That's how it happened that on the first day of the school year I was trudging along the road to Dakishuro High School rather than some other one. And all because of my own stupidity. Ah, if only in my previous life I'd taken the chance to broaden my horizons. At least attended some psychology lectures. But no—I was a Destroyer, I didn't need any of that, my job was to kill and destroy, not to talk things out. And now I'm paying for it. The most annoying part is realizing that all that "extra" knowledge would have been useful to me even if I'd never been thrown anywhere. Honestly, I don't seem to be an idiot, and yet I blundered through life so badly that now I feel like howling. Lived thirty-eight years and gained no wisdom.
All right, to hell with the self-flagellation. Dakishuro, it turns out, is an elite school, which means my prospects here are excellent. Getting into one of these schools was never going to happen for me otherwise—money and good grades aren't enough, you need connections too. Which, apparently, the Koyamas have. As for the hyperactive sisters, I'll survive them somehow.
By the way, where's Mizuki? If that reckless lunatic shows up too, the walk to school will become truly uncomfortable. That's what I asked about when I caught up to Shina, who was walking ahead.
"So she ran on ahead."
"She's running again?" I asked in surprise. "I mean, okay, in middle school—the distance there was decent, at least it counted as training. But Dakishuro? The run here is five minutes. She'll just get sweaty for nothing."
"Girls don't sweat," Shina cut in. "At least not in the Koyama family," she clarified.
I had a terrible urge to crack a joke about girls sweating, but I held back. She might have taken offense. And offending someone isn't quite the same as angering them, or embarrassing them, especially when it comes to people close to you—even annoying ones. With Shina, things were easier in that regard: she generally wasn't touchy, though she was easy enough to anger, embarrass, amuse, surprise, and even frighten. But she couldn't stand any teasing about her appearance, which I found strange, because her looks were more than fine—from her bluish-black hair all the way to her toes. Well, those were her quirks; I just tried not to touch that subject. Especially now, when I was within immediate reach of her hands—and her feet, for that matter.
The road to school took about fifteen minutes in total. As we got close to the school, I managed to get a look at the local girls. Every single one of them, as if selected, was quite pretty, and many were downright beauties. Which, you have to admit, was strange. It felt like I'd landed in a teen drama. Of course, I could have been mistaken—the crowd of students was large, everyone was moving, and I was trying not to stare. But what I saw painted exactly that sort of picture. Though that wasn't even the main thing; tastes differ, after all. What surprised me most was the universally athletic build—and not just among the girls. A lot of them practiced hand-to-hand combat too, which was obvious from the distinctive way they walked. So what was this then? An entire school full of athletes and martial artists? I thought rich brats were supposed to study here. Oh, I've got a bad feeling about this.
Right by the school gates, Shina stopped me.
"Come here a second."
"Sorry, miss, but my heart belongs to another."
"To another, for all I care. Just stand still."
After critically examining me, she began straightening my collar. Tightened the tie—an obligatory part of the school uniform—brushed something off my sleeve. Then looked me over again, still clearly dissatisfied.
"Maybe that's enough already! What else don't you like?" In my humble opinion, I looked at least decent. Brand-new uniform, pressed the night before just in case, though I normally never bothered. Shoes polished. Even the schoolbag was new! What else did she want?
Oddly enough, though, her fussing didn't irritate me. Her fixation on my clothes could be maddening at times. Shina sincerely believed I dressed far too monotonously and with absolutely no taste. She had her own issues with appearance in general—I think I already mentioned that. But for some reason her fussing right now only made me smile.
"Pipe down. Our school uniform suits you surprisingly well, but something's still missing. A slightly different tie would suit you better, and the shirt should preferably be a darker color."
"Oh, don't start. It's the official uniform. Even if you're right, nothing can be changed."
"That's true," she sighed heavily, "but I still really want to."
I shuddered, remembering our shopping trips, which I dodged however I could. But considering how often Shina tried to drag me along, every now and then I had no choice but to pay some attention to shopping.
Truth be told, absolutely everyone in the Koyama family thinks there's something wrong with me. Shina, for example, doesn't like how I dress. She has her own personal war going on with appearances in general. Her mother is convinced I eat too poorly—living on nothing but noodles. So at best she's always pushing recipes on me. At worst, she personally gives me cooking master classes. Thanks to Kagami-san, I'm actually quite competent in the culinary arts. And Mizuki—this one is both hilarious and absurd—is obsessed with cleanliness. Can you imagine? That reckless girl with a nuclear reactor shoved somewhere inside her is a fanatic for cleanliness and order! Whenever she barges in to drag me off to yet another training session or sparring-beating, the first thing she does is run all over the house, commenting on what a dump I live in while apparently drafting a cleaning plan. Because after training she comes back home with me and starts putting everything in order. I gave up trying to calm her down ages ago. As long as she leaves me alone, fine.
Their father, Akeno-san, tries with maniacal persistence to instill in me a love of martial arts and is my main source of knowledge on the subject. Because in his enthusiasm he always answers my questions, and they still keep coming even now, six years after I found myself in this world. That would all be fine, except his desire to show me the greatness of martial arts and the style practiced by the Koyama family in particular sometimes leads to sparring with his daughters. More precisely, I'm paired with them as a dummy on which they practice their strikes. How am I even still alive? Old man Kenta, by contrast, is the least harmful of them. He's convinced that a guy living alone without parents is obliged to know the laws of the country. Criminal, administrative—all of them. Which results in short lectures on the subject and him dumping various books on me.
"You know, it seems to me more and more often that you're some kind of paradox. From the outside, you look like a person who'd suit absolutely anything. But the moment you start trying to pick clothes for yourself, it turns out everything is the exact opposite, and no matter what I choose, something is always missing."
"And it seems to me that you're a little obsessed with this."
In response, Shina frowned and gave me a very, very nasty look.
"Then again, you have to admit, none of this will matter if we're late for the opening ceremony."
Silence.
"Maybe we should just let it go and go already? Besides, it's bad for girls to frown—it gives them wrinkles." Oh, mother, that was stupid of me.
The liver feint and the kick to the shin that followed made my point perfectly clear.
"Koyama women do not get wrinkles, and men who think they see them regret it very quickly," the little devil said with great emphasis.
"I already do, already regret it!" What else was I supposed to say? It wasn't like I was going to pick a fight with her.
"What?" Shina drew out.
…Oops, almost swore. Then again, if you make two mistakes like that in twenty seconds, then you really are exactly the kind of person whose name starts with "m" and ends with "n."
"What do you mean, 'already'? What do you mean, 'regret'? So what, you saw wrinkles on me?!"
"Listen, just don't get worked up. Calm down," I began, slowly stepping back. "Yeah, I said something stupid, blurted it out without thinking. But I didn't mean to insult you, much less offend you." Damn, damn, damn. All right, time to bring out the artillery. "Besides, a kawaii girl like you shouldn't pay attention to the words of someone like me."
Phew, she seemed to be calming down.
"Maybe you're right. No, you're definitely right. I shouldn't!"
Wham, wham. Goddamn it… that hurt. She landed a two-hit combo to the liver and chest with a half-smile that somehow made me uneasy. I should probably talk to her father. She might beat someone to death one day.
"And why do that if you agreed?" I asked cautiously.
"So that next time you'll think before you speak. And about me. And about yourself."
Huh? What was that supposed to mean?
"Shina-chan! Hi, girlfriend!" An adorable girl pounced on my neighbor—her classmate, judging by the color of the ribbon-tie, a required element of the girls' school uniform. "What, terrorizing the freshmen from the very first day?"
"Not terrorizing—educating. By the way, meet him: my neighbor, Sakurai Shinji. And this is my friend, Mine Kino."
"Mm? Well hello there, Sakurai Shinji," she drawled. "Neighbor and childhood friend, I take it? Straight out of manga. And the proverb fits too. You know—the one about if she hits you, it means she loves you?"
"Kino! You know, I love you too." Neither embarrassment nor irritation. Apparently this was their usual way of teasing each other.
"Ah, Shina-chan, I love you too! And unlike this scarecrow, I'm worthy of standing beside you!"
At that point, Mine Kino lost a substantial chunk of her charm in my eyes. Because she was teasing Shina, but joking at me. At someone she didn't know at all.
"Greetings, Mine-san. And let me say that I admire your courage, but I still advise you to flee the country. Maybe Shina's father won't find you there."
"What?"
"Huh?"
"Yes, yes, don't be surprised, he's like that. He'll never allow his daughter to marry—or, say, to marry a woman. And don't pay attention to the fact that Shina occasionally beats me up; proverbs are not always true," I said, looking seriously into Kino's eyes. Then, dropping the serious expression from my face, I added as if in passing, "Though personally, same-sex relationships make me sick."
I don't know about that bitch Mine, but Shina wasn't stupid. And judging by how far I'd managed to move away from them, the pair of them had already come up with plenty of ways to kill me. Still, I did my best to show that I was addressing only Mine, so hopefully Shina wouldn't murder me right this second. Later she'd calm down on her own. And as for her friend, I couldn't care less, as the saying goes.
When I'd walked about ten meters away, the girls came to their senses and caught up with me.
"Hey, neighbor, don't you think you're pushing it a little?" Mine asked.
"Ah, I ought to beat you up, Shinji, so you'd learn to watch your tongue," Shina sighed.
"You see, Mine-san, everyone has their own truth. I don't know you, and you don't know me, and from my point of view everything was exactly as it should have been. I can guess how it looked from yours." A hint of a smirk. "But if you had watched your own tongue, there wouldn't be questions like this. Have I answered everyone? Haven't forgotten anyone? Excellent."
And, trying not to pay attention to those two beauties, I headed toward the school notice board where the class assignments were posted.
While I was making my way to the information board, where a substantial crowd had gathered, the girls caught up with me. Strangely enough, they walked in silence. Apparently, after discussing the matter, they'd decided to let it slide—or postpone it for later.
The board was large enough, so I didn't have to shove through the crowd to get closer. Finding my name under the "1-D" column, I wondered whether I should go to my classroom right away or wait for Shina and go with her. I decided not to wait. After all, what interesting thing could I possibly see here and now?
"Look, Shina-chan, this year we're in the same class with those two idiots again."
"They're not really that idiotic. Better look—our class roster hardly changed. A couple of new names, and that's it."
"You're right. Maybe things are so good in our class they decided not to shuffle anyone around?"
"Maybe."
"Shina," I interrupted them, "I'm going on. See you tonight, if anything."
"Wait," she stopped me. "I keep forgetting to tell you something."
Coming right up to me and putting on a stern expression, she began explaining:
"Remember this and carve it into your brain. This is not an ordinary school like the one you studied in before—this is Dakishuro. Most of the students here—about eighty percent—practice martial arts, and the rest are connected to them one way or another, usually through relatives. In principle, we don't have hazing here like in most other schools, but that's only because there are too many fighters, and until you get smacked in the head, you don't know who's stronger. Add to that the fact that practically all the students have powerful relatives, and those who can't defend themselves will be defended by them. You, however, are the exception. You don't practice martial arts, and you don't have powerful relatives. You are completely defenseless, and sooner or later someone is bound to decide to pluck your feathers." Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Mine raise an eyebrow. "So remember this: if a situation turns in such a way that you can't avoid a fight, immediately invoke my name. Remind those idiots who your neighbors are and what'll happen to them if they don't back off. Understood? I know you're not stupid and that in many situations you'll be able to talk your way out of things, but if it comes to it—don't be shy, threaten them with me." Mine's face at that moment looked very sly and a little contemptuous. "Oh yes, one more thing. Knowing your character, I'm warning you: if you provoke a quarrel yourself, even if you get beaten up it still won't save you from me. Better leave the country right away—maybe I won't find you there, though probably I will. Everything clear? Did you remember everything?"
Deep breath in, slow breath out. Calm down, Max, just calm down. She's not doing it on purpose. She just doesn't understand how badly she's putting me down right now. Maybe she thinks that the more people hear her right now, the fewer people will mess with me later? Though what difference does it make? She's just shoved my reputation below the baseboard. And considering that, as a newcomer, I didn't have any to begin with… I don't know whether people will actually try to beat me up, but now they'll definitely mock the hell out of me. Technically, I don't care. I only have to serve three years here, and then freedom. But there are a few things.
Not a single male specimen likes it when a beautiful girl publicly calls him a weakling to his face and promises to protect him from the bad boys. It simply humiliates our male dignity.
And that's only the beginning. Let's recall that the future elite of Japan studies at Dakishuro, and I actually intend to join that elite in the near future. Since I've been given the chance to live life over again, and with all my previous knowledge and skills, why not? And in a couple of minutes she's either ruined that plan outright or at least made it much harder. Because in the future, in theory, I'm going to have to associate with the very people who are standing here right now. So what am I supposed to achieve now, with a reputation of exactly zero?
And even if I don't look that far ahead, I can remember her grandfather's words—the ones about building connections. And how am I supposed to make acquaintances and accumulate useful ties now? Damn it, she really did me in good there.
"Well? Why are you frozen? Did you understand everything? Repeat it."
Wonderful. Is she doing this on purpose?
"School full of nutcases, don't get involved in anything, if problems arise call super robot-transformer Shina," I reported, standing at attention. Oh, I'm going to suffer fixing what this Terminator has done.
"You seem far too cheerful," Shina said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Maybe I should break a couple of your bones myself, just as a preventive measure? So that you understand your position."
"As my beautiful lady wishes," I said, assuming an expression of mournful submission.
"Sakurai Shinji! If you don't stop fooling around, things may turn out very badly for you."
"All right, I got it, I got it. I'd better go to my class," I said, and under the intent stares of those around us I headed for the main entrance.
The school, by the way, had been founded more than a hundred years ago. Naturally, it had been rebuilt many times. The last time was twenty-three years ago—thanks, Grandpa, for the useless information—and it looked quite impressive. Four buildings, five floors, brick, glass, and plastic. A number of sports fields, four swimming pools, a lot of annexes and freestanding structures. I'm sure everything inside was first-rate as well.
At that moment I was approaching the main entrance, located between two outer convex rounded walls, glass beginning from the second floor. Through the glass one could see the stairwell, where students kept running up and down.
All first-year classes were located on the fifth floor, apparently so the youngsters wouldn't relax, so I had to climb all the way up. Finding the sign that read "1-D," I entered the classroom and noted that a third of the seats were already occupied, although there was still plenty of time before the lesson began.
"Hi, everyone! Why so gloomy? The school year has started! You should be happy! Getting up at seven in the morning, vicious teachers, quizzes and exams, piles of homework, hardly any weekends—it's practically paradise on earth, not a school!"
The locals really did look somewhat… dejected. And since I needed to start making contacts anyway, why not now?
"New friends, new knowledge, the autumn festival, pretty girls, Valentine's Day, in the end." A dark-haired boy with a shoulder-length ponytail and unruly bangs rose a little from his seat, expressing his feelings.
"Bookworm?" I asked him cheerfully.
"No, brainwashed," he answered mournfully.
Well then, the faces of the boys and girls sitting in the classroom relaxed, and in a few places smiles even flashed. And for now, that was all I needed.
There happened to be a free seat next to the boy who had answered me. So why shouldn't I take it? Walking over to the desk and setting my bag down on it, I held out my hand to the boy, who hadn't taken his eyes off me:
"Sakurai Shinji."
"Ohayashi Raidon," he answered, shaking my hand.
All in all, Raidon turned out to be an interesting guy—cheerful, not stupid, and supremely unflappable. Also a representative of the Ohayashi clan, the fourth child of the clan head. The clan itself specialized in aircraft—small and medium-tonnage planes, helicopters, and even certain kinds of robots. All of it in both civilian and military modifications. In particular, the famous anti-drone fighter MPIBA-4 was developed by the Ohayashi Machine Group.
Clans—or, more precisely, national clans—are the elite and aristocracy of every country in this world. Organizations recognized by the head of state, having concluded with him a kind of agreement that grants the clans significant rights in exchange for unquestioning loyalty. I should note that they do not become vassals of the ruler; figuratively speaking, they become his loyal friends. And the loyalty of any given clan is guaranteed by all the clans in the world. After all, no one wants to lose their rights and freedoms because of one idiot. So honor and reputation mean everything to clans.
A representative of one of them sat at the desk next to mine. And, pleasantly enough, there was no arrogance in him. A normal guy. His sister, by the way, also studied here, in the second year. In the half hour that remained before class began, he managed to tell me a little about himself and about nearly half the class. About five minutes before the lesson, I asked him:
"Say, where do you get all this information from? No, I understand, high society and all that—by virtue of your position you're supposed to know a lot of people, but not that many. And you're up to date on half the class. Considering how many people study at this school, that's a bit much."
"I'm surprised myself. I'm not a walking encyclopedia like my sister. If you took all the people my age I know, the ones I recognize by face, and stuffed them into Dakishuro, it'd work out to about… a quarter of acquaintances per class. Well, that's if you distributed them evenly. And not all of them would even end up here. There are other schools too. So most likely it's just coincidence," he shrugged. "That's just how it turned out."
There wasn't really a lesson as such. It was the first day, after all. The teacher spent about fifteen minutes going on about the new school year, new friends, new opportunities, and school rules. In short, the usual first-day teacher chatter. He himself was probably sick of it long ago. At the end of his speech he advised us to throw the past vacation out of our heads and tackle our studies with renewed vigor. He warned us that joining a club was mandatory, reminded us that the opening ceremony was scheduled for eleven-thirty, and, since nothing else was planned for the day, departed in an unknown direction.
The first period had supposedly been intended for independent work, and the rest of the time before the ceremony was set aside for newcomers to familiarize themselves with the school and for club activities for everyone else. After the teacher left, the whole class broke up into little groups. Some got acquainted with each other, some sat down to play cards, and some simply went to sleep. The especially savvy ones even took out textbooks so they'd have an excuse if needed.
"So, what are we going to do?" Raidon asked.
Raidon really is a nice guy. I like him, though I couldn't say exactly why.
"Who the hell knows," I answered. "Maybe watch a movie?" I always carry my PDA with me, and on the Internet—which in this world is called the same thing—you can always find something to watch.
"Nah, better let's go meet some girls."
"Which ones?"
"Those over there," he waved a hand.
"I don't know about that. I'm, you know…" I snapped my fingers, "a plebeian. No family, no money. What am I supposed to talk to them about?" I had nothing against girls, but the schoolgirls next door were already enough for me. "For that kind of acquaintance, you first need to scout the situation, figure out what's what, and only then go introduce yourself. And that, by the way, applies to all girls, not just the rich ones. Though of course it helps when there's an opportunity like the one we have now."
"Oh, come on. We'd only introduce ourselves, establish our presence, so to speak, and that's all. For anything closer, you're right, no need to rush. As for the rest—forget it. What, they're not people or something? Girls are girls anywhere, in any social environment."
Heh, what have I come to, being lectured by a sixteen-year-old kid on how to meet the opposite sex.
"Even so, something tells me that these particular ladies will tell us to get lost and keep going," I really did have that feeling.
"All right then. Let's go over to those instead," he waved his hand again.
"Listen, you really are some kind of girl maniac."
"I'm not a maniac at all, just a normal guy," he said, embarrassed.
"Normal guys are over there playing cards, and you're pouncing on schoolgirls on the very first day."
"It's spring," he defended himself. "Hormones and all that."
"Hormones, yes," I drawled. "Hormones are a perfectly natural thing. Just try not to splash me with yours."
And so, trading jokes and barbs, browsing the Internet, we waited for the bell marking the end of the period. And when I stepped out into the hallway during the break, I discovered that Shina, in her unrestrained temperament, had broken my MP3 player.