A week had passed since the beginning of classes. For most students, time slipped away quickly, filled with chatter, shopping trips, and meaningless exchanges. For me, the days were silent, predictable, and hollow. I had no intention of blending into their circle, no desire to befriend or join their foolish attempts at creating bonds. To me, all of it was noise.
But today, the silence in the classroom carried a different weight. The air was tense. For the first time, I could sense unease hidden beneath the confident expressions of my classmates.
The first exam had arrived.
When I entered the classroom, several students were laughing and exchanging snacks, as if today was no different from any other day. Some of the boys reclined casually in their seats, smirking at one another. They had no idea what awaited them.
The truth was simple: failure wasn't just a number on paper in this school. Unlike them, I had already suspected that the system would punish carelessness. A single mistake could cost them more than they realized. Yet, they treated this exam like a game.
The door opened, silencing the small talk. Saeko Shizuru, our homeroom teacher, entered with a bundle of test papers in her hands. Her heels clicked sharply against the floor, each step echoing inside the room like a reminder that playtime was over.
"Good morning, class," she said in a flat, professional tone. "As you all know, today marks your first examination. You will have exactly one hour. No questions, no excuses. Your performance will determine more than you realize."
Some students exchanged glances but quickly dismissed her words. I noticed smirks, even rolling eyes. Their arrogance blinded them.
Shizuru handed out the papers one by one. When she placed mine on my desk, I glanced at the first page. The questions were straightforward — basic applications of mathematics, logic, and a few tricky word problems designed to test comprehension rather than memorization. For anyone with discipline, it wasn't difficult.
For me, it was trivial.
The moment she instructed us to begin, pens began scratching across paper. Some leaned back smugly, flying through the first questions without thought. Others froze, gripping their pens tightly, already panicking at the complexity.
I solved the first question in less than ten seconds. The next one took me fifteen. My hand moved steadily, without hesitation, and within five minutes, I had filled every page. I reread them once, just to check, then set my pen down.
Silence surrounded me, but it wasn't the silence of the room — it was the silence of isolation. Everyone else was still struggling, yet I had already finished. If I submitted now, I'd only draw unnecessary attention. Instead, I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling, as if in deep thought.
The teacher's eyes landed on me for a brief moment. I could almost hear her thoughts: Impossible. He must have guessed, or perhaps he gave up. She expected me to fail.
Good. Let her believe that.
The minutes passed. Twenty-five minutes in, several of the boys laughed quietly and tossed their papers aside. They had finished as well, though not from effort but from laziness. They leaned back in their chairs, whispering:
"This is too easy. What's the point of wasting energy? We get monthly points anyway."
Their voices carried across the room, irritating Haruto, who sat a few rows ahead of me. His brows were furrowed, his pen moving slowly but precisely. Unlike them, he was focused. His determination to achieve a perfect score was obvious in the way he erased and rewrote each answer with care.
Beside him, a few of the girls bent over their papers, biting their lips, whispering formulas under their breath. Naomi Takahashi sat near the window, her long hair draping across her shoulders. She wrote slowly, deliberately, each stroke of her pen sharp and precise. She, too, was taking this seriously.
The contrast was almost laughable. Half the class treated the exam like a joke, while the other half burned themselves alive with effort.
Time passed slowly. I remained still, pretending to review, while around me, frustration mounted.
After an hour, the teacher finally clapped her hands. "Time's up. Pass your papers forward."
Groans filled the air. Some students sighed in relief, others cursed under their breath. Papers shuffled as they were collected. Without a word, Shizuru gathered the stack and left the room, her heels echoing once again.
The moment she was gone, the room exploded in chatter.
"That was nothing," one boy boasted, stretching his arms. "I didn't even need thirty minutes."
Another chimed in, "Same here. It's just common sense. Why stress over something so basic?"
Haruto, still clutching his pen, looked at them with disbelief. "Are you guys serious? That was… tough. It wasn't easy at all. If you didn't focus, you'd definitely mess up somewhere."
"Relax, Haruto," one of them laughed. "Even if we fail, the school gives us monthly points. Who cares about grades?"
I smirked faintly to myself. They were wrong. They didn't know. The system wasn't that merciful.
Haruto turned toward me suddenly, his voice filled with curiosity. "Arata… you finished so quickly. Don't tell me you just guessed your way through?"
All eyes shifted to me. I met his gaze calmly. "I'm not that smart. I just wrote down what I thought of. Whether it's right or wrong, I wouldn't know."
It was the safest answer. Not arrogance, not humility — just neutrality.
Haruto's eyes widened slightly. "That fast? And you don't even sound nervous. You really are… unique, Arata."
Unique. That was just another way of saying strange.
Before I could reply, Haruto leaned closer, lowering his voice but loud enough for the surrounding desks to hear. "Tell me something — do you have a girlfriend?"
The suddenness of the question caught a few by surprise. Several heads turned, waiting for my response.
I blinked once, expressionless. "No."
His lips curved into a grin. "Really? Then have you ever gone on a date before?"
"No," I replied, just as flatly.
The classroom erupted in muffled laughter. Some of the boys smirked, nudging one another. Haruto seemed surprised, though not mocking — more like genuinely curious.
But Hiroshi, sitting at the back with his arms crossed, seized the moment. His voice rang out, sharp and cruel. "Pfft—are you kidding me? Of course he hasn't. Who the hell would want a guy like him? He's boring as hell. No girl in their right mind would waste time with someone like that."
The laughter grew louder, harsher this time. Some girls shook their heads, others simply looked away.
Haruto's expression hardened. He stood up suddenly, slamming his hand on the desk. "Oi, Hiroshi. That's too much. Don't talk about him like that."
The laughter paused. Hiroshi leaned back lazily, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Too much? I'm just telling the truth. Everyone here sees it. He's weird. Always alone. Doesn't talk to anyone. Acting like he's above us. Tell me, am I wrong?"
The silence in the room was heavy. No one defended me. No one denied his words either.
I didn't react. I simply leaned back in my chair, eyes half-closed, as if none of this mattered. Because it didn't. Their words were meaningless.
Haruto clenched his fists, but I placed a hand lightly on his desk as I stood. My voice was calm, colder than the air around us.
"It doesn't matter, Haruto. He's not worth your energy."
I turned and walked toward the door. The laughter resumed behind me, mixed with whispers and mocking chuckles.
But before I stepped out, I caught Naomi's gaze from the corner of my eye. She wasn't laughing. She wasn't smiling. She was simply watching, her expression unreadable, almost… thoughtful.
As I closed the door behind me, the noise of the classroom faded into silence.
And once again, I was alone.
The hallway outside the classroom was quiet, the faint hum of the fluorescent lights filling the silence. My footsteps echoed softly as I walked without a destination, just far enough to escape the noise behind me.
"Arata!"
The familiar voice chased after me. I slowed down slightly but didn't turn. Soon enough, Haruto caught up, a hint of worry etched across his face.
"You don't need to take what Hiroshi said to heart," he began earnestly, panting a little from rushing out. "He's just a loudmouth who doesn't know when to shut up."
I finally glanced at him, my expression calm, my voice even colder. "I don't care about his words. They don't affect me."
Haruto blinked, taken aback by how quickly I dismissed it. Then he chuckled lightly, scratching the back of his head. "Man… you're really something. So cold. I think I finally understand why you've never dated anyone."
I arched a brow slightly. "And what makes you think that matters?"
"Because," Haruto grinned, "you might be missing out. What if you tried? I mean… I could be wrong, but don't you think Naomi seems kind of… interested in you?"
His words hung in the air. I didn't react, didn't even bother looking surprised. "I don't need that."
That answer came out sharper than I intended. Haruto frowned at me, his cheerful eyes narrowing just a little. "You know, you could try softening your heart a bit. Not everything has to be cold logic."
Unbeknownst to us, a soft rustle came from down the hallway. Naomi stood there, having left the classroom after us. She had overheard everything. Her usually blank expression faltered for just a moment — her lips pressed together, her eyes dropping.
I noticed her. Of course I did. But I said nothing.
Haruto followed my gaze and brightened. "Oh, Naomi! Hey!" he waved, walking toward her. "This is the first time we've talked face-to-face, huh?"
Naomi straightened quickly, her sadness hidden behind a mask of composure. She met Haruto's grin with cool politeness. "Yes. I don't usually remember boys' names in our class. Who are you again?"
Haruto laughed, not offended in the slightest. "Fair enough! I'm Haruto Minami. Nice to meet you properly."
"Naomi Takahashi," she replied softly, bowing her head just slightly. "Nice to meet you."
Her eyes flickered to me, just briefly, almost unconsciously. But before she could say anything, Haruto tilted his head curiously.
"You looked a little down just now. Did something happen?"
Naomi's lips parted for a second, but she quickly shook her head, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's nothing. Just… dust in my eyes."
"Oh, I see," Haruto said, buying the excuse without question. His optimism was disarming.
He turned back to me suddenly, grinning again. "Hey, Arata. How about we grab something at the café? It'll help clear your mind."
I considered it for a moment, then gave a short nod. "Fine."
But then, my eyes shifted to Naomi. She stood there quietly, hands clasped before her, clearly intending to walk away and leave us to ourselves. Something about that didn't sit right with me.
"Can we bring Naomi along?" I asked, my tone as flat as ever. "She looks like she could use the company."
Haruto's eyes widened, then he grinned even wider, almost childishly. "I don't mind at all."
Naomi froze. Her eyes widened slightly, her lips parting in surprise. The girl who only moments ago felt unwanted — who had believed my words about not needing anyone included her — was suddenly pulled back into the circle.
For the first time since I'd known her, Naomi Takahashi smiled, faintly but genuinely.
"...I'd like that," she said quietly.
Haruto, oblivious to the tension beneath her words, clapped his hands together. "Great! Then it's settled. Let's go."
I stayed silent, walking alongside them. To the others, it might have looked like a simple moment of friendship forming.
But for me, it was something else entirely — a small adjustment in the delicate balance of this classroom.
The school bell had long since rung, and the day's noise had finally dissolved into the muted silence of the evening. Students filtered out in groups, laughing, chatting, buzzing with energy even after hours of lessons. I, as usual, stayed at the back, watching the flow of the crowd like one might watch ants from above.
Haruto had bolted out of the classroom earlier, claiming he was exhausted and just wanted to collapse in his dorm. That was fine with me — he was the kind of person who carried the weight of cheerfulness on his back, even when it slowed him down.
I wasn't in a hurry. My steps were measured, calm, as I walked the long corridor toward the dorms. Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw her.
Naomi Takahashi.
She walked alone, her posture straight but subdued, her long black hair swaying lightly with each step. Most girls in this school surrounded themselves with friends, or at least a clique. She didn't. That made her stand out — not for her beauty alone, but for her solitude.
Before I realized it, my feet had already shifted course. I approached her, my voice even.
"You prefer being alone, don't you?"
Naomi turned her head. Her expression, as always, was cool and composed. But her answer was quieter than I expected.
"No. It's not that I like being alone… it's just that no one approaches me."
I tilted my head slightly. "Oh. I see."
That was all I intended to say. A factual statement acknowledged, nothing more. But Naomi's lips pressed together, and her gaze lowered to the floor.
"You don't care about me anyway," she said suddenly, the faintest tremor slipping into her tone.
My brows furrowed. "Why do you think that?"
Her eyes lifted, meeting mine with an intensity I hadn't seen from her before. "Because I overheard you talking with Haruto. You said… you don't need me. That you don't care." Her voice wavered, just barely, but enough for me to catch it. "It made me feel like I'm… not worth anything."
So she'd heard. That conversation wasn't meant for her ears, but information rarely stayed hidden forever. I studied her face. The faint redness at the corners of her eyes wasn't from exhaustion — it was disappointment.
I could've denied it. I could've brushed it off with the same cold detachment I always carried. But the words that came out of my mouth surprised even me.
"If I didn't care about you," I said evenly, "then why would I walk up to you now?"
Naomi blinked. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came.
"And besides," I added, my tone still calm, "you're worth plenty. To me, you're… cute. Beautiful, even."
Her entire body stiffened. For a second, silence drowned the hallway.
Her pale cheeks turned crimson, her eyes widening in shock. It was as if she'd been struck, not by pain, but by something impossible to comprehend.
I stared at her face. The blush that spread across her skin was unlike anything I'd seen from her before. She quickly averted her gaze, clutching the strap of her bag with both hands, as if holding onto it would steady her.
I tilted my head slightly. Why is she reacting like that?
I had spoken only because I had no other words at that moment. To me, it was just a simple truth — an objective observation. If anything, it was meant to divert her self-pity, not encourage anything else.
But the way she trembled lightly, the way her lips pressed together to hide the faintest smile… it didn't make sense.
We reached the dorm building. My room was on the right; hers, somewhere else on the upper floors. I stopped at my door.
"See you tomorrow, Naomi."
Her head jerked up, her face still flushed. She managed to whisper, "Y-Yes. See you tomorrow."
As she walked away, I watched her retreating figure, her steps almost too quick, as if she was running from her own emotions.
I didn't understand. Not fully. But it didn't matter — or at least, that's what I told myself.
The door to my dorm room clicked shut behind me, and I leaned against it, my heart pounding louder than ever before.
I dropped my bag carelessly onto the floor and pressed both hands against my chest. My skin burned, my face flushed, my thoughts spiraled.
He called me beautiful.
I whispered the words aloud, as if repeating them might make them vanish, as if they were too fragile to exist. But no — they lingered, replaying in my mind again and again.
Arata Kurosawa. The boy who never spoke unless necessary. The boy who ignored everything and everyone. The boy who had earlier said he didn't care about me.
That same boy… had just looked me in the eyes and said I was cute. Beautiful.
I staggered toward my bed, collapsing onto the soft mattress. My hands covered my face, trying to hide from the heat in my cheeks. But there was no one here to see me. Only me and the memory of his voice.
"...I'm beautiful."
No one had ever said that to me before. Not sincerely. Not directly. People might whisper behind my back, admire me from afar, but never once had someone so bluntly, so honestly, said those words to me.
And it was him. The boy who claimed not to care.
I curled onto my side, clutching my pillow tightly. My chest hurt, but it wasn't pain. It was something else entirely — a warmth that spread through me, chasing away the loneliness I'd carried for so long.
I knew it. From this moment, I couldn't deny it anymore.
I've fallen for him.
Completely. Irrevocably.
The silence of my dorm was comforting. I laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. My thoughts wandered, as they always did when I was alone.
Naomi Takahashi's face, flushed red like a rising sun, filled my mind. I didn't understand her reaction. Why would something so trivial — words anyone could say — affect her like that?
I sighed softly. "Maybe I shouldn't have said it."
But it had already slipped out. The truth was, I didn't know what else to say. I had no practice dealing with girls. No experience in softening my words or filtering them through emotion. The only woman I'd ever spoken to on a personal level was my mother, and that was hardly comparable.
Still, her expression lingered. Her widened eyes. Her trembling hands.
Why did that bother me?
I turned onto my side, closing my eyes. "It doesn't matter," I told myself. "It was just a moment. Nothing more."
Yet my mind refused to let it go.
Sleep did not come easily. I tossed and turned, my pillow damp with the heat of my face. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him standing there in the hallway, his calm voice cutting through my insecurity.
'If I didn't care about you, then why would I walk up to you now?'
'You're worth plenty. To me, you're… cute. Beautiful, even.'
I pressed my hands against my lips, as if sealing in the joy that threatened to burst out.
I wanted to scream into the silence. I wanted to laugh, to cry, to do anything to release this overwhelming happiness. But I held it all inside, treasuring it like a secret too precious to share.
He didn't know what he'd done to me. Maybe he didn't even mean it. But it didn't matter. Because for the first time in my life, someone had reached into the emptiness and filled it with light.
And that someone was Arata Kurosawa.
I hugged the pillow tighter, whispering into the fabric as though confessing to him directly.
"I'm in love with you."
The words were quiet, fragile, but they were real.
And no matter what he thought of me, no matter how cold he acted, I knew one thing for certain.
I wouldn't let go of this feeling.
Not now. Not ever.