The bell rang, echoing through the hallways like a reminder that the break had finally ended.
Outside the cafeteria, after they left, Marin was still talking excitedly, gesturing with her hands as she walked Isagi back to the classroom.
"So I thought about using a lighter fabric for the inner lining, you know? Because if the event I plan to attend wearing it is in a hot place, I'll die if I use something too heavy!"
"That makes sense," Isagi replied casually. "But you wouldn't want to sacrifice the look, right?"
"Obviously not! Style first! I want it to be as faithful as possible!" She raised her index finger, as if proclaiming a universal law.
The sound of their footsteps echoed in the lit corridor, mixed with the chatter of other students returning to their classrooms. Marin walked beside him, talking animatedly, her body moving in such a natural and expressive way that even the students passing by couldn't help but look.
Some whispered about him too, and Isagi pretended not to notice.
"You're laughing inside, aren't you?" Marin asked suddenly, narrowing her eyes.
"About what?"
"About me talking nonstop. I bet you're thinking: 'Here she goes again, chattering away.'"
"Maybe a little..." He replied. "But it's nice to see someone so excited. You're really fun, Kitagawa-san."
She looked away, pretending to fiddle with her hair, but the slight blush betrayed her contained smile.
When they reached the classroom door, the hallway noise seemed to fade. As soon as Isagi pushed the door open and entered, the room froze for half a second—just enough for everyone to notice who had just walked in.
"Isagi-kun! You're finally here!"
"Dude, the game was insane!"
In moments, a small crowd formed around him. Boys, girls, even people from other classes who had come "just to see the hero of the 7-0" and hadn't had the chance earlier because they couldn't find him during the break!
Isagi raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, his smile somewhat awkward.
"Hey, calm down… I haven't even sat down yet."
Marin, beside him, seemed to be enjoying the scene. She waved to those calling her, laughed at the teasing, and even gave quick replies to her friends when someone asked if the two of them were "dating," to which she simply responded that they were friends and that he was helping her with her cosplay projects. But for some people in the room, that "answer" didn't smooth things over.
The few students who didn't enthusiastically stand up or rush toward the school's "new star" were Ishigami and Sakuta. They exchanged a brief glance, as if they had thought exactly the same thing. Besides them, only a few others stayed in their seats—the ones too "shy" to approach. In Ishigami and Sakuta's case, however, the reason was different: both fit better into the "loner" category and saw no reason to try talking to someone so popular.
Meanwhile, Isagi struggled to break free from the classmates surrounding him. Marin had already headed to her seat, and he finally managed to reach his, right next to Alya. The silver-haired girl with eyes as blue as the Russian winter watched him in silence, with a smile... dangerously polite, one he had noticed since entering the classroom.
When he sat down, still adjusting his backpack beside the desk, she finally spoke, in a low and melodic tone, but with venom in her words:
"Какой же ты дурак..."
("What an idiot you are...")
Isagi blinked, pretending not to understand: "Hm? What was that?"
Alya tilted her head slightly, her expression unchanged as she spoke sarcastically: "Oh, nothing much, Isagi. I was just thinking about how you seem to be... enjoying your new popularity. The school's soccer hero, surrounded by fans and smiles everywhere. Must be nice, right?"
He let out a tired sigh, resting his chin on his hand: "You talk as if I had planned this... Honestly, I didn't think it would be such a big deal. I thought not everyone liked soccer..."
Indeed, one of the reasons he found all the attention strange was precisely that: not everyone shared the same passion for the sport. Although soccer was the most popular in the world and held an almost cultural space in so many countries, there were those who simply didn't identify with its dynamics, rules, or competitive atmosphere.
For some people, the thrill of a goal or the tension of a decisive dispute didn't spark the same gleam in their eyes as it did in ardent fans. Many saw it merely as another form of entertainment, and others associated it with rivalries, fan exaggerations, or even saturation in the media. There were also those who preferred individual sports, where the spotlight came from personal technique rather than teamwork. And, of course, there were those who harbored a slight antipathy from childhood, when they were the last to be picked in school games.
Well, the only explanation he could find for drawing so much attention, even considering that not everyone liked sports, was simple: perhaps people didn't care about every play or goal, but still felt curious to meet, talk to, or be near someone everyone was "watching." After all, fame turns the individual into a point of reference, a symbol of skill, effort, or social recognition, capable of sparking admiration even among those who don't share interest in what he does. By analogy, fame created a kind of symbolic "aura": being near someone recognized was, in a way, absorbing a bit of the value others perceived in that person.
Psychologically, this activated mechanisms of validation and belonging, but deep down, that hardly mattered now...
Anyway, he didn't worry whether everyone loved or hated him. He was already used to much more fame than receiving recognition from thousands of students at a high school.
After hearing his words, Alya crossed her arms, her lips curving into a half-smile that mixed irony and a touch of poorly disguised jealousy: "Well, it seems people change their tastes when the school's star player has a certain charm, don't they?"
Isagi looked away, pretending to fiddle with his backpack zipper. He knew exactly where that conversation was heading.
"Charm? You're seeing too much, Alya."
"Ах, да (Oh, yes)?" She replied in Russian, arching an eyebrow with the cold tone she always used when jealous: "So it's a coincidence that you and Kitagawa-san seem so... close, isn't it?"
He let out a short sigh.
"We just talk. She likes cosplay, and I'm helping, that's all."
Alya tilted her head, her blue gaze cutting like freshly formed ice.
"Helping..." She repeated, as if savoring the word. "Interesting. I didn't know a soccer player understood so much about fashion."
"I don't..." He replied, shrugging. "But she talks with so much excitement that it's kind of hard not to want to help."
"Mm." A short sound, almost a murmur of disdain, escaped her lips. "So that's it. You let yourself get carried away by girls' excitement now."
"The way you said it, it sounds like I committed a crime."
Alya crossed her legs elegantly and glanced at him sideways, her blue eyes gleaming under the soft classroom light.
"It's not a crime. It's just... curious. You never had so much time for me before, with all your soccer training and everything..."
Her words sounded light, almost casual, but there was a hint of bitterness hidden in the tone. She looked away for a moment, as if fighting her own vulnerability. Normally, she would have said that in Russian, a habit she kept whenever the topic involved her feelings. It was her way of protecting herself, hiding what she really felt behind a language Isagi didn't fully understand yet. Lately, it was true, she had been opening up more to him. She talked more, praised him, teased him, and did so even without resorting to "Russian." Still, there were topics she preferred to keep to herself, even when turning them into words. After all, she was too proud to show herself completely, and too vulnerable to admit why.
But this time, no.
Because deep down, she knew: if she kept hiding her own envy and jealousy behind a foreign language, Isagi might drift away. Worse, he might get closer to those girls...
And just imagining that, something inside her burned—a bitter mix of jealousy and fear she would never have the courage to admit out loud.
She hated that feeling.
But the instant the words left her lips, a pang of regret pierced her chest. Maybe she had been too impulsive...
Isagi blinked, surprised by the sincerity that had slipped into the phrase. "Huh? What kind of comparison is that?"
"A very logical one." She looked toward the window, the sunlight tinting her silver hair: "I've been your desk partner for almost a year. You never showed so much enthusiasm talking to me."
"You don't talk about cosplay or lining fabric..." He replied in a playful tone, trying to ease the tension.
Alya turned her face slowly, and the smile she displayed was pure sarcasm.
"You're right. I talk about boring things, like treasury accounts, reports, and spreadsheets."
"You talk about what interests you, and she talks about what interests her. I don't see a problem with that."
She tapped her pen against her notebook, the sharp sound echoing in the brief pause between words. "You don't see a problem with anything, Isagi. That's your problem."
He frowned, not fully understanding what she meant—and Alya noticed it immediately, letting out a small laugh, the kind that mixed irony and... something more fragile, hidden deep down.
"Иногда ты такой слепой…"
("Sometimes you're so blind…")
"You know I don't understand when you talk like that."
"It's on purpose. I said you're a tremendous idiot..." She replied with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
For a moment, the air between them seemed to freeze. Alya went back to writing something in her notebook, the soft sound of the pencil breaking the silence.
Isagi glanced at her...
"Hey..." he said, after a few seconds. "You're jealous, is that it?"
Alya stopped writing. Just for a second, but enough for the silence to answer for her.
Then, with the calm of someone preparing a final blow, she resumed writing without looking at him.
"Не будь глупцом, Исаги."
("Don't be an idiot, Isagi.")
He sighed, leaning back in his chair.
"I'll pretend that was a compliment."
"Do whatever you want," she replied, with the same cold tone as before.
A few minutes later, the sound of firm footsteps echoed through the hallway. The chatter in the room began to die down as the door opened and the math teacher, Morita-sensei, entered, balancing a stack of books and a worn folder under his arm.
"Good afternoon, class."
His voice was firm, yet carried a certain calm that contrasted with the chatter that soon ceased. He adjusted his glasses, looked around, and upon noticing Isagi, a discreet smile appeared on his face.
"Ah, Isagi-kun!" He said, confident and even a bit proud: "Before we start... Great job earlier. I saw the game. Seven to zero, right? Very impressive. You showed the kind of control and instinct a national-level striker needs to have."
A murmur ran through the room, and some classmates looked at him again with renewed curiosity. Marin, in the other corner, waved discreetly and smiled, as if saying, see? I told you you were amazing.
"Ah, thank you, professor..." Isagi scratched the back of his neck: "It was a team effort, actually."
Alya, beside him, watched in silence. Her expression revealed nothing—neither pride, nor jealousy, nor disdain. But inside, her chest tightened in a strange way. It was inevitable to feel a tiny bit of pride too...
Morita-sensei then turned to the rest of the class. "Anyway, let's start the lesson. Open your books to page fifty-three."
The students obeyed, still whispering among themselves. When the sound of turning pages filled the room, Isagi let out a relieved sigh and tried to focus, but the light tap of a pen on his arm caught his attention.
Alya was there, pretending to take notes, without looking at him.
"Congratulations," she murmured softly, almost inaudible—a rare compliment from her.
"For the game? Ah, right. You didn't even congratulate me earlier or anything, remembered that now?" He asked, surprised.
"It's not for that, Hmph..." She huffed, remembering him surrounded by several girls, and said: "It's for the recognition. It's rare to see Morita-sensei praising someone."
Isagi blinked, surprised. "Oh… thanks."
The math class proceeded calmly, between explanations on the board and the occasional creak of desks being shifted.
Marin seemed completely lost in the numbers, resting her chin in her hands, her gaze blank, as if trying to decipher an alien language. Ishigami, meanwhile, slept with his head down, and Sakuta doodled something that clearly had nothing to do with equations.
Isagi, on the other hand, alternated between following the material and casting discreet glances at Alya. She seemed so focused that it gave the impression she was solving a life-or-death problem. But the reason for watching her so much wasn't exactly poetic. He simply didn't know how to deal with a possessive and jealous girl... especially one who wasn't even his girlfriend. Especially when it became clear she was upset by his lack of attention...
He felt torn.
When he was reborn in this world, everything was a novelty: the supernatural appearance of certain girls, the caricatured way some gestures and emotions were exaggerated, the latent powers many possessed as in the case of his recent friends from the Miracle Generation, and, of course, the fact that he was living in a universe based on a manga. At first, it wasn't intimidating; on the contrary, he felt curious and excited. Inheriting the memories of the body's previous owner helped ease the strangeness: he already knew how to relate to friends, how to handle his daily life.
However, as the days passed and he interacted with people like Alya, Kaguya, Yuki, and, more recently, Marin, something inside him began to change. Like any other Brazilian in his situation, he should just say fuck it and enjoy the fact that they seemed to be in love with him, but he had already decided not to be that much of an asshole to girls who didn't deserve it on the day he went out with some of them for dinner along with the student council.
What he felt now was a complicated emotion, mixing guilt and desire: guilt for getting distracted with personal relationships, desire to be close to people who, in some way, had already claimed a space in his heart. He never wanted to choose between being the best striker and being a friend or confidant; but in practice, that balance proved much harder than he had imagined...
And he was "excited" about his first official match in that world. On the field, he had decided he would deal with the situation until the Inter High; the problem would just be figuring out exactly how to do it without complicating things too much...
Unfortunately, it seemed his "gaze" hadn't gone unnoticed. Alya frowned, and a slight blush colored her cheeks, revealing that she had noticed the attention he was giving her.
"You're staring at me again," she murmured, without lifting her eyes from the notebook.
"How do you know?"
"You always get too quiet when you're thinking something stupid."
"..."
Time passed slowly after that. The sun began to set, casting orange tones through the windows, and the gentle afternoon warmth filled the room. The sound of chalk scratching the board, Morita-sensei's muffled voice, and the distant hum of the fans created a hypnotic rhythm, typical of the end of classes...
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