The April breeze drifted through the open windows as the bus swayed, navigating the final stretch toward Koudo Ikusei High School. I sat by the window, my gaze tracing the interior of the carriage with practiced neutrality. On this first day of the semester, the "peculiarities" of the student body were already beginning to manifest.
The girl in the seat beside me was a study in frigid composure. Her long, raven hair was punctuated by a single thin braid tied with a white ribbon. She didn't look up from her book as I glanced her way, yet her voice cut through the air, sharp and unyielding.
"Your staring is quite intrusive," she said, her eyes never leaving the page. "It's disgusting. Stop it."
I offered a quiet apology and looked away. Sharp. That was the only word for her.
Across the aisle, another student caught my attention. He wore the wine-red school blazer with a distinct, upright posture that bordered on the regal. Beneath his black-rimmed spectacles, a dark mole sat at the outer corner of his left eye like a deliberate brushstroke.
He was occupied with a silver fountain pen. It didn't merely move; it performed. The pen flipped, pirouetted, and hovered between his slender fingers in a blur of liquid motion. There was no effort in the display, only a quiet, rhythmic aesthetic that drew the eyes of everyone in the cabin. He, however, remained captivated by the passing cityscape, seemingly oblivious to the spectacle he was creating.
I had no grand expectations for this supposed "paradise." Looking around this carriage—at the girl with the icy tongue, the boy with the hypnotic finger dexterity, and a blonde narcissist in the front row admiring himself in a handheld mirror—it was clear the environment was already saturated with a strange, unspoken tension.
The bus screeched to a halt at a stop.
A silver-haired woman boarded, her frame frail and trembling as she leaned heavily on a cane. She scanned the crowded bus, found no vacant seats, and gripped a handrail with a withered hand. As the bus lurched forward, she swayed precariously.
The atmosphere in the bus curdled into a heavy, indifferent silence. Several students looked away; others became intensely interested in their phone screens. The blonde boy in the priority seat didn't even blink, continuing to adjust his hair in the mirror.
"Excuse me?"
A girl with short blonde hair and a bright, earnest expression broke the silence. She looked toward the blonde boy in the priority seat, her voice carrying a note of polite urgency. "This elderly woman seems very uncomfortable. Would you mind giving up your seat for her?"
The boy snapped his mirror shut with a sharp clack. His voice was lazy, saturated with unearned confidence. "I see no reason to do that."
The girl flinched, but she didn't retreat. She clasped her hands together. "While the law doesn't mandate it, it's a matter of social contribution. Helping those in need is simply the right thing to do."
"Social contribution?" The boy chuckled, snapping his fingers. "Unfortunately, I have no interest in the welfare of others. Besides, why single me out? There are plenty of other able-bodied people sitting nearby. If you're so concerned with respect for the elderly, perhaps you should convince one of them."
His words stripped away the veneer of politeness, leaving the air thick with social friction. The blonde girl wavered, her strategy failing, and turned to the rest of the passengers with desperate eyes. "Please! Is there anyone willing to help?"
Before anyone could respond, a light, rhythmic cough silenced the cabin.
It was the boy with the tear mole.
He rose from his seat in one fluid motion, as if gravity had simply decided to lift him up. Without a word, he moved toward the handrail where the old woman stood. His right hand moved with surgical precision, sliding his silver fountain pen into a narrow gap in the ceiling's handrail assembly. In the same breath, his left hand produced two compact, sturdy umbrellas from his bag.
With a series of metallic clicks, he interlocked the umbrella handles and ribs, wedging them against the pillar to form a stable, triangular support structure. The entire construction took less than three seconds. It was a feat of spontaneous engineering that defied the mundane setting of a city bus.
He draped his folded blazer over the makeshift seat, creating a cushioned perch. Only then did he turn to the stunned woman and offer a shallow, impeccable bow.
"Madam, please. Though the accommodation is unconventional, it is structurally sound. It should suffice for the remainder of our journey."
His voice was a calm, melodic baritone, devoid of pride. He had simply solved a problem.
The carriage fell into a stunned hush. The old woman sat, found the support held firm, and began to stammer out her gratitude.
The short-haired girl, Kushida Kikyo, wore a mask of complex emotions: shock, followed by the faint irritation of someone whose spotlight had been stolen. She forced a sweet, radiant smile. "That was... amazing! Thank you for stepping in. I'm Kushida Kikyo, a first-year. What's your name?"
The boy offered a curt, polite nod but gave no answer. He returned to his standing position, staring out the window once more.
"How pathetic," the girl beside me murmured. She had closed her book, her eyes fixed on the boy like twin daggers. "Is such a 'performance' necessary in a public space? Or do you simply live for the cheap thrill of attention?"
The focus of the entire bus shifted back to him.
The boy slowly turned, adjusting his glasses. The lenses caught the morning sun, flashing with a brilliant, white glare. A faint, almost imperceptible curve touched his lips—not a smirk, but a sign of absolute certainty. He bowed once more, his movements possessing a ritualistic grace.
"My only intent was to ensure the lady's comfort. If my methods caused offense, I offer my humblest apologies."
He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose one final time.
"I am Sakamoto. Is there anything else I might assist you with?"
Silence returned, deeper than before.
I watched the scene unfold. Sakamoto remained a pillar of serene, absurd elegance; the girl beside me glowered in frustrated silence; Kushida's smile remained frozen; and the blonde narcissist returned to his mirror.
The bus surged forward toward Koudo Ikusei. I observed it all with a detached curiosity. This school, it seemed, was a collection of anomalies. If this was the caliber of the student body, the next three years were going to be far more chaotic than I had anticipated.
I didn't necessarily mind the chaos.