I never imagined I'd end up in the principal's office during my first months at this school.
Nor that I'd be interrogated like some kind of criminal.
Nor that Kushida would look at me with that strange mix of confusion, pity... and just a bit of fear.
"So it was you...?" she asked in a trembling voice.
And even though I tried to explain it a thousand different ways, none of them sounded good. Because, let's be honest, there's no elegant way to justify why I was caught in the main hallway... wearing the girls' uniform.
But to understand how we got to that moment—how a completely normal person like me ended up being misunderstood by half the class and earning a reputation I still can't shake off—you have to go back.
Back to the day I first arrived at the Advanced Nurturing High School.
Where I thought I'd live a peaceful life, free from impossible exams and unnecessary drama.
Spoiler: I was wrong.
...
The first day of classes.
The start of a new chapter.
That moment when you leave junior high behind and finally step into high school.
Some people live it with overflowing excitement. Others, with anxiety.
And then there's me...
Shuffling along like a zombie just off the bus, with a bag slung over my shoulder and a face that clearly says "I have no idea what I'm doing here."
In front of me stood the Advanced Nurturing High School, known as the top academic institution in all of Japan.
Amazing, right?
If you'd told me four months ago that I'd end up here, I probably would've laughed, spit out my drink, and gone back to watching anime on my phone.
And yet... here I am.
How did I manage it? Good question.
I don't have stellar grades, I'm not outstanding at sports, and I definitely don't have a magnetic personality.
I'm, in every possible way, a completely average person.
So no, I don't have some grand story of perseverance to tell. Just a simple truth: I have no idea how I ended up here.
But well, since I'm already in, I'm not planning to waste the opportunity.
Life gave me a ticket to Japan's elite, and even if it doesn't come with a reserved seat, I'll see how far this ride takes me.
With that thought, I started walking across campus toward the auditorium, where supposedly there'd be a welcome ceremony.
A ceremony which, if it follows the global standard of all school ceremonies, will be mind-numbingly boring.
But there's one little problem: I have absolutely no idea where the auditorium is.
The school is enormous. Gigantic. So big it probably deserves its own postal code.
So I do the most logical thing:
I walk in the direction where I see the largest group of people.
Because if junior high taught me anything, it's that following the herd sometimes saves lives... or at least prevents you from accidentally ending up in the teachers' bathroom.
...
Yeah, this was a huge mistake.
Remember that brilliant idea of "follow where the crowd goes"?
Turns out I ended up trailing behind a group of second-years.
And now I'm... who knows where.
Seriously, I have no clue where I am. A hallway with no signs, two broken vending machines, and a poster for the "Agriculture Club" featuring a smiling goat staring at me like it knows I'm lost.
The welcome ceremony, by the way, had already started... half an hour ago.
And meanwhile, I was wandering around the campus like I'd signed up for an impromptu sightseeing tour.
I couldn't be more pathetic.
But well, since my dignity had already jumped out the window, it was time to switch plans:
Find my classroom.
From what I gathered from the pamphlet—which looks more like an old Japanese video game map—the school divides students into Classes A through D.
And guess which one I belong to.
Exactly: Class D.
Schools always love to divide students with letters, so I wasn't surprised this place did the same.
For me, it was just another label to organize people.
But I still had a tiny hope.
Maybe, just maybe, I'd get that legendary seat: the last one by the window.
Why?
Isn't it obvious? Because that's always the protagonist's seat in every school anime!
If I'm going to be a nobody, at least let me be the nobody who stares wistfully out the window during class.
So I walked toward my supposed classroom, crossing my fingers not to mess up again and end up in the sewing club, stitching buttons until the end of time.
(And yes, I'd already passed by that room... twice.)
Come on, first-year Class D... don't fail me now.
...
"Looks like Endo finally decided to show up," the teacher said with a displeased look as I walked in. "What happened? Did you like the school so much you didn't want to come to class?"
Well... let's just say I got lost... again, I thought, trying to laugh instead of cry. Being late was quickly becoming my new special talent.
"Sorry, sensei, directions aren't really my thing," I answered honestly. Why lie? My sense of orientation is worse than a fish in the desert.
Sigh. "Well, since you're here, I'll explain a few things you need to know about this school. But as you already know, this school is very different from any other you've experienced."
By the way, the teacher was beautiful in every sense of the word. How old was she? All I knew was she was in her twenties, minimum. Someone must've stolen some of her youth and left the rest of the teachers with the scraps.
While she kept talking, I finally noticed her name written on the blackboard: Chabashira-sensei. What a surname. How many people in Japan even have that? Probably very few. Maybe that's what made her unique.
I started looking for a seat, since of course, everyone else was already settled... except me.
With my heart in my throat, I glanced at the seat I'd been hoping for since the beginning: the protagonist's seat, right by the window.
And guess what? Someone was already sitting there.
A boy with an expressionless face, radiating that classic "silent protagonist who knows more than he lets on" aura. The kind of guy the whole story probably revolves around—while I got stuck with the most NPC-like seat in the classroom.
My spot was right in the middle of the room, surrounded by all the people who don't stand out and fade into the background. Literally, the most forgettable seat in existence.
Great. All that was missing was a sign saying: Welcome to the extras club.