Day two in the dystopian paradise. I slide into the classroom and take a look around, noticing the other students already seated at their desks. Some of them chatting amongst themselves and others quietly waiting for the homeroom teacher to arrive.
Ah, routine. How comforting... said no one ever.
I stroll over to where Yamauchi and Ike are seated and give them a friendly wave.
"Hey Shiroi-kun, check this out!"
Sotomura practically shoves a sleek, silver laptop across the desk, its screen flashing with a vibrant image of a fantasy landscape.
"This is my brand-new laptop! Just bought it last night!"
He angles the laptop toward me, showing off its sleek design and shiny finish. It appears to be a high-end model, with an impressive list of specs. His grin is spreading from ear to ear, practically bouncing with excitement.
"It's awesome, isn't it?" he boasts.
"Whoa, check out your laptop, Sotomura. That looks expensive! Are you planning on dominating all game-time night with that beast?" I say, giving it a once-over.
"This beauty was a mere 80,000 points! We've got a hundred thousand more points every month, so it was a steal."
Peeking at our conversation, Yamauchi leans in a bit to take a closer look at the laptop.
"80k points?!" Yamauchi whistles and taps the keyboard. "Dude, that's a huge chunk of our points! What, are you planning on living off salad for the rest of the month?"
Sotomura slams the laptop down with a satisfying clack, his grin growing even wider. "Told you it was a steal! The store's got this 'Welcome to ANHS' discount. This baby's packing an RTX 4080 and liquid cooling. Perfect for all-night gaming sessions—or 'studying,' if you're into that."
I watch the three of them with amusement. 80,000 points... Not a bad investment, if you actually use it for something productive, especially if you use it to learn coding, for example, which could open up some serious job opportunities. Or even create a virus that turns Yamauchi into a tolerable person, everything depends on how you use what you have.
Though, knowing Sotomura, it'll probably end up gathering dust after a week of playing Genshin Impact and storing 4TB of hentai. Still, a high-end laptop could be useful.
Suddenly, Ike, who'd been quietly fiddling with his phone, looks up. "Speaking of games..."
He pulls a console out of his bag. "I bought a lot of cell phone games!"
Sotomura nods, still admiring his laptop, as Ike shows off his new cell phone games. Yamauchi leans in, peeking at the games as well, his eyes shining with curiosity.
"This is awesome! I'll buy some too, and we can battle!"
I sigh, turning to the camera with a voiceover tone like a documentary about the human decay: "Ah, yes. The education of the future: mobile games, expensive laptops, and a competition to see who wastes more points on digital nonsense."
I have nothing to add to their intellectual conversation, so I look down at my phone and open "Himawari-san", a yuri manga I stumbled across.
"Wow, Shiroi. I didn't imagine you reading that." Sotomura remarks, nodding like an anime scholar.
"Well, It's not that I'm into yuri, I just appreciate a good shoujo. This one is called 'Himawari-san' and it's about the story of a bookstore owner and a high school student discovering their feelings for each other. It's a sweet and innocent love story... without the cliché vomit-inducing aspects of conventional hetero relationships."
Ike interrupts me. "Innocent? So there's no... you know?" He raises his left hand, creating a circle by pressing the tip of his thumb to the tip of his index finger, while the other fingers stay extended. Then, he slowly guides his right hand's index finger toward the circle sliding it repeatedly through the hole.
"Seriously? Must you reduce everything to base instincts? It's a story, jerk off, about emotions and connection. Try raising your mind above the teenage hormone level for once." I deadpan.
Ike snorts. "Ugh, sounds boring. No boobs, no butts, no fanservice. What's the joke?" He makes a dismissive gesture with his hand and begins playing with his phone again.
"...Let me take a peek."
Yamauchi reaches out his hand towards my phone. After a brief hesitation, I hand it over, letting him scroll through the pages.
As Yamauchi scrolls through the manga. He reads quietly for a few moments, his expression changing from 'this is weird' to 'oh... this is good' in 2 seconds."
"Wow! That's some Interesting stuff. I might check this out in class. Gotta admit, I didn't expect to see you reading something like this, Shiroi. But it's not half bad." Yamauchi says as he hands back my phone, with a grin of 'I just discovered a new fetish'.
I roll his eyes and mutter, "Glad I could broaden your horizons, Yamauchi."
Just as the bell rings, Chabashira-Sensei strides into the room, radiating authority. The class falls silent with a collective shudder, sensing her stern gaze. The class starts as usual, as her sharp eyes scan the room, daring anyone to break the silence.
1st Year D-Class Room:
"The head of the Yamato government was known as the O-Kimi. He controlled the powerful families of each region using the Uji-Kabane system..."
Ugh, so boring. My mind drifts, the monotonous drone of Chabashira-sensei's voice fading into background noise. The Uji-Kabane system? More like the Uji-Bore-Me system.
I take a look on my classmates, confirming that I'm not alone in this sentiment. Only a handful of students are actually taking notes.
Chabashira, our teacher, seems unbothered by the sleepy vibe and keeps the lecture rolling, occasionally throwing out a comment or question to the few who are awake, each of her words are like a deadly chant spell. Either she's a master of performance art, or they pay her extra to ignore the fact that 80%, of her audience is mentally elsewhere.
"What's the point?" I think, idly twirling a pen between my fingers. We'll promptly forget it all the moment we step outside.
I rest my chin on my hand, my gaze sweeping across the classroom, searching for something—anything more stimulating than the droning lecture on ancient Japanese governance.
"Huh...?"
A flash of crimson catches my eye, some red-haired behemoth at the back is completely conked out, his head lolling like a broken bobblehead.
I lean over to Yamauchi, nudging him before whispering, "Hey, check out Sleeping Beauty back there. Narcolepsy or just zero fucks given?"
Yamauchi glances up, following my gaze and snorts. "That's Sudou. Dude treats class like his personal naptime. You'll get used to it." He returns to his tablet, completely unfazed."
Sudou, huh? I sneak a peek at his tablet's screen. Wait a second, is that? Yep. Those unmistakable character designs. Himawari-san. So, the surprisingly compelling yuri manga has snagged another victim. Figures. At least someone's enjoying this class.
Why the hell does the school let him sleep like that anyway? It's like they've just thrown the responsibility on us. Talk about lax regulations.
So this is the famous "academic rigor" of Koudo Ikusei High School. They'll literally let you sleep through ancient history if it means keeping their precious 100% employment stats. Ha!
My pencil absently carves trenches into the notebook, today's historical "wisdom" isn't worth the ink.
My hand drifts to the corner of the page, snagging a crisp sheet of paper. Time for a little target practice. Ike, sitting a few rows ahead, is the perfect target. His oblivious, perv-addled head practically screams 'Hit me!'
On a whim, I crumple the sheet into a tight ball and flick it in his direction. The projectile sails through the air with surprising accuracy, thwacking Pervy-kun right on the shoulder.
"The hell—?" He glances back, noticing my grinning and sighs.
"A paper ball? Really? You're doing this in high school?"
He looks at me with his eyebrows furrowed for a split second, but then a mischievous grin spreads across his face. Suddenly, with the manic energy of the Joker himself, he launches the crumpled paper ball back. It smacks me squarely on the forehead.
"An eye for an eye, dumbass!" he declares, a little too loudly.
A small yelp escapes me as I rub my forehead with a mock wince.
"Hey! That actually stung, you bastard!" I glare at Ike, but I can't help but crack a smile.
Ike's laughter rings out, the obnoxious, wheezing kind that makes nearby students shoot him dirty looks.
"Lesson fuckin' learned, right? Don't start what you can't finish!" he crows, puffing out his chest like some kind of preening rooster.
I casually toss another crumpled paper ball between my hands, aiming it at the smug look plastered across his face. "Oh, this war is far from over, Ike. Hope you've got good reflexes."
Just as I'm about to launch my counter-attack, a movement at the edge of my vision snaps me out of my playful stupor. Chabashira-sensei has stopped writing on the blackboard and is gliding towards us, her expression as inscrutable as a stone sphinx. She stops by our desks, her cold, penetrating gaze lingering on us for a beat too long. Then, with a deceptively casual movement, she puts something down in a small, black notebook she's holding. No reprimand, no scolding, just a note.
She then returns to her lecture as if nothing happened, her voice resuming its monotonous drone about ancient Japanese social hierarchies.
Seriously? Now she's playing the "responsible teacher" card? What did she write down? "Two exemplary students engaging in a spirited debate about the aerodynamic properties of recycled paper?" She's acting like a silent, note-taking assassin. As if that pathetic little notebook is some kind of instrument of terror, who do you think you are? Kira? What a joke. You should have thought a little before giving us 100,000 yen for free without having to put in any effort. I hope she can afford a decaf coffee, because she has no energy left to teach.
In this relaxed atmosphere (which is to say, the educational equivalent of a coma), lunch arrives earlier than expected. I trudge towards the cafeteria with my acquaintances Ike and Yamauchi.
"Man, Sae-chan sensei is so cool," Ike gushes, practically vibrating with enthusiasm.
"She just lets us do whatever we want! Doesn't even bat an eye! It's like anarchy in there!" He mimes an explosion, complete with sound effects, earning us a couple of bewildered looks from passing students across the hall.
Anarchy? More like apathy.
We arrive at the cafeteria and grab our food, carving out a territory at a relatively clean table. The cafeteria hums with the chaotic energy of 200 teenagers who've discovered unlimited meal points.
Yamauchi nods, shoveling a massive spoonful of sushi with tobiko into his mouth. "Yeah, Sae-chan's super chill. She doesn't micromanage us or anything. It's great." He lets out a satisfied grunt, bits of orange... substance flying from his lips. I subtly scoot my chair a few inches further away.
Ahh... having friends feels so wonderful. I can simply blurt foolish things without thinking what I'm saying and these guys will just laugh at it. It's amazing not to be a lonely wallflower. You guys have no idea what you're missing.
I scoop up a few noodles with my chopsticks, swirling them together before bringing them to my mouth with a loud noise. "Chabashira's either a genius or a sleep-deprived zombie. No in-between. Place your bets now on how many coffee cups are piled on her desk." I say, with my mouth half-full.
"Who cares? No homework, no pop quizzes, life's good. Plus..." Ike nods toward a group of girls giggling nearby. "...scouting opportunities." He winks, nudging Yamauchi with his elbow.
"Yeah, back in middle school, my coach would've skinned us for slacking. But hey..." Yamauchi winks, flexing a bicep with his fork in hand. "Maybe she's into me. Teachers dig athletes, right?"
Ike chokes on his rice, spraying a few grains across the table. "In your dreams, shitty-athlete. Sae-chan wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole." he wheezes, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Let's be real," I say, twirling my chopsticks. "Chabashira-sensei is not only chill but also pretty good-looking, sometimes I find it easier to zone out and focus on the view instead of the lesson. A man can dream, right?"
Yamauchi snorts. "Dude, you're dreaming way above your pay grade. Sae-chan's a total MILF, but she's also, like, twice our age."
"Age is just a number," Ike chimes in, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Besides, imagine the bragging rights. 'I'm dating my hot teacher'? Instant legend."
My grin widens. "Imagine the other bragging rights," I murmur, lowering my voice conspiratorially. "Imagine telling people you've educated Chabashira-sensei in extracurricular activities." I lick my lips.
Yamauchi's eyes widen. "Oi, oi, there, Shiroi! That's... that's some next-level stuff. I mean, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it, but..." He trails off, a mixture of excitement and apprehension on his face.
Ike, however, is unfazed. "Man, if I had Sae-chan all to myself for a weekend," he says, leaning forward with a lascivious grin, lacking of every hint of subtlety. "I wouldn't let her leave the bedroom. We'd explore every page of the Kama Sutra, rewrite the textbook on human anatomy—"
"Okay, okay," I interrupt, holding up a hand. "Let's keep it. Some of us are still trying to enjoy our lunch." I take a bite of my sandwich, barely holding a smirk. "Though, I can't deny the appeal of a private lesson with Chabashira-sensei..." I think to myself, a mischievous glint in my eye.
"Besides," I add aloud, "She's way out of our league. I mean, she's got that mature, sophisticated vibe. Even if she wasn't our teacher, I doubt she'd go for guys like us. We're practically a bunch of children in her eyes."
Yamauchi sighs dramatically. "Why do all the hot ones have to be adults?"
Our pathetic fantasy session screeches to a halt as Hirata strolls past our table, a cluster of giggling girls attracted to him like flies to dogshit. We all pause mid-sentence, our forks frozen in mid-air.
"Ugh," Ike groans, slumping back in his chair. "Look at Prince Charming, holding court. Must be nice to be born with the 'instantly beloved by everyone' gene." He stabs at a piece of karaage with unnecessary force.
Yamauchi nods glumly. "How's he make it look so easy? It's not fair."
"Some people are just born winning life's lottery. The rest of us get to be the cautionary tales." I say, shrugging.
As I dig into my yakisoba, barely registering the taste through my apathy, a tinny voice crackles over the PA system, assaulting my eardrums with the enthusiasm of a game show host.
"At five PM Japan Standard Time today, we will be holding a student club fair in Gymnasium No. 1. Students interested in joining a club, please gather in Gymnasium No. 1. I repeat, at—"
A girl with a sweet voice continues the announcement.
"A club fair, huh? This sounds interesting." Ike's eyes light up at the announcement, his food forgotten for a moment. He leans forward, a grin on his face.
"Really? Since when do you have interests beyond staring at girls' uniforms?" I raise an eyebrow.
Yamauchi perks up too, his attention drawn away from the girls he was eyeing. He strokes his chin thoughtfully as if he's Sherlock holmes spotting a hint.
"A club fair might be worth checking out, who knows, something might catch my fancy."
Since when do these two Neanderthals have any interest in extracurricular activities? Something's not right here.
"You guys... are actually considering joining clubs?" I say, my finger circling between them.
"Honestly, Sudou has better odds of spontaneously developing interest in class than you two lazy bums showing up to anything that requires effort."
They exchange that creepy twin-glance of theirs before hitting me with shit-eating grins.
"What's wrong, Shiroi? You doubting us?"
I roll my eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't get stuck in the back of my head. "There's no way you two are actually going to join a club
"Who said anything about joining clubs?" Ike retorts with a mischievous glint in his eye.
"What do you mean? Why would you go to a club fair if it's not for inscribing to a club?"
"We're going because it sounds entertaining," Yamauchi adds, emphasizing the word with a suggestive wink. "And hey, you never know who you might bump into."
"Yeah, my plan is to have a fateful encounter with a cutie. It's called market research for potential girlfriends!" Ike confesses, practically drooling at the thought.
Do those two idiots actually share the only brain cell they have?
I cross my arms like a disappointed parent, followed by a long-suffering sigh escaping my lips. "You guys are hopeless."
"Oh come on, don't pretend you're not curious which clubs are just fronts for secret makeout sessions." Ike wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.
I exhale through my nose, the international sign of "Fine, you win".
Alright, I'll indulge them. The comedic gold of seeing these two fools make fools of themselves and then laughing at them like any true friend would when they see another buddy in an embarrassing situation is... well, I don't mind a chuckle at their expense.
"See? You're just as much of a perv as we are." Ike grins, nudging me playfully.
"Perhaps..." I mumble, my tone completely flat and expressionless.
Yamauchi, oblivious to my sarcasm, flashes a triumphant grin. "So, you're coming?"
My face contorts into a tight grimace, as if I were biting into an invisible lemon, while my eyes betray barely concealed discomfort.
"Uhh... how to put this..."
"...You're not coming?" Ike's face falls, his grin vanishing. He and Yamauchi exchange bewildered glances.
I'd rather watch paint dry. Or better yet, watch you two watch paint dry.
Just as I'm about to unleash my finely crafted sarcasm, a voice interrupts.
"Hey, Shiroi-kun. Can I talk to you for a bit?" Hirata greets me, sliding into the seat beside me with an easy smile. Ike and Yamauchi exchange curious glances, clearly recognizing the resident Class D prince charming.
"Sure, Hirata, no big deal."
He settles on the seat before asking. "So, I was wondering if—" Hirata begins.
I raise a hand, cutting him off smoothly. "Don't worry. I assumed you'd be here eventually. Couldn't let the soccer club go without its star player, could you?" I meet his gaze, a subtle glint of amusement in my eyes.
Hirata laughs softly, his laugh is so wholesome it could make even the coldest hearts melt with it. "Oh, you already knew?"
I shrug casually. "It wasn't exactly hard to figure out."
Hirata rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess so. But you're still coming to the club fair, right?"
"A promise is a promise," I say, giving him a thumbs-up, accompanied by a wink.
Especially when it benefits my research.
Ike and Yamauchi, however, exchange glances that scream "Since when are you Mr. Social?"
"I'll see you at the gymnasium, then." Hirata says, rising to his feet, glancing back at me, then glances at Ike and Yamauchi briefly before walking off.
Once Hirata's out of sight, Ike leans in, his curiosity getting the better of him, practically vibrating with the need to know.
"Dude," he whispers, his voice a mix of bewilderment and suspicion, "what the hell was that about? Since when are you and Hirata such buddies?"
"Any problem with that, Ike?" I ask, raising an eyebrow, a sly smile playing on my lips. I lean back in my chair, enjoying his confusion.
"Problem? Man I got several problems. You're ditching us, your actual friends for Hirata? Mr. Perfect? The guy who probably alphabetizes his sock drawer? That Hirata?"
"I'm not ditching anyone. Hirata and I simply have shared interests. We're joining the same club."
"But... but you promised you'd go to the club fair with us!" Ike insists, his voice rising in indignation.
"Did I? I don't recall making any such promise." I tap a finger against my temple, as if struggling to remember.
"You might as well have. You were practically groveling— 'Oh please, help my unlovable ass find someone who can stand my resting bitch face'." Yamauchi snorts.
"Transparent as hell, man. You just want to ride Hirata's coattails into popularity town." Ike adds, jabbing a finger in my direction. "Smart move, Shiroi. Real smart. Too bad we're not your free dating service." He crosses his arms, a smug look on his face, both guys pointing their spears at me.
Wanna have a 2v1, huh? Challenge accepted, kakatte koi!
"Let's be clear. I'm not in it for popularity. We both just want to join the soccer club." I roll my sleeves up.
"Bullshit. You've been eyeing Hirata since the self introductions thing. Dude's got you whipped." Ike scoffs.
"Hmph, whatever is my reason I won't tell you." I stick my tongue playfully.
"Ugh, you're such a brat."
"And you two are acting like a pair of possessive toddlers whose favorite toy is being borrowed. Chill out." I retort with an exaggerated sigh, folding my arms.
Yamauchi huffs, crossing his arms and looking away, a picture of childish sulking. Ike, however, lets out a small laugh, finding the whole situation amusing.
"You know we're just messing with you, right?" he says, his grin widening.
I roll my eyes, but a small, reluctant smile tugs at the corners of my lips. "You guys are a pain in the ass." I say, my voice lacking its usual bite.
Ike laughs and teases, "Oh, come on, Shiroi—admit it, deep down you love our unique brand of chaos!" Yamauchi smirks, arms still crossed, cool and unbothered.
Their laughter echoes around me, loud and oblivious. So simple. So carefree. They don't see the world as I do. They don't carry the same weight. They're free. And in that freedom, I see something precious. Something I lost a long time ago.
I watch them, the salty steam of my cooling yakisoba doing little to warm the sudden hollowness in my chest.
"Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise," that's what the English poet Thomas Gray stated in his poem called 'ode on a distant prospect of eton'. It's about the innocence of childhood, the passing of time, and the nature of humanity, contrasting the joy and freedom of students at Eton with the sadness and difficulties of adult life, suggesting that the ignorance of childhood is a form of happiness.
Perhaps he's right. Maybe true happiness lies in the absence of thought.
A bitter laugh catches in my throat. Forget. If only it were that simple. To just shut off, to live in the moment.
But deep down, their chaotic energy makes me feel a little less invisible, even if they act like overgrown children sometimes. And in that sense, that easygoing, carefree way of looking at life, even if pathetic. I'd love to have it.