Chapter 5: Cold Water, Clear Mind

I stared at my reflection in the mirror.

Uniform: clean.
Hair: doing its best.
Eyes: quietly screaming.

I cupped my hands beneath the faucet and splashed my face with cold water. Once. Twice. A third time just to be sure I was still alive and not caught in some alternate universe where your mom’s old friend suddenly becomes your homeroom teacher and forgets you exist in public.

Spoiler: I was still here.

The mirror fogged slightly from the humidity, and my expression stared back at me—calm on the outside, but on the inside…

All systems are stable. Emotional pressure down 40%. Identity breach averted. Damage: minimal.
I have restored balance to the psychological ecosystem. Everything is fine.

I nodded once, wiped my face with a paper towel, and whispered to myself, “You are composed. You are in control. You are not the protagonist in a bad shoujo plot twist.”

There was a pause.

“…You are definitely not thinking about how she looked straight through you during roll call like she didn’t watch you recommend three heartbreakers in a row just two days ago.”

Another splash.

Okay. That one was for good luck.

The hallway was quieter now. Most students had filtered into their second periods. I checked my schedule: Japanese history next. Math after that. Then—lunch.

Lunch. That’s fine. That’s manageable.
You have a book. You have a plan. You will eat quietly. Alone. With dignity.
That’s not sad. That’s sophisticated.

Back in the classroom, a few early returners had already reclaimed their desks.

I walked calmly to mine and sat down like a perfectly normal, emotionally untangled, low-impact individual. I opened my book, not to read—just to breathe.

The familiar weight of the pages grounded me. Fiction was a safe place. Fiction didn’t pretend not to know you in front of thirty other people.

I flipped through a few chapters idly, not absorbing much, but feeling more centered.

Voices filled the room again as more students arrived.

Scrunchie Girl dropped into her seat with a dramatic sigh and immediately launched into a whispered analysis of Matsumoto-sensei’s wardrobe. Her friend was nodding too eagerly, like they were trying to determine her dating status via the cut of her blazer.

The loud boy—Chaos Boy, I’d decided—came in practically singing and declared he was “already the fan favorite.” No one agreed, but he seemed undeterred.

Back-corner sleepy guy returned with the same blank expression as before. He was holding a notebook that looked like it had never been opened. Possibly cursed.

I watched from behind the safety of my book.

I am not judging. I am observing.
Okay, maybe judging a little. But quietly. With curiosity.

As second period started, the new teacher walked in and introduced himself. Older, very serious. The kind of teacher who speaks in complete sentences and pauses like you’re supposed to write down his thoughts on life.

I tried. For three minutes.

Then my brain wandered.

It didn’t help that I could still feel the ghost of Kaori’s gaze from earlier.

You are not the main character in a student-teacher drama. You are just a bookish boy trying to survive the first week of school without emotional whiplash. Focus on the lecture.

I took notes. Real ones this time.

Dates. Names. Important reforms.

By the time the bell rang again, I felt halfway normal.

Math came and went, dragging half my will to live with it. Numbers were never the problem—it was the way the teacher asked “everyone get that?” while already moving on that made me question my existence.

Finally—lunch.

My stomach had been patient. It deserved a reward.

I opened my bento, unwrapped the contents, and pulled out my current read: a quiet, character-driven romance about childhood friends reconnecting after years apart. No magical realism. No dramatic love triangles. Just slow, delicate feelings.

Perfect.

I exhaled. This was my time. The part of the day where I could disappear into pages and chew in peace.

I didn’t expect anyone to join me. I didn’t want anyone to join me.

Low visibility. No exposure. Ideal conditions achieved.
I am a social cloud. Drifting. Unbothered.

A voice echoed somewhere nearby: “Is anyone sitting here?”

Don’t look up. If you don’t look up, they’ll think you’re asleep or antisocial or both. That’s ideal.

But before I could decide whether to respond, I heard the scrape of a chair beside me.

I looked up.

Someone had sat down.

And they were smiling.