Chapter 3: The Rules of Staying Invisible

The last day of summer break is cursed.

Not in a dramatic, “I stepped on a black cat while walking under a ladder” way.

More like: You suddenly remember everything you were supposed to mentally prepare for two weeks ago, and now you’re one nervous thought away from Googling “how to fake amnesia and start over in the mountains.”

I sat on the edge of my bed, fully dressed, staring at my backpack like it was a bomb I had to disarm.

RULE ONE: Don’t stand out.
RULE TWO: Don’t bring up romance.
RULE THREE: Don’t get roped into anything loud, weird, or dramatic.
RULE FOUR: Just read. Quietly. Invisibly. Like a ghost who alphabetizes shelves.

I repeated them like a mantra while zipping and unzipping each compartment.

The café was quiet when I came downstairs. Mom was already brewing the morning batch, humming some 80s pop ballad under her breath. I helped her unlock the front door and set out the sign.

“Big day tomorrow,” she said, passing me a cup of coffee that I wasn’t sure I was emotionally ready for.

“I’m pretending it’s not happening.”

“That’s healthy.”

“I’m very mentally well-adjusted.”

She grinned. “Should I pack you a cute little bento and a book of anti-anxiety mantras?”

“I already packed one of those.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. The Unrequited Hearts Anthology: Volume 3.”

“...Of course you did.”

As I wiped down tables, my mind wandered—like it always does when I’m left alone with a rag and intrusive thoughts.

Middle school hadn’t been bad. Actually, it was kind of great.

I had two close friends. One was into horror and thrillers. The other loved sci-fi and fantasy. We’d take turns trying each other’s favorites, like a three-person book club with zero organization and way too many inside jokes.

That was before I fell into romance.

Hard.

I still read other genres sometimes. But nothing gave me that twisty feeling like a love story done right. The kind that builds in quiet moments. The kind that hurts in all the places you didn’t know were soft.

My friends moved away at the end of third year. Different cities. Different schools.

And I… stayed.

So here I am. First-year high school student at a brand new school with zero familiar faces and a four-step survival plan that may or may not be based on shoujo manga tropes to avoid.

Back home, I packed everything twice. Triple-checked my class list. Laid out my uniform with the precision of a military tactician.

Then I laid in bed and stared at the ceiling while my brain performed its nightly concert of what-if scenarios.

What if I sit in the wrong seat?

What if I end up in the “weird group” by accident?

What if someone finds out I once cried reading a second chance at love subplot in a light novel and used a hot water bottle for emotional support?

...

Deep breath.

Calm. Controlled.

Recalibrate.

Tomorrow, you will go in. You will sit. You will smile politely. You will not talk about romance novels unless asked (unlikely). You will read quietly during lunch. No eye contact. No complications.

I closed my eyes.

The café walls were fading in my head. My comfort zone shrinking with every hour. But somewhere beneath the anxiety… a flicker of hope stirred.

Maybe I’d meet someone interesting.
Someone like—

Nope. Stop. Don’t romanticize school.

My new uniform itched. That’s how I knew it was real.

I stood outside the school gate, watching streams of students file in.

Laughter. Shouting. People meeting up and already talking like they’d been friends for years.

I tried not to look like a lost cat in a cardigan.

As I walked through the courtyard, I scanned my surroundings—half out of curiosity, half to distract myself from spiraling.

The girl with the pink scrunchie and three keychains on her bag? Drama club. Emotional. Probably cries at every movie.

The tall guy in the windbreaker laughing way too loudly? Extrovert. Natural ringleader. Dangerous.

The quiet kid sitting near the pillar with his earphones tucked discreetly under his hair? Fellow ghost. Safe zone.

I tried not to jump to conclusions.
I jumped to six.

They weren’t accurate—but they were comforting.

Reading people was like reading books with half the pages ripped out. You filled in what you thought made sense… until someone proved you wrong.

In the hallway, someone bumped into me.

I apologized.

They didn’t even notice.

Perfect.

By the time I found my classroom, the bell hadn’t rung yet. I chose a seat near the window. Strategic. Not too far back, not too front-facing. Prime “invisible student” territory.

I opened my book. Not to read—just to hide.

Eyes up. Ears open.

People were filtering in one by one. A colorful bunch. A little loud. A little chaotic.

I’d start analyzing them later.

Right now, I had one job:

Do not get noticed.

And whatever you do, don’t lock eyes with the teacher.

Because she’s walking in now.

And I know that coat.
And that bag.
And that hair.

No. Nope. She wouldn’t. She—

She looked right at me.

Smiled like she didn’t know me at all.

And wrote her name on the board:

Matsumoto Kaori.