The train humd steadily beneath Katsuragi Kokoro’s feet, rocking gently as it curved along the morning tracks. Outside the window, the city peeled away in layers—rows of houses with tiled roofs, tangled power lines stretching like spiderwebs across the sky, cherry blossoms shedding so of their petals, falling in slow motion.
Kokoro leaned against the wall of the carriage, his shoulder brushing cool tal, his gaze alternating between the passing scenery and the reflection of the people inside. Most of them wore school uniforms like his—white shirts, dark jackets, navy slacks. A handful of younger students in middle school outfits clustered by the doors, whispering and snickering behind their hands.
He barely notice them.
With a quiet sigh, he pulled his phone from his blazer pocket and tapped into a rhythm ga, the kind that required quick fingers and better-than-average focus. The screen lit up in bursts of color, and Kokoro’s thumbs moved in practiced patterns—tap, hold, swipe. Notes exploded in perfect sync.
The train rumbled into a station. More students climbed aboard, so with headphones draped around their necks, others already munching on conbini bread or flipping through flashcards. A few glanced toward Kokoro.
Or, more precisely, up at him.
He stood a head taller than most of the boys his age, with sharp shoulders and long legs that made him look like he belonged more on a basketball court than in a classroom. His face was clean and serious, skin pale under the morning light. Tousled black hair frad his eyes—deep, dark, unreadable.
One girl nudged her friend and whispered sothing, stifling a laugh. Another boy tried to sneak a photo, fumbling when Kokoro looked up montarily, only to return to his ga with a bored flick of his eyes.
He hadn’t noticed the stares. Not really.
Maybe I should’ve left earlier, he thought, glancing at the ti. 7:39 AM. Still plenty of ti. But this train’s always packed.
He turned his attention back to the screen just as the train lurched forward. His fingers didn’t miss a beat.
It wasn’t nerves. Not exactly. If anything, it was a strange calm that settled over him, the kind you feel before a long-awaited event. He’d imagined this day often enough—his first day of high school, the first step toward sothing bigger, more real. But right now, it just felt like another morning commute.
The station announcents echoed above, monotone and familiar.
As the train neared his stop, Kokoro finally slipped his phone into his pocket and adjusted the strap of his schoolbag. The doors opened with a hiss, and students spilled onto the platform like leaves on the wind.
Kokoro stepped out into the sun, unaware of the glances that followed him.
The morning breeze carried the scent of spring—fresh, crisp, and tinged with the sweetness of blooming sakura. Katsuragi Kokoro walked the cented path leading toward the school, his steps steady, unhurried. Cherry blossom trees stood tall on either side of the walkway, their petals drifting lazily through the air like flakes of pale pink snow.
A group of students passed by, all dressed in the sa uniform as his: black jackets, white-collared shirts, and navy slacks or skirts for the girls. So of the girls chatted animatedly, giggling about class placents. A few boys were showing off their sneakers, so where tossing a volleyball to each other.
Kokoro barely noticed.
His eyes were fixed on the screen of his phone, thumbs tapping out a ssage as he walked.
> Kokoro: "You make it in one piece, Yui?"
A mont later, the reply popped up.
> Yui: "Of course I did, big brother. What do you take for? A lost kitten? Besides I have my friends with rember?"
He smirked.
> Kokoro: "Just checking. That station gets packed." Kokoro: "And you’re small. Soone might’ve stuffed you in their bag by mistake."
> Yui: "Rude. I’m not that small!" Yui: "Also, don’t be lonely today, okay? Talk to people! Make a friend! At least one!"
> Kokoro: "Noted."
> Yui: "Seriously. You’ve had, like, zero friends since middle school."
> Kokoro: "I had friends."
> Yui: "Imaginary friends don’t count."
He chuckled under his breath, pocketing the phone as the school gates ca into view. The building beyond it was tall, clean, and modern, but it wasn’t the architecture that caught his eye—it was the way the sunlight filtered through the sakura trees overhead, casting delicate shadows on the stone walls. The air was filled with the faint rustle of petals falling, brushing against uniforms and hair.
His gaze shifted upward, to the clean lettering above the entrance.
Sakura High School.
He paused for a mont, letting the na settle in his mind.
So that’s why, he thought. Because of the trees.
He pulled out his phone one last ti.
> Kokoro: "I’m at the gate. Try not to get in trouble on your first day." Yui: "You worry too much." Yui: "Have a good day, big brother."
He allowed a faint smile to touch his lips before locking his phone.
"Right," he muttered, tightening the grip on his bag strap. "Let’s get this over with."
Just as Katsuragi Kokoro stepped through the school gate, the calm of the cherry blossom morning was broken by the sudden roar of engines behind him.
He stopped.
That doesn’t sound like the average student drop-off, he thought.
He turned, and so did nearly everyone else on the path.
Three sleek black cars—luxury sedans, all polished to a mirror-like shine—glided to a stop just outside the gates. Their engines purred low, nacingly smooth, like predators lying in wait. The car in the front and the one at the rear both opened almost simultaneously, and from each stepped a pair of n—tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in immaculate suits, dark sunglasses hiding their eyes.
They moved in perfect sync, forming a silent wall of presence as they turned toward the middle car.
The center sedan sat still for a mont longer, then—click—the door opened.
A single, black high-heeled shoe touched the pavent.
And then, she erged.
The girl moved like she belonged to a different world, or at least a different story entirely. Her shoulder-length hair shimred under the sunlight like fresh snow, almost silver-white in tone, soft waves framing a flawless, porcelain face. Her eyes—impossibly pale, like moonlight distilled into irises—glanced around with quiet confidence. They didn’t dart. They asured.
Her lips were a subtle rose pink, curved gently even in stillness. And her figure—graceful, poised—spoke of elegance and strength. The fitted black jacket of her uniform hugged her upper body just enough to hint at the lines of her fra without being showy, while the pleated skirt and sheer black stockings added a quiet allure. There was sothing regal about her. Not flashy—refined. Untouchable.
The murmurs from the students began almost imdiately.
"Who is she...?"
"Is she a transfer student? She doesn’t look like a first-year."
"Those cars... is she so kind of celebrity?"
Kokoro blinked, trying not to stare, though he could feel the pull of her presence. His heart stuttered for half a second, not in panic, but in quiet awe.
She’s... beautiful.
But even as he registered her presence—burned her image into mory like a dream—another, more pressing concern tugged at him.
His bladder.
Damn it, he thought, adjusting the strap of his bag and glancing around. I need to find a bathroom before I explode.
While the crowd of boys clustered and craned their necks for a better look, Kokoro turned away with an annoyed huff and began speed-walking across the courtyard, scanning every building for the telltale bathroom sign. His long strides drew so stares, but he ignored them.
He wasn’t about to wet himself on his first day just to gawk at so rich girl in a black jacket.
Pretty girl or not, I’ve got survival priorities.
As the scent of cherry blossoms gave way to disinfectant and tile, he finally spotted the restroom sign down the hall and practically made a beeline for it.
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