The first day of 10th grade!
—My name is Tuna Corne, just an ordinary student. Or rather, someone completely unremarkable. I'm not good at studying, I'm terrible at sports, and I suck at communication. To be honest, I get nervous whenever I talk to anyone outside my family.
The schoolyard was packed that morning. Eleventh and twelfth graders were already sitting neatly in two rows, leaving a wide space in the middle to welcome the "new recruits" of grade 10. ... But to me, there was nothing interesting about it. The music, the whispering, the constant noise—it all just felt like a crowded marketplace.
The head teacher stood on the stage, microphone in hand, welcoming us freshmen and prompting the upperclassmen to give their applause. After that came the performances of the older students. Meanwhile, I sat under the sun, drenched in sweat—not because of the weather, but because of the stifling, suffocating atmosphere around me.
When the ceremony finally ended, my classmates and I followed our homeroom teacher—a stern old woman who taught math, and who would be stuck with us for the next three years.
She led us into our classroom. I glanced around, scanning each face. Disappointment crept in when I realized not a single one of my old middle school friends was here.
And so, the first day of the new school year began.
Everyone else quickly found friends to chat with, some even reuniting after a long break. They bragged about their summer trips, their fun memories, their little adventures... Meanwhile, I sat at a corner desk against the wall, resting my chin on my hand, staring blankly out the window, just wishing time would move faster. I still had unfinished things waiting at home, after all.
... Honestly, there's nothing remarkable about me.
Studying? My grades are all over the place—just barely enough so the teachers don't call my parents, and just enough to scrape by.Sports? Sorry, but I can't even kick a ball properly. When the P.E. teacher makes us run laps, I always get a sharp pain in my stomach—a sign of my lack of exercise. Personality? To put it bluntly, I'm an introvert. I'm bad at talking to people, and because of that, I've never had a real close friend. I can spend three minutes thinking about the right way to say "hello," and still end up saying nothing at all.
Maybe the only thing that makes me different from the crowd... is my love for writing stories.
Ah—well, not drawing manga or anything like that. My art is terrible. What I actually do is write "light novel" style stories. I can't draw to bring them to life, so I put all my ideas into a small notebook I always keep hidden, like it's a secret no one can ever discover. That drawer full of notebooks in my room—that's my whole little world, built by my own hands. Even if nobody ever reads them, they mean everything to me. If anyone ever found out about this hobby, I'd probably just run off to live in the mountains out of embarrassment.
After spending half a year at this new school, I didn't feel excited or impressed by anything. I hadn't made a single friend. My old classmates never texted or invited me anywhere. Maybe it's just my personality—maybe nobody likes me?
Speaking of summer break, I remember last year's clearly. The one right before entering high school. I spent the entire vacation eating, sleeping, going to cram school, and writing stories. That was it. No friends, no messages, no meetups—just family. A whole summer like that... boring, right?
But actually, during that summer, there was one person I couldn't stop thinking about.Her name was Malid—a girl from my middle school. We weren't close, but she was always the center of attention in class, full of energy and brightness. While I, on the other hand, was invisible to everyone for four years.
I still remember the day she smiled at me once. Just that small smile left me with a warm, floating feeling that lasted the entire day. Something I couldn't put into words, but it made me strangely happy. Of course, an introvert like me, who hides away at home all the time, would never have the courage to confess.
*Introvert = a shy, inward personality type. Not the same as depression or social isolation.*
This summer, I repeated the same routine as last year. But with a sense of disappointment this time—because in just two years, I'll be graduating. As for her, even though we still attend the same school, we hardly ever cross paths anymore. Just the occasional glimpse when we pass by each other in the hallway.
I never once texted her. Never once dared to strike up a conversation. I didn't have the courage.
And so, in the back of my mind, one thought remained:
'She'll probably forget about me, just like everyone else.'
I knew it already. The moment we entered high school, I had long since fallen out of her orbit.