My name is Hiroshi Tanaka. I'm a second-year student at Seinan High, a perfectly average high school in a perfectly average Japanese city. My grades are average, my looks are average, my athletic ability is less than average, and my social standing… well, let's just say I occupy a comfortable spot somewhere in the vast, unremarkable middle of the student hierarchy. I'm not bullied, I'm not popular, I just exist. I'm background noise in the grand symphony of high school life.
My one slightly-less-than-average trait is my dedication to the Classic Literature & Film Society. It's a small club, tucked away in a dusty corner room on the third floor, far from the boisterous Kendo club or the ever-popular Light Music club. We don't do much – mostly sit around, drink lukewarm tea, and discuss old movies or obscure novels that nobody else has read. It's quiet, it's peaceful, and it's the one place I feel like I belong. Or, felt like I belonged, until last week.
That's when Mr. Yoshida, our club advisor (a kindly old man who mostly uses the clubroom to nap), dropped the bombshell. Due to budget cuts and low student engagement scores, the school administration was reviewing all 'non-essential' clubs. Our Classic Literature & Film Society, with its seven members and zero public presence, was at the top of the chopping block. Unless we could demonstrate significant 'School Spirit' and raise our profile fast, we were going to be disbanded by the end of the semester.
Seven members. One of whom is Mr. Yoshida (mostly napping). Another is a third-year who's graduating soon. Two first-years who joined because they thought it was the "Classic Rock" club. That leaves me, plus Kenji Sato (my best friend, who joined purely out of pity) and Yuki Nakamura (the quiet, icy girl who might actually read the books but never speaks). Raising our profile seemed less likely than me spontaneously developing superpowers.
Which brings me to today. I was sitting in the clubroom during lunch, rereading a worn copy of Natsume Soseki's Botchan for the tenth time, trying to ignore the impending doom of our little sanctuary. Kenji was attempting to teach the two first-years the difference between 'classic literature' and 'classic rock anthems' – it wasn't going well. Yuki was staring out the window, likely contemplating the existential dread of sentence structure.
Suddenly, the sliding door to the clubroom burst open.
Not slid open gently, mind you. Burst open. Loudly. Dust motes danced in the shaft of sunlight that suddenly pierced the gloom of our quiet room.
And standing there, silhouetted against the bright hallway, was a figure so out of place, so utterly not part of our world, that I half-expected a celestial choir to start singing.
It was Sakura Yamato.
Sakura Yamato. The Sakura Yamato. The one who graces the cover of every school brochure. The one who wins every popularity contest without trying. The one with perfect grades, perfect looks, the star of the Drama Club, the Student Council Vice President. She moved through the school like a shimmering, unattainable goddess, surrounded by a constant buzz of admiration and whispers.
And she was standing in the doorway of the Classic Literature & Film Society clubroom, looking directly at me.
My internal monologue, usually a gentle murmur, turned into a full-blown panic alarm. Why? Why is she here? Did I accidentally step on her shoelace this morning? Did I somehow end up in the background of one of her effortlessly perfect social media photos looking awkward?
She took a step inside, and the room suddenly felt smaller, brighter, and infinitely more awkward. The two first-years stopped mid-debate about drum solos. Kenji choked on his tea. Yuki… well, Yuki just turned her head slightly, maintaining her aura of serene indifference, but even that felt like a significant reaction for her.
Sakura Yamato smiled. It wasn't her usual public, dazzling smile, but something softer, maybe a little nervous? It was unsettling.
"Tanaka-kun?" she said, her voice exactly as clear and pleasant as it sounded during morning announcements.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I managed a strangled "Y-yes, Yamato-san?"
She walked directly towards me, weaving between scattered stacks of old books and a teacup stain on the floor that resembled a Rorschach test. She stopped right in front of my desk, bathed in the dusty sunlight. I could smell her perfume – light, floral, completely unlike the scent of old paper and lukewarm tea I was used to.
"I need your help," she said, her voice lowering slightly, as if sharing a secret.
My help? The girl who probably has her pick of brilliant, athletic, or handsome allies needs my help? This was less likely than me finishing War and Peace in a single sitting.
"M-my help?" I stammered, probably sounding like a broken record.
She glanced around the room, at Mr. Yoshida lightly snoring, at Kenji frozen with a teacup halfway to his mouth, at the confused first-years, at Yuki's impassive profile.
"Yes," she confirmed, leaning in slightly. My brain short-circuited. Was she going to ask me to carry her books? Help her study for a test she probably already aced?
"Our club is in trouble," she stated plainly.
My confusion deepened. Her club? The Drama Club? Student Council? Those weren't exactly struggling. "Your... club?"
"This one," she clarified, gesturing around the dusty room. "The Classic Literature & Film Society."
My jaw might have hit the floor. Sakura Yamato? A member of our club? I'd never seen her here before. Was this a joke? Hidden cameras?
"Y-Yamato-san," I managed, finding a few more brain cells. "I... I don't think you're a member here."
A faint blush touched her cheeks. It was… incredibly disarming. "I'm not... officially," she admitted. "But my grandmother founded this club when she was a student here. It means a lot to my family. I've... I've been helping out behind the scenes sometimes. Don't tell anyone." She put a finger to her lips, a gesture so adorable and unexpected it nearly knocked the wind out of me.
Kenji made a small, choked sound. He was still frozen.
"Anyway," she continued, her voice regaining some of its earlier urgency. "Mr. Yoshida told me about the school's review. We need to prove the club is active, engaged, and popular to get funding and avoid being shut down. We need to win the 'School Spirit Project Contest'."
The School Spirit Project Contest. I'd heard about it. It was some new initiative by the Student Council (of which she was Vice President, of course) to promote school activities. You had to propose a project that showed 'school spirit' and got the whole school involved. The winners got a substantial budget increase and official recognition. Nobody in our club had even considered entering. Our 'project' was usually just deciding which obscure film to watch next month.
"The problem is," she lowered her voice again, looking directly into my eyes. Her gaze was intense, serious, completely focused on me. My average, background-noise self. "To win the contest, we need to make a splash. We need buzz. We need everyone talking about the Classic Literature & Film Society."
She paused, taking a deep breath. I braced myself. Was she going to ask me to make flyers? Set up a booth at the school gate? Start a blog about classic films?
"And the best way to get everyone talking," she finally said, her eyes shining with a strange mix of determination and... was that desperation? "...is if we... if you and I... pretended to be a couple."
The worn copy of Botchan slipped from my numb fingers and hit the floor with a soft thud.
Pretended to be a couple? Me? Hiroshi Tanaka, Mr. Background Noise? And Sakura Yamato, the unattainable school idol?
This wasn't just unlikely. This was impossible. This was the plot of a manga that would be immediately cancelled for being too unrealistic.
She watched my stunned silence, her expression anxious now. "I know it sounds crazy," she rushed on. "But think about it! The most popular girl in school, dating... well, dating you. It would be huge! Everyone would be talking. They'd get curious about why I'd date someone from this obscure club. They'd look us up! We could promote the club, get people interested in our projects, rack up 'engagement points' for the contest!"