“Do we really need to put that in the presentation?” I mutter.
She smirks. “You said it with your whole chest yesterday. The people deserve to know.”
We’re sitting at our shared desk during class, surrounded by the dull hum of other students interviewing their partners. It’s chaos—but somehow, my chaos feels louder than everyone else's combined.
“Okay, my turn,” I say, trying to regain dignity. “What's your favorite food?”
She pretends to think hard. “Hmm… something cute. Like pancakes.”
“That’s... not really a food you eat for lunch.”
“Neither is soup, Kazama-kun.”
Touché.
The thing is, she’s too good at this.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
While I’m here sweating bullets trying to decide if my favorite movie makes me sound too boring, she’s calmly jotting down facts about me like she’s writing a character profile.
And she doesn’t even make fun of me—directly.
She just… smiles. Like I’m interesting or something.
Which I’m not.
I mean, my morning routine includes arguing with my alarm clock and occasionally brushing my teeth with hair gel if I’m too sleepy.
“What’s something you’re proud of?” she asks next.
I freeze. “Uh… existing.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“I—I mean, I’ve never been late to school. That’s something, right?”
“Not bad,” she says, writing it down with a small smile. “Kazama Yuuji: punctual soup enthusiast.”
I lower my head onto the desk.
In the middle of class, Mr. Sakamoto walks by and glances at our notes. He raises an eyebrow.
“You two look like you're having fun,” he says.
Aika nods. “Very productive.”
I’m just trying not to die.
By the end of the period, our presentation outline looks like this:
- Name: Kazama Yuuji
- Likes: Soup, sleeping in, not being called on
- Dislikes: Being called on, group projects, soup being judged
- Secret talent: Can do all his homework the night before and still pass
- Mysterious aura: None
- Vibe: Constant panic
Aika made the last two up.
I didn’t even argue.
The bell rings.
As we pack up, she turns to me.
“You’re more fun than you act, you know.”
My brain short-circuits again.
“O-Oh. Thanks. You’re, uh… very composed. And scary.”
“Scary?”
“Like... in an elegant way.”
She blinks.
Then laughs.
Loudly.
“I’ll take it.”
To be continued…