People always say high school is where your real story begins.
I strongly disagree.
All I want is to not have a story. No drama. No spotlight. No "main character" moments. Just three peaceful years where no one knows my name and I quietly graduate.
That's why I transferred.
Okay, not exactly why. My dad got relocated for work, and I didn't really get a say. But still—I saw it as a chance. New town, new school, new classmates. A clean slate. Maybe this time, I could finally disappear into the background.
I kept my head down as I walked through the gates of Shirayuki High, clutching the strap of my bag like a lifeline. Students were laughing, posing for selfies under cherry blossoms, buzzing with that dumb first-day-of-school energy. I stayed to the side, avoided eye contact, and focused on the pavement.
I was determined to blend in.
No, I was determined to vanish.
Until fate threw a paper bomb at my face.
Literally.
A notebook—bright pink with heart stickers—slammed into me like it had a personal vendetta. I barely had time to flinch.
"Wah—! Watch out!"
A girl crashed into me from the side while chasing it. My bag hit the ground. My water bottle flew open and exploded across the pavement. Pages scattered like cherry blossom petals.
I was on the ground, blinking up at the sky, my life plan lying in pieces around me.
And then she appeared.
A girl with messy black short hair, flushed cheeks, and wide, sparkling eyes hovered over me like she'd just spotted a unicorn. Or maybe a clearance sale.
"Oh no," she said, placing a hand dramatically on her chest. "We've met under falling objects and physical impact. That's definitely fate."
Even so, I don't believe in fate.
I believe in avoiding people, dodging attention, and surviving high school under the radar.
And yet, here I was—on the ground, soaked, surrounded by scattered papers and curious stares.
Before I could sit up, the girl spun toward the growing crowd of students nearby, raised her hand like she was on stage, and declared:
"This boy just confessed to me!"
Silence.
Then: gasps, whispers, and more phones than I was comfortable with.
"…What," I said, dead inside.
She turned back to me, grinning like this was all perfectly normal. "Don't worry, I'll consider your feelings seriously."
I wanted to teleport out of my body.
This is exactly what I didn't want.
The chaos of the morning didn't end with the confession.
I somehow stumbled my way through the crowd, grabbed my soaked bag, and followed the other first-years into the auditorium. My shoes squelched with every step.
So much for a quiet entrance.
The gym was bright, polished, and filled with hundreds of fresh uniforms, nervous whispers, and that faint smell of new textbooks and floor wax. Rows of metal chairs stretched out in perfect lines.
I picked a seat near the back, head down, trying to pretend I wasn't already infamous.
The principal's voice echoed through the speakers, droning on about the importance of growth, friendship, and other things I couldn't hear over the sound of my own embarrassment.
Then—I saw her.
Near the front row, in a beam of soft sunlight filtering through the windows, she stood out.
A girl with tousled black short hair just past her shoulders, wearing the same uniform as everyone else but looking like she was born to be center stage. Her figure was slender, graceful—like the kind of person who didn't walk, but glided. Her skin was pale, her posture relaxed, and her presence somehow… calm.
But the most extraordinary thing about her—what truly set her apart—were her eyes.
A brilliant, piercing blue.
Like the endless summer sky or the clearest ocean, they shimmered with a quiet confidence and mystery that made you forget how to breathe for a second.
Is that the same girl from before?
She turned, scanning the crowd casually—and then her eyes met mine.
Warm brown eyes. Playful, but quiet now. For a second, everything else faded.
Then—she mouthed something.
A small smile. A tilt of her head.
"Sorry," she seemed to say, the word forming gently on her beautiful, soft lips.
I blinked.
No smirk. No wink. No dramatic outburst this time. Just a silent apology, sincere and fleeting, like a secret meant only for me.
Then she turned back toward the stage like nothing happened.
And I sat there, stunned.
What… was that?
The girl who turned me into a joke this morning was now acting like a quiet angel in sunlight.
For a moment, I wasn't sure if I should feel relieved... or even more suspicious.
Either way, I knew one thing for sure: I was completely out of my depth.
The ceremony finally ended, and the first-years were released into the hallways to check the class assignment board. A crowd had already formed around it, a wall of uniforms buzzing with energy, hopes, and minor panic.
I took my time, staying near the back like always. I wasn't in any rush to find out which strangers I'd be silently sitting next to for the next year.
When I finally got close enough to see the board, my eyes scanned the list.
Sakamoto, Haruki — Class 1-A.
Alright. Let's just get through this year quietly and—
"Wait, wait—Maki, look! I'm in 1-A too!" a familiar voice said ahead of me, light and cheerful.
I froze.
That voice.
Sure enough, there she was again.
Misaki Aihara.
Same black short hair, same confident energy, now standing in front of the board with one hand on her hip and a sparkle in her eyes. Her friend, who must've been Maki, looked more reserved, her arms crossed.
"We're in the same class again," Misaki grinned. "This is totally fate."
"You say that about everything," Maki said flatly.
"No, seriously! I even saw this guy during the ceremony—tall, gloomy vibe, messy black hair. You could feel the main-character aura!"
…Tall? Gloomy?
I silently backed away from the board.
I was that guy.
There's something deeply unfair about trying to avoid attention and still ending up being noticed by that girl.
I sighed.
Looking up at the ceiling like I could escape into it, I muttered to myself:
"This is going to be one hell of a high school experience. So much for my motto of living quietly."
Class 1-A was already filling up by the time I walked in.
Chairs scraped across the floor, chatter bounced between groups forming instantly, and the air smelled like new textbooks and nervous sweat. The blackboard had a seating chart taped to it, and students were huddling around to find their names.
I stayed back a bit.
Please. Just once… let something go right.
I stepped up, scanned the board—
Sakamoto, Haruki — Seat 6.
I followed the chart with my finger, then looked up at the layout of desks.
Second row from the back… next to the window…
I almost smiled.
Even if I'm not some main character, at least I got the seat of the protagonist.
The quiet seat. The peaceful corner where no one bothers you.
Maybe, just maybe, I could still salvage this school life.
Then I looked to the seat next to mine.
And the universe laughed in my face.
There she was.
Misaki Aihara. Seat 5.
Already sitting down, legs crossed, her bag dangling off the side of her chair like she'd claimed her kingdom. She looked up as I approached—and lit up.
"Yo," she beamed, waving casually. "Desk buddies! Guess it really is fate."
I stopped in place, staring at my desk like it had betrayed me personally.
This can't be avoided. I'm already in hell.
I sank into my seat slowly, like a man walking toward his doom.
Misaki leaned toward me, resting her chin in her hand. "You know, Haruki-kun… I think we're going to have a very exciting school life together."
I didn't answer.
But internally, I was screaming:
"I just wanted to sit near a window and quietly rot until graduation. WHY is that too much to ask?!"
The door slid open with a click, and our homeroom teacher walked in, clipboard in hand and an energy that said "I used to care."
"Alright, everyone, take your seats. Let's get started."
Everyone settled in quickly. I tried to disappear into my chair.
"Before we get into the boring stuff, we have a transfer student joining us today. Sakamoto-kun, right?"
No. Please no.
"Why don't you stand up and introduce yourself?"
All eyes turned to me.
I slowly stood up, heart pounding like it was on a timer bomb. I cleared my throat.
"…I'm Haruki Sakamoto. I transferred here this spring. That's all."
Polite. Simple. Low-effort. Perfect.
Then I heard her voice whisper from beside me:
"Wow. Mysterious loner type. Attractive."
Why are you like this?!
I sat down faster than humanly possible.
The teacher continued. "Alright, moving on…"
But it was already too late.
Misaki looked at me with that same amused glint in her eyes.
And all I could think was:
Day 1, "It's official. My peaceful high school life is already over."