Chapter 2: The Mysterious Senior

The sky stretches clear and bright, the sun—done playing coy with its springtime blush—blazes with the vigor of an early summer preview.

The school buzzes with energy, as if May blues are a foreign concept.

Yet the moment Takumi steps into Class 3-1, a hush falls over the room.

“…”

It lasts only a moment before chatter resumes.

Takumi sweeps a glance around, confirming no one’s staring, and heads to his seat.

He’s used to the train commute by now, but this reaction? Still throws him off.

He’s an outsider, no question. Rumors peg him as a troublemaker—maybe not full-on delinquent, but close enough.

Catching his reflection in the window, he scowls at himself.

His mother’s pale-skinned heritage runs strong in him, giving him naturally muted ash-brown hair. Paired with his perpetually harsh gaze, he looks like some wannabe tough guy who bleached his hair. At a prestigious school like Misasagi, he must seem like a rare breed.

His entrance speech didn’t help. Sleepless from nerves the night before, he radiated a grumpy aura, and his natural awkwardness turned his “…’Sup” into something that felt like a threat. With his looks, it’s no wonder everyone keeps their distance.

If he had the social chops to charm his way out of it with witty banter and make friends, he wouldn’t have spent middle school alone.

To play up the harmless, studious vibe, he’s been cracking open textbooks during breaks to show off some prep work.

But according to Kotori, it backfired—people think he slacks off at home and scrambles at school. Total misfire.

Now he reads novels or hits the library instead, though the results are still unclear.

As Takumi sighs inwardly at his own predicament, the classroom door slides open with a clatter.

Glancing over, he spots Kotori arriving.

“Yo, Nabacchi, mornin’~”

“Yesterday’s Futaba new release—wasn’t it, like, way too strawberry?!”

“I’d have preferred more strawberry, no milk, y’know~ What about you, Kotori-chan?”

“Eh, normal…”

Unlike Takumi, barreling down Loner Lane, Kotori’s swarmed by girls the moment she walks in.

They pepper her with questions about yesterday’s Futaba trip, but she brushes them off with a cool “Really?” or “Sure” or “Good,” her face a mask of indifference.

Her curt replies could seem rude, but the girls eat it up. “Nabacchi’s all about snagging the hype stuff, huh?” “She’s more into finding her own niche, I bet.” They don’t bat an eye, accepting her as the type who doesn’t chase trends.

Eavesdropping classmates chime in with praise: “Nabata-san’s got such a strong sense of self.” “Love how she doesn’t just follow the crowd.” The “Ice Princess” label fits, and they’re hooked.

But Takumi knows better. Yesterday at Futaba, she probably ordered the new drink and barely tasted it, too tense to enjoy. He catches the way her eyes flicker nervously every time it comes up.

Then their gazes lock. Noticing him watching, Kotori blinks, then looks away, a touch awkward.

Her friends keep chattering, oblivious to her unease, hyping up the conversation.

To outsiders, she’s just the cool girl tossing in the occasional nod.

Still, seeing her in the group—unlike the jittery, friendless Kotori of middle school—makes Takumi squint, almost dazzled.

During class, his thoughts linger on her.

Any way you slice it, the shy Kotori of middle school, isolated in her own way, now mingling with others stirs a pang of envy.

Takumi doesn’t choose to be alone.

As a kid, his looks got him sidelined. He’d stand on the outskirts, watching others play, fingers itching to join.

Playing solo was dull. He’d gaze at them with longing.

He tried speaking up a few times, only to be dodged.

Even when someone listened, his awkwardness botched any connection, and they’d drift away.

…Acchan, huh…

But once, someone reached out to Takumi despite his looks and halting words.

A natural-born leader, a scrappy kid who rounded up all the neighborhood children and always stood at the heart of every game. Takumi still remembers the constant scrapes and bruises on their face and limbs.

Tag around the park, kick-the-can across the housing blocks, hide-and-seek in the shrine grounds or the sacred woods.

Red light, green light, hide-and-seek, and jump rope with the whole gang.

Skimming stones by the river, hunting for four-leaf clovers, and so on.

Old-school games, no video consoles or fancy toys—just pure, physical fun.

These activities needed little talk, fostering a sense of unity that let Takumi slip into the group with ease.

It was the same for Kotori, painfully shy even back then, and that’s how their bond first sparked.

But one day, Acchan vanished—abruptly uprooted by a sudden move.

Naturally, with the heart of the group gone, the circle crumbled.

With Acchan’s departure, Takumi and Kotori were left alone again.

Yet those days playing together in the gang still gleam brightly in Takumi’s chest. That memory fuels his longing to rejoin the fold someday.

“Takumi, you’re fast—why not try track?”

To Takumi, Acchan was more than a friend—almost a savior. Those offhand words kicked off his running career.

A solo sport, no need for chit-chat, just grinding through practice—it suited him perfectly. Plus, a part of him hoped that sticking with it might reunite him with Acchan. Maybe, just maybe, they’d pull him back into that circle.

But last year, an unexpected injury forced him to quit.

He knows it’s a childish dream—that sticking with track might’ve fixed everything.

Still, the old scar on his right knee throbs with a dull ache.

Takumi sticks with Kotori’s routine—not his ideal setup, sure—but seeing her thrive in the group where he can’t feels like she’s living his dream for him.

Like she’s doing what he can’t.

Catching a glimpse of Kotori scribbling notes, he swallows a lump of pathetic regret.

The lunch bell rings, and the school erupts into chaos in an instant.

Around the classroom, friends shove desks together to share bentos, while others head off in packs toward the cafeteria.

A quick glance at Kotori shows her striding out with the usual A-lister crew, bento in hand—probably off to eat in the courtyard or somewhere.

Takumi watches from the sidelines, then heads solo to the school store.

The cafeteria’s always packed, but the moment he sits, the seats across and beside him stay empty. Noticing that stung, so he stopped going.

The school store’s different—grab a bun, eat wherever, no pressure.

It’s just as crowded as the cafeteria, with students scrambling for hot items like the yakisoba croquette bun. Everyone’s too focused to care about him, which he likes. Same reason he doesn’t mind packed trains.

Takumi dives into the fray, hunting his prey. Luck’s on his side—he snags the last yakisoba croquette bun, a top pick. Then a hand from beside him grabs it too.

“Uh!”

A low grunt escapes him, his hand trembling in shock.

First time for this. That bun’s too good to let go.

What now—talk it out? Settle it with rock-paper-scissors?

As he mulls it over, a shaky, panicked voice pipes up beside him.

“S-Sorry!”

He turns to see a pale, quivering boy.

Takumi fumbles for words, mumbling “Uh, er…,” and the kid misreads it, dropping the bun and bolting like a rabbit.

Takumi’s face twists in a grimace. Whispers ripple around him, and a void forms as people steer clear.

Even the clerk’s throwing him a confused look. If he lingers, it might look like he’s causing trouble—or spark more rumors. Better to bounce.

Fed up, he pays with half-lidded eyes and leaves, a sour taste lingering.

Takumi scans the hall with quick glances, striding fast.

Lunchtime’s a riot of cheerful students everywhere, leaving few quiet spots for one.

Passersby naturally veer away from him, and a heavy sigh slips out as his shoulders slump.

Then he spots someone approaching—unfazed, not dodging him.

Curious, he looks up to see a first-year boy wobbling under a stack of three cardboard boxes.

Some teaching materials, maybe? They don’t look heavy, but they block his view ahead.

Takumi frowns, brow furrowing.

The kid’s indoor shoes and badge mark him as a fellow first-year.

This’d be the human thing—offer help, maybe spark a connection.

But past experience screams rejection—or worse, they’d think he’s picking a fight.

Best not to meddle. If he steps back, some kind soul will step up.

As he turns to leave, a bright voice cuts through.

“You look swamped—lemme help!”

“Huh?”

A girl snatches a box from the boy, flashing a warm, winning smile.

Her shoes suggest she’s a second-year—petite, with big, sparkling eyes, a sharp nose, and glossy semi-long hair. Her skirt’s neatly tailored, short but classy. The word pure fits her to a T—a bright, textbook-perfect girl who leaves Takumi breathless.

A beauty like that butting in would fluster anyone, not just the boy. He blinks rapidly, mouth agape.

She tilts her head as if to say, This okay? and he nods eagerly.

With that cute face and friendly vibe—especially rescuing him mid-struggle—no one could refuse.

Takumi watches, a twinge of envy narrowing his eyes, his “bad guy” look deepening. Then their gazes lock.

Oh, crap. She’ll bolt— Except she beams at him with the same sunny smile.

“Hey, you help too!”

“W-What?”

She trots over, handing him a box.

He lets out a dumb noise, juggling the bun and box with surprising skill.

She grabs another from the stunned boy and asks casually, “I’m Akira Ikoma, second-year. You?”

“Ts-Tsutsui… first-year.”

“Tsutsui-kun, got it. And you?”

“H-Hashio…”

“Hashio-kun!”

“!”

Treated the same as Tsutsui, his heart skips. A stunning senior smiling at him—intense.

Akira, all grins, turns to Tsutsui. “These are lighter than I thought. What’s inside?”

“F-Fabric… for home ec aprons…”

“Nice~ So we’re taking them to the home ec room?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Sweet!”

With a wink like Leave it to me, Akira strides toward the room.

Her confidence is mesmerizing—Takumi and Tsutsui can’t look away.

She pauses, noticing them lagging, and puffs her cheeks. “C’mon, you two, hurry up!”

“Y-Yes!” “…’Sup.”

Tsutsui scrambles; Takumi follows slower. Akira nods approvingly, a playful glint in her eye, then restarts with a cheery tone.

“Aprons, huh? Brings back memories—I made one my first year. They do it every year for the newbies.”

“Really?”

Hitting her senior stride, she replies to Tsutsui’s prompt. “Yup, can’t start cooking without one! Last time, I made okonomiyaki, and when I squeezed the last of the sauce, it splat—all over my apron. Lucky break, I guess!”

“Haha, happens to the best of us.”

“Speaking of okonomiyaki, I tried lettuce instead of cabbage at home. That crunch was a game-changer! Know any other wild twists?”

“Uh… plain ol’ mochi, maybe?”

“Mochi’s a classic~ Hashio-kun, got any ideas?”

“!—”

Caught off guard, Takumi’s mind blanks.

But her expectant gaze leaves no room to dodge. He racks his brain and croaks, “…K-Kimchi.”

Just his favorite topping. Lame.

Akira and Tsutsui freeze, thrown off. Takumi winces, kicking himself.

“Kimchi’s got that spicy kick, though. Works surprisingly well in takoyaki—”

Akira pivots fast, keeping the chat alive.

Takumi exhales in relief.

She tosses out more—how using a needle threader felt like cheating, or how her dragon appliqué ended up on the lining by mistake.

She asks Tsutsui and Takumi easy stuff: “Ever prick your finger sewing?” “What appliqué would you pick?” The talk flows.

Before they know it, they’re at the home ec room.

Akira drops the boxes by the desk and spins gracefully.

“Catch ya later!”

With a wave and a smile, she’s gone.

Tsutsui watches her go, dreamy and wistful. Fair enough—a chat with a beauty like that softens anyone.

They’re both swept up in Akira’s quirky, helpful aura.

He meets Tsutsui’s eyes, gets a goofy grin, and blinks.

Even Tsutsui’s acting normal with him, yet Takumi’s jaw drops.

He offers a shaky smile, stacks the boxes, and bolts before her magic fades.

Walking away, his heart pounds painfully.

What the hell just happened? Like being bewitched by a fox, maybe.

That chat with Akira was… fun. Idle banter in a group, genuinely enjoyable.

Doubt and confusion swirl in his chest, tinged with a flicker of nostalgia.

Puzzled, he mutters to himself, “—Was I… treated like normal with Akira-senpai?”

No way, he thinks.

Maybe it was just a fluke.

But the heat in his chest lingers, words like “bolt from the blue” or “out of left field” spinning in his head, leaving him unable to process it.

One thing’s clear—Ikoma Akira’s got him hooked.

Obsessed, restless, Takumi decides to dig into her.

No one to ask about a senior girl, though—hell, he’s got no friends.

Feeling a bit desperate, he slouches and sneaks upstairs to the second-years’ floor next break.

Luck’s with him—Akira’s right there, pinning up posters about beautification and health.

Beside her, another student with posters. Looks like she’s helping again.

He keeps tracking her, observing every break.

Every break, she’s hauling printouts around or tagging along with a teacher to tote notebooks to the staff room—always lending a hand with something.

During class, Takumi catches sight of her through the window, carrying vests out to the field.

After school, she’s dropping documents off at the student council room or handing over what looks like equipment boxes to the sports club kids in their tracksuits. Even teachers flag her down for favors.

She’s pitching in everywhere, just like during the day.

Doesn’t seem tied to any specific committee or club, though.

Just her nature, maybe?

Voices echo around her: “Thanks, Ikoma-san!” “You’re a lifesaver, always!”

Guys melting into dopey grins at her, girls shooting her starry-eyed looks.

The Angel of Support.

That’s the whisper that trails her—a total heartthrob, apparently. Yeah, the nickname tracks.

Part of him aches to say something to her.

But he’s got a clear-eyed view of how people see him.

If Takumi butts in? Who knows how that’d blow up.

Last thing he wants is to drag her down.

Plus, she’s swamped. Bothering her with nothing to say would just be a nuisance.

Not that he even knows what to say.

Before he knows it, a chunk of time’s slipped by.

The school’s emptying out, stragglers thinning.

Learning about her—who she is, how she moves—that’s harvest enough for today.

With that, he swaps his shoes at the entrance, ready to call it.

“…Ugh.”

A downpour hits out of nowhere. Hard enough to make him hesitate without an umbrella.

The rain hammers the ground in sheets. Takumi freezes in place.

Clouds overhead are thick and black—no sign of letting up.

What now? The umbrella stand’s got a few strays, but he’s not about to swipe one.

Still, can’t stall forever.

He steels himself to dash to the station—then feels a tap on his shoulder.

“Hey hey, looks like the rain caught you off guard, underclassman.”

“!? I-Ikoma… Senpai…”

The shock jolts his shoulder up. He whips around to find Akira grinning like she just pulled off a prank.

She holds out a plain-looking umbrella. “Here, take this. You’re that kimchi guy from lunch—the one who helped with the boxes! Hashio-kun, right?”

“Uh, no, but…”

“Don’t sweat it on my end. Got a foldable. Just drop it back in the second-year shoe lockers’ umbrella stand whenever!”

“…Ah.”

Never dreamed she’d approach him. His brain flatlines.

As he flounders for a response, Akira pops open her compact umbrella from her bag, throws up a hand, and chirps, “See ya!”

Gone in a flash.

Her figure fades from view, leaving Takumi clutching the umbrella, spaced out in a daze.

First time anyone’s ever loaned him something—anything, really.

He’s too thrown to feel grateful or happy—confusion wins out.

Not that it feels bad. A warm glow seeps into his chest, feet light like he’s floating in a dream.

Then his phone buzzes, yanking him back to earth.

“! Kotori…?”

Only his parents or her ever text him.

《Help! Gotta wear this eau de cologne to school tomorrow! They swore it suits me and shoved it on me!》

Looks like another routine request.

Same as always, powering through the routine in Kotori’s room.

Rain’s cleared. Sun’s dipped west, painting the walls sunset orange.

The tick of her old alarm clock—same one from her kid days—mixes with the rustle of her straightening her uniform. Then, uncharacteristically, Kotori asks, voice laced with worry.

“Um… did it not feel good today?”

“Huh?”

The question blindsides him.

Staring at her as she finishes pulling up her underwear, she clouds over, gaze dropping as she murmurs, “You seemed kinda… out of it.”

“That’s…”

His heart skips. Akira’s been dominating his headspace; he’d tried playing it normal, but who knows if he pulled it off.

Kotori must’ve picked up on the tiniest slip from their usual.

Cold sweat prickles his spine. Rare for him, but he scrambles for words.

“Nah, it was fine. Look—same output as yesterday, right?”

“Well… yeah, but…”

“Two days in a row’ll do that to ya.”

He forces a dry laugh.

Even he knows it’s a weak excuse.

They’ve been at this long enough—she’s gotta see through it.

“Was I off or something?”

“No, it’s not that!”

“But…”

Her teary eyes hit him with the wrong angle, and he snaps louder than intended, flustered.

He gets it, though—her self-doubt runs deep.

One wrong move, and this whole routine thing could crumble for her.

“…”

They lock eyes for a beat.

Any lame cover he spins, she’d sniff out the lie.

Besides, on second thought, no real reason to hide it.

Cheeks heating with a shy flush, Takumi spills about lunch—haltingly.

“So, uh… during break today, this senior actually talked to me. Like, normal.”

“What!?”

Kotori’s eyes bug out, shock exploding in a yelp. She rapid-fires questions without pause.

“It wasn’t some prank or her thinking you’re sketchy, right?!”

“Nah, just helped carry stuff to home ec. Chatted about lettuce in okonomiyaki on the way—I even chimed in that kimchi’s solid.”

“Whoa, normie talk…! Takumi, that’s huge!”

“Heh.”

She clasps her hands, envy sparkling in her stare.

Takumi rubs under his nose, a smug little grin sneaking out.

“So, what’s she like?”

“Second-year girl. Total good-girl type—cute vibe. Name’s… Ikoma Akira, I think?”

“Ikoma Akira… rings a bell.”

“For real?!”

Now he leans in, crowding her.

Kotori taps her chin, brow furrowing as she digs through memories.

“Super cute, helps out with clubs, committees, student council… yeah, the Angel of Support?”

“Yeah, that’s her. She’s famous?”

Takumi whistles low. If she’s always on helper duty, her jumping in at lunch makes sense.

Kotori mutters, half-impressed. “Kinda rare, though. A girl talking to you without flinching.”

“Yeah, threw me too. Wonder if it’ll happen again?”

“Might… but don’t get your hopes up. Could be something shady.”

“…Ah.”

Her words land flat, stiff. Takumi’s face freezes.

Spotting it, Kotori backpedals in a rush.

“N-Not saying it to be mean! I don’t know her that well… and I just don’t want you getting hurt…”

It’s concern, reining in his buzz. After her fake-confession scar, she’s got reason to be cautious—makes it hit home.

Takumi reins himself in, mustering a wobbly smile. “Got it. Either way, not much intel on her yet.”

“Yeah. I’m kinda curious too. I’ll poke around.”

“Appreciate it.”

They both exhale, tension easing.

Then Kotori claps sharply, like she’s shaking off the vibe, and pitches an idea.

“Oh, right! Takumi, let’s test that eau de cologne. Gimme your take.”

T/N: "Eau de cologne" is French for "water of Cologne." It refers to a type of light fragrance or perfume, typically with a lower concentration of essential oils 2-5% compared to stronger perfumes like eau de parfum or parfum

“Me?”

“Yeah. Gotta hear feedback tomorrow. For… reference? You’re the only one I can ask.”

“Fair enough.”

She rummages her bag with a shy smile, pulling out the bottle.

A fancy little orange vial.

Kotori cradles it, staring hard, then steels herself with a “Alright!” and spritzes both sides of her neck.

“How’s it?”

“Too far—can’t tell from here.”

Takumi smirks; she winces, sticking out her tongue like duh.

With a little hum, she tilts her head, sweeps her hair aside.

“Um, this okay…?”

Her slender white neck bares itself. He swallows hard.

It hits sexy—like sneaking a peek at something forbidden.

Heart hammers like a drum.

“…This good?”

“Yeah. Gotta smell it to know.”

He asks gingerly; she nods, all reason.

He looks her over again. She’s come far from back then—primped daily, makeup on lock. No wonder the class guys lose it; gorgeous fits her like a glove.

Sniffing her with the cologne means closing in.

Face-to-face with a knockout like her—kiss-close—daunts him. Plus, knowing her forever amps the awkward.

A fidgety quiet stretches.

Kotori’s ears burn red, lashes quivering. She’s braced for it.

No backing down now.

“…Here goes.”

“…Mm.”

He announces it, edging closer. Weirder than the routine—nerves jangle harder.

Her refined features draw near; his throat dries out.

Breaths mingle, exhales brushing skin—and then a soft, tangy-sweet whiff teases his nose.

“…”

A dizzy spell hits him like a wave.

That first sniff of Kotori's girly scent—a forbidden thrill tangled with raw excitement. His mind blanks out, flooding with nothing but her.

Blood surges south again, even after just unloading—then.

"H-How is it? Not weird, right?"

Her timid voice yanks him back to reality.

Takumi jerks away in a panic, forcing a straight face to mask his hammering heart, and manages, "It's refreshing, but with this sweet edge—super nice, honestly."

"Really?!"

"Kinda... makes you feel like a girl, y'know?"

"Phew, good..."

She deflates in relief, her face blooming into a soft, dopey grin.

For a split second, Takumi's mind wandered somewhere reckless—he averts his eyes, cheeks burning.

He knows it's a lame compliment. But it's the best he's got.

The itchy silence stretches—then Kotori lets out a quiet giggle.

"Funny, huh? We do way wilder stuff all the time, but this gets us all embarrassed?"

"...Hah, tell me about it. You were blushing like a total newbie back there too."

"Routine's a routine, though."

On second thought, it's straight-up absurd.

Takumi scratches his head, hauls himself up, snags his bag. "Alright, I'm outta here."