April 10th, Kawaranai Private Middle School
Class 1-A.
It had been a little over a week since the new term began, and the thirty-something students in the classroom had more or less gotten to know one another.
There were more girls than boys, and most students had already found their place—small groups forming, little circles of friends overlapping here and there.
But among them, there was one clear exception.
Seated at the very back by the window was Minamoto Senya.
He was detached from the rest of the class. Every morning, he would walk in right on the bell, sit down without fuss, and rarely interacted with others. Except during lunch, when he occasionally joined two girls from another class, he was almost always alone.
If it were anyone else, that kind of behavior would have earned him the usual labels: "loner," "antisocial," "weird," or "problem child." And soon enough, everyone would've quietly avoided him, turning him into the kind of background character who spent all of middle school in gray obscurity.
But Senya was… different.
Not only was he tall, not only did he ace his tests—he was also, inconveniently, good-looking.
He didn't have to try. Just sitting there normally, the simple act of tilting his head or glancing up now and then was enough to make several girls' hearts race uncontrollably.
And the strangest part? They couldn't stop themselves.
Even if they told themselves not to look, their eyes would wander back on their own—like some sort of addiction.
One glance, and suddenly class wasn't boring anymore.
Another glance, and new inspiration would spark while they were stuck on a problem.
Senya, of course, was troubled by all of this.
He knew that everyone here was at that age. The so-called "beginning of adolescence." It was only natural that girls would grow curious about boys, feel a little flutter here and there—it was biology. A normal stage of self-awareness and development. Nothing strange about it.
But the problem was…
Did they all have to aim it at him alone?!
In just one week, he'd received five love letters and had been confessed to twice in person.
Because of that, he didn't even dare smile at school anymore—he kept his face carefully neutral.
And there was a reason for that.
Both times he was confessed to, the upperclassmen girls had insisted, "If you didn't like me, why would you smile at me like that?"
It was just basic politeness!
Wasn't Japan supposed to be the country of "reading the atmosphere"?!
That afternoon, when classes ended, two older girls from another class were waiting by the door of 1-A.
Both were managers of the baseball team. They said Senya had great physical ability and asked if he wanted to join the club.
But judging from their flushed cheeks and fidgeting eyes, baseball was very clearly not their true priority.
Naturally, Senya refused. He had zero interest in baseball.
To be fair, the girls weren't bad-looking. In fact, they'd probably be considered cute. But no matter how cute, there was no way Senya could be interested.
Why? Because at the end of the day, they were still middle schoolers.
Sure, men were simple creatures. No matter how old, they always liked young, pretty women.
Senya was a man too—he wasn't above that.
But even he had a line.
For him, "young" started at eighteen.
Anyone younger than that? Just kids.
Love? Dating? Please.
Have you finished your homework? Passed your tests? What? You didn't even get first place in class, and you're talking about love?! (← inner dog-head emoji, self-preservation activated.)
Go back and study!
Of course, he only thought this inside. Outwardly, he wasn't rude.
So Senya carefully maintained a cold, aloof air—distant enough to stop the hormonal fireworks from exploding around him, but not so rough that he came off as a jerk.
"Why so slow?"
At the shoe lockers, Takanashi Rikka casually asked when Senya finally showed up.
"Something came up in class," he replied, pulling open his locker. A small, pink piece of paper fluttered out.
"…Another one, huh."
Beside him, Sawamura Eriri bent down, picked it up, and handed it back without even peeking inside.
The first time she learned her childhood friend was getting love letters, she had panicked—so much so that she immediately messaged Yukinoshita Yukino (who was all the way in England now) and the two had a frantic late-night chat about it.
But now? She was numb. Calm. Growth. That was maturity, right?
Senya glanced at the note. Same as usual: polite words, vague hints of affection, a request to be friends, and a social media ID at the end.
The standard school love letter template. Direct, dramatic "I like you, please go out with me!" confessions were actually rarer.
With his "God's Eye" ability, Senya noticed three girls hiding by the corner wall, sneaking glances his way.
He sighed and pocketed the letter. It wasn't acceptance, but throwing it away here would crush some poor girl's feelings.
Senya wasn't cruel. If it was something small he could do to spare someone's heart, he would.
Later at home, he'd toss it quietly. No reply, no contact—that way the girl would understand without getting hurt too badly.
The three of them—Senya, Rikka, and Eriri—left school together.
As usual, Rikka started pulling snacks out of her pocket and stuffing them into Eriri's hands.
And when her pockets ran dry, she opened her backpack—also crammed full.
Eriri blinked.
"Rikka, did you… raid your family's snack cabinet today?"
"Nope! These are all from friends in class."
"Your friends' families run convenience stores?"
"It wasn't one person—it was a lot of people."
Rikka cheerfully dumped half her loot into Eriri's arms before explaining further:
"It's all thanks to Senya. The girls in my class are obsessed with him, so they keep pestering me for details. I tell them a little, and they shower me with snacks as thanks."
Senya gave her a side-eye. "You didn't spill anything private, did you?"
"Of course not! They're all nice girls. I told them I can't give out your contact info, or you'd be mad at me, so they stopped asking. Instead, they just want to know small things—what you eat, what books you read, little stuff like that."
Senya nodded. That much was harmless.
Then Rikka suddenly burst out laughing. She tugged Eriri's sleeve. "The funniest part, Eriri—you know how they describe Senya?"
"…How?"
"They say, 'He's so aloof, standing apart from everyone like a lone wolf. Even when he lowers his gaze in silence, there's this cool, world-weary aura about him…!'"
"Pfft—!"
Eriri's laugh was instant. Over-the-top, sparkly-Mary-Sue-level praise like that? She couldn't hold it in.
"I think they're exaggerating. Senya just looks… average."
Senya glared back at her. "Average?"
Caught off guard, Rikka turned away quickly, flustered, and forced herself to face Eriri again.
"Er-Eriri, you're probably treated the same in your class, right?"
"…Yeah. About the same."
That's what Eriri said. But inside, she was groaning. Not even close.
Rikka had it easy. As Senya's little sister, she was safe—no one hated her. In fact, girls treated her like a cute mascot, doting on her.
Eriri? Totally different.
Someone had spread a rumor that she and Senya had been going to school together since elementary—and were dating.
At first, Eriri's naïve little heart had fluttered at the idea. But very quickly, she noticed the other girls' glares.
She panicked. Fast.
So she squashed the rumor herself—loudly declaring that she and Senya were just childhood friends, nothing more. Only then did the tense atmosphere dissolve.
And she hadn't told anyone about it. Not even Yukino, who she usually messaged about everything.
Because if she admitted it out loud, something about their pure, innocent friendship might change forever.
The three chatted as they left the school grounds.
Their junior high was a bit far from home, so they usually commuted by train.
But after a short distance, Senya stopped. He pointed at a bubble tea shop nearby.
"You two go wait there. I forgot something at school. I'll be right back."
Rikka and Eriri went ahead. Senya, however, doubled back—slipping into a narrow alley instead.
He walked a few steps in until his "God's Eye" activated.
The situation at the end of the alley was clear: one blond-haired boy facing off against three others. They were all about his age—middle schoolers.
The blond was mouthing off nonstop, his voice carrying down the alley, but the other three were the ones who looked menacing.
Senya zoomed in mentally, checking their sleeves, belts, and bags. No weapons.
Good enough.
He walked straight in.
No punches, no shoves. He didn't even have to raise his voice.
At 174 centimeters, broad-shouldered and athletic, Senya's sheer presence was enough.
He put an arm around the blond kid's shoulder and, without a word, simply walked him out.
The three would-be thugs, unsettled by his confidence, actually let them go.
[You defused a street fight. Physique +0.1]
"…S-senpai! Thank you! But… do you even know me?"
Just minutes ago, the blond had been cursing like a delinquent. But now, faced with Senya, he was suddenly respectful.
"No. I just happened to pass by. Didn't like the odds—three against one. And with your arm already hurt, you shouldn't be fighting anyway."
Normally, Senya wouldn't even bother talking to punks like this. But hey, the system gave him a stat boost. Worth the words.
With that, he left.
Behind him, the blond bowed deeply, clutching his bandaged arm.
Fate has a funny way of working.
The very next morning, Senya stepped into class—only to see the blond kid from yesterday.
Eyes going wide, the boy rushed over and practically prostrated himself.
"Holy crap, my savior! We're in the same class?!"