Ten years.
It's been ten years since my mother passed away… a thought that flickers in my mind like a dream too far away.
I was seven at her funeral.
My father took her death hard—still does. He goes to work, comes home, eats… then drinks.
But me?
For some reason, I never cried.
I remember sitting beside him, just staring.
At the time, I couldn't process what it meant for someone to be gone. Vanished from this earth. Ever since then, I hardly remember anything about her besides the family photo.
Sometimes I wonder… what would it be like if she were still here?
…
I'm a high school student now—seventeen, third year. It's sad, but I've never made a single friend since elementary school. Never even talked to a girl.
I'm just a kid who fits in too well to be noticed.
Right?
Riiiing.
My heart jumps at the sound of the bell. The book held close to my face suddenly feels real again. The classroom noise fades as everyone moves to their seats.
Silence.
I stash my book under my desk, waiting for the teacher.
Steps… steps.
Slide.
Mr. Okamoto walks in—older, salt-and-pepper hair, small mustache.
Books tucked under his arm.
Thud.
He sets them on the podium and takes a slow, serious breath.
The class tenses — even me. He's never been a gentle teacher. He piles on work with a timer like it's survival of the fittest.
"Good morning, class," he says, stern as always.
"As you've all heard… we have a new student."
News to me. But with no friends in this shithole, it's not like information ever finds its way to me anyway.
"Ayame Kurobane."
All eyes shoot toward the open door.
Step… step—
A foot appears… then the other. I follow the movement upward.
Students gasp.
Long blonde hair—
Tall—
Pretty—
Her steps stop near the podium.
"It… It's nice to meet you all," she says softly. Her hair slips over her face, cheeks faintly pink.
"I hope we can all be friends."
…
She looks like a model.
"She's so cute."
"Oh, I'm asking her out for sure."
The whispers start instantly.
A sharp, annoyed pain stabs behind my eyes.
My hand clamps over my temple.
Not again…
"What a pain," I mutter.
Humans are painfully simple.
Show them a pretty face, and their minds rewrite reality—suddenly she's a goddess, a savior, a miracle they invented just to feel something. I don't understand them.
"Now, for seating arrangements…" Mr. Okamoto scans the room.
Students hold their breath. Some blush.
But me? My headache won't stop. Their voices… their excitement… too loud.
Too predictable. Too annoying.
"Simple creatures…" I whisper, resting my cheek on my hand.
I glance out the window—the trees a deep green.
Still summer.
"You will sit next to Souta."
My heart jumps.
Students groan in disappointment.
A thousand eyes stab into me.
My eyes snap to the teacher… then to her.
Sit… next…
to me?
"Souta, raise your hand."
Raise my—
Oh. Right.
My hand shoots up. It trembles. She looks at me—first confused, then she smiles. My heart almost escapes my chest.
She walks toward me slowly, students watching her like predators.
For a second, they look like they want to kill me.
She sits beside me. A soft scent—sweet, like honey—drifts over.
My eyes stay down, heart pounding.
Why the hell does she have to sit next to me of all people?
My eyes wander up—only to meet more death glares—
"Souta… was it?" she asks gently.
My face jerks toward her.
"Y–yes."
I snap my eyes away. Pretty sure that's the longest I've ever stared at someone… who stared right back at me.
She giggles softly.
"I hope we can be friends,"
Friends—
"Oh—ah—yes. Yes."
I nod like a complete fool.
My face drops back to my desk, staring at it like it's my last lifeline. My glasses slide down my nose. I push them back up.
…
Crap.
Friends…?
There's no way.