"No way…"
A high school boy, looking utterly defeated, stood in front of a vending machine and emptied every pocket, only to find not a single ten-yen coin.
He was completely out of luck.
The cicadas screamed harshly around him, the air shimmered with heat, and sweat trickled down his temples, as if his very soul were slowly leaking out from the top of his head.
Damn it, how can summer in this island nation be this hot… Tokyo! Heat!
Even though it was already the last day of August, there was no sign of relief.
He bent down, hoping maybe someone had bought a drink and forgotten their change—but his fingers only met empty metal.
In his past life, he hadn't been rich, but he could at least support himself. He had never been this broke.
Now, in this new life, he hadn't become a winner either—but to be so penniless that he couldn't even buy a cold drink? That was downright tragic.
He faced a difficult choice:Either slink away from the vending machine like a loser, or…
Take one last gamble.
And as a man who stands tall, the choice was obvious, wasn't it?
"Alright, you bastard! Let's settle this!"
He bent further, knees lowering, hands touching the ground, adopting a predator's stance—ready to claim victory as the king of beasts…
This was the decisive moment!
Come on! Koi!
For a true duelist, everything is inevitable.
"Kuroba-kun, even if you're desperate for money, you shouldn't lie on the ground to peek under a vending machine. You'll dirty your uniform."
Instead of fate-altering coins, a pair of black school shoes appeared in his vision. Judging by the 23cm (EU 36) size, the owner should be about 155cm tall—fairly tall for a Sakura-haired high school girl.
Following the black knee-high socks upward, the girl held the hem of her short uniform skirt with both hands, perfectly defending her "absolute territory," leaving Akira unable to glimpse the forbidden abyss.
Caught in such a shameful act, Kuroba Akira—far from embarrassed—stood, dusting off his uniform, and offered a sly excuse.
"I wasn't looking for dropped coins… I was checking my luck today."
The girl's eyes widened in surprise, and she even brought a hand to her mouth.
But it wasn't his audacity that shocked her—it was that he was actually speaking at all.
"Kuroba-kun… you can talk?"
"…I'm not mute, of course I can talk."
Akira rolled his eyes, tugging at his collar for air, muttering under his breath.
The girl, cheeks slightly flushed, explained her astonishment.
"Ever since we were in the same class, a whole semester plus summer vacation has passed, but I've never seen you speak to anyone before."
"Hmph…"
Akira couldn't argue. During his first semester of first year, he had barely spoken to anyone in class. Aside from a few words to his language teacher, Kobayakawa-sensei, he was silent—and even the teacher had been moved to tears just to hear him speak.
It wasn't that he didn't want to talk, nor that he was trying to seem aloof… he simply didn't know Japanese well enough.
Born in another world under a different flag, Akira had spent years immersed in anime and culture, able to read kana and recognize foreign actresses—but real-time, everyday conversation in Japanese was another story.
So when he realized he had transmigrated to Japan without any perks or system, his normally polite self had cursed the heavens loudly.
"Damn it! Crazy god! Where's my traveler's bonus? Even if you won't give me a system, at least load my native language! How am I supposed to survive high school like this?!"
Complaints aside, he had no choice but to study. It was clear he couldn't return to his old world, and he had no idea how he had crossed over anyway.
Tears streaming, Akira began his grueling self-study. He borrowed elementary Japanese textbooks from his landlady's granddaughter, practiced listening with headphones during class, devoured library books in foreign scripts, and practiced speaking with his short-tempered landlady at home.
After days upon days and a summer of intensive training, Akira finally reached Lv1 Japanese proficiency—enough to sound natural to a native. Anyone discovering he was a transmigrator might even compliment: 君の日本語上手だね!
The girl before him was now the second person he had formally conversed with in Japanese—the first being the landlady herself.
"So… what made you suddenly start talking?" she asked.
"Nothing much. Just… finished rebelling through puberty. Thought I'd lower the mental barrier, you know?"
Even Akira chuckled at himself. Fifteen years late to puberty!
The girl blinked, accepting this obviously half-hearted explanation, clasped her hands behind her back, and smiled in a way that could make a young, inexperienced boy fall in love at first sight.
"So, that means… I'm the first person you've spoken to?"
"…."
Even Akira's "adult heart" skipped a beat. That was way too suggestive.
He studied her smile, trying to tell if it was natural or just an act.
"I hope you're not always this kind to strangers, and that you're talking to me because you actually know me. Otherwise, it'd be a little presumptuous of me to assume otherwise."
She leaned slightly forward, face close to his, and asked:
"Then… Kuroba-kun, do you know my name?"
"…."
Akira couldn't answer immediately—not because he forgot, but because of a slight mishap on the first day of school.
In a class of around 30, it's impossible not to remember classmates' faces—but during self-introductions, he had been utterly lost. Between "What language is this?!" and "Who am I?!", he had paid attention to nothing.
His own introduction had been:Stand up! Silence! Eyes forward! Resolve unwavering! No words! A monk-like stance for a full minute!
Eventually, Kobayakawa-sensei quietly introduced him, advising others to try and befriend him.
That near-zero self-introduction had earned him the class label of "brooding loner", placing him socially beneath the otaku ranks.
But Akira didn't care—he had at least learned his new name, at the cost of a semester-long isolation.
Perhaps this girl had remembered his name back then.
Though Akira expected to remain distant from classmates until graduation, here she was initiating a conversation.
It was summer, no one else around—so she felt safe? But shouldn't that make people more cautious? Who knew what this brooding weirdo might do…
Even with her warmth, Akira remained wary. Was she testing his popularity? Seeing if he had a crush? Or… should he play up being smitten and hope she buys him a drink?
Feverish from the heat, he debated whether to sell his dignity for a soda.
After a moment, he chose a compromise:
"I don't know your name… but I do know your role."
"You're the class president, right?"
She exhaled in relief, patting her chest.
"Really? Not wrong?"
Akira braced for correction, but she only smiled.
"No, I'm just glad—at least my face is remembered by you."
She didn't reveal that he didn't know her name, instead smiling as if honored.
Oh god… she must like me!
Akira suspected she was faking innocence. Time for some teasing.
"Actually, I remembered you because you don't look like a class president."
"Huh? What do you think a class president should be like?"
"Black hair, round glasses, braids, a big chest, always saying 'I only know what I know,' and showing me her panties."
Normally, such a tease would scare someone off—but she wasn't fazed at all.
"Quite a vivid image… Is this your idea of a class president, Kuroba-kun?"
Seeing her unshaken, he shrugged.
"Just joking. That's a character from a novel."
"Oh… I haven't read novels like that. Compared to you, my reading seems lacking. You really are knowledgeable, Kuroba-kun."
Of course she hasn't—those books don't exist in this world, he thought.
She then compared herself, finger on chin, speaking carefully.
"I only fit one part of that."
She wasn't black-haired, didn't wear glasses, and had no braids. Her summer uniform was crisp, hair shoulder-length, subtly styled, radiating clean-cut charm—definitely fashionable and not plain.
The only fitting part? Her chest—well-developed but not exaggerated, impressive among first-year girls, with room to grow.
Was she flaunting or teasing? Akira couldn't tell.
"Being remembered is nice, but I want you to remember my name too. So let me properly introduce myself again."
She gave a confident, deliberate introduction:
"I'm Anri Hitomi, class president of Year 1, Class 1. Though many say I can do everything, I can only do what I can do."
Ah, that was the "one point" she meant.
Akira's mind drifted to his own high school days, full of study but also quiet enjoyment—a proper boy in his youth.
"Now, Kuroba-kun, make sure to remember my name this time."
"Yes, class president. Got it."
"You really are talkative, Kuroba-kun."
Akira shrugged.
"Don't worry, Anri Hitomi. But I still think calling you 'class president' is easier."
"Now we've reintroduced ourselves—let's shake hands."
Akira focused on her outstretched hand, palm up.
Even without her reminder, he would remember Anri Hitomi for life—she was the key to turning his life around.
He naturally shook her hand, marveling at the pale, delicate skin—though he reminded himself he was more of a foot person than a hand person.
The real shock? Printed in her palm:"Academic A"
A symbol of brilliance and talent.
Not just a beautiful chest—she had brains to match. Year-top grades proved it.
Anri Hitomi wasn't just class president—she was the class's pinnacle, a high-ranking beauty and genius.
Akira couldn't let her gentle, teasing demeanor lull him.
"Since you're calling me class president, I guess I should meet your expectations…"
She shyly lowered her head, fingers twirling her skirt, lifting it slowly to reveal the maximum absolute territory.
"Want to see my panties?"
"Yes!"