"…Damn it."

It was 7:30 AM in the morning. The weather was fair, but the room was

dark.

He was on the second floor of a wood-walled, two-story rental. The

south-facing, two-bedroom apartment was a ten-minute walk from a private

rail station. The rent: 80,000 yen.

"I give up. This is useless."

Resigning himself to his annoyance, he vigorously rubbed a fogged-up

mirror with the palm of his hand. The shabby bathroom was still humid

from the shower he'd taken that morning, so the mirror quickly clouded

over again, right where he'd just wiped it.

But it wasn't the mirror he was annoyed at.

"What bogus advice."

"Soft bangs for a softer look!"—those words had frolicked on the pages

of a style magazine catering to current male fashion trends.

Takasu Ryuuji's bangs were definitely "soft" right then. Just like the

article instructed, he'd pulled his hair all the way out, used a dryer at full

blast to make the bangs naturally stand on end, and then worked them to the

sides with a light-hold hair wax. He had done everything—everything—just

as the article said in order to get it looking exactly like the model's hair. All

that work was the product of waking up thirty minutes early in the hopes of

fulfilling his desire.

All that work—for nothing.

"It's not as if I'll really change just from doing my bangs," he said.

"That was probably wishful thinking…"

He took that effeminate magazine, the one that he'd swallowed his pride

to buy, and half-heartedly tossed it at the waste bin. He cringed—a miss.

The bin toppled and spewed out its contents, and the magazine he'd just

discarded flopped open to a page of fashion tips, laying there amidst the

trash.

It read, "Soft or Wild?! What you can still do to declare your

transformation for the new school year! Our authoritative guide to your

debut!" If he could say one thing in response to that, it would be that he

never wanted a "debut."

But he did want a transformation. Yet it had ended in failure.

Out of complete desperation, he used a wetted hand to muss the

softened bangs he'd just spent so much effort making until they reverted

back to his usual straight hairstyle. Then he kneeled on the floor to gather

the trash.

"Wha—?! Wh-what is this…? There's mold… it's growing mold

again?!"

He'd discovered black mold along the wooden baseboard near the bath.

There was mold, even though he was always careful to wipe away

excess moisture. Just the previous week, he'd held a mold-cleaning rally (a

competition for all things water-related) for a whole day. Apparently, not

even that level of effort could vanquish the run-down house's poor

ventilation. He bit his thin lips in frustration, and as a last-ditch effort, tried

scrubbing the mold with a tissue. Naturally, it didn't come off; the tissue

just came apart in bits that added even more mess. An exercise in futility.

"Damn it… I just used the last of the mold remover, too. I'll have to buy

more again…"

Right, then. He couldn't do anything but leave it as it was. I'll destroy

you for sure, he thought, fixing the mold with a sidelong glare while he

cleaned up the scattered trash. He took the opportunity to give the floor a

cursory wipe with the tissue. After disposing of the fallen hair and dust, he

wiped all the moisture from the washbasin, lifted his head, and finally took

a deep breath.

"Whew. That's right, I need to feed her… Inko-chan!"

"Yahh!"

A shrill reply returned the high school boy's rough call. Good, she was

awake.

After regaining his composure, he entered the wood-floored kitchen,

still barefoot. He prepared the feed and a change of newspaper, then headed

to the tatami mat living room. He removed the cloth covering the birdcage

filling one corner of the room and was thus reunited with his beloved pet,

whom he hadn't seen since the night before. He didn't know what other

owners did, but at the Takasu household, that was how they took care of

Inko. When sleeping, her face was downright unpleasant, so they hid her

until she woke in the morning.

"Inko-chan, good morning."

Inko-chan was an inko—a yellow parakeet. He spoke to her while

replenishing her feed, as usual.

"G-good… good morn…" Although her eyebrows twitched creepily—

like she didn't even understand what she was saying—the ever-clever Inkochan managed to answer in Japanese. She'd just woken up, but she was in

high spirits. This side of her was a little cute, he had to admit.

"Inko-chan, say thank you for the food."

"Thank—ank—you—thank you for the food! Thank you for the food!

Thank! You!"

"That's it, that'll do. Okay, let's see if you can say that today. Can you

say your own name? Say 'Inko-chan.'"

"I-In-Ini-In-nnn… Inn." Summoning all the strength in her body, Inkochan waved her head, contorted her posture, and jerkily swung open her

wings.

"Iii…" Her eyes narrowed, and her ashen tongue peeked out from her

beak. Today might be it—her owner clenched his fists. But…

"…Iiidiot."

Ah, the intelligence of birds. As expected of a one-gram brain.

With a sigh, he gathered up the dirtied newspaper into a plastic bag. But

as he consolidated it with the rest of the trash and prepared to head to the

kitchen, he heard something.

"Where're ya goin'?"

It was coming from behind the sliding door, barely ajar. It seemed the

other idiot had woken up.

"Ryu-chan, whaddya wearin' your uniform for…?"

He quickly closed the trash bag and turned to the owner of the voice.

"I'm going to school. I told you yesterday that today was the start of the

school year, didn't I?"

"Ohhh… Then… then…" Sprawled on the futon, she spoke as if on the

verge of tears. "Then, what about my lunch…? What about my bento…? I

can't smell that bento smell! Ryu-chan, didn't you make me one?"

"Nope."

"Wahhh! What'll I do when I wake up? There's nothing to eat!"

"I'll be home before you're awake. Today's just the opening

ceremonies."

"Oh…that's all, huh?" She laughed, knocking her feet together. Clap

clap clap clap! She used her feet to give him a standing ovation…or maybe

a sprawling ovation.

"The opening ceremony, huh? Congratulations! That means you're a

second-year student, starting today."

"Never mind that. Didn't I tell you to at least wipe off your makeup

before bed? You kept saying it was too much trouble, so I even bought you

those easy-cleaning wipes… Argh, there's foundation all over the

pillowcase again! This stuff doesn't come out in the wash, you know! And

who knows what'll happen to your skin—you're old enough to know

better."

"Sorrryyyy."

She got up as-is, fully exposing her leopard print panties, large chest

jiggling. Wavy, mostly-blonde hair fell across the valley of her chest in a

tangled, disheveled mess. She oozed "femininity" as she brushed up that

hair with her long-nailed hands.

But then she said, "I drank so much that I only got home an hour ago…

Sooo sleeeepy… Yaaawn… Oh, right… I brought back pudding!"

While yawning, she rubbed her mascara-laden eyes, then crawled

toward the convenience store bag she'd unceremoniously dumped in a

corner of the room. Those manners, that puckered mouth, the mumbling of

pudding, pudding, her plump cheeks, her round eyes—it was all

embarrassingly childish.

This strange woman, who many might call a beauty…

"Huh? Ryu-chaan, I can't find the spoon!"

"The clerk probably forgot to put one in."

"Nu-uh, I'm sure I saw him do it… Huh…"

She was, in fact, Takasu Ryuuji's biological mother: Takasu Yasuko

(alias Mirano), thirty-three years old (but eternally claiming twenty-three).

She worked as an entertainer at the town's one and only hostess bar,

Bishamon Heaven.

Yasuko inverted the bag, rummaged around the corner of the futon, and

tilted her small face in disappointment.

"The room's so dark… No way can I find it like this. Ryu-chaan, can

you open the curtains a little?"

"They are open."

"Whaa? Ohh, right. I forgot since I'm usually not awake at this time…"

In the dim room, the mismatched parent and child both breathed a small

sigh.

Their apartment had one large, south-facing window. In the six years

since they started renting it, they'd come to completely depend on the bright

sunlight that flooded in from the south. With their entryway on the north

side and neighboring buildings to the east and west spaced just dozens of

centimeters away, they only had southern-facing windows. Since the

apartment got such amazing natural sunlight, they hadn't needed to turn on

the overheads from sunrise to sunset. The morning rays were particularly

strong; rainy days excepted, they lavished illumination upon Ryuuji when

he made their lunches and also on Yasuko, while she slept out of

exhaustion.

"Sure is a huge condo, isn't it…?" she said.

"I wonder what kind of people live there… Should I turn on the light?"

Ryuuji asked.

Last year, a ten-story, ultra-high-end luxury condo went up just a few

meters from their apartment's south window. Naturally, the sunlight stopped

coming in, which tormented him with all kinds of maddening frustration.

First, the laundry wouldn't dry. Then the corners of the tatami mats swelled

and bubbled with moisture. Mold had started growing, and the condensation

was terrible. The wallpaper's peeling edges were no doubt owed to the

moisture, as well. Ryuuji tried telling himself to calm down, since it was

just a rental, but he was a high-strung guy. He couldn't help but find such

unsanitary living conditions intolerable.

Now, the two of them could only peer open-mouthed at the white bricks

of that luxury condo, bound together in squalor.

"Wellll, it's probably fine," Yasuko said. "I sleep right through the

mornings, anyhow."

"Complaining about it won't change anything, either…and hey, the rent

did go down by five thousand yen," he said, as he brought Yasuko a spoon

from the kitchen. Ryuuji scratched his head. This was no time to have a

family moment. It was nearly time for him to leave.

After throwing his randoseru backpack on, he stooped down from his

newly grown-up height to put on socks. Then, once he made sure he had

everything he needed, he noticed the slight throbbing in his chest.

That's right, he thought, remembering again. Today is the first day of the

new school year. Opening ceremonies first, and after that—the class

assignments.

He'd failed to change his image, but that didn't mean he was depressed.

A faint feeling of hope, or anticipation, or something along those lines,

fluttered in Ryuuji's stomach, even if he wasn't the type to show it on his

face.

"…I'm off. Remember to lock the doors and change out of your

pajamas."

"Yuuup. Oh, hey, Ryu-chan, hey." Still sprawled on her futon, Yasuko

bit down on her spoon with her back teeth and smiled like a kid. "Ryu-chan,

you're kinda looking fired up! You'd better do your best as a second-year

student! You're going places I never got to."

Yasuko had dropped out of school as a first-year in order to have

Ryuuji, and so she didn't know anything about the world of a second-year

high school student. For a moment, Ryuuji started feeling sentimental. "I

guess so."

He smiled a little and raised a hand. It was his way of showing gratitude

towards his mother, but it backfired. Yasuko let out a squeal and rolled

around enthusiastically—then she said it. She said that.

"Ryu-chan, you're so cool! Every day, you look more like your daddy!"

"Tch!"

…She'd said it.

Ryuuji mutely closed the front door, and then instinctively looked up at

the sky. His vision spun around and around; he felt as though a deep

whirlpool surrounded his feet, drawing him downwards. He hated it. No, he

thought, no, stop it.

That was the one phrase he never, ever wanted anyone to say to him.

Especially on a day like today.

You look like your daddy.

It seemed Yasuko couldn't understand how much that fact troubled

Ryuuji. It was the whole reason he bought that magazine and tried out softer

bangs.

On the way to school, Ryuuji's face twisted into a sullen expression. His

high school was well within walking distance of their house, but he still

moved at a fast clip, taking long, straight strides.

He sighed and unconsciously pulled on his bangs. He hid his eyes out of

habit. Yes, his troubles lay in his eyes.

They were bad.

It had nothing to do with his eyesight.

It was the way they looked.

Though his facial features had rapidly grown more masculine in the past

year, that hadn't made him extraordinarily handsome, or given him out-ofthis-world good looks. Well, he wasn't bad-looking, either… Not that

anyone would say that out loud—but he thought he didn't look too bad, at

least.

His eyes were appalling, though. They were so awful, there was no way

he would ever be considered handsome.

He had angular sanpaku eyes. The kind of eyes ringed by white on all

sides. On top of that, his eyeballs themselves were huge; the blue-tinged

whites threw off an intense, garish light. His dim, small black irises moved

swiftly, as if trying to cut straight through whatever was unfortunate enough

to be the target of their gaze. Despite Ryuuji's intentions, his eyes seemed to

possess the ability to strike panic into anyone that saw them… He

understood that. He understood it all too well. It was so bad that even he

had become flustered after seeing a kid with an absolutely livid expression

in a group photo—until realizing he was looking at himself.

It wasn't just his eyes, though. Thanks to his curt personality, his way of

speaking probably also came off a little rough. Sometimes he got highstrung, too. More than that, though, was the fact that he was the type of

person who struggled with the fine line between jokes and sarcasm.

Because he lived alone with a woman like Yasuko, he'd probably also lost

any innocence or meekness he once had… Really, he considered himself the

real parent out of the two of them.

But even so, scenes like these kept happening…

"Wh-what, Takasu? Are you disobeying a teacher?! S-someone hold

him back! Hold him back!"

You're mistaken. I forgot about part of the presentation, so I just came

to apologize.

"S-s-s-s-sorry, it wasn't on purpose, I bumped into you because he p-pp-pushed me."

Who would get angry from just being brushed on the shoulder?

"I heard that damn Takasu guy crashed another school's graduation in

junior high and holed himself up in their announcement room."

I'm not that bad an apple.

"…I guess I should start being more proactive about clearing up

misunderstandings," Ryuuji said, sighing at the bitter memories he'd

unearthed.

His grades weren't bad. He was never late or absent. He'd never hit

anyone—he'd never even had a heated argument with anyone before. Long

story short, Takasu Ryuuji was a very ordinary young man. But, simply

because he had a fearsome look in his eyes (and maybe because his only

parent was in the bar business), everyone believed he was a terrible

delinquent.

If anyone stayed in the same class with him for a year, those stupid

misunderstandings would eventually be resolved. But a year wasn't short,

especially not to a high school student, and today he would have to start all

over again. On top of all that, his attempted image change had been a

failure.

Nonetheless, he looked forward to the class rotation. There was

someone in particular he wanted to share a class with. But when his

thoughts started running through the hardships that lay ahead, his hopes

seemed to whiz away and deflate to half their size.

It was all because of that unwelcome comment Yasuko had made… No,

that wasn't right. It was all because of the unwelcome genes branded into

him by his father.

"Your daddy's in heaven, now. He was so cool—he had a coif with

shaved sides, and he wore these really pointy patent leather shoes that he

always shined… And on his neck, he had a gold chain, like thiiiis thick, and

a baggy suit, and a Rolex. Oh, and he always layered a weekly magazine

over his stomach. When I asked him what that was for, he said it was so

he'd be safe if he ever got stabbed. Ahhh! He was so exciting."

He remembered Yasuko's enchanted expression when she recounted all

that. Afterwards, she'd shown him the only picture left of his father.

His father looked exactly as Yasuko described.

He stood posed with his legs spread arrogantly wide. He had a carrying

case under his arm. He wore a white suit with an incredibly showy openneck shirt, several gold rings glinted on both his hands, and a diamond stud

adorned one ear. His lower jaw was thrust out, as though jeering towards

the camera. One of his hands groped at the breast of a younger version of

Ryuuji's mother. She held an enlarged stomach, and her carefree laugh was

almost audible from the picture: "Ha ha!" His father's front teeth were gold.

He was really kind, and sincere, and never raised his hand against a

civilian even once, and on and on Yasuko would go. Yet, a person who was

kind and sincere wouldn't join the yakuza to become a mobster, nor would

they get what had likely been a much younger high school student pregnant.

Beyond all that, however, were those sharp eyes of his.

They were eyes that would make you drop your wallet without a fuss if

ever they stared straight at you. Just his gaze by itself threatened

unreasonable violence. An unpleasant thought had risen to Ryuuji's mind:

That same look is stuck on my face… Ordering people not to get the wrong

idea was probably impossible. After all, even Ryuuji imagined his father as

a scary man, and he had no memory of him.

All that said, his father was probably still alive. According to Yasuko,

he'd been turned into Swiss cheese while saving an underling and had been

dumped into a Yokohama harbor somewhere—but there was no grave.

There was also no memorial shrine. There were no ashes or earthly

possessions left behind, or Buddhist tablets, either. Ryuuji had no memory

of any of that happening. And when Yasuko was drunk, she would

sometimes put on a sly smile and say, "If daddy suddenly came home, what

would Ryuu-chan doooo? Hee hee hee hee, I wonder."

Ryuuji's father was probably serving time behind cold iron bars. That

was what his son thought.

"Yo, Takasu! Morning—sure is a nice day!"

Ryuuji noticed the voice behind him and turned around to raise his

hand. "Yo, Kitamura. Morning."

There's no helping it, Ryuuji thought, as he stopped to wait for Kitamura

Yuusaku, his close friend and classmate for another year, to catch up. From

an outside standpoint, his eyes glared at Kitamura, as if saying, "I'll get that

guy!" But, of course, that wasn't the case. He was just thinking calmly as he

watched him approach.

There was no helping the misconceptions people might have about him.

If another one happened, he'd just clear it up. After all, even if it took time

to win them over, there were always some people like this guy who would

figure it out eventually. He didn't like it, but…it was the only option, so

what else could he do?

He looked up at the sky and squinted at its radiance. The day was

beautiful, without even a breeze. The sakura petals fell without a sound,

gently landing in Ryuuji's hair.

Still carrying all that stubborn, painful, mental baggage, he took another

long step forward in the loafers he'd shined the night before.

It was wonderful weather for the opening ceremony.

***

"Yikes."

"I'm in the same class as Takasu-kun."

"He's as tough as they come."

"It's a little scary."

"Someone talk to him."

"No way, take it from me—that's impossible. You go."

"Hey, don't push me."

And so it went, on and on.

No matter what they say, Rjuuji thought, I am the way I am. I won't be

bothered by it.

Ryuuji accepted the surrounding stares of his new classmates with

indifference. Still seated at his desk, he turned his back slightly, causing

people to avert their eyes. He quietly licked his parched lips. His jittering

leg was an unconscious fidget. From the side, he looked like a predator,

impatiently awaiting feeble prey. But that was just appearances.

"As always, it looks like a bunch of guys here totally have the wrong

idea about you," Kitsamura said. "Well, that'll be fixed before long. I'm

with you, and there's quite a few people from the original class A mixed in

here, too."

"Yeah. It's fine, I don't mind it," Ryuuji replied with a thin smile.

The muttering from his classmates still hadn't let up. "I'm telling you,"

someone said. "He's in a good mood. Look at him—definitely licking his

lips in cruel anticipation, stalking the prey in front of him."

In actuality, he felt like shooting out of his seat like a rocket, while

grinning from ear to ear. And naturally, that feeling wasn't just from being

in the same class as Kitamura. Something like that only warranted a smile

and a, "We're together again, Kitamura."

The thing that made him so happy he wanted to jump for joy was—

"Hey, Kitamura-kun! We're in the same class this year!"

Because of her.

"Hm?" Kitamura said. "Huh, so you're in class C, too, Kushieda!"

"What, you only just noticed? You're so cold! It's a brand-new year;

you could at least check the registry."

"Sorry, sorry. What a coincidence, though! I guess the meetings of

student club presidents will be easier than ever."

"Ha ha, that's right! Oh, you were…Takasu-kun, right?" she asked, as

she turned to Ryuuji. "I wonder if you remember me? We've had a few near

misses, what with both of us hanging around Kitamura-kun."

Ryuuji said nothing.

"Uhhh? It's okay to call you Takasu-kun, right?" she said.

"…Ah, ye…kay." He fumbled for his words but was too taken aback by

the sudden spectacle of a goddess assailing him. Her smile dazzled him,

bursting out like the sun. It was as warm as the stolen light that once shined

through his southern window, a warmth that suffused his vision all at once

with radiant beams. The overflowing particles of light clung to him until

Ryuuji could no longer keep his eyes open.

"Kushieda Minori, right?" he said.

Ah, if only, if only, if only! The sound of his own brusque voice made

Ryuuji want to shout out loud. Why could he only answer like that, why

couldn't he have said something more suave— "Oh, hey! You remembered

my whole name! Awesome—that sure makes me happy! Uhm, uh-oh, I

think someone's trying to get my attention over there. Well then, Kitamurakun. After school, we're having this year's first meeting for new secondyears. Make sure you don't forget! See you later, too, Takasu-kun!"

Just about at his limits, Ryuuji tried raising a hand in courtesy…at her

turned back. He was too late. She probably didn't even see.

But.

She said she was happy… She said she'd see me later…

Kushieda Minori had said that to him.

She said she was happy… She said she'd see me later…

Kushieda Minori, who he had prayed would be in his class, had said

that.

She said she was happy… She said she'd see me later…

About me. About me!

She said she was happy!

"Takasu?"

"…Yeah?"

Suddenly Kitamura drew incredibly close, until Ryuuji bent away from

him in his chair. "What are you grinning at?"

"Uh, n-nothing."

"I see." Kitamura pushed up his glasses with his center finger, and

Ryuuji couldn't avoid feeling a certain admiration for Kitamura. The guy

was probably the only person in the world who could detect one of Ryuuji's

grins.

That wasn't the only thing Ryuuji admired him for, though.

"Kitamura," he said. "You're, like…really good at…talking to girls."

(He meant Kushieda, of course.)

"Huh? What makes you say that?" Peering over his lenses, Kitamura's

eyes showed no trace of humility—only genuine surprise. Somehow, he

was completely unaware of his talent. Confronted with such a thick-skulled

guy, Ryuuji held back his answer.

Kitamura's casual conversation with Kushieda Minori just a moment

past had been more than successful—and it wasn't just that conversation,

either. Ever since they were first-years, Kitamura was able to have pleasant

conversations with Kushieda Minori, who was in the same softball club.

Meanwhile, Ryuuji toiled endlessly, pitifully hard to earn leftover smiles

and passing greetings. In soccer terms, he was the sweeper—though he'd

never had a chance to play offense.

The reason Ryuuji started to think Kushieda Minori was cute, the reason

that he liked her and wanted to become closer to her in the first place, was

because he was constantly right there, getting to see how fun her

conversations with Kitamura were.

It wasn't just that, though. It was because of her bright, ever-changing

expressions. Her flexible body and exaggerated gestures. Her easygoing

smile. Her unclouded voice.

Even though everyone else was afraid of him, from the start, she had

been cheerfully broadminded and never deviated in that attitude toward

Ryuuji.

He liked everything about Kushieda Minori. To him, all the elements

that composed her seemed radiant, as though she were made from

fragments of the sun. She was wholesome and straightforward—in his

mind, she was nothing less than the perfect girl.

But even so.

"Don't be stupid. No way am I good at talking to girls. I bet you don't

even know what all the girls call me, do you?"

Unconsciously, Ryuuji released a deep sigh. Despite how jealous he

became while watching Kitamura's conversations—so jealous that he

thought his eyes might bleed—his friend continued, unaware.

"I'm terrible with girls," he said. "I doubt I'll ever pull off dating one."

That was his remark.

"I…don't think…that's the case," Ryuuji said. Looking up at such a

dazzling gentleman, he again decided to swallow any other words he had.

No matter how many times he said it, this guy definitely wouldn't

understand. And that made Ryuuji feel miserable.

It was true that the girls called Kitamura "Maruo-kun." This was

because he looked exactly like a certain character from a famous manga, an

obnoxiously serious honor student. His intense glasses, straight-laced

personality, outstanding grades, and frivolous fashion sense all put him

distinctly apart from the norm. He was such a spitting image of Maruo that

whenever he said the word "precisely"—the character's trademark phrase—

the class would practically go into an uproar. On top of that, last year he'd

also been the class president, and more recently had become the vice

president of the student council. On top of that, he was also serving as the

unofficial new president of the softball club. It was only fitting that he'd

wind up as the subject of a joking comparison.

Still, he wasn't bad looking. No, in fact, if you looked closely, he was

surprisingly handsome. Plus, he didn't have any two-faced qualities to his

personality. He had a great sense of humor, and really, there just wasn't

anything to dislike about him. And because of that, even though the girls

targeted him for teasing, it wasn't mean-spirited.

Ah, that's right. Ryuuji understood. Whatever Kitamura might say, the

girls did like him. It wasn't just Kushieda Minori. He could talk naturally to

any girl. The girls would act like they were close and say, "Awww, I'm with

Maruo again this year!" In response, he would make a light remark like,

"What, you're unhappy about that?"

When you act like that, how can you say that you're bad with girls?

You're not even hated like I am. Just as he was thinking this, he heard a

voice say, "Y-yikes…"

There it was again.

When he overheard that word, he turned his gaze down and let the

speaker go past. He felt like he could handle anything anybody might say

about him. He was over the moon about being in the same class as

Kushieda Minori; they'd never shared a classroom before.

But people kept talking.

"It's really amazing… You can tell just looking at him that he's not

someone you should mess with."

"Yeah, those eyes are intense. Be careful—if he lost his temper, you'd

be a goner."

And the spell was broken. Although the whispering voices probably

harbored no ill will, the sheer number of them was starting to get to him.

Until the new homeroom teacher came, hiding out in the restrooms might

be the best thing for his peace of mind. With that thought in mind, he stood

up. But the moment he headed for the hallway, something bumped lightly

against his stomach.

"Oof…?"

It sure felt like he'd hit something, but he saw nothing in front of him.

How strange. Ryuuji restlessly glanced around the vicinity. But what he saw

was the faces of his classmates as they murmured all around him…

"Oh, man. Just as expected of Takasu-kun… He's made the first move."

"It's the ultimate showdown already… I knew this class would be

trouble the moment I saw the registry."

They were probably going on about the look in his eyes.

"It's the battle that'll decide who's in charge…the clash of the

delinquents!"

"It's like an amazing card just hit the table…"

They were acting strangely. A battle? The delinquents? An amazing

card? What are they talking about? He turned his head to try and better

grasp the situation—and then it happened.

"So, you run into someone, and you can't even apologize…?"

He heard a quiet voice from somewhere nearby. The speaker sounded

strange, monotone, emotionally contained to an extreme degree—but it felt

like they were just barely keeping the lid on an unparalleled explosion.

The voice's owner was nowhere to be seen.

"Uh…?"

Feeling a bit like he'd wandered into the Twilight Zone, Ryuuji slowly

looked to his right. No one there. He looked to his left. No one there, either.

Apprehensively, he looked in the scariest direction—up. Good, no one

there.

"Which means…"

Sure enough, there she was. Way, way below his line of sight—far

below even Ryuuji's chest—was the crown of someone's head.

His first impression of her was that of a doll. Any way you sliced it, she

was small. Small, and enveloped in a long, cloud-like shroud of hair—it

was the Palmtop Tiger.

"…The Palmtop Tiger?"

Without thinking, those enigmatic words suddenly popped into his mind

and spilled right out of his mouth. He felt like he'd heard them from

someone else, murmuring from far off.

The Palmtop Tiger. Is that her…?

"Who…?"

Is that supposed to describe the doll I see in front of me? Sure, palmtop

works, but what makes this girl a tiger? On and on, his mind continued in

this way.

"Who…exactly is supposed to be a 'Palmtop Tiger,' anyway?" Taiga

asked.

It was no time to ponder the question. The "tiger" raised her chin

slightly, then both her eyes.

"...…!"

Her stare lasted about three seconds. Ryuuji thought she had been

scared stiff, but he was woefully mistaken.

A momentary vacuum had exploded like a bomb and had only just

passed. Hearing was slow to return to Ryuuji's ears. When he came to, he

was on his butt. It wasn't just Ryuuji. Several others had also collapsed

close by, whimpering. Some were even trying to crawl away.

What just happened?

Then he understood.

Nothing had happened.

It was just—the girl in front of him.

"…You're irritating," she said.

All she had done was glare at Ryuuji with her two huge eyes. That was

all. And yet, during those brief seconds of tension, Ryuuji had been simply

overwhelmed. Completely overwhelmed. His mind had gone blank. Tension

had immobilized his body, and he literally collapsed, right there.

He'd been so taken aback by her glowering stare—or more accurately,

by the intensity it contained—that he had fallen right on his butt.

What had happened was way out there. It was on a completely different

level. He had totally and completely lost. Ryuuji, who had never been

bested when it came to his intimidating eyes, had lost by a country mile.

For the first time in his life, he understood. A truly savage gaze had a

violent—no, murderous—weight to it.

"Hmph." After a few endless seconds of her gaze, which seemed to

unwaveringly pierce right through his heart, she finally looked away, filled

with contempt. "'Ryu,' is it? Like a dragon… How lame."

Her lips were like flower petals turned up by the wind. Her words struck

like bullets and were just as child-like as she was.

She tousled her fluffy hair with an unbelievably small hand. Her eyes,

their murderousness subdued, were now half-hidden by soft eyelids. They

resembled the stare of a glass-eyed doll. Those transparent, hollow eyes

reflected nothing at all as they gave Ryuuji a final once-over.

She was cute. She was terrifying.

Her milky white cheeks, her long, hazy ashen hair with its mysterious

color, her delicate limbs and slender shoulders, the eyelashes that softened

her gleaming eyes—she was cute as candy filled with lethal poison and as

dainty as a flower bud with a deadly fragrance.

But, in the moment she glared at him, Ryuuji had seen a shape in her

eyes. The form of a carnivore, bearing down on him. It was just an illusion,

of course, but it had seemed more real than reality. Ryuuji had felt a weight

of several tons pressing on him. His blood shuddered at the predator's roar;

he felt it breathing down his neck. It seemed to say, I can kill any of you any

time I want.

Its sharp claws and giant fangs had loomed close. The smell of blood

and the beast had filled the room. The illusion, many times the size of the

small girl, was none other than a tiger.

"Uh, uhhh…uh, uhm, uh… Yup yup yup yup…" Instinctively, Ryuuji

nodded his head up and down. He clasped one hand against the other. Right,

of course. The Palmtop Tiger. He didn't know who'd come up with that,

but, "It fits perfectly, doesn't it…"

It had a certain flair. He admired whoever had coined the name.

Then he realized why she'd muttered Ryu along with her contemptuous

gaze.

Either when he fell on his butt, or maybe while the illusory tiger tore

him apart, his jacket zipper had opened. And so, his shirt was completely

exposed—the shirt Yasuko had so enthusiastically bought him. The shirt

with a gimmicky dragon on it, exactly the kind a delinquent would wear. It

wasn't as though he'd worn that shirt, which sent totally the wrong

message, because he wanted to. It was just convenient to use during laundry

day, and he had figured no one would see it, anyway.

Intense embarrassment flashed over him as he quickly zipped his jacket.

He was still slumped disgracefully on the floor, like a damsel just roughed

up by hoodlums. Then someone briskly crossed in front of his gaze and

said, "Taigaaa, you're late! You skipped out on the opening ceremony,

didn't you?!"

"I woke up late. More importantly, I'm glad I'm in the same class as

you again this year, Minorin."

"Yeah! I'm glad, too!"

It was Kushieda Minori herself.

Minori laughed as she touched the Palmtop Tiger's hair, as though they

were close. She had endearingly called the tiger "Taigaaa," much like the

Palmtop Tiger had called her "Minorin."

While Ryuuji watched, dumbfounded, he heard someone whisper. "In

their first match, victory goes to Aisaka, the Palmtop Tiger."

"Now that you mention it, Takasu just looks scary. He doesn't really act

like a delinquent at all."

"Huh? You think?"

"That's because he's no match for the Palmtop Tiger. At any rate, she's

the real deal."

"Takasu-kun, are you okay? Aisaka lashing out at you on day one was

really unfortunate."

It seemed that the misunderstandings were likely to be fixed faster than

Ryuuji thought.

***

The Palmtop Tiger's outrageous, real name was Aisaka Taiga. She was

one hundred and forty-five centimeters tall. She and Kushieda Minori were

supposedly close friends.

If rumors held true, her prodigal father supposedly controlled the

Japanese underworld, or was a genius karate master who controlled

America's underworld—or something like that. She herself held an

advanced karate belt but had been expelled after attacking her teacher—or

something like that.

Supposedly, when they first started high school, one guy after another

initially mistook her for a vain beauty and made insistent romantic

advances. However, they all got brutally rejected—they were threatened,

chewed out, torn up, and teased mercilessly. A whole mess of guys were

now beyond any hope of recovery. It was said Aisaka left a path of male

corpses in her wake.

Anyway, when it came to Aisaka Taiga, there was no end to the dark

rumors. Whether those were myths or facts, what Ryuuji was sure about

was that she ranked as the school's most dangerous creature.

Ryuuji learned all about those rumors over the days following the

opening ceremonies.