I'm fine!" she stammered, her face reddening. "S-Sorry…!"
She always apologized for everything.
"Good morning, Fujikawa-san," I said, my tone calm but slightly awkward.
"G-Good morning, Nagano-senpai!" she replied, her voice trembling slightly.
There was a brief, awkward pause. She fidgeted with her bag strap, her fingers tightening and loosening around it as if searching for something to hold onto. Then she took a deep breath, like she was gathering courage—courage she didn't need, but always thought she did.
"Um… s-senpai… I was waiting for you because—because I wanted to ask something… if you don't mind…"
I already knew where this was going.
Math.
Her natural enemy.
"Yeah, sure, Fujikawa-san," I said, a small, involuntary smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "What's up?"
"My exam is coming up," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "and I still don't understand equations at all. I-I tried studying by myself, but… but everything just turns into numbers that hate me…"
Numbers that hate her.
Yeah. That checked out.
"So, um… aa… if you're free during break… could you maybe t-tutor me again?" She looked up at me, her wide, nervous eyes pleading. For a moment, she looked like a lost kitten seeking shelter from the rain. Something tightened in my chest.
"N-Not that you have to! I mean—if you're busy, it's totally fine! I just—"
"It's fine," I cut in softly.
Her eyes widened, and for a brief moment, she looked like she might cry from relief.
"I can help."
"Oh—! R-Really?!" Her face brightened instantly, like the sun breaking through a cloudy sky. "Thank you so much, senpai!"
She bowed again—too fast.
"Just… don't bow so much," I muttered, scratching the back of my head in mild embarrassment.
She froze, then let out a soft, nervous laugh. "S-Sorry… habit."
Habit, huh.
She was weird, clumsy, short—and annoyingly cute. When I was close to her, my heart started acting on its own, thumping louder than it had any right to.
Not good.
I pushed the thought aside.
A-Anyway we started walking toward the school building together.
Not side by side.
There was a small, careful distance between us—enough to feel safe, not enough to feel close. I could hear her footsteps matching mine, slightly uneven.
It was… comfortable. In a quiet way.
At the entrance, we split toward our respective shoe lockers.
"I-I'll see you during break!" she said, giving a small wave.
"Yeah," I replied and smiled a little.
She smiled, then hurried off down the hallway, almost bumping into another student on the way.
I watched her go for a moment before turning the other direction.
Different classes.
Different worlds.
I stepped out of the shoe locker area, slipping into my indoor shoes and adjusting my bag strap. The hallway was already alive—students passing by, lockers slamming shut, voices overlapping into one constant hum.
Mornings at school were always like this.
Too loud. Too crowded.
I kept my head slightly down and started walking toward my classroom, sticking close to the wall like usual. My mind drifted back to Emi Fujikawa. She was… different. Not in a bad way—just different. Her shyness, her clumsiness, her relentless apologies—it all felt endearing somehow, though I'd never admit it out loud.
She reminded me of the kind of character you'd see in a slice-of-life anime—the quiet, clumsy girl who slowly grows on the protagonist.
But this wasn't an anime.
This was real life.
And in real life, people like me didn't get close to people like her.
Or maybe that was just another excuse to keep my distance.
Either way, I couldn't afford to let those thoughts linger.
I had a class to attend, after all.
Then—
Thud.
"Oof—!"
Something solid slammed into me from the side—something tall, broad, and alarmingly unyielding. My balance vanished instantly, leaving me flailing like a ragdoll before gravity won out. Before I could even react, I landed hard on my butt, the impact jarring my entire spine.
Pain shot up my back.
"…Ow."
A shadow loomed over me, blotting out the fluorescent ceiling lights.
"Whoa, sorry about that!" a loud, boisterous voice said. "Didn't see you there!"
I looked up.
Of course.
Takumi Hayashi.
"Man, you okay?" he asked, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish grin. His smile was so wide it practically lit up the hallway. "You went down like a bowling pin."
"…You're heavy," I muttered, rubbing my sore tailbone.
He laughed—loudly, unabashedly. The sound echoed down the hallway, drawing a few curious glances from passing students. "Hey, that's muscle, dude! Pure, 100% muscle!"
Takumi reached out with one of his tree-trunk arms and grabbed mine, hauling me up with such ease it felt like I weighed nothing. I stumbled to my feet, brushing imaginary dust off my pants as my cheeks burned with embarrassment.
"Sorry," I said quickly, ducking my head to avoid eye contact. "I wasn't looking."
"Eh, no worries!" he replied, clapping me on the shoulder with enough force to make me stagger. "Gotta watch out in the halls, man. Dangerous battlefield out here."
That was Takumi Hayashi for you.
Same year as me. Different class. A walking mountain of muscle and pure friendliness. He was in the wrestling club—thick arms, broad shoulders, and a brain that definitely preferred action over thinking. His hair was perpetually messy, as though he'd just rolled out of bed, and his uniform was always slightly wrinkled, like it struggled to contain his sheer physicality.
Muscle-brained, but not a bad guy.
"Later, Nagano!" he called out, already halfway down the hallway. He turned and flashed me another grin. "Don't die before lunch!"
"…I'll try," I muttered, watching his retreating figure with a mix of relief and mild irritation.
I wiped more imaginary dust from my pants—my dignity was another story—and continued down the hallway, trying to shake off the lingering embarrassment.
The halls were quieter now, most students already in their classrooms. The occasional muffled chatter drifted through closed doors.
Soon, I reached my classroom.
I slid the door open.
The familiar noise washed over me instantly—a chaotic symphony of teenage life. Students chattered in animated clusters, laughing over weekend antics, groaning about unfinished homework, passionately debating the latest game updates or idol group rankings. Desks scraped against the floor like reluctant dancers; chairs squeaked as they were pulled out or pushed in. The air hummed with the energy of a perfectly normal morning.
I stepped inside quietly, slipping through the doorway like a ghost.
Near the front of the room, Ren Kurokiri was speaking with Aika Mizuno.
Of course they were.
Ren stood with impeccable posture, shoulders squared and expression composed. He looked like someone out of a school brochure—calm, disciplined, with sharp, observant eyes that missed nothing. The kind of guy teachers trusted instinctively. Student Council President. Naturally.
Beside him stood Aika Mizuno—Vice President. Her long, dark purple hair was tied into a flawless high ponytail that swayed slightly as she nodded. She listened with her arms crossed, her gaze focused and analytical. Smart, composed, and quietly terrifying when annoyed.
The perfect pair.
They looked like they belonged in a different world than mine—a world of responsibility, recognition, and effortless belonging.
I turned away before either could notice me staring and headed to my seat.
Back corner. Beside the window.
My territory.
I dropped into my chair, the worn wooden seat groaning softly under my weight, and let out a small, weary breath. That's when I noticed the presence to my right.
A guy wearing a gray hoodie, hood pulled low enough to shadow most of his face. He sat perfectly still, like a statue placed there by mistake.
Right.
The new transfer student.
Shinichi Takeda.
Quiet. Stoic. Barely spoke to anyone since he arrived last week. He always sat like a background NPC that hadn't loaded dialogue yet—present but unreachable.
I swallowed, feeling the awkwardness thicken around me, then forced a small, hesitant smile.
"G-Good morning," I said, my voice softer than I intended.
He glanced at me for half a second, his eyes barely visible under the hood. Dark, guarded, unreadable.
"…Mm."
That was it.
I smiled awkwardly, then slowly turned back to my desk, my cheeks warming with mild embarrassment.
Yup. Not interested.
Fair enough. I couldn't really blame him.
I leaned back slightly and gazed out the window. The sky was a pale, washed-out blue, with thin clouds drifting lazily like forgotten thoughts. Down below, a few first-years chased a stray soccer ball across the courtyard. Their laughter didn't quite reach me through the glass.
I sighed softly, the sound lost in the classroom's buzz.
I couldn't wait to go back to my den.
Back to my room. My gaming rig humming to life. My headset sealing out the world.
Back to "Eternal Frontier".
With my party.
My guild.
My friends.
…Online friends.
Still counted.
Probably.
At least there, I knew where I stood.