The April breeze swept through the carriage. The bus swayed as it headed towards Advanced Nurturing High School.
I, Ayanokoji Kiyotaka, sat by the window, my gaze habitually sweeping across the carriage. On the first day of the new semester, the surrounding 'characteristics' were already beginning to show.
Next to me sat a girl with long, straight black hair, a thin braid tied with a white ribbon hanging on her left side. She was looking down at a book, her demeanor cold. As my gaze passed over her and looked elsewhere, she spoke without lifting her head, her voice cold and hard:
"The way you look elsewhere makes me feel like I'm being watched, and it's disgusting."
I apologized and withdrew my gaze. Sharpness was my first impression of her.
Across the aisle, by the window, sat another boy, also wearing the burgundy school uniform. He was eye-catching. Under his black-rimmed glasses, a dark brown tear mole was clearly visible at the outer corner of his left eye. His face was handsome, and his posture was tall and straight.
He sat quietly, yet his posture itself seemed to represent a serene elegance.
At this moment, he was playing with a silver fountain pen. Between his slender fingers, the pen body flipped, jumped, and hovered, moving smoothly and naturally, without any hint of contrivance, exuding only a quiet aesthetic. This unique display attracted many gazes, including mine.
He himself was just focused on the streetscape passing outside the window, as if his surroundings had nothing to do with him.
I had no expectations for the so-called 'paradise' life of the next three years.
Just looking at this carriage: the indifferent black-haired girl, the handsome tear-mole boy who displayed his finger dexterity as if no one else was there, yet with a hint of cold elegance, and the guy in the front row admiring his dazzling golden hair in a mirror, with a self-satisfied smile. Both the environment and the people exuded a strange aura.
The sound of brakes echoed, and the bus arrived at its stop.
The bus door slid open, and a silver-haired old woman, leaning on a cane, slowly shuffled in. She glanced at the full carriage, sighed, and her withered hand gripped the handrail in the aisle tightly. As the bus swayed, her figure appeared particularly frail.
The air solidified for a few seconds. Some people looked away, some scrolled on their phones, and the blond man in the priority seat continued to admire himself in the mirror. Indifference spread silently.
"Everyone?"
A clear voice, tinged with worry, broke the silence. It was a pretty, short-haired blond girl with a full, prominent chest. She looked around, her gaze locking onto the blond man, her tone earnest:
"This old lady is very uncomfortable. Classmate, could you please give up your seat?"
The blond man snapped his small mirror shut, his voice lazy but firm:
"There's no reason for me to do that."
A flicker of imperceptible stiffness crossed the girl's face, but soon, deeper worry replaced it. She put her hands together:
"Although the law doesn't mandate giving up priority seats, it's a social contribution, helping others."
"Social contribution?"
The blond man chuckled and snapped his fingers.
"Unfortunately, I'm not interested."
He leaned slightly, his teasing gaze sweeping over the passengers.
"Why are you only staring at me in the priority seat? Shouldn't the people sitting over there give up their seats? If you truly respect elders, just give up a seat."
His words pierced the pretense, and the atmosphere in the carriage suddenly became awkward.
The girl seemed to be thrown off by the counterattack. She quickly adjusted her strategy and looked at everyone:
"Please, everyone! Is anyone willing to give up a seat for this old lady?"
Her voice was urgent and pressured.
Just as a woman next to the old lady was about to stand up—
A very soft cough broke the tension.
It was the tear-mole boy.
He had put away his fountain pen at some point and gracefully stood up.
Without looking at anyone, his gaze fixed on the handrail the old lady was gripping tightly.
Then came a dazzling series of movements: his right hand precisely slotted the silver fountain pen into a gap above the handrail; his left hand magically produced two small, sturdy umbrellas; with a few soft 'clacks,' the umbrella handles and ribs were constructed into a stable triangular mechanical support, cleverly fixed next to the handrail. The whole process took no more than three seconds.
He calmly took off his burgundy uniform jacket, folded it, and spread it out like a cushion on the temporary 'seat.'
Only then did he turn to the astonished old lady and bowed slightly:
"Grandma, please sit. Although this seat is not elegant, it is stable and can solve an urgent problem."
His voice was calm, devoid of any hint of charity, only the pure composure of solving a problem.
The entire carriage instantly fell silent, shocked by this incredible yet precise and practical operation.
The old lady was stunned for a moment, then carefully sat down. The support remained perfectly still. She let out a sigh of relief and thanked him repeatedly.
The expression on the short-haired blond girl's face was spectacular. Shock, a hint of surprise at being upstaged, and annoyance at her plan being disrupted quickly flickered in her eyes. She tried to maintain a sweet smile as she looked at the boy who had helped:
"Ah... Classmate, you... you're amazing! Thank you for helping! I'm Kushida Kikyo, a First Year student!"
Her self-introduction was enthusiastic, an attempt to regain control of the social interaction.
The tear-mole boy merely nodded slightly, offering no response. He stood straight again, his gaze returning to the window, resuming his calm demeanor.
"Hmph."
A cold question came from beside him, from the girl who had been reading. She had closed her book, her gaze like a blade piercing the tear-mole boy:
"Performing like this in public, don't you think it's too deliberate? Or are you simply fond of such attention-grabbing tricks?"
She made no secret of attacking the 'performative' nature of his actions.
The focus shifted again.
The tear-mole boy slowly turned, pushing up his black-rimmed glasses. The lenses precisely reflected a cold light.
His movements were devoid of any heat, instead possessing a sense of ritual. A nearly imperceptible curve touched his lips, as if he was certain of some existing truth.
Facing the girl's sharp, knife-like questioning, his eyes were calm, and his voice was as smooth and clear as ever:
"I just wanted to make Grandma as comfortable as possible. If it caused a misunderstanding, I apologize."
His words contained no rebuttal, no self-aggrandizement, only a statement of his objective and an apology for any potential impact on others' feelings.
He pushed up his glasses again, as if to confirm his words, then bowed slightly:
"I am Sakamoto. What's your business?"
"..."
The entire carriage fell into a deeper, almost stunned silence.
I looked at the tear-mole boy with glasses who had just solved the seat problem in an incredible way and introduced himself as Sakamoto. Then I glanced at the long-haired black-haired girl next to me, whose face had grown even colder after being choked by his words. Finally, I swept my gaze over Kushida Kikyo, the short-haired blond girl whose smile was frozen on her face, her eyes holding complex, unreadable emotions, and the blond man who was still admiring his own reflection.
The scenery outside the window was moving.
I observed impassively.
Advanced Nurturing High School. It seems that extraordinary individuals gather here.
Sakamoto's appearance made the original 'strangeness' even more elusive. This school might be more interesting than I expected. I didn't particularly like this potentially chaotic situation, but I wasn't averse to it either.