Third Floor Restroom – 12:50 PM
This place is the absolute last sanctuary. Nobody's going to strike up a conversation with you here. The sharp scent of floor cleaner is way more honest than the expensive perfume those popular kids wear. I sat on the closed toilet lid, unwrapping a 200-yen melon pan I'd bought this morning.
This is independence in its purest form. Eating in silence, without having to think of topics to keep the "vibe" going.
However, my peace was disturbed when the main door swung open. Laughter and heavy footsteps echoed against the ceramic tiles. Sounds like about three people. I immediately pulled my feet up onto the toilet so I wouldn't be seen through the gap under the door. Pro-level loner strategy 101.
"Dude, Madoka-san was seriously on fire today, wasn't she?"
I recognized that voice. One of the guys from the mid-tier cliques in Class 2-B.
"Right? And her hair, man, it's so shiny. When she was getting mad about that cafe this morning, honestly, she just looked cool. Like a dominant queen type," another one chimed in, sounding way too enthusiastic.
I nearly choked on my melon pan. Give me a break. They were talking about Shirayuki Madoka like she was some goddess descended from the heavens, when in my eyes, she's just a source of noise pollution in the classroom.
"But seriously, it's so hard to get close to her. Kazuya is always there. Plus, Madoka-san just has this different aura. Like... you know, even though she's harsh, she's actually the type who really cares about her group. That's what makes her so attractive."
"Exactly. If only I had the guts to just ask for her LINE. But just seeing her laugh with her friends is enough to make my day feel so 'youthful'."
They kept rambling on, praising everything about Madoka from her fashion sense to the way she looks down on others—which they interpreted as "leadership charisma."
I took a long sigh inside this cramped stall.
Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting.
This is exactly what I call the lie of youth. They're trapped in a collective delusion. They admire someone who probably doesn't even know their names. They convert their fear and inferiority into "worship." Shirayuki Madoka isn't a goddess; she's just a high school girl with a massive ego backed by followers starving for validation.
And these guys feel like they're enjoying their "youth" just by admiring the queen from a distance. They lie to themselves that this pathetic crush is a part of their "beautiful school memories."
The sound of the tap stopped running.
"Alright, let's get back to class. Maybe we'll catch a glimpse of her during PE."
The door closed. Silence reclaimed the room.
I lowered my feet and stared at the remains of my melon pan. My appetite was gone. Out there, people are busy building shrines for those at the top of the hierarchy. While in here, I'm just alone with the bitter truth.
"You're all a bunch of idiots," I whispered to the cold toilet wall.
I stepped out of the stall and washed my hands as thoroughly as possible, as if I were trying to scrub away the traces of that revolting conversation. I had to go back to Class 2-B—the epicenter of the lie—and go back to pretending I was just oxygen again.
The Neighbor from Hell and the Fake Hierarchy
As soon as class ended, I rushed to pack my bag. My plan was simple: go home, sleep, and ignore the existence of humans until tomorrow morning. However, I was stopped dead in my tracks right at the classroom door.
A guy stood there, leaning against the frame in a very "protagonist" pose. His uniform was neat, the gold Student Council badge on his collar was sparkling, and that smile... ah, that smile. The kind of smile that makes teachers hand over the keys to the faculty room without a second thought.
Naoya Hasegawa. The grand Student Council President of Meiwa High.
"Yo, Izumi. Heading home? How diligent, going back this early to read your eroge manga," he greeted me with a friendly tone that made my skin crawl.
"Move it, Senpai. I have no business with the 'Public Relations' department today," I replied flatly.
Naoya is my neighbor. Technically, our houses are only separated by one miserable hedge. At school, he's a god. At home? I've seen him cry over blowing twenty thousand yen on gacha for an SSR card in a galge. And as you'd expect, he got nothing but trash.
"Don't be so cold. We're harmonious neighbors, aren't we?" Naoya threw an arm around my shoulder, pulling me away from the Class 2-B crowd that was starting to whisper. "Look, I've got a small problem. Half of the sports club evaluation docs are missing, and I... I mean, 'the Student Council' is very busy."
"Couldn't you come up with a more believable excuse? Let me guess, you just want to go on a date at the cafe in front of the station, right?"
The parasite just grinned widely, not feeling guilty in the slightest. "I promised Akane. So, as a good neighbor, you're gonna help me finish this in the Student Council room, right?"
"I'm going home."
"Oh, come on. If you help out, maybe I won't 'accidentally' tell your mom about that 'special' magazine collection you hid under your mattress when I dropped by last week."
I froze. Dammit. This guy is literally a demon in an angel's clothing.
Meiwa High isn't just an educational institution; it's a miniature savanna ecosystem managed with fascist discipline. And in this rigid food pyramid, Naoya Hasegawa stands at the peak, looking down on all the crawling creatures below with a sickening predator's smirk.
Me? I'm just one of the many plankton trying to survive by staying low. But apparently, Naoya's predator radar is way too sensitive to the scent of "someone easy to use."
I was dragged—literally and metaphorically—into the Student Council room. A room that should radiate the authority of school law, but instead looked more like a private penthouse for those born with silver spoons in their mouths. The interior was luxurious, way too fancy for a room funded by student tuition.
In the middle of all that luxury sat Hasegawa Riika.
She was busy filing her nails like it was the most sacred task in the world, her eyes glued to a phone screen playing god-knows-what. Riika is Naoya's younger sister and the first-year Student Council Vice President. If you thought this school was bad enough being led by a narcissistic piece of trash like her brother, get ready to be disappointed. This school is physical proof that nepotism is the only curriculum that actually works here.
"Ah, Brother, you're here. About the weekly report..." Riika looked up, cutting herself off when she saw my gloomy figure. She gave me a perfectly polished, sly fox-like gaze. "Eh? Izumi-senpai? It's rare to see a living embodiment of negative energy in this sacred place."
"Riika, don't be like that. Izumi is our strategic asset," Naoya interrupted in a fake baritone voice, then—THUD—he dropped a stack of papers as high as Mount Everest in front of me. The wind from the impact was enough to make me want to go home and sleep for ten years.
"There you go, Izumi. Finish this. Riika will be your personal 'supervisor.' I gotta run, Akane is waiting for me longingly!"
Without giving me a second to argue—which would've been rejected anyway—Naoya bolted out the door like lightning. Leaving behind the suffocating scent of expensive perfume and a workload meant for ten sane people.
I stared at the stack of papers, then looked at Riika, who was back to her phone.
"Your family... is truly rotten to the core, isn't it?" I muttered, mostly to myself.
Riika gave a soft snort, a laugh that sounded incredibly condescending. "Well... what can you do, Senpai. The Student Council has been having a labor crisis lately because our standards are too high. Or maybe because nobody can stand my brother."
She shifted her seating position, crossing her long legs in a very deliberate motion. "Oh, by the way, Senpai. I know my features are very aesthetic, but please don't try to steal glances at my legs. It's disgusting. Sorry, but it's impossible for you."
I took a deep breath, giving her the most sincere, weary sloth-stare I could manage. "I'm literally trying not to even breathe in your direction, Hasegawa. My carbon dioxide is too valuable for someone like you to inhale."
"Wow, a gloomy comeback. I like it," she said without looking at me. "Now, stop talking and start working, Senpai. Slaves don't get paid to give opinions, right?"
I didn't talk back. I just pulled up a chair, grabbed a pen, and began burying myself in the mountain of paperwork. In this room, there was only the sound of Riika's nail file and my sighs of despair.
This is Meiwa High. A place where honesty dies at the hands of nepotism, and people like me can only hope the day ends quickly without losing the scraps of dignity left in our uniform pockets.
"By the way, Senpai," Hasegawa suddenly spoke without looking away from her phone. "Since my lazy brother forced you in here, he also decided to revive the 'Service Division.' Sort of a shelter for student requests that we don't need to handle officially."
Hasegawa pointed toward a sliding door in the corner of the room leading to an inner office. "The division head is already in there. If I recall, she's from the same middle school as you. What was her name... Kushiwagi-san? No, that's not it. Kuro— ah, I forgot. Just go in, Senpai."
Special Service Division Room — 4:11 PM
"Go in, Izumi-senpai."
Hasegawa shoved me into a room in a corner of the building that people rarely passed. This room didn't have an official nameplate, just a small Student Council logo sticker in the corner of the door.
"This is the Special Service Division. A special unit under the Student Council designed to handle problems that are too 'gray' to be solved formally. And as of today, you're a forced volunteer here," Hasegawa said in an arrogant tone that left no room for refusal.
"Why me? I'm just a civilian who wants to live in peace. Why not recruit someone with a hero complex like Akabane Kazuya?" I protested.
"Because you have rotten eyes and twisted logic, Senpai. Sometimes, to clean a gutter, you need someone who isn't afraid to get dirty." She smirked, then pointed to the only person sitting in the room. "And you're not alone. Meet your coworker."
I turned my head. My heart skipped a beat for a second. Not because of the beauty of the girl sitting there—though I had to admit, she was on a different level—but because of a past trauma that suddenly resurfaced.
The girl looked up from her book. Her cold blue eyes stared at me, and for a moment, the same flash of shock crossed her face before it returned to being as flat as a chalkboard.
"You..." her voice was low and sharp.
"Kurokawa... Reina," I muttered.
"Hasegawa-san," Kurokawa stood up, her voice trembling with restrained emotion. "Your brother said he'd bring 'someone in need of rehabilitation.' But why did you bring... this creature? I suffered enough for three years in the same middle school as him."
"Oh? So you two already know each other?" Hasegawa laughed with satisfaction, as if her plan was going even smoother than expected. "That's great then. No need for awkward introductions. Izumi-senpai, Kurokawa-san is the only member of this department. Well, you could say she's the head. While she's academically reliable, her social skills are just as broken as yours. So, try to get along."
"Don't lump me in with him," Kurokawa cut in snidely. "In middle school, this insect was known as the 'Prince of Failure.' He's the guy who confessed his love to a girl on the first day of school and got publicly rejected instantly. Truly a legend, in the most negative sense."
I felt a sharp pang in my chest. "Oi, that was a long time ago. And at least I tried. Unlike you, the 'Ice Queen' who made half the girls in our year cry because of your biting comments."
"That's called honesty, Nakamura-san. Something foreign to you, who's always hiding behind cynicism," Kurokawa shot back.
Hasegawa clapped her hands loudly. "Alright, alright, your mutual hatred is the perfect fuel. Kurokawa-san, your job is to fix Izumi-senpai's personality. And Izumi-senpai, your job is to help Kurokawa-san carry out Student Council requests. If you can't work together, well... I'm not sure your evaluation reports will look very good to the faculty board."
Hasegawa stepped out and locked the door from the outside, leaving us in a very awkward silence.
I sighed and sat in the chair furthest from Kurokawa. "So... the Student Council, huh? Since when did you become such a lapdog?"
"At least I'm useful," Kurokawa reopened her book, ignoring my existence. "And you? You're exactly the same as before. Dead eyes, a slumped back, and the stinging scent of despair."
"Thanks for the compliment," I said, staring at the ceiling. "It's a small world. Of all the schools in Nagoya, why did we have to end up in the same room again?"
"That's what I want to ask God," Kurokawa whispered.
This was the beginning of the Special Service Division. An organization established under Student Council instructions, inhabited by two people who hate each other with a dark past, and forced to save others when they can't even save their own relationship that's been shattered since middle school.