After his urgent detour to the restroom, Katsuragi Kokoro finally emerged feeling significantly more human—and significantly more lost.
He stood in the hallway, eyes scanning the plaques posted above each classroom door.
1-C… 1-B… okay, where's 1-A?
The corridors buzzed with the footsteps and chatter of students. Most looked like they knew where they were going—clusters of friends, returning students, or over-prepared first-years with printouts of who knows what. Kokoro, meanwhile, clutched his bag strap and sighed.
Guess I should've studied the layout of the school in the internet instead of playing games last night.
As he walked, the voices around him blurred together into a familiar background hum.
"Did you hear about the entrance scores this year? I heard someone got a perfect mark."
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"Class 2-B's already full of honor students. My cousin said they barely sleep over there."
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"I wonder if we'll get that super strict math teacher again…"
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"Hey, that girl who got out of the black car—she's definitely in our year, right? I think I saw her schedule."
Sakura High School was technically a public school—but it was far from ordinary. Despite being government-funded, it was nationally known for its academic excellence and impressive alumni. Entrepreneurs, athletes, scholars—it seemed like anyone who came out of Sakura High had their foot halfway into success before they even graduated.
The school itself reflected that reputation. The hallways were spotless and polished, the lighting soft but bright. Every corridor was lined with student-made murals or framed newspaper clippings of past achievements. The floor beneath Kokoro's feet gleamed with fresh wax, and the soft scent of disinfectant was oddly calming.
Beyond the classrooms, glimpses of the outside world showed a sprawling campus. There was a well-kept athletic field, surrounded by a running track, an indoor basketball court in which some students, probably senior's, are entering with a ball in their hand, and a separate volleyball court where a few students were already warming up. Kokoro could see part of the library's stained glass windows from here too—likely on the second floor.
More snippets of conversation filtered through as he passed another group of first-years.
"Do you think they'll assign seats or let us pick?"
"I hope I'm in a class with Aoi-kun. He's so cool…"
Kokoro sighed again, turning a corner and climbing up the stairs to the second floor to find his assigned classroom. Turning a corner again Kokoro paus when he noticed a figure leaning against a nearby window.
The boy had messy green hair that fell just short of his shoulders, his bangs sweeping to one side in a casual disarray. His expression was unreadable, aloof—like he'd seen everything there was to see in this school and wasn't particularly impressed by any of it.
A second-year, maybe?
Kokoro hesitated for a second, then walked over.
"Uh, excuse me," he said. "Sorry to bother you, but… do you know where Classroom 1-A is?"
The boy didn't look at him right away. He just exhaled, slowly, eyes still fixed on something beyond the glass—maybe the sakura trees swaying in the courtyard.
Then he finally turned his head.
"You're a first-year," he said flatly. Not a question. Just a statement.
Kokoro gave a short nod. "Yeah. Still finding my bearings."
The green-haired boy tilted his head slightly, then pointed down the corridor with two fingers, rings glinting faintly on his hand.
"Take the hall all the way down. Last door on the left. Big 1-A on the plate. Can't miss it."
"Thanks," Kokoro said, offering a polite bow.
The boy didn't respond. Just turned his gaze back to the window as if the conversation had never happened.
Well... that was something, Kokoro thought as he headed off in the direction given, weaving past other students in the hallway.
Soon enough, he spotted the sign—1-A—engraved in clean silver lettering.
Found it.
He paused at the door, adjusted the strap on his shoulder and his tie, and took a quiet breath.
First day. New school. Don't screw this up.
With that, he slid open the classroom door.
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The hallway noise was distant from where Yamada Taro stood, leaning lazily against the window frame on the second floor. He always liked this spot. Quiet. Out of the way. No teachers asking him to help first-years carry things. No classmates dragging him into morning gossip. Just this—cool glass against his shoulder and the peaceful sway of sakura trees outside.
His green eyes wandered, not focused on anything in particular. The first day of the new term was always the same—noisy, cluttered, full of anxious energy. First-years darting around like lost kittens. Second-years pretending they were already too mature to care. Third-years half-asleep and calculating their future.
Tch. Same play, different cast.
His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps. Slow, hesitant.
Yamada didn't turn until the boy spoke.
"Uh, excuse me. Sorry to bother you, but… do you know where Classroom 1-A is?"
Yamada shifted his gaze lazily. The boy looked… tall, awkward, and obviously lost. First-year, no doubt. Black hair. Sharp features. A bit too clean-looking to be someone used to getting through life easily.
He stared at him for a long second, then let out a quiet breath.
"You're a first-year."
The kid nodded. "Yeah. Still finding my bearings."
Clearly, Yamada thought. Why else would a first-year be wandering around the second floor?
He pointed down the hall with two fingers, his voice flat. "Take the hall all the way down. Last door on the left. Big 1-A on the plate. Can't miss it."
The boy thanked him and left just as quickly, probably relieved someone had helped at all.
Yamada stayed by the window, watching the tall first-year vanish around the corner.
What was that guy doing up here anyway?
It was well-known—first floor for first-years. It was even written on the massive school map posted at the front gate. Color-coded. Clear as day. It wasn't rocket science.
Maybe he's just an idiot, Yamada mused.
But then again…
He remembered the ruckus earlier. The line of black cars. The suited men. The silver-haired girl stepping out like she owned the ground she walked on. She was hard to miss. The whole gate area had turned into a frenzy of whispers and gawking. (Authors Note: Bro doesn't know that Kokoro needed to shoot out that golden juice)
Hmph. Maybe it wasn't all his fault after all.
Even someone with a half-functioning brain would get distracted in that kind of scene. Still, to not even glance at the map?
Yamada smirked faintly.
He's either incredibly unlucky… or just a little stupid.
But at least he was polite. That was more than he could say for most people.
Yamada pushed off from the window with a sigh and turned toward his own classroom.
Well, whatever. Not my problem.