The sky above the Tokyo Metropolitan Advanced Nurturing High School was the perfect shade of blue — pristine, painted, utterly lifeless.
Inside Class 1-D, the desks were arranged in perfect lines. The windows were spotless. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and nerves.
And in the very last row, second from the end, sat Kiyotaka Ayanokouji.
Still. Silent. Eyes dull.
He didn’t blink often. Didn’t speak unless forced. When he did, it was quiet and unassuming. He answered when called upon, never volunteered, and never gave more than the bare minimum.
To his classmates, he was unremarkable. Polite. Passive.
A background character.
That was precisely what he wanted them to believe.
---
On the first day, he had watched them — all of them — with an expression that could almost be mistaken for boredom. But behind that thin veil of calm, Ayanokouji was doing what he did best.
Analyzing.
Cataloguing.
Dissecting.
Suzune Horikita, sharp but arrogant. Overcompensating. Isolated.
Kikyou Kushida, sugar-sweet mask. Manipulator. Dangerous.
Yamauchi and Ike, all bark, no bite. Useless.
Everyone was easy to read.
Everyone was a piece.
And he didn’t plan to lose the game.
---
The classroom buzzed with forced excitement as homeroom ended. Their teacher, Chabashira-sensei, had just dropped the first bombshell:
> “You’ve all been placed in Class D because you are defective.”
Students had gasped. Some had argued. Kushida had tried to rally them with cheerful optimism. A few already cried.
Ayanokouji had remained still, unmoved.
It wasn’t surprising. He had read the system within minutes of arriving: A school of false freedom, run by surveillance and manipulation.
He could see the strings, even if no one else could.
And that made him bored.
So deeply, achingly bored.
---
Lunch came. Most students rushed to the cafeteria, eager to bond, form alliances, make friends.
He stayed in the classroom.
Alone.
Until the door slid open — just once — and a boy walked in.
Not Horikita. Not Kushida. Not anyone Ayanokouji had expected.
Just... a boy.
Brown hair slightly too long, falling over his forehead. Wore his uniform neatly, but not stiffly. He had kind eyes — the kind that saw things without needing to say them.
The boy walked to a desk not far from Ayanokouji’s. Paused. Glanced at him.
Smiled — a small, almost nervous thing — and sat down without a word.
Ayanokouji blinked, slightly thrown off.
> Most people didn’t sit near him by choice.
---
They sat in silence. Minutes passed.
Then, the boy quietly pulled out his lunch. Two rice balls, a small thermos of miso soup, and a tangerine.
He peeled the tangerine slowly, not looking up.
Then, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, he placed one half of the fruit gently on Ayanokouji’s desk.
"...You don’t eat, huh?"
Ayanokouji stared at it.
And then at him.
“…I’m not hungry,” he replied flatly.
The boy nodded. “Okay. But it’s sweet. Try it.”
Then, as if they weren’t strangers, he returned to his lunch, eating quietly, eyes on the window.
Ayanokouji didn’t move for a long moment.
He didn’t eat the fruit.
But he didn’t throw it away either.
---
End of Chapter 1
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