*Ren Takahashi POV*
The classroom was louder than it should have been…
That was the first thought that popped into my head as I stepped through the doors.
There was the low hum of idle chatter, the scraping of chairs faced backwards, and laughter that felt a little too free for students who had just enrolled into one of, if not, the most prestigious institutions across the country. It just didn't fit with the reputation one would expect of entrants to this school.
And yet, that did match the expectations I had for this class. But of course it would, because I had already seen how this story would play out.
I looked around the classroom curiously, observing the different characters brought to life in front of my very eyes.
There — sat by the corner — was Ayanokoji. The masterpiece of the white room, and yet such an innocent creature. He was looking around as though absorbing all the interactions he could see, with a faint hint of curiosity in his dull and lifeless eyes.
This was the main character of the world I had transmigrated into as a newborn!
As I walked further into the classroom, I wondered about all the background characters in this class. These were people who didn't even realise they were failures.
Approaching the middle of the classroom while sifting through the tables, I locked gazes with a certain individual—
"If it isn't the little scion of the Kouenji conglomerate," I said lazily, not even bothering to hide my amusement. "You should have told me you were enrolling at this school."
The chatter around me fell quiet. To have addressed the nonchalant, narcissist sitting so languidly in the middle of the class had peaked everybody's interest.
At his desk, legs still resting atop the desk, Kouenji paused mid-motion, a nail file hovering between his fingers.
For a brief moment, he didn't move. Then, slowly, he turned his head to look at me.
Recognition flashed in his eyes instantly. And I'm sure it would, after what I had put him through.
For a short, and unpleasant period of Koenji's life, he had been a plaything of mine to shape.
The corners of Kouenji's mouth curled upward.
"Ah…" he exhaled, as though rediscovering something that interested him. "What an unexpected reunion indeed, Takahashi."
His legs slowly lowered from the desk. His movements were measured and not hurried.
"I must say," he continued, setting the nail file aside, "I didn't expect to encounter the tyrant in a place such as this."
The few students in the classroom already stared between us, feeling the tension in the air.
Tilting my head slightly, I asked— "Did you think you could just disappear?"
After a slight pause, a boisterous chuckle came out of the blonde.
"Disappear?" Koenji repeated, rising to his feet in one smooth motion. "No. I simply go where I please."
Kouenji… he was always the same, even after all the shit I'd put him through. Beatings that left him unable to stand, endless pressure. And yet, he stood straight— unyielding. Anything less would have been disappointing from this scion.
"But I will admit," he added, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve, "your presence does make things… more stimulating."
At least it seemed he hadn't completely forgotten who he was talking to.
"That's one way of putting it." I smiled faintly.
With that, a silence enveloped the classroom.
Koenji broke the silence, saying—
"Well then," he said lightly, returning to his seat as if nothing had happened, "since fate has arranged this little reunion…"
He leaned back.
"…I suppose I'll allow myself to be entertained, tyrant."
I turned away from him, and walked further down the classroom, scanning the desks as I went to find my designated seat.
Eventually I found my seat in the back row, sandwiched between Horikita and Sakura. The black haired girl was engrossed in a book titled Crime and Punishment, alluding to her strict and unbent nature.
Sakura sat with her head down, her pink bangs covering the visible portion of her forehead, obscuring the view.
Moving into my seat, I sat down crossing one leg over the other. My seat, in the middle of the back row would be perfect for the plans I had for this rag-tag class.
Eventually, the classroom door slid open, with silence following almost immediately.
Sae Chabashira, homeroom teacher for class D, entered. Her long black hair following, framing her shapely curves. She radiated authority amongst the group of naive schoolchildren.
She placed her materials on the desk and turned to face us, her expression unreadable, and the words she spoke next sounding rehearsed.
"Welcome to Tokyo Metropolitan Advanced Nurturing High School."