Prologue: how I become the bottom of my class (Grammar fixed & more detailed)

It was an unusually sunny day for PE class as I changed into my school’s sports uniform. After pulling on my gym shirt and shorts, I headed out to the field, which sat right next to a small storage hut the janitor used to store brooms, mops, and whatever else made cleaning school nightmares possible.

I sat down on the dusty ground, waiting as our PE teacher started barking instructions.

“Alright, kids! You’re running three laps around the school field today. And if even one of you slacks off, you’ll help me clean afterward. So… RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN, NOW!!”

The sudden scream startled everyone. Birds flew away. Girls shrieked. My soul tried to escape my body.

Everyone bolted. I noticed a few of the girls struggling to keep pace. Honestly, I couldn’t blame them—the field was huge. One lap was 6 kilometers. That’s 18 kilometers total. That’s the same as running to the city airport and back! Actually, why is the airport so close to this town anyway?

“Mamoru! Stop sightseeing! This isn’t a picnic!” the teacher’s voice roared, snapping me back to reality.

I started running—barely. My legs were already jelly. Curse me for skipping leg day every Saturday with my family. As I tried to pick up speed, I slipped on a rogue pebble and face-planted into the dirt.

Great. Absolutely fantastic.

A classmate jogged up, concerned. A girl with short hair and glasses barely hanging on her nose.

“Mamoru-san, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah… Just slipped. All part of the plan,” I replied, trying to sound cool. (Spoiler: I wasn’t.)

She smiled politely. “Well, be careful, okay?” Then ran off like a majestic gazelle.

I got up, brushed myself off, and forced my legs to move again. By the time I reached the final stretch, I realized something tragic.

I was dead last.

“Last place: Mamoru-san! Congratulations—you’ve earned the honor of staying behind to help me clean,” the PE teacher declared like it was some kind of award.

Everyone else? Gone. They ran faster than ever—probably more afraid of our teacher than failing gym.

“Well then, Mamoru-san,” the teacher said, already lounging in his folding chair. “Start by collecting the trash left behind. Then carry this to the storage room.”

I began picking up empty bottles, crumpled tissues, and snack wrappers. Apparently, people thought trash would magically disappear on its own. Technically, it did. I was the magic.

Once I gathered what I could, I dumped it all into the trash bin.

“Alright, good work, Mamoru. Leave the rest for the janitor. Go get changed and rest,” the teacher said, this time with slightly less drill-sergeant energy.

Finally. Time to return to class and change into my regular uniform—white shirt, brown blazer, black pants made of fabric cheap enough to cause paper cuts.

As I reached the classroom door, I heard chatter inside. The girls must’ve finished changing already. I opened the door…

...and instantly regretted every life decision I had made up to that moment.

The sunlight streamed in through the windows, illuminating several of my female classmates mid-change. Apparently, they thought it was more convenient to change in the classroom today.

I stood frozen. They stood frozen. Everyone screamed internally.

SLAP!

The smartest girl in our class slapped me so hard I saw math formulas. I stumbled, lost my balance, and collapsed to the floor. My vision faded out with a final, cursed image:

Her… pink… pan—

Bonk.

Darkness.

So this is how I die. No, that's too dramatic. Maybe this is how my social life dies.

Perhaps now I’ll be reincarnated in another world as the most powerful being with a harem of insanely beautiful girls and a light novel title so long it takes up two pages. Or maybe I’ll just go to hell. Eh. Can’t be worse than math class.

From that day on, I became "that guy." You know the one.

“Hey, look! It’s the pervert from Class 2-1!”

“Hehe, he’s kinda nerdy… but sorta cute.”

“Eh?! What are you even saying?!”

At least not everyone hated me…? Still, the damage was done.

My dreams of a normal high school romance? Crushed.

My chance of getting a girlfriend? Vaporized.

My new title?

“Mamoru the Pervert.”

Bottom of the class—socially and emotionally.