Beep, beep, beep—
The small, insistent sound was abruptly cut off by the precise click of my thumb on the alarm's button. Morning light, pale and cool, seeped through the thin curtains of the window, gradually dissolving the lingering fog of sleep. Today marked my seventh day in Japan, the land of structure and precision, and my first day at Shukumei-gawa High School. Six months of the exchange program began now.
I rose, folding the futon neatly and smoothly sliding it into the wardrobe, a small, satisfying routine. Grabbing my towel, I stepped out of Takumi's room and headed for the bathroom. The warm water of the shower helped sharpen my senses, washing away the residue of the night and preparing my mind for the required adaptability of the day ahead.
When I finished, I returned to Takumi. The younger boy was still a motionless mound under his blanket, completely immune to the morning's demands.
"Hey… wake up. You'll miss your first day of middle school," I said, my voice naturally steady and low, tapping his shoulder lightly.
"Five minutes, big bro…" he mumbled, clutching the fabric tighter.
"Suit yourself. No ice cream later," I replied, my tone purely factual rather than persuasive, as I adjusted the crisp, dark grey material of my new school uniform in the full-length mirror.
"You can't blackmail me with that," he grumbled from the bed—but he sat up nonetheless. "Fine… I'm going."
I watched him stumble out, still burdened by sleep, then turned back to my reflection. I ran a hand through my wavy black hair, attempting to smooth the slight messiness. The sharp jawline and cool, defined face stared back. My amber, slightly upturned eyes looked heavy and half-lidded, giving the impression of perpetual sleepiness. It was just how they settled.
The unfamiliar uniform felt clean and restrictive. I pulled on my messenger bag and moved toward the living room.
"Naim-san—don't forget your bento! I made some for you and Takumi," Saki Yoshida's warm voice called from the kitchen.
"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Yoshida," I replied quietly.
I took the neatly packed lunch box from the counter while she continued washing dishes.
She glanced at me with a gentle, encouraging smile. "Please, just call me Saki. And enjoy your first day. Try not to look quite so… sleepy."
A small, internal acknowledgement of the observation. "I'll keep that in mind," I said. "I'm heading out now."
I nodded once and stepped to the entrance. As I sat on the porch, I carefully put on my shoes, tying the laces with practiced, efficient neatness.
Saki, my host guardian, was gentle and modest; she and her husband has taken care of everything I need—shelter, meals, stability. I appreciate it, even if I don't say much.
Once upright, I began the walk. The morning air was sharp, noticeably cooler than Malaysia's humidity. My mind was already absorbing the foreign environment—the streets were clean, the architecture precise. I took it all in silently, processing the differences at my own analytical pace.
Shukumei-gawa High School eventually came into view, its size and deliberate campus layout speaking to a developed, structured system.
A new environment.
New routines.
Six months to observe and adapt.
I exhaled softly, steadying my pace as I approached the gates—calm, composed, ready to assimilate whatever the day presented.
The school gates of Shukumei-gawa High School stood before me—simple, clean, and well-kept. Students streamed through in clusters, chatting, laughing, adjusting uniforms. I moved among them quietly, my steps unhurried, my gaze lowered just enough to avoid drawing unnecessary attention.
The campus felt alive, yet governed by a subtle order. A meticulous blend of neat buildings, trimmed hedges, and tidy walkways. This structure was profoundly different from the more chaotic, fluid rhythm of my school back home. I processed the environment's efficiency.
The signboard pointing toward the principal's office was easily identifiable.
Good. At least I wouldn't spend my first morning wandering aimlessly.
The year of basic Japanese drilling meant reading the signs wasn't difficult. Speaking was manageable, though fluency was still a long way off.
I followed the hallway until I reached a solid door marked with a silver nameplate: Principal's Office.
I lifted my hand and knocked three times—a quiet habit of precision more than a show of confidence.
A calm, sharp female voice responded from inside. "Come in."
I opened the door with a soft click and stepped inside.
Behind the large desk sat Aoi Tanaka, the school principal. Her medium-length hair, sharp eyes, and lean frame were complemented by a silver suit that radiated an air of precision. She studied me the moment I entered, her gaze sweeping over my appearance, evaluating every detail at once.
I executed a polite bow. It felt a little stiff, but the effort was there.
She gestured lightly, indicating I should approach. "Having a rough night, Aidan? Feeling anxious about your first day?"
Her tone was direct and immediate—not rude, but aggressively observant. She had already noted the characteristic look of my sleepy, half-lidded eyes.
"Not really," I answered calmly, my voice steady. "Just didn't sleep properly."
A faint, analytical smirk pulled at her lips, there and gone in an instant. "I see. Let's hope you won't make a habit of that."
She was testing my composure.
She slid a file across the desk toward me. "This is your documentation. I've reviewed it briefly—your assigned class is 3-1. Welcome to Shukumei-gawa High School."
I stepped forward and took the file with both hands, a gesture of respect I'd been coached on. "Thank you, Mrs. Tanaka."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "If you need anything, feel free to return later. For now, explore the school. Talk to people. Make new friends. I won't be providing a guide—you have the basics of the language, after all."
Her gaze wasn't unkind, but it was dissecting, clearly more interested in reading my reactions than hearing my words.
"I understand," I responded. "I should head to class now."
I offered another respectful bow, then turned toward the door. My hand was already on the knob when I paused. Something small but necessary—a final social courtesy—pushed me to speak again.
"Thank you for the hospitality. And for having me here."
She didn't offer a verbal reply this time—only a small, acknowledging smile.
That's enough. I prefer gestures to words; they take less energy, and they are often clearer.
I stepped out of her office, closing the door quietly behind me, already calculating the quickest route to Class 3-1. A new school. A new environment. The adaptation had begun.
I wandered down the hallway, my eyes methodically scanning the walls, but no clear signboard pointed me toward Class 3-1. A quiet sigh slipped out; I leaned my shoulder against the cool, concrete wall.
Tch… great. First day and already lost.
Students passed by, offering curious glances—some subtle, others less so. The unwanted attention was immediate. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to reset my thoughts—
A gentle, unexpected tap landed on my shoulder. I turned, and the moment my eyes met hers,
Thud
My heartbeat thudded once—a sharp, entirely unexpected disruption to my composure.
Standing there was a girl radiating a bright, open smile, sunlight catching the subtle dimple on her cheek. Her warm, dark brown eyes shimmered under the morning light as she tilted her head slightly, her long, wavy hair shifting.
"Hey… are you lost or something? You've been standing here forever," she said, her voice naturally energetic and lively.
She leaned closer, hands clasped behind her back, studying my face with more curiosity than teasing.
"You're not from around here, are you? New?" she pressed, straightening up again.
It wasn't just her appearance—the cute, youthful heart-shape of her face—that had momentarily thrown me off; it was the sheer force of the cheerful energy she carried. The effortless ease.
Before I could formulate a measured response, she beat me to it. "Can't talk? Or did a cat steal your tongue?" A light, genuine laugh escaped her, dissolving the slight tension.
I regained enough composure, running a hand quietly over the back of my neck. "Yeah… I mean, no."
I focused my gaze on her. "Let's just say this is my first time here." I offered the key information, hoping she'd intuitively grasp the next question. "Do you know where Class 3-1 is?"
"What a coincidence!" she exclaimed playfully, the dimple deepening. "That's my class."
She pointed toward the stairwell with an exaggerated, cheerful gesture. "See that stair? First floor, right beside it."
She looked back at me, her curiosity still visible. "I can show you, if you want."
I glanced toward the stairs, taking a beat, then gave her a small, reserved nod "Thanks."
I started walking at my usual unhurried, composed pace, my eyes down, intent on avoiding unnecessary attention—
"Hey, dummy. Wait up!" Her bright voice cut immediately through the morning hallway chatter.
Great. Now everyone was staring.
I heard her skip or jog lightly until she reached my side, her scent—pomegranate and magnolia, a vibrant, fresh floral—briefly reaching me.
"And you're welcome," she added with a wide grin she didn't even try to hide.
She walked ahead of me as we reached the stairs, still clasping her hands behind her back, her posture radiating confidence.
"Are you mixed or something?" she asked suddenly, her tone shifting slightly. "Your Japanese sounds a little different."
I glanced at her cheerful figure climbing the steps. "Yeah… a bit. Why?"
"You're not Japanese, are you?" Her tone remained bright, but the curiosity was intense now.
"No. I'm not." I kept my voice perfectly calm and steady. "I'm here on an exchange program."
She stopped abruptly, mid-step, then leaned in toward my face with wide, analyzing eyes. "Wait—what? Seriously? Where are you from?"
I halted as well, maintaining a polite distance that seemed to be meaningless to her. "Malaysia," I answered softly, then stepped past her to continue upward.
She didn't move for a moment, and when I stole a glance back, she wasn't smiling—she was smirking. Curiosity flickered across her features, as if she had just discovered an interesting, complex puzzle.
At the top of the staircase, the signboard for 3-1 finally came into view.
"Hey," she called as she finished the last few steps. "What's your name? I'm Akari Harukawa, by the way."
"Naim," I replied quietly. "Naim Aidan."
I gave Harukawa a final, quiet glance before moving toward our classroom.
The front sliding door to Class 3-1 was half-open, voices spilling faintly into the hallway. I paused for a moment, steadying my breathing. First impressions weren't something I cared too much about—but attracting unnecessary attention was the last thing I wanted.
Harukawa, on the other hand, slipped into the room through the second door with a cheerful, booming, "Hey guys… miss me?" Her entrance instantly pulled the attention of half the students, creating a perfect distraction.
This is it. Just enter quietly. Unhurried.
I lifted the sliding door just enough to prevent it from rattling, opening it with a soft shff. The room dipped into a brief hush—not complete silence, but enough for me to feel several curious gazes settle on me. I ignored them, stepping inside with even, measured steps that carried no sense of urgency.
I surveyed the room: rows of desks, a sea of unfamiliar faces, and the faint, low hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Everything felt foreign, structured, yet oddly ordinary.
I glanced left calmly, tucking my left hand into my pocket while scanning for an empty seat. A quick, analytical look was all it took to spot one in the middle row, on the right side of the classroom if viewed from the teacher's desk.
Right beside the window. Good. Far from the door. Optimal placement.
With steady, deliberate steps, I navigated the space, focusing on the destination rather than the lingering stares. Once I reached the desk that would likely become my own personal territory for the next six months, I unslung my messenger bag and placed it on the floor. I settled into the chair with quiet ease, leaning back slightly, already blending in.
The class quickly buzzed back to life, everyone returning to their cliques and conversations. Here and there, Harukawa's voice rose above the mix—bright, animated, and clearly the center of her group's attention.
Nice… the usual peace comes by. It's not that I don't want friends. It's just tiresome to talk.
Just as I began to savor the momentary calm, the teacher entered the room. Students stood up automatically. I nearly remained seated, but managed to rise calmly and smoothly enough to avoid looking out of place. After a simple exchange of greetings, everyone began sitting down—until a voice stopped me.
"Ah ah—you, young man. Not yet. I've been looking for you since the principal informed me you'd be joining us." He pointed toward me with a gesture that felt more approachable than stern.
No name-tag… I don't even know how to address him.
Standing in front of me was a man with short-cropped hair dusted with grey, his face friendly and open. I stood quietly, waiting for instruction, my posture composed.
"You might not know me yet, so let me introduce myself," he said warmly. "I'm Tomoya Yasuda—your homeroom teacher." He offered a small, encouraging smile before continuing, "Now then, please introduce yourself."
First impression… I don't care about any of that. How should I approach this? Ah… let's just be honest.
I stood straighter and took a calm, centering breath.
"My name is Naim Aidan. I transferred here as an exchange student from Malaysia." My eyes stayed fixed on Yasuda-sensei, though I could sense the classroom settling into silence, listening attentively. He seemed to expect more, so I continued softly, "There's nothing particularly interesting about me, but I did play sports back home. Nice to meet you all."
Yasuda-sensei didn't interrupt, allowing the room to hum with brief, curious whispers before—
"Hey! Do you play football?"
A sharp, energetic voice cut across the class, an immediate challenge to the returning silence.
Surprised, I turned toward the voice. A tall, lean guy I didn't recognize yet—short black fringe haircut, masculine features. I didn't bother with a verbal answer, offering him only a small, confirming nod.
Then, beside him, I noticed Harukawa. She was leaning forward, elbow propped on her desk, cheek resting on her hand, watching me. She was smiling.
That smile again—bright, almost annoyingly gentle.
Before I could react or speak further, Yasuda-sensei smoothly took control. "Alright, class. Bring out your history books. We'll be focusing on the Meiji Restoration today."
His voice carried a gentleness, an aura that made people want to listen rather than feel forced.
I sat down and pulled out my materials, settling into the familiar rhythm of a classroom lesson. Throughout the class, I took essential notes, though my gaze occasionally drifted to the window, following the effortless movement of leaves outside.
New classroom. New faces. New rhythm. It feels foreign—but not unwelcoming.
Throughout the lesson, the soft chattering of classmates drifted around the room—some focused, some distracted. It wasn't remarkably different from the rhythm back home. During the question-and-answer exchanges, Harukawa was among the few who actively engaged with Yasuda-sensei. From what I observed, her responses were solid. Some of the history questions were even ones I would have hesitated to answer myself, due to the linguistic complexity.
Don't bother raising your hand. The language barrier will only twist what you mean anyway.
When the bell rang, signaling the end of first period, everyone rose automatically and bowed to Yasuda-sensei. The moment he stepped out, the background chatter bloomed instantly, as if someone had flipped a switch. Students grouped up with familiar ease—sports talk in one corner, manga debates in another.
Football, huh. Maybe I should talk to that guy.
I stole a careful glance at him—the tall, lean student who had called out earlier. He sat in the second row from the back near the door, easily the focus of his group's conversation. Harukawa was there too, easily fitting into the lively circle, her own energy fueling the discussion.
If I go there, I'll attract attention. The cost is high.
I am taking deep breaths while processing my thoughts.
Nah… I'd like to play if I can. The potential benefit outweighs the brief annoyance.
I rose slowly and walked toward their group at an even, composed pace, halting just beside him
.
"Hey," I said, my voice low. "I didn't catch your name earlier."
He glanced up, resting one leg casually over the other, already chewing gum—a subtle, constant movement. "Hayate Kazama," he replied shortly.
"Hayate," I continued, my voice calm and focused on the objective, "how do I join the football team?"
Instead of answering the question, he smirked, a flicker of amusement crossing his features. "So… we're on a first-name basis now?"
Hm. Unexpected response. My mistake—I forgot the norm here. Too casual.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to disrespect you, Kazama. I'm still waiting for an answer, though." My composure remained steady, my tone entirely even, not allowing his light challenge to affect my equilibrium.
He didn't reply immediately—just broke into a short, charismatic laugh. Before he could continue, Harukawa leaned forward against the desk, turning her bright eyes on me.
"Hey, how about joining us for lunch at the cafeteria later?" she chimed, tilting her head slightly, offering the invitation with a genuine smile.
I paused, thinking, processing the variables instantly.
If I go, they'll definitely bombard me with questions about my country. And about me. The peace won't last.
"Nah… I still have something to do. But thanks for the offer." I gave a small, reserved nod of refusal, then turned back toward my own quiet space. My steps were calm, unhurried, carrying me back to the middle row and the safety of the window seat.
"Hey—Malaysian boy!" Kazama's voice, now carrying clear, easy authority, cut across the classroom just as I reached my desk. "The selection's on Wednesday. Stop by."
I paused mid-motion, glanced over my shoulder, gave him a confirming nod, and then settled back into my seat.
New classroom. New rhythm. The peace is fragile, but recoverable.