April.
The entrance ceremony.
"—Ah, shimatta~!" I exclaim, barely clinging on the handrail to not fall down.
I've been standing on this bus like a penguin in the desert for almost an hour! My legs feel like overcooked noodles, limp and wobbly. Noodles, I tell you! And that man over there...
I jab a finger at the sleeping old man with a newspaper tented over his face.
"He hoards a seat, and he doesn't even appreciate it! Or wait... he is enjoying it too much. It's unfair! No, it's worse—it's cosmic injustice!"
A quick self‑check: Muscle integrity 43%. Heart rate: stable. Estimated collapse time: 22 minutes. My left eyelid is blinking out SOS in Morse code—and yet here I am, prolonging the agony.
The damn bus jolts violently with every rough patch on the road. Ideal for destabilizing targets... and for turning fools like me into a walking punchline.
I slump against the pole, sighing like a retired clown as I silently calculate how many stops remain until school.
"Move it!"
?
My spine stiffens. Pickpocket? Poltergeist?
As my gaze snaps sideways, I spot a blue‑haired girl wriggling past me. She ducks under an outstretched arm and barrels forward with the precision of a guided missile. I reflexively contort into a human pretzel, carving her a path through this sardine‑can on wheels.
"Of course—roll out the red carpet for Her Highness of Efficiency!" I mutter as her skirt swishes past. A breath raises the hem of her skirt like a flag of victory.
Well, the wind's on my side today—small mercies~!
But just as I revel in my small victory, reality sucker-punches me: some guy has already sprung from his seat and is hovering by the exit. I was the closest, but I was so wrapped up in my own drama that this girl, attentive to her surroundings, claimed the throne.
Ah... Greek tragedy in the flesh! I, the misunderstood hero, sacrifice my glory for the comfort of others!
I hug myself, feigning tears.
And the Oscar for 'Best Selfless Hero in Public Transportation' goes to... drumroll intensifies—ME! Thank you, thank you, no applause necessary!
The bus lurches to a sudden stop, catapulting me headfirst into the lap of a hulking stranger. His burly arms are inked with sinuous dragon tattoos, and his glare blazes with such shock it could melt steel.
My cheeks burn hotter than the bus's engine as I quip, "—Whoa—oops, didn't plan our meet-cute this soon, big guy!" I wink while he snaps his arms up like twin battering rams.
"So, uh," I tap his bicep, "does that dragon of yours breathe fire or—?"
"Get lost," he growls, low and rumbling like a dragon guarding its hoard. His gaze is cold as steel.
"Oh—'Get lost'? Yeah, sure thing, I was just about to... right away, sir."
Desperately trying to salvage what little dignity remains, I scramble upright and retreat to my corner, gazing out the window as I adopt a pensive pose and pucker my lips as if posing for a selfie.
This bus is clearly the plaything of a sadistic deity! Even the potholes seem intent on annihilating my tender soul!
I rub my backside as I watch the city's scenery gradually change.
Today is the quintessential sunny day, not a smudge of a cloud in the sky. Despite the day's fierce heat, the world feels unusually bright, and the bus ride almost pleasant.
But the air? Still a stale carbon dioxide stew; my lungs are begging for a single whiff of actual oxygen.
Well, at least the weather's pleasant. Otherwise, I'd be cooked... no, absolutely fried.
The bus sways as I stare out, the city sliding by in a blur of colors. Suddenly, a street performer catches my eye, juggling pins with a wide grin plastered across his face.
Hmm... I wonder: is he truly happy? Or is it just part of the act?
My mind latches onto the thought, tugging me inward in my chaotic sea of reflections.
Focus, I tell myself. But the engine's hum drags me deeper, my mind wandering aimlessly like a white cloud floating alone in the clear and vast sky.
I definitely messed up by taking this bus, and I can't help but think that with each passing second, each meter covered, I'm nearing the entrance of Tokyo Metropolitan Advanced Nurturing High School—all while I waste my precious time like this.
Well, since I'm here wasting time, I wonder what role I'll play in this new chapter.
Will I be the popular guy everyone crushes on? Or perhaps the serious and trustworthy leader?
"Ah... wishful thinking," I shake my head and sigh resignedly.
Even so, deeper questions surface...
Popular? Leader? Can a label ever mean more than the person who wears it?
What is individuality, anyway? What makes us who we are?
I once stumbled upon a proverb online that stated, "We all have three faces: the first face is the image we show to the world, the second one is the intimacy we share with those close to us, and the third one is that mysterious inner self we keep to ourselves."
This secret face, this guarded core of our being, is the essence that defines us. Yet it remains hidden, sometimes even from ourselves.
We often fail to understand our true selves. Much like the moon's dark side, some parts of us will always stay hidden.
Isn't it fascinating to think that our self comprises these three faces, each revealing a fragment of who we are, shaped by others' perceptions and our own buried secrets.
But ultimately, people tend to overlook this complexity. That's just how the world works. We become our reputations, we get reduced to mere labels such as: "the freak," "the genius," or "the pervert."
It reminds me of those "Tsukumogami" stories, where old objects gain souls after a century of life under a single identity.
Here's the bitter truth: we're all at the mercy of other people's judgments. Someone might call you "kind", while another sneers "annoying." None of it's real—just projections based on their own warped perceptions.
I observe a little girl hunched over her notebook, her pencil tracing amorphous figures and blurred outlines.
Maybe that's all we are: smudged charcoal sketches, half-erased and smeared, even as the world insists on slapping tidy labels on us like price tags on products.
So why should we care about what others think?
It's a nice sentiment, but life is never that simple.
Sure, walking naked down the street would outrage everyone—but that's a no-brainer. Now imagine a more relatable scenario: you've poured your heart and soul into countless job applications only to get rejected again and again before you even land an interview. Then, after all that effort, you finally get the opportunity you've been hoping for. Wouldn't you worry, just a little, about leaving a good impression on that hiring manager?
That's the catch: in order to succeed, you have to pay attention to the opinions of the right people and, if you can, build as many connections as possible to boost your chances of getting your ideal job. In the end, success isn't about being the most qualified; it's about your ability to fit into the system and meeting its expectations—!
My thought process is cut short as suddenly the man seated in front of me—right next to the little girl doodling—stands up. His seat now vacant, instantly catches the hungry eyes of every passenger on the bus. A plump lady and two students in high school uniforms swarm toward it like hyenas spotting carrion.
Não, não. Not this time.
I spring up with catlike reflexes—well, let's say a cat pretending to be awkward. I skid toward the seat's edge, spinning around to slam my back against it, my arms flung wide like a drunken bird warding off a hyena army.
"Careful, careful!" I bark, flailing at the air as if I'm swatting away a swarm of invisible bees. Man, the laws of physics are really against me today! Oh, gravity, you cruel mistress!
Seizing the chance I created, I drop into the vacated seat and replay some gangsta type beat in my head. Mission passed! Respect +
Just as I settle into the seat, I steal a glance at the little girl beside me.
Who's watching her? I thought that man was her dad, but she didn't follow him. Maybe she's just lost in her own little world, a world where her drawings spring to life.
Now that I think about it, that would be a pretty handy power. Imagine being able to summon your doodles as beasts to guard you, or even send them out on secret missions to spy on people without being noticed.
...
Whatever, I'm too beat to care. I just want to catch a few winks, even if only for a moment.
A cool draft slips through the crowded bus, a gentle kiss on my skin, refreshing and rejuvenating. It's so soothing I could drift off right now if everything keeps like this.
But of course, my sweet nap break is wrecked in a heartbeat.
"Looks like there aren't any gentlemen left."
My half-closed eyes snap open. Huh? Someone's getting scolded?
I take a beat to scan the scene, only to find that the voice belongs to the plump lady whose gaze has become a serrated knife of judgment, slicing through my brief moment of peace.
Ugh, what an eloquent and intellectual comment to start the day, huh?
I feign deafness, clamping my eyes shut and pursing my lips in a mock meditation pose, hoping she'll buy it. But her glare feels like a spotlight, burning through my eyelids. It seems like she's figured out my ruse.
Feeling cornered, I reluctantly tilt my head and cup my hand to my ear, like a Victorian aristocrat subjected to a shrill opera.
"Sorry, didn't catch that—wait, is this breeze really that nice? Could you repeat that for me, please?"
"Oh-ho! So you're pretending not to hear me? I said there are no gentlemen left! A young man like you shouldn't snatch a seat from an old lady like me! A real man would've offered his seat!" she huffs, raising her voice for everyone to hear and drowning out the noisy chatter of the crowded bus.
Great, here comes a Karen-style boss battle. Time to dance, obaa-san!
"How endearing. Found the last gentleman, did you?" I mutter, forcing a grin that feels as brittle as a politician's promise. With that, I fold my arms and adopt a more casual stance.
"He's on sabbatical, try the next bus," I add, striving to sound serious, but failing miserably as her face turns tomato-red with fury. I can't help but grin wider, finding her mounting anger hilariously entertaining.
She looks at me, her face flushed and her eyes narrowed into slits.
"You disrespectful brat!" The plump lady pinches the bridge of her nose, exhaling sharply.
"Listen up, kiddo—I'm giving you one chance. Now be a good boy and hand over that seat."
"And why would I do that? I was here first." I reply, feigning disbelief.
Her face twists in irritation as her lips press tightly together, trying her best to hold back a biting remark. "You just don't get it. Manners may be rare these days, but let me educate you. Yielding your seat is a basic courtesy, a small act that makes the world a slightly better place. But I guess manners aren't your strong suit."
I shrug mockingly. "Oh right, manners... I completely understand. How naive of me to assume that seats follow the 'first come, first served' principle rather than your 'superior moral reasoning' in occupying them."
She bites her lip again, her expression growing more and more impatient with every word I utter. She steps closer, her granny scent invading my personal space.
"Give up that damn seat, or you'll find out real quick what happens."
Far from surrendering this easily, I close my eyes tightly, my thoughts racing like gears in overdrive. After a moment of deep thought, I open them, straighten an imaginary tie and clear my throat with a deliberate cough, ready to deliver my argument.
"I'm sorry, but I feel no obligation to surrender my seat just because you say so. True kindness doesn't result from coercion, but from the free choice to help. If I'm pushed to act, it reduces kindness to nothing more than rule-following. Authentic virtue lives in intention, and I prefer to keep that same integrity, even if it costs me a little discomfort."
Her eyes widen in surprise, evidently not expecting Shakespearean speeches on some random bus. The nearby passengers turn their heads towards us, their expressions ranging from curiosity to concern.
Showtime!
A live audience to behold my real-time side quest: Troll the Boomer (Difficulty: Very Easy).
Let's test my improv skills and find out how long she lasts before exploding in anger. This is gonna be epic.
"You—!" She waves her finger in the air like a broken metronome, her tone rising in pitch as she scolds me.
"You're supposed to respect your elders and give up your seat! You're being rude and disrespectful!"
Oh, goodness—how annoying.
I lock eyes with her, hiding any sign of irritation. "Respect is mutual. Although age deserves consideration, it doesn't give anyone the 'right' to treat others rudely. Simply put, an age gap does not justify bad manners."
Besides, even if I did give up this seat, I doubt she'd show any gratitude. Judging by the way she's been behaving, she's not exactly the type to say "thank you". Why help someone like that?
The lady with a rounded face and rosy cheeks stands firm as tension ripples through the bus. Her slightly disheveled yet elegant hair is pulled back into a casual bun, framing lively eyes that radiate suppressed rage. A warm-toned blouse and modest skirt suggest neat conservatism, yet every measured breath and rustle of fabric betray her pride and entitlement.
"How dare you lecture me, child? You think you're so wise and mature? You may be well-spoken, but this isn't about comfort—it's about respecting your elders, common sense, and basic decency. Your arrogance and lack of manners speak louder than your fancy words."
Well, it was about time. I had been wondering how long it would take for her to catch onto my little "intellectual superiority" act. Sharp lady, this is getting fun!
As the woman and I trade heated barbs, the bus air grows thick with tension. Just as I prepare my next retort, an office worker in thick-framed glasses and a jacket that denotes a touch of formality steps between us. His quiet presence quickly commands the aisle.
After clearing his throat, he interjects with a firm yet polite tone.
"I believe you should offer your seat to the lady," he says, his voice smooth and polished like a PowerPoint slide presented in a boardroom.
The plump lady's stern posture softens almost imperceptibly. Her chest rises in a quick, relieved breath, and her eyes flick from the office worker back to me. A triumphant curl lifts one corner of her lips, a small blessing at last.
She snaps a curt "Finally, someone with some decency!" and for a moment, her eyes soften—a fleeting "thank you" in her glare. She offers a stiff nod to the office worker before turning her gaze back on me, as if daring me to object.
What a drag. Now that one person has sided with her, it's only a matter of time before the whole bus turns into a moral tribunal. I need to avoid that situation and handle this carefully without wasting time.
"Why?" I briefly ask, folding my arms and staring at the office worker with mock curiosity.
The salaryman responds without a moment's pause, his piercing gaze fixed on me, his voice firm and steady.
"Because courtesy is a meaningfull contribution to society. She's your superior, she's lived and learned more than you have. Offering her your seat isn't mere tradition; it's respect in action. Chivalry isn't a relic of the past but a daily practice: recognizing another's experience, easing their burden, and strengthening the bonds that hold our community together."
He takes a brief pause, letting his words sink in before delivering a final, resounding statement with no room for rebuttal.
"Refusing to do so shows more than disrespect; it reveals a disregard for the people around you and the lessons life has taught them."
I scowl as his words hang in the air; the bus's collective gaze shifts onto me, putting such pressure that I can feel the passengers beginning to side with the office worker.
Ha! Chivalry? Discipline? Strengthening bonds? And yet, we are the nation with the highest suicide rate in the world. Bravo.
Inside me, my mind whirls: if I give in this time without question, what precedent does that set? They'll demand I yield every time simply because I'm young? Hell, no. That's not happening.
I let out a frustrated sigh and a bitter laugh as his words echo in my mind. I square my shoulders, defiance bristling in my voice:
"No law says I have to offer up this seat... and no unwritten rule should either. She looks fifty-ish and perfectly capable of standing. I've spent the past hour here, I understand what fatigue feels like, but young people get tired too. Simply being young doesn't diminish the value of my comfort. If she were pregnant or disabled, that would be a different story, but even then, it's not my obligation to move."
A ripple of murmurs spreads through the bus as nearby passengers shoot me judging glances for my bold words.
The office worker chimes in again, having noticed the apparent mistake.
"You're right. The law doesn't force you to offer up your seat. However, let me just ask you this question: don't you think we owe a basic courtesy and compassion to those who are less physically capable than we are?"
I lean back, flashing him a knowing smile and adopting my most earnest tone.
"That's not my problem. As far as I can see, I'm not in a priority seat, so why should I be singled out for this? Plus, you look pretty comfy in your seat; if chivalry's so important, why not lead by example? Actions speak louder than words, right?"
The salaryman tenses; his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. He glances first at the lady, then at the cluster of passengers who've tuned in to our standoff. Suddenly, the spotlight's on him, now it's his turn to squirm.
Trying to guilt-trip me? Too bad I set this trap. (Just the reaction I was counting on.)
A soft chuckle escapes me as I shake my head at the delicious irony.
"And here we are," I muse, voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Everyone's so quick demanding someone else to make a sacrifice, yet when the tables turn and they're called on to prove their own morality, the silence speaks by itself..."
I look around at the other passengers, silently evaluating them all as they fidget in their seats, avoiding my gaze. Seizing their discomfort, I continue.
"If you're so keen on that lady getting a seat, why not offer her yours? If you won't... well, I guess it was never about principle in the first place."
The office worker opens his mouth but quickly shuts it right away. His jaw clenches in frustration and, with a snort, he decides to simply look away.
With that, I effectively blocked any further attempts to help the lady. No more annoying white knights for today, not once their hypocrisy's out in the open.
The lady frowns, her arms locking across her chest with a loud "Tsk," as she realizes the disappointing result.
"Disrespectful young people! In my day—"
She launches into her "back in my day" spiel, but I cut her off with a devilish grin.
"Well, since you're so desperate for a seat, how 'bout you sit on my lap?" I add, patting my thigh playfully.
Her jaw drops.
"Not that plump ladies are exactly my type, but you know what they say—the wrinklier the raisin, the sweeter the fruit, right? C'mon, I'm waiting. Chuu~" I wink, flicking a kiss from my fingertips and sending it straight to her.
Winding people up is its own kind of fun. I couldn't resist pushing her buttons. Come on, show me what you've got—let's hit the climax of this glorious shitshow together!
She leans in, her expression mirrors a boiling pressure cooker, ready to explode at any moment.
"How dare you?! I'm a proper lady, not some hussy to sit on a random highschooler's lap! You're nothing but an insolent, lecherous pig. Get out of my way!" She shouts, finally shattering the filter. Her bun is unraveling slightly as she stomps her foot like a child denied candy.
"I won't get out of your way; I'm sitting here, y'know?"
Unable to endure my flippant comments any longer, she shoots me a withering look, a laser that could even wither stone.
"Argh...! I've had enough of you, brat. Screw you!"
She huffs, her cheeks still flushing with anger, and turns away, muttering under her breath about "disrespectful youth" and "no manners these days."
Right then, with an abrupt gesture, the fifty-something woman storms toward the exit, perhaps unable to stand this humiliation. The doors hiss open, swallowing her whole, but her indignation lingers like cheap perfume in the air.
In this moment, the epiphany hits me: It wasn't some deep, philosophical debate; it was just a tactic to get a seat without having to justify herself. Basically, she was playing the victim card to get what she wanted, disguising her desire for comfort as some kind of fight for dignity.
Checkmate, oba-chan. It was fun while it lasted.
I chuckle softly to myself, enjoying my earned rest. The rest of the bus ride continues in relative silence, the tension slowly dissipating as the other passengers retreat into their phones and daydreams. I cross my legs victoriously and take a quick nap while waiting for the bus to carry me to my destiny.
After some time, the bus screeches to a halt, stopping at the school parking lot. I step onto the pavement, the crisp morning air biting at my cheeks.
Before me, I see a group of boys and girls in uniform walking toward a gate made of natural stone.
I notice that the girls' skirts are much shorter than what you'd expect from normal school standards.
"Advance Nurturing High School, huh?" I mutter, taking in the impressive architecture and the buzzing student energy. A smirk creeps across my face.
"Looks like my time here is gonna be quite exciting."