Chapter 1: The Top Students

The spring breeze swirled through the open windows of Class 2-A, carrying with it the scent of cherry blossoms and freshly printed textbooks.

I sat in my usual seat by the window.

I didn’t speak much. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time I initiated a conversation.

I was too shy to talk to people. I stuttered easily. Every time I tried to speak, I felt stupid.

Especially when all eyes were on me—my face would turn red and hot in an instant.

So, I found comfort in studying. It was my escape—my shield from attention. Ironically, I ended up being too good at it.

My grades attracted the very attention I tried to avoid. I was always the top student in the entire school.

Teachers constantly asked me to represent the school in quiz competitions. But my anxiety wouldn’t let me.

I had to decline anything that involved speaking in public—or doing anything that involved other people, really.

So they turned to the second top student: Mike Hayashi.

Mike's personality is the complete opposite of me.

He adjusted his glasses, brows furrowed, as he stood at the front of the class delivering announcements.

He was the class representative—sharp, strict, respected. He walked with purpose, spoke with clarity, and didn’t tolerate nonsense.

Rich, brilliant, and cold.

People admired me for my perfect scores, but I admired him. Even if he was just a fraction behind me in rank, our scores were often neck and neck.

The only reason I stayed at the top was because of cumulative percentages.

But that wasn’t the only reason I looked up to him.

He knew exactly what he wanted. What he liked, what he didn’t. What his goals were. He was so sure of himself.

I found myself sneaking glances at him during class, wondering—how does he stay so composed even when people hate him?

How is he so confident?

How does he handle the pressure of being class representative while still maintaining top grades?

Now that I noticed it… he always looked clean.

His shirt never seemed to wrinkle. While others saw him as a stiff nerd, I saw someone with incredible discipline.

He sure is gonna succeed in the future.

Most students found him annoying because of how strict he was.

How he assigned classmates to tasks they didn’t like.

How he forced them to submit their homework.

“I’ll start collecting the homework from yesterday. Completed or not, please hand it in,” Mike said, his voice firm and unwavering.

“Shit,” someone whispered under their breath.

Mike moved from the front row near the door, collecting homework one by one.

“Wait, just a litt—” one classmate muttered, still scribbling answers.

Without hesitation, Mike snatched the paper from his hands.

“Why are you being so rude? Does it hurt to wait?” the guy scoffed.

Mike stared at him with sharp eyes, then scanned the page. “ ‘just a little,’ huh? you clearly just started. You expect me to wait? ”

The student sneered. “Su..sure. Whatever helps you feel like a leader.”

Mike didn’t flinch. “Next time, learn to read the clock.” Then he moved on, ignoring the glare behind him.

Okay… now that I see it—he is kind of scary.

Soon it was my turn. As the “model student,” of course I had finished mine early. In fact, I’d completed it right after class yesterday. Nerd alert.

Wait.

My homework.

It’s… not in my bag?

Did I forget to bring it? I don’t remember taking it out…

Oh. I cleaned my bag last night.

Mike’s getting closer.

What do I do? Should I just tell the truth? What if he doesn’t believe me?

Ah... So embarrassing. My face was already burning.

“Your homework?” Mike asked, finally standing in front of me.

“Ah… sorry, I…” I stuttered.

“Are you having a fever?” he interrupted.

“Huh? N-no,” I replied, confused.

Then suddenly, as I looked down, avoiding eye contact, I felt a cold hand on my forehead. I was forced to look up.

Wait. Did he just… touch me?

We’ve never even talked before.

I froze, face heating up even more. But I couldn’t look away.

After awhile, he pulled his hand back and went to the last person for her homework.

Wait. Right. Homework.

Why didn't he ask for mine?

Did he… forget?

Right after he successfully collected everyone's homework (except mine), Teacher Hanazawa came in.

Mike walked to the front and whispered something to the teacher as he handed over the stack.

“Lissa?” the teacher called.

Oh no. He did sell me out. My heart sank. Everyone turned to look.

“Do you have a fever? Mike, take Lissa to the nurse’s office.”

Mike gave a simple nod and gestured me with his eyes implying me to follow him.

“Ah… right,” I mumbled, still stunned. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. A chance to escape my shame. What a joke from a “top student.”

As I trailed behind him, I stared at his back.

I wonder if he has ever forgotten his homework.

If he did, what will he do about it?

I bet he’d say something confidently while adjusting his glasses like, “I will reflect on this incompetence. My apologies.”

I accidentally let out a giggle at the thought.

Mike suddenly stopped and glanced back, as if he could read my mind.

Then he kept walking.

God. He’s really good at giving people heart attacks.

We arrived at the nurse’s office—but it was empty. This is so awkward.

Now it was just the two of us in the room.

Mike glanced around, hands on his waist. I sat on the bed awkwardly. Then he took the contact thermometer and scanned my forehead.

So composed. A natural leader indeed. He almost reminded me of my dad.

…Wait, does that sound weird?

“39°C,” the screen read.

What? Was I really running a fever? Since when? Does my nerves rise my body temperatures?

Mike frowned slightly looking at the temperature. Was he…mad?

Well I made him skip class after all.

“Lay on the bed,” he said, his voice low.

“Hm?” I blinked.

He opened drawers, searching quickly for something.

It's just a fever though. I'm sure it will subside soon.

He found the medicine for my fever, poured a cup of water, and handed over the pill from his palm.

I took it obediently.

“Thank you,” I whispered, meeting his eyes.

Just then, the nurse walked in, cutting through the silence.

Thank God.

“Oh? Lissa? Are you sick?”

Mike gave her a small bow, then turned to me.

“Rest,” he said simply, then left.

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