The world snaps into focus with the jarring suddenness of a flipped switch. One moment, there was the familiar, low hum of computer fan and the dim glow of a monitor; the next, it's a cacophony of hushed adolescent chatter and the sharp, clean scent of chalk dust.
The floor is polished wood, and the texture is strange through the thin soles of unfamiliar shoes. A stiff, wool-like fabric rubs against my neck—the collar of a crisp, white, button-up shirt. My hands, feels alien and clumsy, are clenched into fists at sides, tucked into the pockets of black dress pants that are a size too tight. Before I can reaxr, a sea of young faces, all Japanese, all staring, blurs into a single, intimidating entity. A man in a white shirt and glasses stands at a lectern, a kindly but tired expression on his face.
I've finally transferred into the this romance manga. It's netori time.
And so, class, let us all welcome our new transfer student. Please, introduce yourself."
"Hello I'm Katsuki and I've new in this country because of my dad's transfer. Please take care of me"
The teacher's voice is a distant drone. A tightness coils in my gut. The fabric of new, stiff uniform collar feels suddenly constricting against throat. My eyes, scanning the room without conscious input, pass over rows of curious, bored, and indifferent faces until they land on one specific person, and the entire world seems to narrow to a single point.
She sits near the window, about three rows back. The sunlight catches her, making her seem to glow. Even from a distance, I can see the vibrant, almost glossy shine of it. Her face is heart-shaped, with large, expressive eyes and full lips that are currently turned up in a small, polite smile. She isn't looking at you.
The teacher clears his throat, and jolted back to the reality of the situation. He's looking at me expectantly
The teacher gestures towards an empty desk near the back of the room, conveniently in the same row as Yamada.
"Alright, you can take that seat there. Yamada-san," he says, his voice carrying across the room. "Since your desk is nearby, would you mind showing our new student around after class? Help them get acquainted with the school layout."
"Thankyou Sensei" I speak politely
She walks up to me with the energy of someone being forced to apologize on national TV. "I'm Yamada Anna," she mutters, slinging her bag over one shoulder. "Let's just get this over with."
I barely say I name before she's already walking out. I hurry to catch up.
Once in the hallway, she speaks ."So. Where do you wanna go first? Shoe lockers? Gym? Library? I'm vetoing the rooftop if the wind's insane."
Then, without warning, "Also, I have a boyfriend. His name's Ichikawa Kyoutarou. He's taller than you when standing on personality alone. So yeah, don't get any bright ideas."
She throws me a sideways glance, then deadpans, "And no, this isn't a romcom manga. You are not the mysterious new protagonist who melts my heart by lunchtime, this is real life."
She tugs at her sleeves, sighing again. "...All this because i like melon bread so much. What a world."
"Let's start with gym. I like of like workout out" I speak calmly
She stops mid-stride. She turns her head just enough to give me a deadpan look, one eyebrow slightly raised. The long, dark blue hair swishes against the back of her uniform blazer.
"The gym? Seriously?"
She lets out a theatrical sigh, the kind usually reserved for soap opera heroines discovering a long-lost evil twin.
"Fine. Whatever. It's your tour."
She pivots on her heel and starts walking, her pace less 'enthusiastic tour guide' and more 'death march to the gallows'. The sound of her indoor shoes clacking against the polished floor is the only rhythm between me
Why couldn't he have said library? At least I could nap while pointing at books. I bet he's one of those guys who owns a protein shaker and calls everyone 'bro'.
As I walk, she speaks again, not bothering to look at me
"The gym's this way. It's all the way on the other side of the first-year building. It's always sweaty in there. Kyoutarou hates places like that."
There it is again. His name, dropped like an anchor in the middle of a casual sentence. A soft, possessive little reminder.
After a few more moments of silent, resentful walking, We arrive at a set of large double doors. The faint thud of a basketball and the squeak of sneakers can be heard from within.
"Here we are. Paradise." She pushes one of the doors open and gestures inside with a flat, unimpressed hand. "Behold. The place where jocks are born. Try not to get too excited."
"This is good. I'll come here later. Let's go to library for now" i smirk in my mind
Anna's jaw tightens for a fraction of a second. She slowly turns to face me, her expression a perfect mask of disbelief and uttter exhaustion. She looks from the gym door back, as if trying to solve a complex physics problem.
"...Are you serious?"
Her voice is flat, devoid of any real energy, but laced with a sharp, theatrical edge.
"We just walked all the way across campus. Through the valley of the first-years. Past the vending machine that's always out of Pocari Sweat. For the gym. Which you looked at for five seconds."
She throws her hands up in a gesture of surrender to the universe, then lets them fall limp at her sides.
"Fine. Library it is. Of course. Why wouldn't you be completely random? That would be too easy."
She turns on her heel again, not even waiting for a response, and starts marching back the way came. Her stride is clipped, purposeful, radiating a 'don't talk to me' aura so strong it's almost visible.