POV: Sakura Aoyama
The class did not recover.
Not really.
The teacher continued speaking, words flowing back into the room like nothing had happened, but the rhythm was broken. Pens moved again, notebooks opened, screens dimmed—but the attention never fully returned to the lecture.
It stayed split.
Half on the board.
Half on the seat directly in front of Sakura.
Ren Kurotsuki did not turn around again.
That was worse than if he had.
He sat with the ease of someone who had never once worried about whether he belonged somewhere.
One arm rested lazily over the back of his chair, broad shoulders relaxed beneath the uniform blazer. His posture said everything without saying anything at all.
I'm here.
Deal with it.
Sakura focused on the board, forcing her breathing into something slow and steady. She could feel it anyway—the pressure of being indirectly watched, the awareness that the attention in the room had subtly aligned itself around the two of them.
Not equally.
Unevenly.
The girl two seats to Sakura's left shifted uncomfortably, glancing between Sakura and Ren as if trying to calculate something invisible.
A boy in the row ahead kept turning his pen over and over in his fingers, not writing a single word.
The teacher asked a question.
No one answered.
Ren tilted his head slightly, as if bored.
The teacher cleared his throat. "Anyone?"
Silence.
Then, reluctantly, a hand went up near the front.
The answer was wrong.
Ren sighed quietly.
The sound was soft. Controlled.
But it carried.
The teacher paused, jaw tightening, then corrected the student without looking in Ren's direction. The class exhaled collectively, tension settling back into a low hum.
Sakura understood something then.
Ren didn't need to speak.
His presence edited the room.
Her phone vibrated once more against her thigh.
She ignored it.
Don't react.
The rest of the lecture passed without incident, but by the time the bell rang, Sakura's shoulders ached—not from tension, but from the effort of appearing unaffected.
Students stood quickly, chairs scraping louder than necessary. Conversations resumed, too fast, too forced.
Ren stood.
Up close, the difference in height was more pronounced. He was tall enough that he cast a shadow over her desk when he turned slightly, violet eyes flicking in her direction.
He smiled.
Brief. Sharp. Private.
Then he walked out without a word.
The effect was immediate.
The room erupted.
"Did you see that?"
"Why did he sit there?"
"Was that on purpose?"
"She answered back."
Sakura gathered her things calmly, ignoring the spike of attention. She stood and stepped into the aisle.
Someone blocked her path.
The girl with auburn hair from yesterday—the one who had smiled too sweetly in the cafeteria—stood there with two others at her side. Up close, she was undeniably beautiful.
Long legs, narrow waist, glossy hair cascading over one shoulder. Her makeup was flawless, her smile sharp.
"Interesting first day," the girl said.
Sakura adjusted her bag strap. "It's my second."
The smile tightened.
"You're confident," the girl continued. "That usually comes from protection."
"Or experience," Sakura replied.
A flicker of irritation crossed the girl's face.
"You shouldn't misunderstand your position here," she said, lowering her voice. "People notice things they shouldn't."
Sakura met her gaze evenly. "Then they should learn where to look."
The girl laughed softly. "You really don't know, do you?"
"Know what?"
"That you're already being discussed."
"By whom?"
The girl leaned in slightly. "Everyone who matters."
Sakura stepped around her. "Then they'll have plenty to talk about."
She walked away before the girl could respond.
Behind her, the silence stretched—sharp and offended.
The hallway was worse.
Where yesterday there had been curiosity, today there was intent.
Students didn't just look at her now—they adjusted around her. Doors closed a little faster. Conversations paused until she passed. Someone laughed a beat too late, like they'd waited for permission.
A boy brushed past her shoulder deliberately.
Not hard.
Just enough.
"Watch it," he muttered, though she hadn't touched him.
She didn't respond.
Don't react.
At her locker, she found a folded piece of paper waiting.
Not hidden.
Not taped.
Placed.
She unfolded it.
Careful who you stand behind.
She stared at the words for a moment, then folded the paper neatly and slipped it into her pocket.
Someone behind her laughed quietly.
She turned.
The auburn-haired girl stood a few lockers down, watching openly now.
"You really are brave," she said. "Or stupid."
Sakura closed her locker. "Which one are you hoping for?"
The girl's eyes hardened. "You think sitting behind him means something?"
"I think you're the one thinking about it," Sakura replied.
That did it.
The girl stepped closer, voice low. "You don't belong here."
Sakura met her gaze. "Neither do you."
The slap never came.
Instead, the girl smiled.
"Let's see how long you last," she said.
The next class was worse.
Different subject. Different teacher.
Same tension.
Sakura took her assigned seat—again by the window, again alone. Students filled in around her cautiously, as if proximity itself carried risk.
Ren did not arrive this time.
That somehow made it heavier.
The teacher began lecturing. Sakura listened, took notes, answered when called upon. Her responses were calm, precise—correct.
Too correct.
She felt the resentment build.
Someone dropped a pen behind her.
She didn't turn.
Someone kicked the leg of her chair—lightly, almost accidental.
She ignored it.
A note slid onto her desk.
She didn't pick it up.
The teacher's voice continued, droning on about economic systems. Sakura's attention drifted, not from boredom, but from awareness.
She could feel the room tightening around her, the way pressure slowly gathered when no one released it.
The bell rang.
She stood.
That was when someone spoke.
"Aoyama."
The voice was clear. Confident.
Ren's voice.
The room froze.
He stood at the back of the classroom, having entered without her noticing. His violet eyes were fixed on her, expression openly amused.
"Yes?" Sakura replied.
"You dropped this," he said, holding up the folded note.
A lie.
She hadn't.
The teacher hesitated. "Kurotsuki, is there a problem?"
"No," Ren replied smoothly. "Just returning property."
He walked down the aisle slowly, every step measured. Students leaned back instinctively, making room without being asked.
He stopped in front of Sakura's desk and placed the note down gently.
Their fingers brushed.
It was brief.
Intentional.
Her pulse jumped despite herself.
Ren leaned in slightly, voice low enough that only she could hear.
"People are testing you," he murmured.
"You're doing well."
"I didn't ask," Sakura replied just as quietly.
His smile widened. "You didn't need to."
He straightened and turned to leave.
The teacher swallowed. "Class dismissed."
The room exploded the second Ren left.
"What was that?"
"Did you see him touch her?"
"She didn't even flinch."
Sakura collected her things and walked out.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
They'll escalate now.
She didn't reply.
POV: Ren "Kurotsuki
They were predictable.
Miho—territorial, insecure, desperate to reassert control. The others followed her lead without thinking. That was how hierarchies survived.
Sakura Aoyama was disrupting that without trying.
Ren watched from a distance, violet eyes sharp with interest. She didn't lash out. She didn't beg. She didn't cling to him for protection.
She endured.
That made her dangerous.
Most people broke or submitted.
She adapted.
Ren smiled to himself as he slipped his phone back into his pocket.
Tomorrow, Miho would push harder.
Good.
Pressure revealed shape.
And Ren was very curious to see what shape Sakura would take.