Tch. This place still reeks of "promising future."
Uniforms ironed, shoes gleaming, hair flawless. People laughing loudly, greeting each other like characters in a TV commercial. That's my daily view at one of the most prestigious schools in Japan, or more precisely: Keika Gakuen.
No wonder. Most of the big shots up top studied here. Politicians, actors, athletes. You name it. If someone's at the top, they probably walked these halls one day.
And as if that weren't enough, they even offer full scholarships to low-income students, whether for academic or athletic merit.
It's an amazing place (or at least it's supposed to be).
As the name suggests, "Keika" meaning to blossom, is where careers, friendships, and opportunities bloom.
They say the bonds you form here last a lifetime.
I think that's complete nonsense.
---
The bell rings.
---
"Looks like I'm late again…"
If only it started raining. Then I'd have a better excuse.
Not even a cloud in the sky. By the time I realized, I was already in front of my classroom door, half-open.
I pushed it with my foot — automatic reaction of someone who knows he's late and doesn't care enough to pretend otherwise.
Luckily, it was Sayori-sensei. She sighed, already tired of me:
"Late again, Miura? Go on, take your seat."
As I walked down the aisle, I felt the bitter stares — eyes full of financial stability and social prestige. And others, a little scared, like I was Gozu himself.
Seriously? Do I look that terrifying?
And, as always, the whispers:
"What's with that guy?"
"That's the fourth time this month..."
"I give him one more month before he's expelled."
The teacher stepped in, thank God:
"Hey! All of you, focus! As I was saying..."
Good save, sensei. I really like her.
Back row, corner seat. The perfect place for the delinquent of a rich kids' school.
Classes dragged by as usual — long, noisy, utterly pointless. Until the sacred trumpet sounded: break time. I was about to leave when—
"Miura, wait a minute."
Didn't even try to guess what for this time. Just waited until the others left.
"Yes, teacher?"
"Yamamoto-sensei wants to see you in his office."
"The old man again?"
"Watch your mouth. Go now. He wants to use your break."
She waved me out. No room for arguments.
What a pain…
Best part of the day and I'd have to sit through the same lecture as always: "You need to improve," "Think about your future," while I nod like a robot.
Give me a break.
---
By the time I got to the principal's office, the door was already open.
"Sit down, Ryo."
Yamamoto stared at me for a few seconds, then pulled a paper from his drawer.
"'The student Ryosuke Miura has shown performance significantly below average, coupled with apathetic and distant behavior in class. His academic scholarship is at risk if no substantial improvement is seen in the next term...'"
Great. My eulogy in print.
I stayed quiet. This wasn't the usual nagging.
"Your teachers gave me this after the board meeting. You know well that if you don't recover during the finals, I'll have no choice but to revoke your scholarship, Ryo. Anyone else in my position would've already done it."
"I know. So what do you want me to do?"
"I just want you to stop running away from what you're good at."
…Silence.
"We've talked about this before, old man. There's nothing I can do."
He rubbed his face, visibly tired of me.
"Well… in any case, there's nothing I can do either if you don't meet the minimum grade average. You understand, right?"
"Yeah." Eyes low, jaw tight. Like I didn't already know how this ends.
"I'm sure your mother would like to see you stay here."
Hate to admit it, but he's right.
"That's why, from now on, you'll attend tutoring after school every day until finals."
"Great. Can't wait. And who's going to be my babysitter?"
"You'll find out tomorrow. After class, head to the library. This is your last chance."
His gaze sharpened. Even this old man could look menacing when he wanted.
…Wonderful day. And it's not even halfway done.
---
On the way back, I saw her.
Long, jet-black hair — flawless, like every strand had its assigned place. Elegant steps, upright posture. Sharp eyes, cold, steady. The perfect student of the perfect school.
Ayumi Matsuo.
First year, like me. President of the student council.
Beat a senior in the election right from the start. Alone. With overwhelming numbers.
Teachers praised her. Students admired her. Everything about her screamed perfection — which only made me roll my eyes harder.
Our eyes met for a second. She nodded briefly, mechanical. Still, more than anyone else ever bothered to do for me.
Looks like she's heading to the principal's office too. Probably the "next meeting" he mentioned.
Not that I care. Of course not.
---
Later, in the hallway, I overheard something. Raised voices. Three seniors cornering a smaller kid.
Typical.
I was about to walk past, when—
"Look… seems I'm not the only bad seed here."
The words came out before I could stop myself.
"I couldn't help but hear some crap about 'scholarship students shouldn't exist.' Man, that's so cliché it's painful. But hey… I'm a scholarship student. Why don't you say that to me too?"
Their faces twisted. My fist tightened. I was ready, even if it was three against one.
But then—
"That's enough."
Her voice. Cold and sharp as a blade.
Ayumi Matsuo stood there, arms crossed, eyes firm. She didn't even need to raise her voice.
"Get lost before I take this to the Disciplinary Council."
They hesitated, exchanged glances, and left.
She turned to the boy still shaking behind me.
"Are you alright?"
He nodded quickly.
Then her eyes shifted back to me.
"Were you… defending him?"
I didn't answer. Just looked away.
Her lips curved — almost a smile. She patted my head lightly.
"Maybe you're not as much of an idiot as you look."
And just like that, she left.
Leaving me there, fists unclenched, more confused than I'd like to admit.