Yu found Class 1-3 on the second floor, third door from the stairwell.
Students were already filing in, claiming desks, glancing around at unfamiliar faces. He picked a seat by the window near the back and set his bag down.
He'd barely sat when a hand slammed onto his shoulder.
"Yu! We're in the same class!"
Yu turned around and found a boy with short-cropped hair and a wide grin. The boy dropped into the seat beside him without waiting for an invitation.
Masamichi Shota. The name surfaced from somewhere most likely from Yu's muscle memory, he is his best friend from middle school and his name is also included in Yu's contact.
"I checked the board downstairs and almost screamed," Shota said, leaning back in his chair. "I thought for sure they'd separate us. You know Tanaka and Wada got put in Class 5? Together.
Can you imagine? Those two will burn the building down by June."
"Good for them," Yu said.
Shota squinted at him. "That's it? 'Good for them'? You feeling okay? You're usually—actually, no, you're always quiet. Never mind."
Before Yu could respond, the classroom door slid open with a sharp crack, and the chatter died instantly.
A woman walked in. She was tall and slim, with dark hair pulled back tightly and glasses that caught the fluorescent light. She set a folder on the lectern, surveyed the room and said:
"Sit down, Everybody Listen up"
Two students who'd been standing scrambled to their seats.
"I am Sugawara Ito. I will be your homeroom teacher and your Japanese Literature instructor for this year." She opened the folder. "I will say this once. I don't repeat instructions. I don't accept late assignments. I don't tolerate disruptions. If you think high school is a place to socialize, the hallway is right there."
Silence.
"Good." The faintest trace of a smile crossed her face. "Now, let's begin. I'll call your names. When called, stand, state your name and one thing about yourself. Keep it brief."
She began reading from the roster. Students stood one by one, mumbling introductions—"I like baseball," "I play piano," "I want to join the soccer club"—each one lasting about five seconds before Sugawara-sensei nodded them back down.
"Hayashi Yu."
Yu stood. Thirty pairs of eyes turned toward him. His throat tightened for a moment, and then the strange calm of being someone else settled over him.
"Hayashi Yu. I like drawing."
Sugawara-sensei's eyes lingered on him for a bit longer than the others. Then she nodded. "Next."
Yu sat down.
"Drawing?" Shota whispered. "Since when?"
"Since always," Yu murmured back.
"You never told me that."
"You never asked."
Shota opened his mouth to argue, then closed it, looking genuinely puzzled.
---
The morning passed in a blur of orientation packets, school rules, and a campus tour led by Sugawara-sensei, who walked at a pace that left half the class jogging to keep up. Yu absorbed what he could—layout of the buildings, location of the library, the gymnasium, the club wing on the third floor.
During the tour, they passed another first-year class in the hallway—Class 1-4. Yu's eyes swept over them absently and stopped.
A girl walked at the edge of the group, slightly apart from her classmates. She had straight black hair cut just below her shoulders and a still, composed expression that made her look like she was somewhere else entirely. She held a book against her chest.
"That's Suzune Eri," Shota whispered, suddenly appearing at Yu's side with the unerring instinct of someone who knew everyone's business. "Top score on the entrance exam. First place out of, like, three hundred something students. Class 1-4."
"You already know that?" Yu said, surprised.
"I know everything. It's my gift and my curse." Shota grinned. "They say she barely talked during the entrance ceremony. Just sat there reading."
The girl, Suzune turned her head slightly as the two classes passed each other in the corridor. Her gaze swept across Yu's class without interest and moved on.
---
Lunch came. Shota talked through the entire period—about clubs, about teachers, about which vending machine had the best milk bread. Yu listened, nodded, and ate his bento in measured bites, still tasting the care in every piece his mother had packed.
"So," Shota said, pointing a chopstick at him. "Clubs. What are you joining?"
"Literature Club."
Shota stared. "The Literature Club? Yu, that club is basically dead. I heard they've got like three members."
"Sounds peaceful."
"You don't even read that much! At least, I've never seen you—" Shota paused. "Actually, what do you do after school? I'm realizing I might not know you at all."
"Maybe, You don't " Yu said, and meant it more than Shota could ever know.
---
After classes ended, Yu followed the signs to the club wing on the third floor. The Literature Club room was at the end of the hall.
He knocked.
"It's open," a male voice called.
Yu slid the door open and stepped inside. The room was small, lined with bookshelves on two walls, with a cluster of desks pushed together in the center. Three people sat around them.
A third-year boy looked up from a thick paperback. He had glasses, sharp features, and the posture of someone who had never slouched in his life. He regarded Yu with a neutral expression.
"First-year?" he asked.
"Yes. Hayashi Yu, Class 1-3. I'd like to join."
"Nakamura Ryuuji. Club president." He adjusted his glasses. "Sit anywhere."
A girl with short brown hair leaned forward from across the table, her chin propped on her hand, smiling warmly.
"A new member! Finally!" She extended a hand. "Ogawa Satsuki, second-year. Welcome to the least popular club in school. You've made an excellent choice."
"Thank you," Yu said, shaking her hand.
"Don't scare him off, Satsuki," Nakamura said flatly, though the corner of his mouth twitched.
The third member, a second-year boy with black hair that fell over his eyes, glanced up from his notebook briefly, then quickly looked away.
"That's Komori Haruto," Satsuki said. "He's shy, but he writes the best poetry in the club. Possibly the school."
"That's... not true," Komori mumbled, his ears turning red.
"It absolutely is," Satsuki said.
Yu pulled out a chair and sat down. The room was quiet except for the rustle of pages and the distant sound of sports clubs warming up on the field below. Sunlight slanted through the window, catching dust motes in the air.
'This feels right', he thought, and was surprised by how much he meant it.
A knock came at the door.
"It's open," Nakamura called again, without looking up.
The door slid open. Yu glanced for a moment.
Suzune Eri stood in the doorway, blank sheets of paper held against her chest, her expression as composed and unreadable as it had been in the hallway that morning.
"I'd like to join the Literature Club," she said.
Satsuki's eyes lit up. "Two new members in one day? Is this a dream?"
"Ogawa Satsuki, second-year," she said, standing. "Welcome!"
"Suzune Eri. Class 1-4."
"The entrance exam's top placer?" Satsuki said.
Suzune didn't confirm or deny it. She simply walked to the table and pulled out the chair across from Yu. Their eyes met briefly. and then it moved on.
"Nakamura Ryuuji, president," Nakamura said. "We meet Tuesdays and Thursdays after class. Occasionally Saturdays. We read, we write, we discuss. No obligations beyond attendance. Do you write?"
"Hmm," Suzune nodded.
"Good enough." He turned a page in his book. "Welcome to both of you."
The room settled back into its quiet rhythm. Satsuki began chatting softly with Suzune, who answered in short sentences. Komori had returned to his notebook, pen moving in careful strokes. Nakamura read.
Yu sat by the window, looking out at the school grounds below—students heading home, cherry blossoms catching the late afternoon light, the distant crack of a bat from the baseball diamond.
He opened his own notebook to a blank page, picked up a pencil, and for the first time in this new life, began to sketch.