I hate school.
They call it preparation for society. What it really does is train you to accept an underpaid job, work yourself to death twelve hours a day, and burn out before you even hit your thirties.
I knew early on that I wanted something different.
When I told my mother I wanted to drop out and become a NEET, it didn't end well.
So here I am—sitting on a bench in the middle row of the classroom, waiting for the day to end. Just another unremarkable student at Kokusai High School in Matsumoto. Nothing special. Nothing worth remembering.
Voices buzzed all around me. My classmates chatted, laughed, lived. One of my few talents is filtering out background noise. It works in mixing software—and in real life.
I don't know what I'm doing here with a bunch of normies. I'm a fish out of water.
A yawn slipped out of me before I could stop it. I'd stayed up until three in the morning playing games. Figures. I rested my head on my arms.
I'll just sleep. Waking up when class ends wouldn't be so bad.
The last thing I remember was my forehead touching the desk.
I don't dream anymore. Sleep feels like a void—empty, colorless. Kind of how I imagine death.
That's why, when I close my eyes, part of me never wants to open them again.
The bell jolted me awake.
I checked my phone. Classes were over.
Somehow, I'd slept through all of them without a single teacher noticing. I packed my bag and left the classroom.
Not that I was in a hurry.
Going home didn't excite me any more than staying here. Sometimes I wandered the school halls aimlessly after class, like a ghost.
Just like now.
For twenty minutes, the building was overcrowded—students rushing home or heading to their clubs.
I didn't know anything about the latter. I was a proud member of the go-home-early club. That would never change.
Eventually, the noise faded. The halls emptied. Silence returned.
My kind of space.
Walking on autopilot is dangerous. You never know where you'll end up.
In my case, my feet carried me to the third floor—one level above my classroom. That part of the building was practically abandoned. Rows of empty classrooms, gathering dust.
Then I heard it.
A voice.
Clear. Soft. Beautiful.
It echoed from one of the empty rooms, pulling me in like a magnet. Before I realized it, I was standing in front of the door. Curiosity won. I cracked it open just enough to peek inside.
A girl about my age stood alone in the classroom.
Dark purple hair in twin braids. Heavy makeup framing a pretty face. Blue eyes that caught the light. A wide, confident smile.
Any normal guy would've fallen in love on the spot.
Tokidoki, my heart is beating when I'm with you
It's a feeling I can't express in words
I hated the genre.
But that voice—
It dragged me in, helplessly. Like a moth to a flame.
Wait.
I recognized her.
She was in my class.
What was her name again…?
I'm terrible with names. Faces stick. Names don't—unless I actually talk to someone.
The only person who ever spoke to me regularly was the class president, nagging me about attendance and handing me printouts.
The girl stopped singing.
Her eyes locked onto me. Suspicion flickered across her face.
"Will you quit staring?"
Her flat tone snapped me back to reality. I coughed awkwardly.
"Sorry."
"What are you doing here?"
"I heard your singing from the hallway. It was… loud."
She blushed instantly, clearly torn between embarrassment and anger.
"Unbelievable. Of all people, why did Shiba Takumi have to find me here?"
Way to talk about me while I'm standing right in front of you.
I sighed inwardly and tried to play it cool.
"So… who are you again?"
The words died halfway out of my mouth. I was already considering leaving when a shrill scream nearly ruptured my eardrums.
"What?! Don't tell me you can't even remember your classmates' names!"
I can't. That's why I asked.
She snarled softly, clearly irritated, before introducing herself.
"Suzuki Aika. Don't forget it next time."
Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.
She was nice to everyone in class, from what I remembered. Guess that was fake too.
"So," I said, "what are you doing here, Suzuki-san?"
She hesitated.
"P-practicing…"
"Your singing."
She nodded.
"I could show you."
Suddenly energetic. Fine.
She started singing again—an upbeat love song. I ignored the lyrics completely. Her voice alone was enough to captivate me.
How could someone with such an angelic voice have such an abrasive personality?
Then a thought crossed my mind.
This could be my chance.
A collaboration. With a girl like her, I could finally get views. Real exposure. Maybe even break out of anonymity.
The song ended.
Before I could stop myself, I spoke.
"Wanna do a song with me?"
She froze.
"Eh?"
"I make music too. Underground, but… I believe I can make it big."
She studied me for a moment.
"Show me."
I pulled out my phone, opened YouTube, and played my latest track. I watched her face carefully, but she gave nothing away.
The song ended.
"I'm not doing a song with you."
I clenched my jaw.
"Why?"
She answered immediately.
"First—the autotune. If you want to sing, do it without cheating. Otherwise it's just robotic noise.
Second—the song is too gloomy. The lyrics feel copied from American artists.
And third—there's no way a popular idol like me would work with a second-hand 'artist' like you."
…Idol?
My eyes widened.
"You're—"
Now it clicked.
Ai-chan.
The idol my little sister wouldn't shut up about.
"I get it," I said quietly. "No way the great Ai-chan would sing with a second-hand artist."
I turned toward the door.
"Wait—"
I didn't.
The door slammed shut behind me, the sound echoing down the empty hallway. I didn't look back.
As I left the building, her voice lingered in my head—clear, beautiful, and completely out of reach.
That only made it worse.
I really hate idols.