The bathroom looked like a crime scene of steam and sandalwood-scented body wash. Water still dripped from the edge of the mirror, collecting in irregular puddles along the vanity. In the middle of it all stood Ren Fujiwara, towel low on his hips, hair damp and dark, eyes fixed on his own reflection with the reverence of a man greeting an old friend—and a rival.
"Damn," he whispered, voice rich with satisfaction. "You woke up *dangerous* today."
He turned his head slightly, letting the morning light slant across his face. It struck just right, highlighting the slope of his cheekbones and the well-timed artifice of his smirk. He flexed his bicep just enough to admire the lean muscle, the product of nightly push-ups and occasional bursts of guilt-fueled jogging.
"You're like if a Greek statue got into private school," he mused aloud. "If perfection had a face…"
He trailed off, narrowing his eyes. A single strand of hair—*one*—stuck stubbornly out of place, resisting the careful, wax-guided choreography he'd performed minutes earlier. He scowled.
"Betrayer," he muttered, patting it down with all the gravity of an international crisis.
Somewhere beyond the misty walls of his kingdom, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed closer. Then a hard knock on the door.
"*Ren!*" a familiar voice shouted. "You've been in there for almost an hour! Do you think mirrors are sentient or something?"
It was Yumi—older by two years and unblessed with the same level of facial symmetry, as she often pointed out in increasingly creative ways.
"I'm grooming excellence," Ren called back, smoothing down the edges of his towel. "Unlike you, I don't believe in public-facing mediocrity."
"Public-facing mediocrity has class in fifteen minutes."
Ren gave himself one final glance, tipping his chin upward. His reflection met his eyes with shared understanding: the world was waiting. And he was ready to grace it.
"Fine," he said, opening the door dramatically. Steam billowed out like he was making a concert entrance.
Yumi stood there with her arms crossed, wearing a half-zipped hoodie and a messy bun. "You *do* know you're not famous, right?"
Ren arched an eyebrow. "Not *yet*."
She muttered something about narcissism being genetic and turned away. He followed, smirking.
Downstairs, their home was alive with the low hum of news radio, the clink of cutlery, and the occasional frustrated muttering from the kitchen. Their mother, Akiko, stood at the stove, flipping eggs with surgical precision. Their father, Kenji, sat at the table with a black coffee and a stack of finance documents, already in full business mode.
"Morning," Ren said, breezing into the dining room with theatrical flair.
Akiko glanced over her shoulder and smiled. "You look nice today."
"Just nice?" Ren slid into his chair, reaching for the orange juice. "Mom, I look like I walked out of a luxury shampoo commercial."
Kenji didn't look up from his papers. "Try walking into your first class on time."
Yumi snorted as she took her seat. "He'll be too busy blessing the hallway with his aura."
Ren lifted a piece of toast with a regal air. "Can I help that others are drawn to excellence?"
Akiko placed a plate in front of him—eggs, two strips of bacon, and a slice of tomato. "Eat your breakfast, Your Majesty."
He did, between glances at the kitchen clock. First day of high school. A clean slate. A bigger stage. More people to win over, to impress. Not that he was worried—Ren had done well enough in middle school. Best grades, class president, voted "Most Likely to Become a Cult Leader" in the unofficial year-end poll. But high school? This was a fresh audience.
"By the way," Akiko said, breaking his thoughts, "Akari's waiting outside. Her mother texted me ten minutes ago."
Ren perked up.
Ah, Akari Tanaka. His childhood friend, neighbor, occasional moral compass. While Ren was busy plotting his social ascent, Akari had been the one dragging him back to Earth—usually by the collar.
"Of course she is," he said, standing and brushing nonexistent lint off his blazer. "Punctual as always. The pillar of stability in a chaotic world."
Yumi raised an eyebrow. "You mean she actually *leaves* the mirror when it's time?"
"I don't *linger*, I curate," Ren said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "There's a difference."
He gave his mother a peck on the cheek, nodded to his father, and strutted out the door, the morning sun gleaming off the polished leather of his loafers. The cool breeze felt almost choreographed. Even the clouds seemed to part obligingly.
Outside, Akari was leaning against the low stone wall in front of her house, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Her dark hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, her uniform crisp but not fussy. She wasn't the type to preen. She never had been.
She looked up as he approached, lips curling into a small, knowing smile. "You're late."
"I prefer to call it fashionably timed," Ren said, stopping in front of her with a mild flourish.
"You missed punctual by six minutes."
"Punctuality is a social construct," he replied smoothly. "Charisma is timeless."
Akari blinked. "You rehearsed that one, didn't you?"
Ren shrugged. "Maybe in the shower."
She started walking, and he fell into step beside her. Their strides matched without effort—something unspoken, etched from years of shared sidewalks and synchronized morning walks.
For a moment, there was silence. The kind only old friends could carry without discomfort. Their footsteps clicked against the pavement like a metronome.
"You're aiming for class rep again?" she asked finally, eyes straight ahead.
"Of course," he said, as if the answer had been obvious. "The people deserve leadership with vision and impeccable cheekbones."
"Right. And humility."
Ren gave her a sidelong glance. "Sarcasm is unbecoming in the presence of greatness."
She smirked. "I'll keep that in mind when I vote for literally anyone else."
Their laughter mingled in the morning air, light and easy. Ren shoved his hands in his pockets, posture relaxed. But somewhere beneath his smooth exterior, a thought lingered.
Akari had been acting a little... different lately. Nothing big. Just a delay in her smile, a longer pause before answering. Sometimes he caught her looking at him, then looking away too quickly. Maybe it was just nerves about starting high school. Or maybe it was something else.
But Ren Fujiwara wasn't the type to dwell. He preferred the spotlight to the shadows.
And today, the spotlight was just warming up.