The alarm shrilled, dragging Eadlyn from a half-rested sleep. He stretched, rolled his shoulders, and opened the window. Dawn spilled across the sky in watercolor hues—soft gold against pale pink, the kind of morning that felt like a promise rather than just another day. Japan's mornings had a serenity that felt foreign yet deeply comforting, as if the world here moved to a different rhythm—one that allowed for quiet reflection before the chaos of the day began.
He dressed in the crisp green-and-white Hamikawa High uniform, smoothing the fabric with quiet anticipation. The material was stiff, unfamiliar, but there was something reassuring about it too—like donning armor before a battle you weren't sure you were ready for. Downstairs, breakfast awaited—warm rice, tamagoyaki, miso soup, and Sakura's fussing.
"Don't forget, Ead," she said while placing pickles on his plate, "first impressions matter."
Reno chuckled behind his newspaper. "You'll be fine. Just be yourself."
Eadlyn ate quickly, the flavors grounding him. As he stepped out, he glanced toward Sayaka's house—curtains drawn, the garden still peaceful in the morning light. A brief warmth flickered in his chest before he jogged to the station, the map Sakura had given him folded neatly in his pocket.
The train ride was short but filled with quiet determination. He wanted more than a new school. He wanted connection—real ones, not the fleeting convenience he'd seen back in the UK. The kind that required effort, understanding, and maybe even a little vulnerability.
When Hamikawa High came into view, he slowed his pace.
The campus was huge—a sprawling complex of modern buildings and traditional architecture, where wide courts glistened under the morning sun. Basketball, baseball, football, volleyball—each field lined with pristine white boundaries. Students poured through the gates with practiced ease, their voices a cacophony of laughter, greetings, and the occasional nervous whisper.
This wasn't just a school. It was a battleground of talent, personality, and youth—where reputations were made, friendships forged, and where, if the stories were true, even love could begin with something as simple as a shared glance in a crowded hallway.
Inside the principal's office, he stood straighter than usual. Taniguchi Akira, the principal, had a presence that commanded respect—mature, poised, yet sharp enough to read people instantly. Her gaze was assessing but not unkind, the way someone looks at a puzzle piece they're deciding where to place.
"So you're the new student," she said, folding her hands. "Eadlyn Greyson. Welcome to Hamikawa High."
"Yes, ma'am."
Her eyes softened, something thoughtful passing through them. "Your homeroom teacher will be Saeki Naomi."
A knock interrupted, and a woman entered—calm, elegant, her aura gentle enough to silence a room without a word. This was Naomi-sensei, her dark hair pulled into a neat bun, her movements precise yet warm.
"Is this the new student?" she asked.
Akira nodded. Naomi turned to him.
"I'm Saeki Naomi. I'll guide you for today. Follow me."
Her voice was soft—yet disciplined, the kind that suggested she could be kind without losing authority. As they walked through the corridors, curious eyes followed. The chatter died instantly when students noticed him, their whispers a mix of awe, curiosity, and the occasional hint of envy.
Damn, he's good-looking.Woah, foreigner?Is he half? Full? Mixed?
Naomi's tone cut sharply through the noise. "Quiet."
Silence dropped like a curtain. She gestured to the front of the class. "Everyone, we have a new admission. Please welcome him."
Eadlyn stepped in. The chatter died instantly. He could feel the stares—the awe, the curiosity, the unspoken challenge. He cleared his throat.
"Hello, I'm Eadlyn Greyson. I came from the UK. I hope we all get along."
Whispers erupted again, but Naomi's presence kept them from spiraling.
"Mr. Greyson, last bench, near the window."
The cliché made him smile inwardly. He walked past rows of desks until he reached the seat—sunlight spilling across it like an invitation. The window overlooked the entire campus, the sight strangely grounding. As he sat, he exhaled slowly.
This is it. Where everything begins.
He glanced at his classmates. Some avoided his eyes. Others stared openly. And somewhere in the room, he sensed the faint stir of interest, curiosity, and the first whispers of rivalry.
Youth was unpredictable—but beautifully so.
He looked outside again, the sky stretching far beyond the panes. Now he was here. In Japan. In Hamikawa High. Beginning a story that wouldn't just be about romance, but about learning what love—and life—truly meant from the ground up.