The black Ishikawa family sedan glided to a silent stop on a side street, a few blocks from the Northwood High main gate.
"Are you sure, Ren-sama?" Alfred, the butler, asked from the driver's seat, his eyes finding Ren's in the rearview mirror. "The main gate is still a fair walk..."
"This is perfect, Alfred. Thank you." Ren said, grabbing his new, empty school bag. He stepped out onto the sidewalk, just another teenager in a sharp, new uniform. He watched the car disappear around the corner before he turned and blended into the stream of students.
He'd wanted to avoid attention, but he hadn't been prepared for this.
The school's main courtyard wasn't a courtyard; it was a warzone.
"JOIN THE KENDO CLUB AND SMITE YOUR FOES!" a boy in full bogu armor yelled, swinging a shinai a little too wildly, causing two freshmen to duck.
"TO BE... OR NOT TO BE... A MEMBER OF THE DRAMA CLUB!" a girl in a skull mask wailed, clutching a plastic skull to her chest.
"FREE... RICE... BALLS! TUNA MAYO!" The cooking club's booth was invisible, completely mobbed by a swarm of hungry students, like a nature documentary gone wrong.
Ren was an island of calm in the middle of the hurricane. He just put his hands in his pockets and walked, his face neutral, his green eyes just observing. He sidestepped a stray shinai swing, ignored a hand trying to shove a "Poetry Club Manifesto" into his face, and kept moving. His goal was the main building. His plan was simple: get to class, be invisible, go home.
And then, tucked away in a low-traffic corner between a sad-looking gardening club and the recycling bins, he saw it.
The Basketball Club booth.
It was, to put it mildly, pathetic. The poster was a piece of cardboard that had been rained on at some point, with "BASKETBAL" scrawled on it in a marker that was clearly running out of ink. On the table, a bowl of hard candies had melted together in the sun, forming a single, tragic, rainbow-colored blob.
Behind the table sat three students.
"HEY! HEY YOU! JOIN THE... uh... basketball team?" yelled Ryota Sato, a 2nd-year with loud, spiky hair. He was holding a megaphone to his mouth, but he'd forgotten to turn it on, so his voice was just a muffled, desperate squeak. He was yelling at a kid who was already wearing a full soccer uniform. The kid just gave him a weird look and hurried away.
"No one is coming, Ryota," mumbled Osamu Dazai, a 2nd-year who looked like a stiff breeze would knock him over. He was sitting on a stool, staring at his shoes. "They know we lost every game last season. We're a joke. We are the 'participation trophy' of Northwood."
"We are NOT a joke!" Ryota snapped, finally finding the 'on' button. A blast of feedback screeched from the megaphone, making everyone wince. "WE'RE... THE... SCRAPPY UNDERDOGS! YEAH! THAT'S IT!"
"If by 'scrappy' you mean 'the scraps that get left on the plate,' then yeah, you're right," said Shigeru Tanimura, a grumpy-looking 3rd-year. "Maybe if you'd practiced this summer instead of 'perfecting your video game high score,' we'd have something to brag about."
"Hey! That Demon Brawlers IV high score was legendary! It took weeks!" Ryota shot back, his face red.
"And here's a thought," Osamu added in his monotone voice, "the Tennis Team is giving out free sports drinks. The Kendo Club has a sword-fighting demonstration. We have... a rock." He pointed at the melted candy blob.
"It's not a rock! It's... abstract candy art!"
"Hey, Sato! How's the recruiting going?" a new voice, sharp and loud, cut through.
Ren glanced over. The booth next to them, the much nicer booth with a laminated poster and actual, non-melted snacks, belonged to the Girls' Basketball Team. Two players were leaning over, grinning.
"Oh, hey, Natsumi! Tomo!" Ryota said, trying to look cool. "It's great! We're just, you know, being selective! Letting the quality talent come to us!"
Natsumi Kyouno, a fiery-looking girl with her hair in a high ponytail, laughed. "Oh yeah? 'Quality talent' that can't read? Your poster is spelled wrong."
Ryota's face went blank. "It is NOT! 'B-A-S-K-E-T-B-A-L.' See?... wait." He stared at the poster. "...crap."
Tomo Aizawa, a tall, tomboyish defender next to her, crossed her arms. "Look, Ryota, just face it. At least we won a game last season. You guys just... run around a lot. Try not to get relegated from the school league this year, 'kay?"
"SHUT UP, NATSUMI!" Ryota shrieked, his voice cracking over the megaphone. "WE'RE GOING TO NATIONALS THIS YEAR! YOU'LL SEE!"
"Nationals? You'll be lucky to win against the middle school," Natsumi shot back.
"Why are you all so mean...?" Osamu muttered, sinking lower in his chair.
Ren had seen enough. This was it. This was the exact chaos, the exact high-school drama, the exact team he wanted nothing to do with. It was a circus, and he wasn't joining.
He took in the misspelled sign, the candy rock, and the public humiliation one last time. With an almost-imperceptible sigh, he adjusted the strap on his bag, turned his back on the entire 'Welcome Carnival,' and walked into the quiet, cool shade of the main school building, leaving the noise far behind.