At sixteen, Rai Kurosawa had never experienced romance.
Not a single flutter of the heart. Not a single blushing confession. His entire love life could be summed up in three words: nonexistent, unremarkable, boring.
But he didn't mind.
Rai was fine with being "average." Average height, average grades, average build—he blended into the school hallways like a faded poster no one remembered sticking on the wall. The only thing remotely unique about him was his seat: second to the back row by the window—the protagonist seat, as some students jokingly called it. Not that it helped. He'd tried to infuse some main character energy into his life once, briefly, in middle school. He'd worn an unbuttoned uniform jacket over a slightly too-tight t-shirt for a week, hoping for some dramatic encounter. All he got was a detention slip and a stern lecture from his mother about proper school attire. After that, he'd fully embraced his role as an extra in the grand, chaotic play of high school life.
The one oddity about Rai—his secret—was his weird ability to mimic romance scenes he read in novels. Perfectly. Confessions, dramatic arguments, last-minute chase-through-the-rain types. He could do them all, complete with expressions, intonations, and poses. It was like his brain stored every romantic interaction from books and could replay them at will. This wasn't some conscious effort; it was an involuntary response. He'd be reading a particularly poignant scene, and suddenly, his hands would be gesturing, his voice would adopt a dramatic tremor, and his face would contort into an expression of profound yearning or heartbreak. It was uncanny, almost as if the characters themselves possessed him for a brief, theatrical moment. He'd discovered this peculiar talent by accident, stumbling upon himself acting out a tearful goodbye scene while reading a particularly melodramatic shojo manga in his room. The sheer mortification had been enough to ensure he kept it a fiercely guarded secret, even from his closest friend, Kenji.
Too bad he only used it alone in his room... acting out scenes to his stuffed animal "Blitz," the rabbit pillow his aunt gave him when he was six. Blitz, a faded, slightly lopsided rabbit with one ear permanently flopped over, was the most loyal audience a budding, secret actor could ask for. Rai would whisper declarations of love into Blitz's fluffy ear, dramatic confessions under an imaginary cherry blossom tree, or impassioned arguments over misunderstandings, all while Blitz stared back with unblinking, stitched eyes. Sometimes, Rai would even try to make Blitz "respond," tilting the rabbit's head or lending it a squeaky voice to further the scene. It was a bizarre, solitary ritual, a world where Rai was the leading man, the tragic hero, the dashing lover, all without the inconvenient messiness of actual human interaction. He found comfort in the predictability of these fictional narratives, the clear-cut emotions, and the guaranteed happy endings (or satisfyingly tragic ones, depending on the genre). Real-life emotions, especially the romantic kind, seemed far too complicated and messy for someone as "average" as him.
Life was quiet. Predictable. He woke up, went to school, read his books, occasionally hung out with Kenji, and then returned to his fictional worlds. Rinse and repeat. It was a comfortable rhythm, a carefully constructed bubble of routine and solitude that suited him just fine. He wasn't lonely, not really. He had his books, his imagination, and the quiet company of Blitz. He believed he had everything he needed.
Until she showed up.
"Good morning," said the girl at the front of the classroom.
Every head turned. The hum of morning chatter died instantly, replaced by a collective, indrawn breath. It was as if someone had pressed a mute button on the entire room.
She had black hair tied into a low ponytail, a delicate ribbon at the end. Her uniform was crisp, pressed as if by magic, without a single wrinkle. Her posture? Perfect, an almost regal bearing that made every other slouching, restless teenager in the room suddenly feel acutely aware of their own imperfect spines. But it was her presence that drew attention—like she belonged to a world brighter, more refined, than the mundane reality of their classroom. Sunlight seemed to gravitate towards her, illuminating the subtle sheen of her hair and the faint blush on her cheeks. She didn't just stand there; she presented herself.
"I'm Hoshizora Aika. I just transferred here today. I look forward to being your classmate." Her voice was clear, melodious, with a slight, almost imperceptible lilt that suggested a different dialect, perhaps from a more cosmopolitan city.
Murmurs exploded like fireworks. It started as a low rumble, then crescendoed into a flurry of whispers and excited gasps.
"She's cute!"
"From the city, maybe?"
"She sounds rich."
"Did you see her uniform? It's practically glowing."
The homeroom teacher, Mr. Nakamoto, a portly man known for his perpetually rumpled suits and his fondness for bad puns, cleared his throat and smiled awkwardly, as if suddenly aware of his own disheveled state in her pristine presence. "Right, thank you, Hoshizora-san. You can take the second seat from the front row. Beside Takeda."
Aika walked to her seat with a polite nod, her steps measured, precise, like a dancer's. She was like a porcelain doll, calm and self-contained, seemingly unfazed by the sudden spotlight. Rai watched for only a second, his eyes briefly registering her perfectly aligned ribbons and the almost ethereal glow around her, before returning to his book: "When Cherry Blossoms Fall." A quiet romance about two awkward teens who find solace and affection amidst dusty bookshelves in a forgotten library. Perfect. He preferred the predictable arcs of fictional love to the unpredictable chaos of real-life introductions. The subtle scent of old paper and the quiet turning of pages were far more comforting than the sudden, unsettling brightness of a new student.
The teacher began droning about the curriculum, his voice a dull thrum against the backdrop of students still buzzing with excitement. Rai tuned out everything. The pages flipped slowly as he immersed himself in fictional affection, the quiet whispers of the library setting in his book a stark contrast to the barely contained energy in the room. He was a silent, unmoving fixture in the back corner, a ghost in his own classroom, utterly absorbed in the plight of his protagonists.
Snack break arrived. The bell rang, a shrill release that sent students pouring out of the classroom like ants escaping a disturbed anthill. Some stayed behind, gathering in small clusters, chatting animatedly or sharing brightly wrapped sweets. Rai remained in his seat, a solitary island, flipping another page in his book, completely oblivious to the shifting dynamics around him. He'd brought a small rice ball from home, opting for a quiet meal over the boisterous energy of the hallway.
That's when she started making her rounds.
Aika, looking every bit the perfect transfer student, moved through the room with a practiced grace. She approached students one by one, a sweet smile gracing her lips, and introduced herself. "Hello! I'm Aika, nice to meet you." Her energy was oddly refined—like a noble on a diplomatic mission, extending pleasantries and making polite inquiries, her movements precise, her voice always perfectly modulated. She didn't bound or skip; she glided.
She spoke to small groups first, then to a trio of giggling girls who immediately started asking her about Tokyo fashion trends. Then she moved to the quiet, studious class representative, who responded with a visible blush and an uncharacteristic stammer. Each interaction was met with curiosity, admiration, and a certain degree of awe. She was making friends, quickly and effortlessly, weaving herself into the fabric of the class with the precision of a master weaver.
Meanwhile, Rai continued reading, his focus absolute, his world confined to the delicate romance unfolding within the pages. He was oblivious to the fact that the rest of the classroom was becoming increasingly aware of Aika's undeniable charm—and her steadily shrinking list of people she hadn't talked to. He heard faint murmurs, a distant ripple of conversation, but they were just background noise, easily filtered out by the more compelling whispers of fictional love.
One of the girls, a bubbly student named Haruna, nudged Aika's arm. "What about him?" she whispered, pointing discreetly across the room.
Aika followed the finger and saw him: the boy in the second-to-last seat by the window, nose buried in a book, utterly absorbed. He seemed to exist in his own separate dimension.
"Him? He hasn't even looked up once," she muttered, a faint frown creasing her brow. It was a novel experience for her to be so thoroughly ignored. Usually, her entrance commanded immediate attention.
"He's kind of mysterious though," a
nother girl, Riko, chimed in, leaning closer. "Always reading. He's in a different world. Kind of cool, in a weird way."
Aika rolled her eyes, a tiny, almost imperceptible gesture. "Fine, whatever." Mysterious? More like rude, she thought. But the challenge had been set. Everyone else had acknowledged her presence. This one boy was an outlier, a persistent blank space on her mental map of the classroom. And Aika Hoshizora did not leave blank spaces.
She approached Rai cautiously, her footsteps lighter than usual, almost hesitant. She imagined the polite opening she would use, the charming smile she would offer.
"Umm… Hello there," Aika said gently, her voice a soft, almost ethereal whisper, the very essence of politeness.
No response. Rai's eyes remained fixed on the page, his brow subtly furrowed in concentration. He was currently immersed in a scene where the male lead was struggling to confess his feelings.
She blinked. Maybe he didn't hear? Or perhaps he was incredibly hard of hearing. She adjusted her posture, drew a small breath, and tried again, a little louder, a touch more assertively.
"Hey there, you," she tried again, her voice still polite, but with a hint of rising impatience.
Still nothing. Rai remained perfectly still, a statue of literary absorption. A faint smile touched his lips as the fictional confession finally unfolded.
Her eye twitched. A tiny vein pulsed on her temple, a silent indicator of her rapidly depleting patience. Her perfectly composed facade was beginning to crack.
Was this guy seriously ignoring me? The Hoshizora Aika? The top student from Himawari Academy? The one who won the prestigious National Essay Contest? Unacceptable. Utterly, completely unacceptable.
"Hellooo??" she said a third time, her voice no longer gentle or polite, but edged with a clear, undeniable aggression. The word stretched out, filled with incredulity and a growing irritation.
Nothing. Rai turned the page, a soft, satisfied sigh escaping his lips. He was completely unaware of the escalating storm just inches from his face.
That's it. Her hand clenched. Every fiber of her perfectly poised being rebelled against this blatant disregard.
With a small, sharp "tsk," she slammed her palm on his desk—BAM! The sound echoed through the suddenly quiet classroom, startling a few lingering students.
Rai jolted so hard his book flew an inch off the table, fluttering down onto his lap. "Wha—?!" His head snapped up, his eyes wide and disoriented, like he'd been rudely awakened from a deep dream.
He looked up to find Aika glaring at him like a storm cloud wrapped in a ribbon, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her lips pressed into a thin, furious line. Her dark eyes, usually so serene, blazed with indignation.
"U-Uh… I-Is there a problem?" he asked, blinking like he'd just awoken from a coma, his voice a faint squeak of confusion. His heart was hammering against his ribs.
Aika crossed her arms even tighter, her chin tilted defiantly, and looked away sharply, as if the mere act of looking at him was offensive. Her ponytail swayed with the force of her indignation. "There is no problem! Hmph!" Her "Hmph!" was a concise, powerful expression of disdain.
And with that, she turned on her heel and stomped off, a whirlwind of pristine uniform and righteous fury. Her exit was as dramatic as her entrance, though for entirely different reasons.
A few classmates who had turned their heads at the commotion, eyebrows raised in surprise, quickly shrugged it off. Another weird moment in Room 2-B. Nothing new. Rai Kurosawa was known for his odd, quiet ways.
Rai stared after her, utterly bewildered, his book still resting precariously on his lap.
"…Was that… the transfer student?" he muttered to himself, the question barely a whisper. He shook his head slowly, trying to process the abrupt, inexplicable interaction.
He sighed, a long, weary sound, picked up his book, and muttered, "Guess I really lost track of time…" He tried to return to the fictional romance, but the storm cloud in a ribbon had disrupted his peace, leaving a faint, lingering unease.
Lunchtime.
The cafeteria buzzed like a school of locusts, the air thick with the cacophony of hundreds of conversations, scraping chairs, and clanking trays. Students swarmed tables with plastic trays piled high with steaming curry, bowls of ramen, and questionable meat buns that defied easy categorization.
Rai sat across from his longtime friend, Kenji Sakamoto, a lanky boy with perpetually messy hair and an infectious, boisterous laugh. Kenji was currently in the middle of an intense, highly dramatic rant about an MMORPG boss he had been fighting for three grueling hours the night before. His chopsticks gesticulated wildly, narrowly missing Rai's nose on several occasions.
"So then I activated my ultimate skill—Thunder Eruption Blade—it was epic, Rai, truly epic! The boss's HP was down to a sliver, the raid chat was going wild, everyone was cheering… but then, disaster struck! The raid leader's cat, I kid you not, unplugged the router, mid-skill cast! So we all wiped. Again." Kenji slumped dramatically against the table, a picture of despair.
Rai stirred his soup slowly, a faint smile playing on his lips. He'd heard countless variations of this story. "Tragic."
"No, Raiden," Kenji declared, sitting upright and pointing his chopsticks at Rai like a legendary sword, "it's not just tragic—it's betrayal. A cat, Rai! A feline agent of chaos!"
Rai rolled his eyes at the nickname. "You know my name's not Raiden, right? And my surname isn't exactly 'Lightning Bolt-zawa'."
Kenji leaned back, a smug grin spreading across his face. "You sit by the window like an anime protagonist. You act like a cold-hearted lone wolf sometimes. Your name is Rai, which literally means 'thunder'. How can I not call you Raiden? It's practically destiny!"
"You're projecting your gamer delusions onto me again, Kenji."
"Facts don't care about your feelings, my thunder-themed friend," Kenji retorted, taking a triumphant bite of his curry. "The universe demands I call you Raiden."
Rai was about to retort with a witty, albeit dry, comeback when a familiar voice rang out from the next table, cutting through the cafeteria's din.
"I heard she used to go to a private school in Tokyo."
"Seriously? That's so cool!"
"Yeah, and she won some essay contest too. Top of her grade. She's, like, super smart and super pretty."
Kenji leaned in conspiratorially, his eyes bright with curiosity. "They're talking about Aika, huh?"
Rai nodded, his gaze briefly drifting towards the source of the whispers.
From across the room, Aika sat with a small group of girls near the center of the cafeteria, a small cluster of beauty and refined chatter. The girls giggled and leaned in, their faces alight with interest, while she poked at her omelet rice with exaggerated elegance, as if dissecting a complex scientific specimen rather than just eating. She maintained her composure, but a faint, almost imperceptible tension held her shoulders.
Rai looked away without a second thought, dismissing her as quickly as he had registered her presence. His own meal, a simple bowl of miso soup and a rice ball, was far more engaging.
But Aika didn't.
From across the room, despite her outward composure and polite conversation, her eyes kept drifting back to Rai and Kenji's table, drawn like a magnet to the boy who had so thoroughly ignored her. She scowled without realizing it, her fork hovering over her omelet rice.
"That guy from earlier… What was his name?" she muttered under her breath, the words barely audible. The memory of his blank stare and her slammed palm still irritated her. It was a blot on her otherwise perfect first day.
One of the girls beside her blinked, looking up from her own lunch. "Hmm? Did you say something, Aika-chan?"
Aika coughed, quickly smoothing her expression. "No! I was just... um, just saying this curry's a bit spicy. That's all!" She forced a smile that felt a little too wide, then poked the rice violently with her fork, as if it were the source of her irritation.
"Whatever, it's none of my business," she muttered to herself, stabbing her omelet with her spoon like it owed her money. "He ignored me earlier, so I'll just ignore him. Hmph." But why did he ignore me? Was there something wrong with my greeting? Was my hair out of place? No, it was perfectly tied. The questions buzzed in her mind like annoying flies.
Meanwhile, Kenji shoved two meat buns into his mouth, his cheeks bulging, and mumbled, "So whadya think aboud the new transber student?"
Rai blinked, a small sigh escaping him. "Chew first, then speak, Kenji. It's a basic human courtesy."
Kenji swallowed with an audible gulp, then slammed his juice down on the table like he'd just finished a heroic tale. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Okay, hear me out. Hoshizora Aika—total S-tier waifu material. Refined voice, pretty eyes, perfect posture. She's like the main heroine in a visual novel! You don't see people like her outside of character select screens! She even has that slightly intimidating, proud aura. Classic tsundere in the making, I bet." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Rai deadpanned, "So you're into that type, huh, Ken? The 'tsundere in the making' type?"
Kenji waved him off dismissively. "No, no, no. It would take me a century to fall in love. I'm immune to 2D and 3D alike. Love is a side quest, Rai. A low-priority, optional side quest. My main mission is defeating the Moon King Dragonlord in Eternal Blades Online. That's my true calling."
"You're beyond saving, Kenji."
Kenji grinned proudly, puffing out his chest. "Thank you, my friend. I strive for gaming enlightenment."
After a moment of quiet munching, the cafeteria noise filling the void, Kenji leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "So... did you two talk? You and Aika? I saw her near your desk earlier. She seemed… agitated."
Rai paused mid-sip of his soup, remembering the sudden BAM and the indignant "Hmph!" He hesitated. Telling Kenji the full story would undoubtedly lead to further "romantic awakening arc" theories.
"…Kind of?" he admitted, carefully.
Kenji's eyes lit up, abandoning his food entirely. "WHAAAAT? You're holding out on me, Raiden! Spill it! Details, man! What happened? Did you exchange longing glances? A fateful touch of hands? Did she drop a handkerchief and you returned it like a knight?"
"Well…" Rai recounted the awkward desk-slamming encounter, from his complete absorption in his book, to the missed greetings, to the dramatic bam!, and Aika's furious exit. He tried to keep his tone neutral, but a faint blush crept onto his cheeks as he relived the embarrassing moment.
Kenji listened, his eyes growing wider and wider, then burst into a fit of laughter, wiping fake tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. "Aika-chan already resorting to physical violence? That's true love right there, Raiden! A classic declaration of romantic intent! She's trying to get your attention!"
"She looked more like she wanted to strangle me," Rai muttered, grimacing. "And I really was just reading."
"Love is war, my friend," Kenji declared, striking a heroic pose. "The fiercest romances always begin with a clash of wills, a mutual misunderstanding, and a healthy dose of desk-slamming."
Suddenly, Kenji stood up dramatically, attracting a few curious stares from nearby tables, and slammed his bento box closed with a definitive click. "Mark my words, Rai. This is your romantic awakening arc. The prologue has been written, the heroine has made her explosive entrance, and the clueless protagonist has been thoroughly shaken awake."
"Please sit down before people think you're having an episode, Kenji. You're drawing attention."
Kenji winked, completely unconcerned by the stares. "Too late, my friend. The narrative has begun."
Rai leaned back in his chair, a familiar weariness settling over him, yet tinged with something new. He glanced across the cafeteria one last time.
Aika wasn't looking at him now. She was laughing with her friends, a rare, genuine smile gracing her lips, her eyes crinkling at the corners. For a moment, the "storm cloud" was gone, replaced by a radiant, unburdened joy.
Still… Rai felt something stirred. A twinge of curiosity. A faint, almost imperceptible sense of unease. And maybe, just maybe, a tiny flicker of guilt. He had genuinely not heard of her. He hadn't meant to be rude.
"I should probably apologize," he muttered, more to himself than to Kenji. The words felt strange on his tongue, unfamiliar, like a line from a script he hadn't rehearsed.
Kenji's jaw dropped so wide he nearly swallowed his tongue. "You? Apologizing? Is the world ending, Raiden? Has the Moon King Dragonlord finally fallen? Are you developing… feelings?"
"Shut up, Kenji." The blush returned, deeper this time.
Kenji leaned in, a mischievous glint in his eye. "You gonna confess while you're at it? Do the 'grab-her-hand-and-pull-her-into-a-confession-under-the-tree' trope? Or perhaps the 'accidental-fall-and-then-you're-suddenly-on-top-of-her' classic?"
"Remind me again why we're friends, Kenji?" Rai said, but his voice lacked its usual bite.
"Because I'm hilarious and you're emotionally stunted, my dear Raiden. A perfect symbiotic relationship."
Rai sighed, but this time, a faint, genuine smile touched his lips. He looked out the window, watching a stray cloud drift lazily across the sky. Perhaps Kenji was right. Maybe life wasn't as quiet anymore. The comfortable, predictable bubble he'd built around himself seemed to have a small, perfectly polite crack in it, and through that crack, a bright, unfamiliar light was beginning to seep in.
After school.
The sun dipped low, casting long, golden shadows across the empty classroom. The last bell had rung, a final, joyful chime, and the echoes of laughter still lingered in the halls as students hurried out, eager for the freedom of evening.
Rai gathered his bag slowly, methodically, putting away his textbooks and notebooks with a practiced efficiency. He watched the last few groups of students disappear, their chatter fading into the distance. The quiet was a familiar comfort, a return to his usual solitude. He stretched, a faint yawn escaping him, thinking about the next chapter of his book.
Then—
"Hey, Kurosawa."
The voice was clear, crisp, and undeniably familiar. It cuts through the quiet like a sharp blade.
Rai turned, his movements slow, almost hesitant.
Standing in the doorway was Aika, bathed in the last golden rays of the setting sun. Her silhouette was sharp against the fading light, her posture as perfect as ever. Her arms were crossed, her eyes sharp, and the familiar tsundere storm seemed to have returned, though perhaps a little less intensely than before. Her expression was a complex mix of annoyance, obligation, and something else he couldn't quite decipher.
Before he could respond, before he could even form a single coherent thought, she threw something at him. Not violently, but with a swift, decisive flick of her wrist.
It was a small book.
His book.
It arced through the air, turning once before landing softly on his desk with a gentle thump.
"You left it on your desk," she stated, her voice devoid of any warmth, yet without its earlier aggression. It was a simple, factual statement, delivered with the air of someone merely completing a chore.
And without another word, without waiting for a thank you or an explanation, she turned and disappeared into the hallway, leaving only the faint scent of something clean and floral in her wake. The classroom was silent once more, but it felt different now.
Rai stared down at the cover of the book, his book, "When Cherry Blossoms Fall." He hadn't even noticed it was missing. He'd been so engrossed in his world, he'd forgotten a piece of himself in the real one.
His hand tightened around the spine of the book, feeling the familiar texture of the paper, the slight indentations of the title. Something unfamiliar swirled in his chest. It wasn't just the lingering awkwardness of their earlier encounter, or the faint embarrassment of his own obliviousness.
It was a strange mix of curiosity—why did she bother?—confusion—what was her deal?—and something warmer, softer, that he couldn't quite name. It was like a tiny spark, igniting in a place that had always been cool and unlit.
For the first time in his quiet, predictable life, Rai Kurosawa wondered—
Was this… how a story begins? Not with a grand declaration or a perfectly rehearsed scene, but with a slammed desk, an ignored greeting, a tossed book, and a tiny, inexplicable flutter in his chest?