The April wind drifted through the bus as it swayed toward Kōdo Ikusei High School.
I, Ayanokōji Kiyotaka, sat by the window, my gaze habitually sweeping the carriage. Even on the first day of the new semester, peculiarities were already beginning to surface.
Beside me sat a girl with long, straight black hair. A thin braid, tied with a white ribbon, hung over her left shoulder. She read in silence, her expression ice-cold. When my eyes moved past her and toward the aisle, she spoke without lifting her head, her tone sharp as a blade:
"Looking away like that makes me feel watched. It's unpleasant."
I apologized and shifted my gaze. Sharp. That was my first impression.
Across the aisle by the opposite window sat a boy in the same wine-red uniform. He naturally drew attention. Beneath dark-rimmed glasses, a tear-mole marked the outer corner of his left eye. His posture was tall, straight—almost too composed.
He sat quietly, yet even that stillness carried a poised elegance.
At that moment, he was idly playing with a silver fountain pen. It danced between his fingers—flipping, spinning, hovering—as if guided by invisible strings. The movements were fluid, effortless, and strangely beautiful, drawing the eyes of several students… including mine.
But he remained utterly unmoved by the attention, watching only the scenery sliding past the window.
I didn't expect much from the so-called "paradise" these next three years were rumored to be. Judging from this bus alone—the aloof girl with the black hair, the handsome boy with the tear-mole and impossible finger dexterity, and the blond guy in the front row admiring himself in a compact mirror—the atmosphere was already peculiar enough.
The brakes screeched. The bus pulled into the next stop.
The doors opened, and a silver-haired old woman stepped aboard, leaning heavily on her cane. She scanned the crowded carriage, sighed softly, and grasped the pole near her. Her frail frame swayed with every movement of the bus.
A heavy silence followed. Some students turned away. Others continued scrolling on their phones. The blond guy in the priority seat didn't look up, too absorbed in fixing his hair.
Indifference pooled in the air.
"Um… everyone?"
A clear voice broke through. A girl with short blond hair—pretty features, bright presence, and a rather conspicuous figure—looked around anxiously. Her eyes landed on the blond guy in the priority seat.
"She's not feeling well. Could you give up your seat?"
The blond boy snapped his mirror shut with a crisp clack, responding lazily:
"There's no reason for me to."
A flicker of frustration crossed the girl's face, but she steadied herself.
"Even if it isn't legally required, it's part of contributing to society—helping others."
"Contributing to society?" he echoed with a soft laugh. He snapped his fingers.
"Sorry. Not interested."
He leaned back, casting a playful look around the bus.
"Why single me out? Shouldn't the students over there give up their seats too? If you really care about the elderly, go ahead and offer yours."
His words hit the carriage like a splash of cold water, exposing everyone's hypocrisy. The atmosphere tightened.
Thrown off for a moment, the girl quickly regrouped and addressed the entire bus.
"Please—can someone give their seat to this lady?"
Her voice carried panic and pressure.
A woman beside the old lady shifted, about to stand—
—and then a soft cough cut through the tension.
It came from the boy with the tear-mole.
At some point, he had tucked away his fountain pen and risen smoothly to his feet. He didn't look at the girl, or the blond guy, or even the old lady. His eyes focused only on the pole she gripped.
Then, with dazzling precision, he moved.
His right hand slipped the silver fountain pen into a narrow gap above the pole. His left produced two compact, sturdy umbrellas out of nowhere. A few light clicks followed. Handles locked, ribs interlocked, and in less than three seconds he had constructed a rigid triangular support frame beside the pole—stable enough for the old woman to lean on without fear of falling.
He calmly removed his wine-red school jacket, folded it with precise care, and draped it over the triangular support like a cushion.
Only then did he turn to the astonished old woman and offer a small bow.
"Madam, please sit. It may not be elegant, but it is stable. It should help for now."
His tone held neither arrogance nor theatrics—just the quiet composure of someone who had already solved the problem.
The carriage fell dead silent. Every passenger simply stared, unable to decide whether they had just witnessed ingenuity, sorcery, or something in between.
The old lady blinked several times before slowly easing herself onto the improvised seat. The structure didn't shift a millimeter. Relief softened her features, and she thanked him over and over.
The short-haired blonde girl's expression was a blend of awe, frustration, and something that looked faintly like being upstaged. She quickly forced a bright smile and approached the boy.
"Ah—thank you! That was incredible! My name's Kushida Kikyo, First Year! Really, thank you for helping!"
Her introduction was lively—an attempt to reclaim the initiative.
The boy with the tear-mole simply gave her a polite nod, offering nothing more, before returning to his steady, elegant posture and gazing back out the window as if nothing had happened.
"Hmph."
The cold voice came from beside me. The black-haired girl had closed her book, her eyes sharply fixed on the boy.
"Such a performance in public… don't you think it's excessive? Or do you just enjoy showing off?"
She critiqued him without restraint, her tone cutting.
Another shift in attention swept through the carriage.
The boy turned slightly, adjusting his glasses with deliberate calm. The lenses flashed, reflecting a faint, cold gleam.
There was no anger in the gesture—just a controlled ritual, accompanied by the slightest, unreadable curve at the corner of his lips.
Facing her blade-sharp words, his voice remained smooth and unshaken:
"I simply wanted to make the lady more comfortable. If it caused any misunderstanding, I apologize."
No excuses. No counterattack. Only clarity of intention, followed by an apology for any unintended offense.
He adjusted his glasses once more and dipped his head politely.
"I'm Sakamoto. May I assist you with anything?"
"…"
Silence deepened. It felt as though the entire carriage collectively forgot to breathe.
I let my gaze drift—from Sakamoto, who had performed a physics-defying solution as easily as breathing; to the black-haired girl whose expression had grown significantly colder; to Kushida, whose sweet smile was now stiff at the edges; and finally to the blond guy still absorbed in admiring his own reflection.
Outside the window, the scenery blurred past.
I observed quietly.
Kōdo Ikusei High School seemed determined to gather unusual individuals.
With Sakamoto in the mix, the existing "oddities" only became harder to interpret.
Perhaps these three years would be more interesting than expected. Not necessarily pleasant or peaceful—but interesting.
I didn't dislike that.