"…No way."
The high school boy stood slumped in front of the vending machine, patting down every pocket on his body in desperation. In the end, he couldn't even come up with a ten-yen coin.
He was finally… completely broke.
The shrill cry of cicadas pierced the air around him. Heat shimmered in his vision, warping the landscape, while beads of sweat slid down his temple. He felt like his soul was leaking out of the top of his head.
Damn it. Why is summer in this godforsaken country so hot… TO! KYO! IS! HELL!
It was already the last day of August, and yet there wasn't even the faintest sign of cooler weather.
Unwilling to give up, he bent down and reached into the coin return slot, hoping someone had bought a drink and forgotten to take their change.
No such luck.
In his previous life, he wasn't rich by any means, but at least he could support himself as a humble office drone. He had never fallen to such pathetic depths.
It was bad enough that his reset life hadn't made him some glorious success story—but being broke enough that he couldn't even afford a cold drink? That was just tragic.
Right now, he was faced with a very difficult choice:
Should he slink away like a loser from the vending machine in defeat—or...
Take one last shot at glory!
And really, as a proud man of dignity and spine, there was only one answer.
Bring it on, Fate! Let's dance!
He bent down again, knees slowly lowering toward the ground, both hands bracing against the pavement. His whole body took on the feral, poised posture of a lion about to pounce—
This would be do or die.
Let's go! Come on!
For a true duelist, everything is inevitable!
"Kuroba-kun, no matter how broke you are, you really shouldn't be crawling on the ground to look under the vending machine. You'll get your uniform dirty."
Instead of a miracle coin that might change his fate, what entered his view was a pair of black leather loafers—women's, size 23cm, or about a 36 in Western sizing. Which meant their owner was probably around 155 centimeters tall.
By Japanese standards, that was already considered decently tall for a girl.
His gaze followed the black over-knee socks upward. The girl was holding down the hem of her school uniform skirt with both hands, thoroughly shielding the mysterious dimension beyond the absolute territory.
Having been caught in such an embarrassing pose, one might expect him—Kuroba Akira—to be mortified.
But not at all.
He stood up and casually patted the dust off his uniform, immediately launching into a weak excuse.
"I wasn't looking for dropped coins. Just checking on my luck for the day."
At those words, the girl blinked in surprise and even raised her hand to cover her mouth.
But it wasn't his shameless excuse that shocked her. No—it was the fact that Kuroba Akira had spoken to her at all.
"Kuroba-kun… so you can talk?"
"…I'm not mute. Of course I can talk."
Kuroba rolled his eyes, tugging at his collar to get some airflow while grumbling his reply.
The girl tilted her head slightly and pointed to her cheek, giving a reason for her surprise.
"It's just, we've been in the same class for a whole semester and a summer break, and I've never seen you talk to anyone."
"…Hmph."
That… he couldn't argue with. In fact, during his entire first semester of high school, he hadn't spoken a single word to any of his classmates.
The only exception might've been a brief conversation or two with Kobayakawa-sensei, the Japanese teacher—who had literally teared up the first time Kuroba opened his mouth.
It wasn't that he was antisocial, or trying to act cool and aloof.
The truth was simple—he couldn't speak Japanese.
Born and raised under the red flag, pure-blooded Han to the core, Kuroba Akira in his past life had been an old otaku steeped in second dimension culture. Sure, he could read kana, recognize quite a few international adult video actresses, and quote lines etched into his DNA.
But holding a natural-sounding conversation like a native? That was a whole different beast.
So when he realized he'd reincarnated into Japan—and hadn't gotten any cheat system or special bonuses—Mr. "Always Calm and Cultured" couldn't help but scream at the sky.
The fuck?!
You've gotta be kidding me!
Where's my transmigration bonus?!
No system, no skills, and worst of all—no language upload?!
What kind of high school life was this supposed to be?!
Still, complaints were useless. He had to study—because it didn't look like he'd be going back to his old world anytime soon. Honestly, he didn't even know how he got here in the first place.
So, with tears in his eyes, Kuroba began his painful journey of self-study.
He borrowed old elementary school textbooks from his landlady, practiced listening with earbuds in class, devoured alien-looking books in the library after school, and pestered his foul-tempered landlady to practice speaking with him at night.
Day after day, night after night—after a grueling summer boot camp, he finally reached [Japanese Lv.1: Beginner].
Don't underestimate "beginner." At this level, his speech was natural enough that native speakers couldn't tell he wasn't local. If anyone knew the truth, they'd probably say:
"Kimi no Nihongo umai na!" (Your Japanese is pretty good!)
And the girl in front of him… was the second person he'd had a real conversation with since mastering the language. The first had been the landlady.
"So, what made you suddenly decide to speak?" she asked.
"No particular reason. I guess… my rebellious phase is over. Time to tear down the walls around my heart."
He couldn't help but chuckle after saying it. A rebellious phase—fifteen years late.
She blinked, accepting the obviously BS explanation with a cheerful smile, both hands clasped behind her back.
"That means… I'm your first?"
"…"
Even with the mind of a jaded middle-aged man, Kuroba felt his heart skip a beat.
That line's a bit much, isn't it?
He looked at her smile, unsure if it was genuine or an act.
"But I hope you're not this friendly with every stranger," she said, stepping forward and leaning in close. "I'd like to think you're talking to me because you know me. If I'm the only one who knows you, that just makes me feel a little… presumptuous."
She tilted her head, eyes gleaming.
"So, Kuroba-kun… do you know my name?"
"…"
He couldn't answer immediately.
Not because he'd forgotten. She was a classmate, after all. A class in Japan only has about thirty students—he could easily remember the faces.
But there had been a small hiccup on the first day of school.
Back then, he was still in full-blown panic mode: "I can't understand a word they're saying!" and "Who the hell even am I?!"
So even if she'd introduced herself, he hadn't caught it.
For the record, his own self-introduction had gone like this:
Stand up.
Silence.
Eyes forward.
Steely gaze.
Not a single word.
Like a monk taking a vow of silence.
Ten seconds… twenty… thirty…
After an agonizing minute, Kobayakawa-sensei couldn't bear the silence any longer. She introduced him herself and kindly urged everyone to try making friends with him.
But that intro—at absolute zero—was a social death sentence.
And so Kuroba Akira was labeled that gloomy weirdo no one wants to get close to from day one. Ranked even lower than the otaku.
Not that he cared.
Honestly, he was kind of grateful. At least he got to learn his new name and how to pronounce it.
The girl in front of him must've remembered him from that day.
He'd expected to graduate without speaking to a single classmate, so the fact she was talking to him now—and initiated the conversation—was unexpected.
Was it because it was summer break and none of the other students were around?
No… if anything, that should make a girl more hesitant to approach a "weirdo," right?
Was she trying to gauge how popular he was? Fishing for a confession from a desperate loser?
Should he pretend to be love-struck, then ask her to buy him a drink?
Already half-delirious from the heat, Kuroba actually considered selling his pride for a cold beverage.
But in the end, he resisted the urge to play the simp.
He didn't know her name—but he did remember her "status" in class.
"You're the class rep, right?"
"Whew…"
She sighed in relief, patting her impressively curved chest.
"…What? Was I wrong?"
She shook her head and smiled.
"No, it's just… I'm glad. At least you remembered what I look like."
She didn't call him out for forgetting her name. Instead, she smiled like being recognized was the highest honor.
Oh no. She's totally into me.
Yeah right.
Kuroba suspected she was faking the sweetness, and decided to tease her.
"You don't really look like a class rep, which is why I remembered."
"Oh? What should a class rep look like, then?"
"Well… she'd have black hair, round glasses, a long braid, and huge boobs. Her catchphrase would be, 'I don't know everything. I just know what I know.' And she'd totally flash me her panties."
That kind of crude nonsense should've scared off any normal person. But this girl didn't even flinch.
"Very vivid and specific. Is that the kind of class rep you admire?"
Her unfazed reply actually made Kuroba lose interest in teasing her.
"I'm kidding. That's just a character from a novel."
"Hmm… I don't think I've ever read a book like that. Compared to Kuroba-kun, I guess my reading's a bit lacking. You must be really well-read."
Of course you haven't. It doesn't exist in this world.
He muttered inwardly.
And what's with this girl maxing out my emotional value bar like she's some kind of people-pleasing expert? Trying to speed-run the "make him fall for me" route?
"…I think I only match one of those traits," she said, tapping her chin seriously.
Wait, she's actually comparing herself to that description?
She didn't have black hair. No glasses. No braid.
Instead, she wore a crisp summer uniform, her light brown hair falling just past her shoulders in a gentle C-curve. Her bangs were neatly trimmed. She had a fresh, natural charm, and her light makeup gave her a soft, clean look. Her lips shimmered under the sun.
Far from plain—this was a stylish, present-day JK.
Kuroba remembered she was always surrounded by people. Clearly part of the popular crowd—and not just a member, but the core.
So the only trait that matched… was the "huge boobs."
Not obscenely huge, but definitely well-developed for a first-year girl. And with room to grow.
Is she showing off? Teasing me?
Kuroba couldn't quite read this class rep who'd been smiling non-stop since she showed up.
"Well, I'm glad you remembered my face, but I still hope you'll remember my name too. So allow me to properly introduce myself again."
She straightened her back and gave him a confident, formal introduction.
"My name is Anri Hitomi. As you know, I'm the class rep of Class 1-A. People always say I'm amazing, like I can do anything—but I'm not good at everything. I can only do the things I know how to do."
So that's the line she meant…
Slightly altered, but unmistakably the catchphrase from earlier. Hearing it sent a wave of nostalgia through Kuroba, dragging him back to his own school days—those bittersweet, overworked, but joyfully naive times.
Wait… if that was the line she meant…
Does that mean she thinks her boobs aren't big enough?
"Kuroba-kun."
Her soft voice snapped him back to reality.
"You'd better remember my name this time, okay?"
"Got it, Class Rep. No problem, Class Rep."
"Honestly. I never knew you were such a smartass."
Kuroba shrugged. "Don't worry. I'll remember it—Anri Hitomi-san. But I still think 'Class Rep' rolls off the tongue better."
"Then, since we're properly acquainted now… let's shake on it."
"…Sure."
As she extended her right hand, Kuroba's eyes settled on her open palm.
Honestly, even if she hadn't asked, he would've remembered her from this moment on—
Because thanks to you… I've found my turning point.
He took her hand naturally.
Such a soft, delicate hand. Just holding it made him want to—no! He wasn't a hand fetishist. He was a foot guy!
The real reason lay in her palm, where a single line of glowing text appeared:
[Academic Ability: A]
That shimmering mark was proof of exceptional talent.
They say big boobs mean no brains—but she clearly had both.
No, more than that. Being ranked first in the entire grade was proof enough of her excellence.
Anri Hitomi—class rep, top of the year, admired by all.
So why had someone so perfect and intelligent approached him? There had to be a reason.
He couldn't afford to be lulled by her sweet, ambiguous kindness!
"Well then," she said, bashfully lowering her gaze and twirling the hem of her skirt between her fingers. Her movements slowed to a gentle, cinematic pace.
"Since you called me Class Rep… I guess I should live up to the title…"
She lifted her skirt just slightly, expanding the borders of her absolute territory.
"Wanna see my panties?"
"Yes!"
---
T/N: HUUUUUUUUUUUH ALREADY?