I, Kiyotaka Ayanokouji, sat by the window, my eyes habitually sweeping across the seats around me.It was the first day of the new school year, yet already the "characteristics" of the students around me were beginning to show.
Beside me sat a girl with long, straight black hair. A thin braid hung down her left shoulder, tied with a neat white ribbon. She was quietly reading a book, her expression cold and untouchable.The moment my eyes drifted toward her, without even lifting her head, she snapped:
"Your staring feels disgusting."
Her tone was icy.
I quickly apologized and turned away.Sharp, that was my first impression of her.
Across the aisle, by the opposite window, sat another boy wearing the same burgundy school uniform. He was striking—handsome, tall, with a dark brown beauty mark under the corner of his left eye. A pair of black-rimmed glasses rested on his nose.
Even the way he sat reflected an effortless elegance.
At that moment, he was toying with a silver fountain pen.Between his slender fingers, the pen spun, danced, and hovered—every motion fluid and natural, flowing like water. There was no trace of showiness, only a serene beauty that drew the eye.
Not just mine—several other passengers had already glanced his way.
He simply gazed out the window, calm and thoughtful, as if the world around him didn't concern him.
As for me… I didn't have high expectations for this so-called "paradise" we were meant to enjoy for the next three years.
Just look at this bus:
the cold, aloof girl beside me
the elegant boy with the beauty mark performing fingertip tricks without even trying
and the blond guy in the front row admiring himself in a hand mirror
Everything about this environment felt… strange.
The brakes hissed.The bus slowed to a stop.
The doors slid open, and an elderly woman with silver hair stepped aboard, leaning heavily on her cane. She glanced around the crowded carriage, sighed softly, and gripped the handrail with her fragile fingers. As the vehicle rocked, her frail body swayed.
For a few seconds, the air froze.
Some people turned away.Others hid behind their phones.The blond guy in the priority seat continued to admire his reflection as if the world didn't exist.
Indifference spread like fog.
"Um… everyone?"
A clear, concerned voice broke the silence.
It came from a blonde girl with short hair, a pretty face, and a firm, well-shaped figure. She looked around anxiously before focusing on the blond man in the priority seat.
Her tone was earnest:
"Sir, this elderly lady is in pain. Could you please give her your seat?"
The blond man snapped his mirror shut and spoke with lazy arrogance:
"Why should I?"
A flicker of frustration crossed the girl's face, but she quickly steadied herself.
She clasped her hands and tried again:
"Even if the law doesn't force you to give up your seat, doing so is still the right thing to do. It's a way to help others—a social contribution."
"Social contribution?"He chuckled and snapped his fingers.
"Unfortunately, I'm not interested."
He leaned forward, sweeping the carriage with a mocking gaze.
"Why single me out? Shouldn't they give up their seats too?"He gestured at the surrounding passengers."If you care so much, why don't you give up your seat?"
His words pierced the silence, twisting the atmosphere into something awkward and ugly.
The girl faltered for a moment, thrown off by the unexpected counterattack. Then she quickly turned to the crowd, her voice more urgent:
"Please—can someone give up their seat for this lady?"
A woman next to the old woman hesitated, beginning to stand—
When a soft cough broke the tension.
It came from the boy with the beauty mark.
Without anyone noticing, he had already put away his fountain pen.He stood up slowly, gracefully.
Not sparing a glance at anyone else, his eyes focused solely on the elderly lady's trembling hand gripping the metal pole.
Then came a breathtaking sequence of movements.
With perfect precision, his right hand slid the silver fountain pen into the narrow gap above the support pole. His left hand flicked, producing two small, sturdy umbrellas as if by magic.A few soft clicks followed—each umbrella handle and rib locking securely into place around the pole, forming a perfectly stable triangular support frame.
The entire process took no more than three seconds.
Calmly, he removed his burgundy school jacket, folded it in half, and laid it across the improvised frame like a cushioned seat.
Once finished, he turned toward the astonished elderly woman and gave a small, respectful bow.
"Grandma, please sit here.It may not be a VIP seat, but it's sturdy and should help in this situation."
His tone carried no arrogance—only quiet composure and effortless problem-solving grace.
The carriage fell silent, stunned by the unbelievable yet practical skill they had just witnessed.
The old woman hesitated briefly before carefully sitting down.The support didn't shift at all.Relieved, she exhaled and thanked him again and again.
The blonde girl's expression was priceless—shock, frustration at losing her moment to shine, and annoyance that her plan had been upstaged all flickered across her face. Still, she forced a bright, sweet smile and turned to the boy who had helped.
"Ah—you… you're amazing! Thank you so much!My name is Kikyo Kushida, and I'm a first-year student too!"
Her enthusiastic introduction was clearly an attempt to reclaim the social spotlight.
But the boy with the beauty mark simply gave a small nod.He did not respond.He merely straightened his posture and returned his gaze to the window, his composure completely restored.
"Tch."
A cold, cutting sound came from beside her—the black-haired girl who had been reading. She had closed her book, and now her sharp eyes pierced the boy with the beauty mark like a blade.
"Don't you think that was a little too deliberate?Putting on a performance like that in public?Or do you simply enjoy doing flashy things to get attention?"
She made no attempt to soften the accusation.
All attention shifted back to him.
The boy slowly turned around.He pushed up his black-rimmed glasses, the lenses catching the light with cold precision.
There was no anger in his movements—only a sense of quiet ceremony.A faint, almost imperceptible smile curved at the corner of his lips, as if he had accepted some truth about the world long ago.
Facing the girl's sharp criticism, he remained completely calm.
"I only wanted to make the grandmother more comfortable," he said gently."I apologize if it caused a misunderstanding."
No rebuttal.No defense.No pride.Only sincerity and an apology for any discomfort he might have caused.
He adjusted his glasses again, reaffirming his composed demeanor, then bowed lightly.
"My name is Sakamoto.What brings you here?"
"…"
An even deeper silence settled over the bus.
I stared at the bespectacled boy with the beauty mark—Sakamoto—who had just solved a seating problem in an utterly unbelievable way.Then at the long-haired black-haired girl beside me, whose expression had grown even colder at being effortlessly countered.Then at Kushida, whose smile had frozen, her eyes swirling with complicated emotions.And finally at the blond man still admiring his reflection in his mirror.
Outside the window, the scenery drifted past.
Expressionless, I observed it.
Advanced Nurturing High School… it seems extraordinary people gather here.
Sakamoto's appearance made the already unusual atmosphere even more unpredictable.This school might be more interesting than I expected.
I wouldn't say I like the potential chaos—but I certainly don't dislike it either.
First Year Enrollment — Chapter 002: Sakamoto's Late Arrival
The echoes of the opening ceremony still lingered in the hallways, but a completely different atmosphere had settled in Class 1-A. A sharp, elite aura filled the room.
Thirty-nine students were seated in their assigned spots.Only the window seat remained empty—its nameplate clearly visible, its absence stark against the orderly room.
With only a few minutes before the bell, murmurs drifted among the desks as eyes repeatedly returned to the empty seat. Curiosity and speculation spread quietly.
"Absent on the first day? He's got some nerve."
A deep, stern voice came from the front row.The speaker was a muscular, bald young man who sat like a stone pillar—his expression carved with the word discipline. His sharp eyes locked onto the empty seat with clear disapproval.
"Maybe they just got lost?"
A cheerful voice responded.A handsome blond boy leaned back comfortably in his chair, smiling easily as he chatted with the student beside him. Even while speaking casually, his attention kept drifting toward the empty seat.
Toward the back of the room sat a slender, fair-skinned girl with a dark wooden cane resting against her desk.Her silver hair shimmered like moonlight, framing her delicate features.She didn't join the discussion—she simply glanced at the empty seat with a knowing look, a faint, enigmatic smile touching her lips, as if the situation amused her.
Beside her stood another girl with waist-length purple hair spilling like satin down her back. She rested her chin on her hand, staring out the window, radiating an unmistakable aura of do not approach. She seemed entirely uninterested in the classroom's undercurrents.
Then the door slid open.
Homeroom teacher Tomoya Mashima entered with firm, steady steps.
Tall, broad-shouldered, uniform immaculate—his sharp, hawk-like gaze swept across the classroom, and the room fell instantly silent.
Mashima began to speak—and froze.
The window seat was empty.
The nameplate read: Sakamoto.
Class A.First lesson.Late.
A flicker of displeasure passed through Mashima's expression.
Class A symbolized excellence.Being late was not simply rude—it was an affront to their collective honor.
He quickly recalled Sakamoto's file—nothing particularly notable.And now, a late arrival?Not a good start.
Mashima's brows tightened. His voice lowered.
"Students…"
He was about to call attendance.
Tap. Tap.
Two crisp knocks interrupted him.
All eyes snapped toward the door.
A tall figure stood silhouetted in the hallway light.He stepped forward—
Black-rimmed glasses.A beauty mark beneath his left eye.A calm, handsome face.A neatly pressed burgundy uniform.
A faint sheen of sweat rested on his forehead, yet his breathing remained steady, unhurried—his composure unbroken.His gaze met Mashima's without wavering.
"I sincerely apologize, teacher."
His voice was clear and earnest.
"On the way here, I saw a teacher with mobility difficulties drop some important documents.I helped her gather them, which took a little time.I was unable to arrive sooner.Please forgive my lateness."
He bowed slightly, respectful but not submissive.
Helping a teacher with fallen documents…A reasonable explanation.
But for Mashima—who believed punctuality was a fundamental trait of an elite—this was still a matter of misplaced priorities.