As I crossed the threshold of the classroom, my gaze instinctively scanned the interior, cataloging its inhabitants: Four students had already settled—a group of three boys engaged in animated conversation by the window, and a solitary girl at the far end.
Moreover, I allowed myself a moment to scrutinized the dimensions of the room with a perfunctory look: The layout followed the rigid, almost universally order of five aligned columns, intersected by six rows of desks, each with a sturdy wooden board reinforced with metal edges.
The walls displayed an amalgam of instructional posters, amateur artwork, and, oddly enough, festive mementos of the Christmas holidays—suggesting either nostalgia or, maybe, sheer neglect.
Meanwhile, an overabundance of natural light cascaded through the towering windows, imbuing the space with an almost supernatural luminosity: soft, pearly rays that diffused into the air like remnants of a half-forgotten dream.
And, to end this somewhat unnecessary description, at the front of the classroom was an austere chalkboard illustrated with drawings of various ceremonial prayers, cartoonish drawings, and a large "Welcome" sign in English and Japanese.
This place... Wow, It's really amazing. This scene stands in stark contrast to the chaotic, purgatorial atmosphere I'd grown accustomed to at my previous school.
It was a sterile, windowless—since most of them didn't had any glass—expanse where we languished as if in underground chambers lit by an ultra-bright, yellowish artificial light that invariably blinded even the briefest upward glance.
And yet, would you believe it? Look: this place was also air-conditioned! That singular realization, trivial as it might seem, was strangely comforting—a brief respite from my persistent anxieties.
Despite this, I couldn't shake off something that would constantly erode my sanity and commitment to the need for communication. A problem so elementary that its absence from my mental preparations was almost offensive: Where exactly is my seat?
Surely, such a fundamental information should have been documented, distributed, or at least written on some discreet piece of paper or a kind of agenda—But noooo! Who, after all, has the patience for such a pedantic foresight?
Certainly it wasn't this fucker of Takumi, because I couldn't find anything like that in his room.. And evidently not a single person in this goddam world. So, the pressing question remained: What should I do next?!
I mean, I could ask for help from the trio by the window. In theory, it's an optimal solution; in practice, however, it turned out to be a somewhat subtle task that required a delicate approach: direct but not abrasive, assertive but not too demanding, you understand?
Fuck, who gives a shit? Here we go...
«Uh, excuse me[1]!» I called out, mustering the bare minimum of assertiveness.
Abruptly, the cadence of their conversation faltered, and their chattery was momentarily suspended as all three turned toward me in seamless synchrony—like a well-rehearsed ensemble acknowledging an uninvited soloist.
One of them responded, acknowledging my presence: «Oh, Nakamura!»
Oh, boy, kill me! Feeling a little tense, I suppressed the involuntary stiffness in my posture and said: «Uh-Uhm... Hi, uh. Would any of you happen to know where my seat is?»
Truthfully, I wasn't holding my breath for a response: I'd anticipated little more than a vague gestures of dismissal or superficiality. However, after a fleeting exchange of murmured deliberations, one of them casually lifted a hand and gestured toward a particular spot.
«The teacher still hasn't changed the seats, so I think... you're still sitting there, right?»
My gaze followed the indicated trajectory before I nodded, «Oh. Thanks!» A dry chuckle slipped past my lips, laced with residual uneasiness. I commented nonsensically: «And, yeah! Of course! I figured out that seating thing a little early, huh. Forget what I asked, okay? Okay!»
Well, that was absurdly easy! And to think I had half-expected some ordeal—like, a tedious barrage of questioning, or, worse, some form of ritualistic hazing for the horrible lack of essential individual expertise. What an immense relief, indeed!
Anyway, with that commotion hovering in the distance, I examined it: So this was my assigned seat, huh? The fourth in the first column, almost next to the door. A rather prime location, all things considered. I could be one of the first to leave!
Without further hesitation, resolutely, I meandered toward it, finally allowing myself to collapse into its surface. A sluggish lethargy began creeping into my limbs for walking more than a mile, beckoning me toward a moment of rest—my eyes couldn't stay open for some reason.
There was an analog clock in here, declaring the time as 07:13. That's clearly a demonstration to my excruciating punctuality. Which, unfortunately, also meant that I now had a daunting hour and twenty minutes of nothingness to tolerate before the class officially starts.
That's too much free time for my liking...
During this interlude, I curled up at my desk, feigning sleep as a preemptive measure to the inexorability of unwanted interactions. But deep down, even as I closed my eyes, I was keenly aware of the inescapable truth: it wouldn't be long—after all, it's Nakamura Takumi, duh.
Minutes bled into each other, the ambient cooing of arriving students growing more and more prominent—a slow crescendo anticipating the start of another banal day. And then, of course, it inevitably happened... Someone.
Someone approached, and before I could will them into nonexistence, his hand gripped my arm as he gently shook me, saying: «Hey, wake up.»
To my surprise, it's a boy's voice. Unfamiliar—Who the hell could this be?
Without delay, I dropped my pretense and, groaning and exhaling a quiet sigh of protest at the unwarranted interruption, looked up to see him: a tall, well-built young man, with his dark hair neatly trimmed—not a strand out of place—complementing the striking sharpness of his deep-set, foxlike eyes.
Involuntarily, a mute, almost reverent, «Oh… wow,» stumbled at the marvelous sight of this undeniably handsome fellow. Also, why is his collar button undone? Are you trying to act sexy? Oh, no—what is happening to me?!
«Good morning», his voice was composed, maintaining an inquisitive expression focused on me. «It's unusual seeing you here this early. Did you wake up at dawn, or did you simply not sleep at all?»
I hesitated. No immediate response seemed appropriate, so I refrained from the simplest: I returned the «Good morning» and thoughtlessly extended my arm with my palm open, offering an attempt at a high five and a handshake.
He, on the other hand, didn't move.
Just as he was about to pass by, he stopped dead in his tracks with his eyes flickering on unmistakable confusion at my unexpected motion. It's funny because there was great bewilderment on his features, matching my own puzzled look. Why are you doing this to me?!
To be honest, I kinda acted too hastily and impulsively in my effort at camaraderie. In reality, I do lacked the necessary familiarity with these customs, even less so with the nature of Takumi's interactions with his friends. I made a mistake.
In spite of that, just as I braced for the possibility of being left hanging in limbo, something extraordinary happened: after a brief pause, he slowly lifted his own hand and clasped mine. Yes, for God's sake! Thank you!
Regardless of this miracle, for the sake of mischief, I decided to—with a subtle tug—pulled his arm toward me and gave him a firm, fleeting shake before releasing it. Judging by his expression, he was still struggling to decipher the meaning behind my actions, but instinct seemed to guide him nonetheless, mimicking me in compliance.
From there, he took a few seconds to process this light-hearted interaction, then asked: «What… was that?[2]»
To which I replied: «A greeting.[3]»
His brows furrowed slightly. «Greeting? That's… creepy, hah. Actually, it was my first time doing something so... You've never done that before. It was a little unusual.»[4]
«Hmm, really? Well, then consider it a newly established morning greeting between us. You'll have to accept it with more enthusiasm and adapt. Understand, my friend?» I lectured straightforwardly.
«…Sure[5]. Well, let me sit down.»
Ah, that was awkward.
A slow-burning mortification crept up my spine, settling in the pit of my stomach. The most unfortunate thing was that he barely put up any resistance, merely accepting it at face value before slipping into his seat behind me without another word.
Moving past this regrettable episode, a far more pressing dilemma loomed over me: I have absolutely no idea who the fuck this guy is. His identity, his role in the game—if he even had one—his name, his I-know-what: all of it was a complete enigma.
For now, 'd let the uncertainty prevail. However, if there was anyone I should attempt to coax answers from, it was this dude. Unlike Ayame, whose involvement in my plight was ambiguous, this bald guy was undoubtedly, 100% a friend—that much was certain.
I turned my body to face the guy and began: «I see you brought a bag as well.»
What in the ever-loving hell was that? A fucking, shitty ass opening. Can someone—anyone, man—provide me with a crash course on how to initiate a conversation that might have some staying power?! Thanks in advance.
His expression stiffened in response to my words, reflecting a mix of hesitation and dismay caused by my bluntness; perhaps even at the underlying implications of my remark: «Um... Of course I'm going to bring one. I won't have anywhere else to pack my things. What's with that question?»
«Yeah, right? What a stupid question, ha-ha, sorry.»
«Speaking of which… what's up with yours? Are you planning a pilgrimage somewhere?» He gave a half-smirk, the kind that leaned more toward mild obfuscation.
Damn it. «No, what? I'm not going anywhere. It's just... look, I got up really early today, but I overslept. So, my mom hurried me, and when I was ready, I grabbed this by chance and started packing my things like crazy.»
«Ahhh, I see! How dumb, but that sure happens, huh? Anyway, I don't think it should stay there; it's in the way. I almost tripped over it, you know? And someone else won't be as lucky as me.»
«Huh? Oh, sorry. It's just… well, where am I supposed to put it then? At the back of the room?»
Meantime, I glanced towards the area in question: disseminated wooden shelves with trapdoors—I wasn't sure if they were unoccupied or occupied. Even if they were accessible, there definitely weren't enough for every student in the class.
There are about 18 in total, and we're 30 students. What was the protocol here? Was I supposed to store my backpack on a shared shelf? That didn't seem workable, and I didn't like it if it was true. Don't they have lockers for this kind of thing, apart from the "get-a-tobacco"?
Natively, and in the first place, you should leave your notebooks in a locker, or leave them in your backpack and unload it on the floor next to you. But this was Japan—the rules were probably different here, and I'm clueless what I was supposed to do with it now.
«The back? Uhm, well... I don't think that's necessary. Just put it under your desk, against the wall: it will fit, or just make space. But I doubt it'll hang properly, not to mention it'd be pointless to even try—it'd end up on the floor either way.»
Oh...! Well, I'm stupid.
Silently, I obeyed, without objection.
I picked up my heavy-looking sag and tucked it into the narrow space beside my feet, leaving it there as unceremoniously as a drunk slumped against the pavement outside a bar.
Next, as for hanging it: he was referring to the tiny metal hook that protruded from the side of the folder, clearly designed for holding lighter luggage, nothing like the one I'd brought. Good to know, I guess.
Brushing this aside, I redirected my attention back to him and resumed our objectively pointless conversation: «Alright, let's move on from this,» I redundantly resumed, leaning slightly. «Tell me, what's on the agenda?»
«Agenda...? W-What do you mean?»
«...What are we going to do next?»
What classes do we have first? That's the question I want to know, because I need to prepare myself psychologically and cognitively. If it's math, I might just scrape by without too much trouble, I think; If it's literature, though, I'm practically doomed. Reading and writing kanji? Nope!
«Oh… Uhm, well, nothing. Just the opening ceremony.»
«The openin—The what?»
For some inexplicable reason, I'd fully expected him to mention the start of a class right away, but instead, he brought up the inauguration of some institutional event. Was that what I'd been vaguely alluding to earlier with the "coliseum", mentioned by Ayame?
«Uh, yeah~, right! That thing... Pfft, completely forgot, ha-ha! What time does it start, by the way?»
He casted a glance at the clock perched before answering: «In forty minutes.»
«Wait, seriously? Shouldn't we be heading there now?»
«No. Well, yeah—you could, technically. According to the school's schedule, students are advised to arrive early, not excessively early. Unlike you. But if you show up before the recommended time, you're expected to remain in your assigned classroom until the designated instructor rounds us up and takes us to the coliseum. I'd be lying to you about whether or not it's possible to go there on your own.»
«Oh, okay...! And, when exactly is this teacher supposed to appear?»
«In about half an hour. Hey, Takumi, you're so out of it». In a tone of restrained exasperation, added: «You never answered me earlier. Did you stay up all night or... no, what happened?»
Shit, of course. I elliptically avoided said premeditated question because, in truth, the night before I'd been so unaccountable overwhelmed, stressed, traumatized—everything, damn it!—that sleep had flat-out rejected me.
To make matters worse, at some ungodly hour, I stumbled upon a jar of coffee stored in our house, which I didn't even know we had. And it was good—surprisingly good! But I'm certain it wasn't the caffeine that kept me awake; I just wanted to attribute it to something and blame it.
And when my alarm blared at 5:30 AM, I felt an overwhelming, primal urge to hurl it out the nearest window. Despite this, I was able to monitor my mind by counting, on the ceiling, the number of people I'd be forced to interact with. My own variation of counting sheep—by the way, the final tally landed at 239 students. Foreshadowing? Hope not.
What am I saying? Focus, goddam it: How do I respond?!
Beyond seeking enlightenment on how to initiate a conversation, I could also use some pro tips on dodging open-ended questions. Public speaking or verbal training courses? Either! That would make my life significantly easier and, ultimately, render me unstoppable.
«I was just looking some videos for, what, two hours? Hardly a noteworthy ordeal for people our age—most of whom willingly sacrifice sleep to stare like dumb-fucks at their phones, mesmerized, doing absolutely nothing else, you know?»
«So, you're saying that you were one of them?»
«Hah! No-no, I'm not that reckless. I turn it off when I'm supposed to be sleeping,» I stated, then immediately realized something.
Oops, that might've been an ironic little bombshell, considering that, to them, Takumi could probably be classified as one of those incompetent fools. I don't really know.
Notwithstanding the incertitude, I was rather confident—perhaps too much so—that the revered Nakamura was not only irrefutably attractive, but also a responsible and upright young man with an unwavering command of his duties and responsibilities.
«…I see,» his response was diplomatic at best. For now, I seemed to be in the clear.
«In any case,» he went on, «I'd advise you not to overdo it. You look exhausted today.»
«Oh, do I?»
«Mm-hmm. But, if memory serves me right, that's nothing new for you. A few months ago... like, days before Halloween: you told me you stayed up all night because you couldn't stop thinking about a girl from your neighborhood you thought was cute—one who invited you out for a walk. That's how you told me, remember?»
...I don't fucking believe it.
Holy fuck. What did I expect?
Perhaps I can correlate it with this fact: Before even attempting, in some way, to form a meaningful connection with Ayame, I was, by sheer necessity, required to meet with all the other maidens of the game.
Each of them, in their own distinct yet formulaic manner, was designed to stand out—to be unmistakably recognized as an important female character. This was achieved through their 2D—read: anime-style—illustrations that adorned the dialogue box in the lower third of the screen.
A smile, tearful eyes, a sharp glare, a fatigued expression—each meticulously rendered emotion felt as if it had been wrung out of the artists, held captive in some sick dungeon, forced to imbue these heroines with just enough vitality to placate their devoted, otaku audience.
But since they only had a few expressions at their disposal, their emotional range was as limited as their budget. But that's not particularly important, is it? I guess that was enough. How much more do geeks want: Ahegao? Fan-service, yall!
However, aside from this murky subject matter, I believe and confirm—through my incomplete experience with video games, as well as a rational understanding of how they work—that virtual world operated under the same unchanging set of expected rules.
Occasionally, I went out and, by pure coincidence, bumped into several young women, whom I was given the option to [talk] to, and the duty to invite them to a place to reinforce my experience in the "Friendly Communication" meter—a feature I considered logically indispensable to expand the protagonist's dialogue options.
Thought, here was the catch: these incidental girls lacked anime-style portraits. Their words appeared in the textbox, sure, but their identity was reduced to mere lines overlaid on a three-dimensional background. Consequently, I assumed their importance to the "story" itself was negligible; I relegated them to secondary characters.
And I'm absolutely, positively sure: Regardless of how I ran into that girl in Meguro, whom I was ostensibly supposed to ask out on a date—or at least, one who was heavily implied to be my first romantic outing—she had no impact on the game whatsoever. Her sole purpose was to give me points on the "Friendly Communication" meter.
Although, it doesn't make any sense
I had the impression that I hadn't had my first date yet.
My mind is blank. Was that it? If not: what was my first date? I don't remember! What a narcissist... No, that's normal. You'd only highlight the moments I considered significant or those that sparked my interest; if there aren't any, then it doesn't exist. Screw all that other crap!
Moreover, if this guy was suggesting that I'd been so enthralled by her that I physically couldn't sleep, shouldn't there have been some impact? The only legitimate reasoning I can come up with for a young Japanese man is that, essentially—given the numerous manga interpretations—he was absurdly inept at relating to women.
Takumi? Him? That's blasphemous!
Nonetheless, if you let me rack my rotten brain one more time... These feelings of joy, nervousness, or any semblance of emotion didn't actually seem to manifest in the game. In fact, I can't remember—there even existed such a meter, right?
Instead, it was simply described as: "I felt happy" or "I felt tired." If I had truly experienced any emotion, if anything had really mattered, it would have affected me, wouldn't it? Yet, I felt nothing. And, according to him, I was so stimulated that I lost sleep.
In conclusion, if there was no emotional change—which was conveyed to me in the game—then there must have been a physical change visible to only them. Do I have the same face now as I did that time? Who can say for sure? Certainly not me, but he does!
«I think it's normal for people our age to feel those kinds of excitements. We're going through all sorts of emotions, and I just got carried away» I commented reasoningly.
«Ah, yes. I suppose so. I couldn't say for sure, since I've never felt that way. But for you... This time it seems to have taken a toll on you, ha. They're not entirely visible, but… there are faint dark circles just beneath your eyes.»
Ah. I see. I see. That was pretty quick.
First, let's dissect his testimony. Yes—if one were to scrutinize my face with the same level of detail a jeweler inspects a precious stone, this would indeed be the most apparent flaw in my otherwise middling appearance: dark circles.
Just as this fine gentleman indicate, they're barely perceptible. So faint that you'd have to lean in closer—and too close, to the point of slapping you for invading my privacy—to even notice them. And that alone would be enough to deter most people.
However, given Takumi's characteristic exuberance, his perpetual and contagious fiery nature, looking at any notable anomaly from his everyday features would catalyze a veritable media, showbiz frenzy news, outrageous assumptions, and dramatic retellings from the first-year students about the how's and why's of this peculiar development.
Thus, this would also explain why Ayame felt compelled to warn me, only to hesitate and backtrack at the last minute. Perhaps, as odd as it may sound, she refrained from stating it outright so as not to be interpreted as intrusive into my facial care.
How sweet! In truth, I would display a similar attitude: if a girl, for example, appropriated false eyelashes because her natural ones were lacking—genetically or aesthetically—I would remain completely silent and leave her as normal.
In the case of my gloomy fence decorations, it constitutes a temporary change, nothing much. Which will most likely persist for a few days before returning to normal—that is, unless I continue with a cycle of bad sleep, which could turn them into a permanent feature.
Regardless, I have no intention of altering his look, tho. I had to consider the impact on those who had grown attached to the Takumi of now; I couldn't just shatter that image so carelessly, one must exercise a degree of empathy, after all.
As for Perfecta-san, despite not explicitly addressing it, she indirectly recommended that I wash my face—implying, in a roundabout way, that I should appear more ginger-up during the day and not like a zombie. Of all these traits, I highlight this inconsistency in her personality.
Of course, all of this is pure speculation on my part; I'm not asserting any of these observations as absolute truths. But I do enjoy watching people: analyzing the way they behave within their social circles, parsing out the subtleties of their interactions, and drawing conclusions about who they are is innate to me—and I would not leave it behind.
Returning to the matter at hand, he had confirmed that, at some point, I did look worn out; I took note of it. Without the slightest hint of distress, I responded: «Oh? You noticed?» Absentmindedly, my fingers stroked the lower eyelid.
«If someone stares at you long enough, it's not that hard to see.»
«Hmm... Yes, you're right. And you're not the only one who pointed it out. Ayame-san mentioned it too.»
«Aya... Matsuhira-san?»
I nodded before continuing, «She called it out, but not directly. She just yelled, 'Wash your face," and walked away.»
«I don't think that's how it works...»
«Me neither, but I'm sure she said that because she thought I was tired.»
«You do look tired. Wash your face again, water won't go to waste.»
«No... and I still haven't.»
As I was rushing to get to class, I accidentally missed the downstairs bathroom. I didn't have to do it right away, and I know there should be a bathroom on this floor, so I left it for later. But I regret it because I don't know where it's located exactly.
«Hm, really? Do it, then. What are you waiting for?»
«Nah, I'll take care of it before we head to the coliseum. We've got time,» A quick glance at the clock confirmed that only a few minutes had passed since I arrived.
«How indifferent. As soon as the teacher arrives, he won't let you go, you know? Before winter break, he said he'd be stricter. Maybe he's joking, but you never know with that guy. Just get it done,» he explained.
«...What a pain.»
Forgive me. The only way to avoid the request to go and get lost is to imitate the attitude of a lazy, apathetic idiot trying to sound cool.
«Do you really want people bombarding you with questions about how you look?»
I have no clue what this guy was getting at. «I'm not following. But this is about what you mentioned earlier, isn't it? About me being in this same situation before?»
He gave a disinterested nod. «Which is why I'm telling you—at the very least, freshen up so you don't look half-awake. It was so annoying the last time, because I was collaterally involved on it.»
«Alright, alright, I get it. I'll do it,» I relented, before shifting gears. «But first—can you do me a favor?»
«What?»
«Tell me what happened that time.»
Naturally, I was curious about the reactions this supposed "change" had triggered—if there had been any at all. Did they just assume I had a bad day?
Meanwhile, this gloomy individual gave me a weary look, resting his head on one arm against the desk as if he no longer had the energy to engage. Then, after a pause, he muttered, «I don't really remember.»
«Ow, really?»
«.....»
The silence dragged on.
«Come on, don't be like that. Just tell me.»
Please, spill it before I resort to dramatic self-endangerment just to prove how insistent I can be.
It was imperative for me to understand how these primates had responded to Takumi's state. This wasn't just about maintaining a likable image—it was about grasping the social dynamics at play. How others related to me versus how I related to them.
In the context of this physical reality, as I'd previously established, interactions like these never occurred in the game. There was no on-screen aftermath, no lingering consequences—just a quick fade to black, and then bam! The next day rolled in.
If that kind of continuity did exist, it would mark the undisputed pinnacle of hyper-realistic game design—requiring cutting-edge technology capable of encapsulating such nuanced data.
Discouraged, he exhaled in mild exhaustion before finally giving me something:
«The girls in our class—most of them, really—came up to you and asked what happened. "What's up with the face?". "Are you okay?". Their expressions were… I don't know, concerned? Sad? Something like that. But you just told them you'd been up gaming until midnight. They took it at face value and left it at that, that's it.»
Holy shit, that's impressive! What a barbaric thing to be popular in Japan! Even the infinitesimal deviation from normalcy was enough to have a whole crowd interrogating you like you'd survived a near-death experience.
«I see. And what happened with the second-year girl?»
«Why are you asking me that? You're not talking to her anymore?»
I don't know that girl, for fuck's sake! Just give me her name, dude.
«That's not an answer.»
«Neither was your question.»
«You're avoiding it!»
«I'm redirecting it. In any case, I wouldn't know how to answer.»
«Well, uh... I wouldn't say that we're not entirely talking. We just exchanged greetings and had some small chat here and there,» I improvised.
«Just that?»
«Just that.»
«Ohhhhhh! Well, that's a shame. She probably got a bad impression from that meetup.»
«What do you mean?»
«Like I told you before—you looked exhausted. I advised you to postpone, to reschedule for a time when you wouldn't appear as though you'd just clawed your way out of a grave, but you paid me no heed. You still went anyway. With her. And her friend too, I think.»
«Oh, really?»
I don't recall ever making such a desperate decision. For that matter, I also don't recall this guy ever giving me that advice. Which puts me in an interesting predicament.
Is it that I genuinely don't remember any of this? Or is it that none of it actually happened, and I'm just internalizing what he's saying as if it were real—when in fact, it was something that only played out in the game?
«"Oh, really?" What's with that? What's that supposed to mean?» He replied, sounding bitter.
«Nothing in particular, let's move on—»
«That's a lie,» he interrupted me. «Why are you deflecting?»
That's a convenient assumption. «I'm not doing anythi—»
«—Did you forget?» Yet again, interrupted.
«What...? No, I didn't say that.»
«So you remember?»
«Erm, n-no, well... I don't appreciate this interrogation!» I fight shy of answering.
He exhales, barely audible, the kind that suggests he's debating whether engaging with me is worth the energy. Then, he decides it is: «I don't really understand what's happening on your mind right now.»
«It's nothing, really. I just wanted to remember.»
«"Remember"?» He eyed me with mild suspicion, launched a dry laugh. «What's with the remember thing? Or, you just wanted me to spell it out for you? If it's so, then that sounded an awful lot like a narcissist trying to relive his most thrilling experiences through other people. That's too hideous.»
«Huh? N-not at all! What?» I let out a small, nervous laugh, brushing off his presupposition. «I just wanted to hear your version of events.»
«Why?»
«Because, I simply thought it was funny, that's all. Since, this time, nothing happened... You see? No one's approached me about it. Not a single soul. It's just been you two so far, and considering you're the ones closest to me, well, that hardly counts as a meaningful sample size, now does it?»
As I delivered that last line, I let my gaze drift across the classroom, scouring the nearly full rows of seats, with only a handful left unoccupied—purely for effectiveness, that's for sure.
«…Well, yeah, you've got a point. But—»
And just then, another voice cut through the air as someone approached.
«Morning, Takumi-kun»[6]
[1] 「あの、すみません！」
[2] 「なんだそれ？」
[3] 「挨拶」。
[4] 「挨拶？なんか...怖い、ハ。いや、初めてなんです。今までそんなことしたことなかったのに。ちょっと珍しかった」。
[5] 「...はい」
[6] 「よう、拓海くん」