ACE
Chapter 1: Comedian's POV
The morning light filtered through the classroom windows in thin, pale strips, cutting across rows of desks where students buzzed with the particular restless energy of a school day not yet started. Conversations overlapped. Chairs scraped. Someone in the back laughed too loudly at something that probably wasn't funny.
Ms. Yumi set her attendance book on the desk and clapped twice.
The room settled — not out of fear, but affection. Ms. Yumi had that effect. She was the kind of teacher students actually liked, the kind who remembered birthdays and noticed bad days without making them worse.
"Good morning everyone," she said warmly, scanning the room with a smile that reached her eyes. "Before we begin, I have a small announcement." She clasped her hands together. "We have a new student joining us today. I'd love it if someone could show him around and help him get comfortable. Please be welcoming."
A ripple of whispers moved through the class. Heads turned toward the door.
He walked in quietly.
Lean. Almost too lean, like someone who forgot meals existed. His uniform was neat — properly buttoned, collar straight — which made everything else about him feel like a contradiction. His hair fell in uneven layers, shaggy and unbothered, split cleanly down the middle into two colors: one half the deep black of a moonless night, the other a pale, almost luminous white. Under his eyes sat heavy shadows, dark enough to suggest he hadn't slept properly in longer than he could remember.
He stopped at the front of the class and faced them.
For a moment he said nothing, just looked out at the rows of faces staring back at him.
So this is what it feels like to be a comedian, he thought, watching a cluster of girls giggle near the window, two boys in the back sit up straighter with the particular excitement of predators, and one student in the far corner continue staring out the window as if none of this was happening at all.
A room full of punchlines.
"Ace," he said simply. No last name. No smile. No nothing.
Ms. Yumi waited a beat for more. Nothing came.
"Wonderful," she said, filling the silence gracefully. "Ace, you can take the empty seat in the third row. We're glad to have you."
He walked to his seat without looking at anyone.
The first period ended and Hana moved before she'd fully decided to.
She was student council president, top of her year, the kind of person teachers referenced when they wanted to describe a model student. She was also, if she was being honest with herself, deeply curious — and new students with two-toned hair and expulsion records had a way of demanding attention whether they wanted to give it or not.
She slid into the empty seat beside him with a practiced smile.
"Hey. I'm Hana." She tilted her head slightly. "What school did you transfer from?"
Ace didn't look up from his desk.
"Okay," she tried again, adjusting her approach. "Where are you from originally? You don't have to be specific—"
Nothing.
"Is there anything you need help finding? The cafeteria can be confusing the first—"
Still nothing. Not even a glance.
Around her, her friends exchanged looks. One of them mouthed leave it.
Hana wasn't used to being ignored. Not out of arrogance — she was genuinely kind, and kindness usually opened doors. But this particular door appeared to have no handle.
She stood, smoothing her skirt. "Alright," she said quietly, more to herself than to him. "I'll leave you alone then."
She walked back to her friends, who immediately pulled her into whispered reassurances that he was probably just weird and definitely not worth it.
She nodded along.
But she was already thinking about the principal's office.
Kai had been watching the whole thing from three rows back.
He was broad-shouldered and loud in the way that filled rooms — the kind of person who mistook volume for presence. His friends orbited him naturally, or at least had learned to. Next to him, Hana had always existed in that comfortable ambiguous space where he could tell himself something was there even when she'd never confirmed it.
He watched the new kid ignore Hana.
Then he grabbed his chair, flipped it backward, and dropped into it directly in front of Ace's desk.
"Oi." He leaned forward on the backrest. "Why were you talking to my girl?"
Ace looked at him for the first time. His expression didn't change.
"I wasn't," he said. "And I won't be."
The words were flat. Not aggressive — just accurate.
Kai blinked. Something about the lack of fear irritated him more than defiance would have.
"So what," he said, leaning closer, "you're saying she's not worth talking to? You saying I've got no taste?"
From behind Ace, one of Kai's friends reached out and grabbed a fistful of his two-toned hair, yanking his head back.
"Black and white," the boy laughed, holding it up for the others to see. "What's going on with this, man? Your dad a printer? Your mum a photocopier?"
Laughter from the surrounding desks.
Ace didn't flinch. His eyes, still pointed at Kai, hadn't changed expression once.
Down the hall, Hana stared at a single sheet of paper on the principal's desk — a disciplinary transfer record with Ace's name at the top. Three schools. Twelve hospitalized students. One teacher.
All incidents described the same way: pushed to the limit before responding.
She looked up at the clock.
Then she ran