Miyamoto Soshi never asked for a second life.
In fact, for the last ten years, he didn't even realize he had one.
He woke up one morning in a small apartment with two tired but kind parents—mid-tier salary workers, never too poor, never too rich, just floating in a sea of average—and that was his world. The memories of a past life were locked away somewhere, buried under the monotony of homework, cheap supermarket bentos, and the smell of detergent his mother used on everything.
He wasn't special.
Not smart. Not dumb. Not talented. Not useless.
Just… there.
A quiet kid who blended into the greys of life.
The only thing that stood out were the tattoos—black ink running across his chest and back like the remnants of a past he couldn't remember—and the rings that lined each finger. And the pony-tailed black hair tied loosely at the back of his head. And the muscular body he'd built through a decade of instinct-driven parkour practice, something his body did before his mind questioned why.
These things made people think: delinquent.
Soshi knew: misunderstood, but too tired to correct anyone.
And then came admission day.
The day everything shifted.
The day he realized he wasn't just living life—He'd been inserted into a story. And not just any story.
A world called—"Classroom of the Elite."
He didn't scream. He didn't panic. He simply blinked once, muttered, "…You gotta be kidding me," and shoved his hands into his pockets as if this were some minor inconvenience.
Because now, he wasn't just Miyamoto Soshi—He was Miyamoto Soshi from Class 1-D.A canon side character no one cared about, appearing occasionally in background panels and anime frames.
And the worst part?
He still had to pretend he wasn't a guy who knew the entire plot.
The bus was crowded—far too crowded for a peaceful morning.
Soshi stood near the back, one hand gripping the overhead strap, the other shoved in his pocket. His posture was loose, relaxed, the picture of someone who looked like trouble but felt nothing.
His ponytail swayed slightly as the bus rattled forward.
A soft grunt caught his ear.
He glanced sideways. An old woman had boarded, hunched and breathing heavily, and there were zero available seats.
Of course trouble followed him.
A well-dressed businesswoman noticed and addressed a boy sitting in the priority seat.
A boy with an arrogant face and smug mouth—one Soshi remembered well.
Ah. This scene. He knew the script.
The businesswoman politely asked, "Could you give up your seat for her?"
The boy scoffed, looking down his nose. "Why should I? I got here first."
Soshi exhaled quietly. Yep. That's exactly what he says.
The atmosphere thickened. The bus squeezed tighter. Eyebrows raised, whispers spread, irritation grew.
A high school girl—soft-spoken at first glance, but determined beneath—stepped forward.
Kikyō Kushida.
She tried to mediate.
The boy refused again.Louder. Ruder.
She then pleaded to the rest of the passengers.
"Is anyone willing to give up their seat for this grandmother?"
Silence.
Nobody moved.
Soshi didn't move either.
Not because he didn't want to.
But because ten years of blending in told him: Never draw attention. Especially not when your arms are covered in tattoos you can't show, you have rings on every finger, and your face makes children cry at convenience stores.
He watched Kiyotaka Ayanokōji from the corner of his eye.
Kiyotaka seemed to reach the same conclusion: Don't get involved.
Soshi's gaze drifted to the girl next to him—a quiet one, black hair, reserved aura.
Horikita.
Eventually another woman—someone normal, sane, and not stuck inside the plot—gave up her seat.
The tension evaporated like steam from a bath.
People exhaled. The bus returned to being a bus.
Kiyotaka sat quietly, eyes distant.
Soshi?He was simply glad the script moved on without forcing him into the spotlight.
He preferred being part of the scenery.
The bus rolled to a stop.
Students flowed out.
Soshi stepped onto the pavement, stretching his arms. His shirt lifted slightly, revealing a trace of ink across his ribs. Some students stared, startled.
A girl stepped into Kiyotaka's path.
Horikita Suzune.
"You were staring at me earlier," she said.
Kiyotaka calmly denied it, and the two slipped into a short discussion about the bus incident.
Soshi listened from a distance, hands still in pockets.
Ah right… this talk happens. But I can't involve myself.
He simply walked past them, pretending not to care, even though his entire internal monologue was commentary.
Entering Class 1-D
The classroom buzzed with the typical "first day" energy.
Students chatting. Some shy. Some loud. Some already forming cliques.
Soshi stepped inside.
Silence spread like someone unplugged a speaker.
Not surprising. A muscular guy with a ponytail, multiple rings, and an aura of "I don't follow rules" tends to have that effect.
He ignored the stares, walked to the back, and sank into a seat near the window.
His goal?
Blend in.
Unfortunately, his mere existence ruined that plan.
Whispers began.
"Is he a repeater?"
"Look at his arms—does he work out?"
"Are those… rings? Dude has more accessories than my sister."
"He looks scary…"
Great, he thought. Just great.
He leaned back, closing his eyes, pretending to nap until the teacher arrived.
All according to his ultimate stealth strategy:
If you ignore society hard enough, society eventually ignores you.
Most of the time.
Kiyotaka entered shortly after and scanned the room. His gaze paused on Soshi for half a second, as if wondering if the school allowed adult men disguised as students.
Then Kiyotaka continued on, sat down, and the day resumed.
Students filed in.
Then—the jerk from the bus swaggered inside.
"Oi oi, made it before homeroom. Lucky me!"
Yamauchi. Predictably loud. Predictably annoying.
Soshi sighed. At least consistency is comforting.
The door slid open sharply.
A woman with no smiles and all edges strode in.
Sae Chabashira.
"Everyone, take your seats."
Chairs scraped.
Eyes forward.
"Welcome to Class 1-D. I am your homeroom teacher."
She handed out booklets, explained school policy, and then moved to the real bomb:
Student ID cards.
Monthly points.
100,000 points deposited already.
Gasps erupted.
"Wha—100k?!"
"That's insane!"
"Yo, we can buy anything!"
Soshi remained still.
He already knew the truth. Class D would burn through their points, and the school would let them crash.
Still…
100,000 points did feel good.
Even for him.
Chabashira dismissed them.
Students erupted into chatter.
A boy with clean features and a kind smile—Yōsuke Hirata—stood and addressed the class.
"Let's introduce ourselves!"
Haruki Yamauchi heckled. Kikyo Kushida introduced herself mind-blowingly well. Hirata radiated sunshine. Kokoro Inogashira and a few others followed.
Then—conflict.
Some resisted Hirata's method. Some students left.
Horikita walked out too.
Kōenji flexed hair and ego. Kanji Ike yelled something idiotic.
And then Ayanokōji gave a dry, awkward introduction that made people tilt their heads.
Soshi kept quiet.
He didn't introduce himself. No one asked him.
His entire goal—remain unimportant—succeeded flawlessly.
He mentally high-fived himself.
After the ceremony, Soshi lingered a bit, letting crowds pass.
He stayed behind Ayanokōji by a few meters, unconsciously tailing him as if observing the protagonist from afar.
Horikita and Ayanokōji chatted near the store.
Then—a commotion.
"S-Seriously?! I forgot my card!"
Sudō was loudly complaining to the clerk.
Ayanokōji paid for him.
They stepped outside.
Soshi leaned against a tree, pretending to scroll through his phone while listening.
Sudō and Horikita bickered sharply; Horikita left in irritation.
Ayanokōji and Sudō sat to eat.
Soshi considered joining them but stopped.
Two reasons:
He didn't want to accidentally push the plot off its rails.
Ayanokōji might assume Soshi was part of some gang.
So Soshi drifted toward a vending machine instead.
Direct involvement? No thanks.
But he watched when older students hassled Ayanokōji and Sudō.
Older students glancing at Soshi's silhouette quickly avoided his direction, whispering something like:
"Don't pick fights with Class D…? Even they have scary guys?"
Soshi snorted quietly.
If only they knew I just wanted to drink my lemon tea in peace.
Soshi entered the dorm with the same relaxed posture, taking the handbook from the desk attendant.
His room—small, perfect, peaceful.
He tossed his bag onto the bed, pulled off his rings, and laid them neatly on the desk.
His ponytail loosened, hair falling partially over one eye.
He flipped through the handbook.
Rules. Regulations. Behaviour codes.
A perfect system for controlling students.
He understood the intention behind it. He understood how the school manipulated and studied them.
He understood too much.
But he also understood himself:
He didn't want trouble. He didn't want attention. He didn't want to become a player in a psychological battlefield.
All he wanted was—freedom.
The chance to do whatever he wanted with no parents hovering. No expectations. No lights on him.
Just a quiet life.
He stretched, muscles shifting under the ink of his tattoos.
"Starting today… Miyamoto Soshi begins his peaceful background character arc."
He lay down on the bed, closing his eyes.
This school might be a maze. A battlefield or survival game.
But for him—it was the perfect place to disappear.
Or so he thought. Because little did he know—a delinquent-looking, muscular, tattooed guy in Class 1-D was anything but invisible.
And the story had already taken notice.