The first day of second term brought with it a rainstorm, a broken heater, and the kind of silence that only arrived before something dramatic. Yuuji Aikawa sat in his usual front-row seat, spine straight, pen aligned perfectly with the edge of his desk. His notebook already had the date and class neatly written, underlined twice. He had read ahead. Of course, he had.
That's when the door slid open with a casual bang. A tall figure stepped into the room, soaked at the hem, silver earring gleaming under the flickering lights. His uniform blazer hung loose off one shoulder. Hair unruly, a smirk plastered on his face like he knew he didn't belong and liked it that way.
"I'm Ren Sakamoto. Transfer," the boy said, scratching the back of his neck as if introducing himself was a chore. He didn't bow. Instead, he scanned the room like he was measuring everyone—then zeroed in on Yuuji.
"Sit anywhere that's free," the teacher muttered from behind a newspaper, sipping lukewarm coffee.
Ren didn't move to the back like most transfers did. Instead, he walked straight up to the front row and stopped right beside Yuuji.
"You're in my seat," he said casually.
Yuuji blinked once, slowly. "This is open seating."
Ren shrugged. "Yeah. I'm choosing this one. You should move."
Around them, the class went still. Eyes darted between the class rep and the new rebel like they were watching a fuse burn.
"I always sit here," Yuuji said coolly, voice crisp. "I suggest you try the second row."
"I could," Ren said, "but you looked like someone who needs a little shaking up."
Yuuji smiled the way he did when he filed complaints with precision. "Then perhaps you should try shaking a dictionary. You might learn something."
Someone choked on laughter in the back.
Ren grinned like he'd just been handed a challenge.
The teacher sighed. "Just pick a seat. Any seat."
But it was too late. The air had already changed.
And Yuuji Aikawa knew, with the deepest kind of certainty, that Ren Sakamoto was going to ruin everything.