Three weeks. That's how long it had been since I first stepped foot into Tokyo Metropolitan Elysian High School. If you'd told me before arriving that I'd have friends by now—or that I'd find myself cooking—I would've called you delusional. Yet here I was, thriving. Well, sort of.
The first day had been overwhelming. Between the orientation and the cafeteria debacle, I'd felt like a fish out of water.
I was so exhausted by the end of the day that I skipped the club orientation entirely and just went straight to my dorm room. (Well, I didn't see the message until I woke up.)
I told myself I'd look into clubs later, but 'later' never came. Missing that session meant I'd missed my opportunity to join any club for the term, but honestly, I didn't mind.
Clubs felt way too stressful and might reduce my freedom, and for the trouble I went through for it, I won't throw it away so easily.
My school days followed a predictable pattern. Classes were engaging, though I mostly just stared at the clouds.
The teachers here were top-notch, blending traditional lessons with interactive discussions that kept even the most disengaged students paying attention. Even he would be surprised at the curriculum.
Despite this, some students slept during class though Ito always addressed them.
But I do wonder, why didn't the teacher just address them? I mean we're Japanese, it's normal for students to get punished by teachers. I probably shouldn't think too much about it.
I'd managed to make a few friends. Ito Yuuto, the class president, surprised me by being one of them. Beneath his confident exterior was someone genuinely interested in helping his classmates, though he is quite dense.
I mean, how can't he not notice that more than all the girls in our class are in love with him? I've been single my whole life, yet I saw their infatuation—the nervous chatter, the quivering lips, and the constant clinging to him. It was quite obvious.
Kagura, the bubbly vice-president, had become a constant presence in my life, her infectious energy could make even the dullest moments bearable.
Then there was Kisaragi, the blonde-haired boy I'd met at the orientation at the train station. His dry humor and easygoing nature made him the perfect balance to Kagura's enthusiasm.
But outside this small circle, the rest of the class and most of the first years—kept their distance. It wasn't outright hostility, but there was a coldness in how they interacted with me.
Conversations paused when I entered a room. Eyes glanced my way and then quickly turned away, as if they'd been caught looking.
Of course, Hiro—my best friend—was an exception but even that connection felt strained. After eating lunch with him on the first day, I decided it was better to avoid his table entirely. The girls there made it clear I wasn't welcome, and I wasn't about to force myself into a situation that felt more like a war zone.
Instead, I started cooking my own food. The noodles I'd bought on the first day became my staple, and I quickly discovered the joy of experimenting in the small kitchen in my dorm. Cooking became a routine, a way to decompress after school and avoid the awkwardness of the cafeteria altogether.
From the very first day, I noticed Suzuki's eyes on me. At first, I chalked it up to coincidence—after all, I was a new student, and she sat beside me. But as the days passed, I noticed her gaze became more frequent.
Suzuki's Call
Suzuki wasn't like most of the students who avoided me. If anything, she was the opposite. With her bright pink hair and warm personality, she seemed to be friends with everyone. She laughed easily, joined conversations effortlessly, and had a way of making people feel comfortable. But when it came to me, there was something different—something calculated about the way she interacted with me.
During breaks, while Kagura chatted with her usual crowd, I often caught Suzuki glancing my way. She didn't look away like most people would when caught staring. Instead, she held my gaze for just a second longer than normal before turning back to her group, a small, knowing smile on her lips.
I tried not to think too much about it. But today, in the middle of our break, Suzuki leaned over and whispered, "Follow me to the rooftop."
"What?" I said, blinking.
"Rooftop. Now," she repeated with a grin, standing up before I could respond.
I hesitated for a moment, glancing at Kagura, who was busy discussing something with Ito. Then, curiosity won out, and I got up to follow Suzuki.
The hallway was quieter than usual, the distant hum of conversations fading as we climbed the stairs. When we reached the rooftop, Suzuki turned to face me, her usual playful smile replaced by fidgety fingers and red cheeks.
"So, Nakamura," she began, her voice steady. "We need to talk."