There is a special talent in knowing how to disappear while still existing.
Most people think being invisible means being ignored.
But real invisibility is different.
Real invisibility is when people see you… and still don't notice you.
I mastered that art long ago.
The morning bell rang at exactly 8:25 a.m., echoing through the corridors of Seirin High School. As usual, I was already sitting at my desk before most students even entered the classroom.
Second row from the back. Near the window. Perfect spot.
Not too close to the teacher.
Not too far to attract attention.
Just… average.
I adjusted my black-rimmed glasses and opened my textbook even though the class hadn't started yet.
Around me, the room slowly filled with noise.
Girls chatting about some TV drama.
Boys arguing about last night's baseball match.
Someone complaining about unfinished homework.
Normal high-school chaos.
And in the middle of all that noise, I existed quietly like background music nobody pays attention to.
Exactly how I preferred.
My name is Haruto Sakamoto.
Second-year student, Class 2-D.
If someone asked my classmates to describe me, they would probably say:
"Uh… that quiet guy with glasses."
And that would be all.
No achievements.
No scandals.
No special memories.
Just a perfectly ordinary boy.
At least, that was the image I carefully maintained.
People think I was born quiet.
That's not true.
I learned to be quiet.
In elementary school, I once made the mistake of standing out—scoring too high on a test, winning a small competition.
Suddenly teachers expected more.
Classmates asked for help.
Everyone started watching me.
It was exhausting.
From that day, I understood something important:
Attention always comes with responsibility.
And responsibility is troublesome.
So I created a system for myself.
Never score too high.
Never score too low.
Never speak too much.
Never stand out.
Stay average.
Stay invisible.
Life becomes peaceful that way.
The classroom door slid open and our homeroom teacher entered.
"Alright, settle down everyone."
Chairs scraped. Conversations faded.
Another normal day began.
Math class.
History class.
English class.
I took notes, answered only when necessary, and avoided eye contact with everyone.
By the time lunch break arrived, my social energy was already at zero.
Which was ironic—because lunch break was the only time I actually interacted with someone.
I packed my bento box and stood up.
Time for my daily routine.
Leaving Class 2-D, I walked through the corridor toward Class 2-B.
The hallway smelled of cleaning detergent and chalk dust. Students rushed past me, laughing, pushing, living their colorful lives.
I moved through them like a ghost.
Class 2-B was at the far end of the floor.
That was where my only real friend studied.
Daichi Yamamoto.
Loud, energetic, and the exact opposite of me.
He was the reason I bothered socializing at all.
When I reached 2-B, the familiar scene greeted me.
A room full of noise.
Unlike my calm classroom, theirs was always lively. Desks pushed together, students sitting on tables, random jokes flying everywhere.
And in the center of that chaos—
Her.
I noticed her even before I knew her name.
Every time I entered this classroom, my eyes unconsciously found the same person.
A girl sitting on the edge of a desk, surrounded by classmates, laughing freely as if the world belonged to her.
Bright voice.
Confident smile.
Warm presence.
The kind of person who naturally becomes the sun of any room.
Even without trying.
Her name, I later learned, was Aiko Tanaka.
"Haruto! Over here!"
Daichi waved at me from the back.
I nodded and walked toward him, ignoring everything else.
We sat at his desk and opened our lunch boxes like always.
"What did your mom make today?" he asked.
"Same as usual," I replied. "Rice and chicken."
"Boring as always."
"That's the point."
He laughed loudly.
Talking with Daichi was easy because he never expected much from me. He filled the silence himself.
While he kept rambling about some anime episode, my attention drifted across the room.
Without meaning to, I looked toward Aiko again.
She was joking with her friends, completely surrounded by people.
I wondered how someone could live like that.
Always talking.
Always smiling.
Always noticed.
It looked exhausting.
Suddenly, as if sensing my gaze, she turned.
For a split second—
Our eyes met.
I immediately looked away.
Not because I was shy.
But because making eye contact with people like her felt dangerous.
Bright people ask questions.
Questions lead to conversations.
Conversations lead to attention.
And attention was the one thing I avoided at all costs.
So I focused back on my food and pretended nothing happened.
At that time, I had no idea—
That simple moment would become the first tiny thread connecting our worlds.
The lunch bell rang.
I closed my bento box.
"See you later," I told Daichi.
"Yeah, yeah. Don't disappear too much, Mr. Invisible."
I ignored his joke and left the classroom.
As I walked back to 2-D, I thought to myself:
Just another normal day.
That was what I believed.
But stories never begin with big explosions.
Sometimes—
They begin with a single exchanged glance.