The unwanted reflection.

The classroom was lively again. Whispers buzzed like bees waiting to sting something interesting.

The homeroom teacher stood at the front, holding his clipboard like it was a royal decree.

“We have a new transfer student joining us today,” he announced.

I didn’t think much of it at first.

Transfer student? Whatever. Happens every year.

But then I heard it.

“His name is Ayan Shouta. His mother is from India, and his father is Japanese.”

And the boy stepped in.

Him.

The same boy from the park. The one with the demon-dog and zero manners.

He looked the same as yesterday—tall, calm, warm-toned skin, ash-brown hair… and that same polite expression like he wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

But what surprised me more?

He sat next to me.

The empty seat to my right—the one I enjoyed because no one distracted me—was now his.

Great.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was…

Everyone. Wouldn’t. Leave. Him. Alone.

The moment he sat down, students swarmed around him like moths to a flame.

“Shouta-kun, what do you think about Japan?”

“Was it hard moving here?”

“What was life like in India?”

He smiled politely and answered with that calm voice.

“I lived in Japan when I was little, so it’s a bit familiar.”

“I only stayed in India for a few years. After that, my parents moved us to Germany.”

“My parents like traveling. I just follow along.”

Germany?!

“So you’ve been to so many countries?”

“Which ones?!”

“Tell us more!”

And like some world-traveling storybook character, he listed them off:

“India, Germany, Russia, Australia, New Zealand, France… and a few others.”

A few others?!

The class was amazed. Practically glowing.

Their eyes sparkled.

Their mouths hung open.

Even the teacher looked vaguely impressed.

And me?

I just sat there.

Next to him.

Unseen.

What is happening? Why is no one looking at me?!

I folded my arms and gave him a slow glare.

He didn’t notice.

He was too busy being surrounded, praised, and practically crowned king of the class.

This was my classroom.

I was the one people admired.

I was the one they whispered about.

Not some calm-faced transfer boy with travel points and a fluffy dog!

My frustration simmered.

It’s like I don’t exist anymore…

Finally, someone tried to squeeze another question in—

“Shouta-kun, what was your favorite country?”

Before he could answer, a firm but gentle voice spoke up:

“Everyone, please give Shouta-kun some space,” Miyako said, standing from her seat at the front.

The crowd hesitated.

“He just transferred today. It’s overwhelming enough already.”

There was a pause.

A few students muttered apologies.

“Sorry, we just got excited…”

“I still wanna be friends though!”

“Tell us more later, okay?”

They started to return to their seats, finally giving him some room to breathe.

Miyako turned around and smiled at him politely before sitting down again.

He nodded in appreciation.

And I?

I sat there, arms still folded, watching the boy next to me with a smile so calm it made me want to scream.

Just wait, Mr. Globetrotter. You may have their attention now… but I’m not handing over my spotlight so easily.

I let out a slow breath.

It’s fine. I have Miyako at my side. As long as she’s here, I don’t need to worry.

I glanced to the front of the classroom, where Miyako Airi stood calmly.

She smiled and extended her hand to him politely.

“I’m Miyako Airi. I’m the class representative. If you need anything, just ask me.”

I blinked.

Wait.

What?

No. No no no—Miyako… not you too.

I stared in betrayal, Miyako?

“Traitor,” I muttered under my breath.

Right in front of me. Talking to him.

Like they were already friends or something!

And then, he said it.

“Miyako.”

Just—Miyako. Like they were childhood friends.

I saw Miyako freeze for half a second, cheeks tinting pink.

Oh, no. Oh, no no no!

I leaned over my desk and glared at him.

“He has no manners.”

A pause.

Then thunk—he bumped his knee into the desk, flinching slightly.

“Ah—sorry,” he said quickly. “I forgot. In Japan, we use last names first. My mistake.”

He turned back toward Miyako with a small, sincere bow.

“I’m truly sorry, Airi-san. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

Miyako gave a small laugh, waving her hand. “Oh, no—it’s okay! It happens. Don’t worry about it.”

He nodded again, almost too formally.

He’s trying to steal her from me. I can see it. I won’t let this happen!

I stood up quickly.

“Miyako! Don’t you have class rep work to do?”

Miyako blinked. “Oh! You’re right!”

She turned toward the front to check with the teacher.

He glanced at me, studying my face a little too closely.

Then suddenly, his eyes lit up with realization.

“Wait… aren’t you the girl who was playing with White yesterday?”

I froze.

Miyako looked back and asked with curious eyes, “You know her, Shouta-kun?”

He opened his mouth.

“Nope!” I cut in loudly. “No idea! Must be someone else. Anyway, Miyako—you better hurry. Sensei’s calling you.”

Miyako blinked. “Oh. Right! I’ll be back soon!”

She hurried off toward the front.

I slowly turned back toward him and narrowed my eyes.

He looked at me, confused.

“...Did I say something wrong?”

I crossed my arms dramatically. “Listen here. I’m onto you.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Onto… me?”

“I am your rival now, Shouta-kun,” I declared proudly, pointing a finger right at his confused expression.

He tilted his head slightly. “Rival…?”

“You heard me. I don’t lose easily.”

He paused, then said calmly, “That’s unexpected. I was looking for you yesterday.”

Huh?

I blinked. “Looking for me?”

He nodded. “Yes. I went to grab something to apologize for earlier… but when I came back, you were gone.”

Wait…

I stared at him.

He remembered. He actually remembered. And he went back for something.

So he… wasn’t just ignoring me?

I looked away, flustered.

“…I see.”

Maybe… he’s not as bad as I thought.

Just a little.

But that didn’t mean I forgave him. Yet.

—

Lunch break.

A time when the classroom usually filled with cheerful chatter, the rustle of lunch bags, and the satisfying clack of chopsticks.

I sat at my desk, carefully opening the bento I had made myself that morning. Rice shaped like flowers, neatly rolled tamagoyaki, grilled vegetables arranged by color.

Perfect. Like always.

Around me, a few girls glanced over.

Their eyes shimmered. A couple even whispered.

“Wow, so pretty…”

“She makes it herself?”

“Of course she does.”

I smiled slightly, ready to bask in my usual midday glory.

But then…

I turned my head.

And froze.

He was surrounded again.

Shouta, sitting just one seat away, had nothing but a small, simple sweet bun in his hands.

And yet…

Everyone was huddled around him.

“Shouta-kun, want to try mine?”

“Here, I made too much curry!”

“I brought extra pudding—you can have it!”

What is this?!

Girls. Boys. Even the quiet ones.

Sharing food with him. Laughing with him. Chatting with him.

I narrowed my eyes and took a dramatic bite of my bento, chewing in bitter silence.

No one ever offers to share food with me.

No one ever asks about my perfectly crafted bento!

What is going on?!

Someone asked him between bites, “Shouta-kun, do you have social media?”

He paused mid-chew and calmly shook his head. “No, I don’t use any.”

…He doesn’t WHAT?!

I saw my moment.

I brushed a loose hair behind my ear, leaned slightly toward the conversation, and smiled—sweet, proud, deadly.

“Oh, really?” I said, my voice dripping with elegance. “I have over 1,000 followers.”

That got their attention.

One boy leaned in. “Haruna-san is kind of famous, actually. Even students from other classes know her.”

A girl sighed. “I’m honestly jealous. Her pictures are always perfect.”

I crossed one leg over the other and smiled, victorious.

Finally, Balance restored.

I glanced sideways at him, smug.

Let’s see you beat that, Mr. Sweet Bun.

Then Shouta looked up, his expression calm and honest as ever.

“I think social media’s mostly a distraction,” he said quietly. “It pulls people away from what really matters.”

…Excuse me?

I blinked. What kind of medieval answer was that?

This is the 21st century! Who doesn’t use social media?!

But then… betrayal struck again.

One girl nodded thoughtfully. “That’s… actually true. I deleted mine last month.”

Another boy chimed in. “Yeah, I stopped using it too. I realized I felt better without it.”

No… no no no—don’t start agreeing with him!

Suddenly, the conversation turned away again.

Back to him.

Again?!

I stabbed a piece of broccoli with my chopsticks and muttered under my breath.

“…I hate this transfer student.”

—

After school, the sky was soft with sunset gold, and the breeze carried the faint scent of cherry blossoms.

Yuzuki and Miyako Airi walked together down the sloped street that led toward the train station.

“Hey, Yuzuki,” Miyako began cheerfully, “I’m really excited for the day after tomorrow! I can’t wait to come over to your place and meet your new fluffy dog!”

Yuzuki gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Yes. I… I know.”

She had uploaded a filtered photo of White from yesterday—his fluffy fur catching the light, looking like something straight out of a luxury pet catalogue. The post already had 300 likes and several comments like “So cute!” and “Wish I had your life!”

Yuzuki tried not to wince.

A fake dog. A fake life. A very real panic attack incoming…

Just then, a new voice cut through the air—sharp, nasal, and coated in venom.

“Well, well. I heard you bought a dog, Yuzuki Haruna.”

“And you invited Airi-san to your place. That’s not very fair, is it?”

Yuzuki’s steps froze.

Ayaka Kanzaki.

Every school had one: the pretty girl with a cruel smile. The type who dug into other people’s lives like it was a sport—and loved nothing more than finding dirt to ruin reputations.

Ayaka stepped forward with her usual overconfident grace, arms crossed, lips curled.

“I also want to see your fluffy dog,” she added, leaning into Miyako. “Right, Airi-san? Don’t leave me out.”

Miyako blinked. “Huh? I don’t see why not.”

Yuzuki’s stomach dropped.

Danger. Immediate danger.

She forced a smile that felt like it cracked her face.

“W-Why not? You can come too. It’ll be… fun.”

Ayaka’s eyes gleamed. “Looking forward to it.”

Then they all parted ways.

But instead of heading toward the train station, Yuzuki turned toward the park—the long way home.

The buildings here were taller, shinier. One in particular stood out—a five-star, glass-tiled apartment tower. Elegant and modern. The kind of place everyone assumed someone like Yuzuki lived.

And she walked straight toward it.

But just before the glass doors… she turned.

To the side.

Down a narrow path.

She slipped into the small house tucked next to the tower, behind a flower cart and a modest hanging sign:

Hanazono Flowershop 

She opened the wooden door quietly and stepped inside.

“I’m home…”

Warm scents of soil and petals drifted through the air.

Sunlight streamed in through wide windows where bouquets were being arranged by her mother.

This was her real home.

Not a high-rise suite. Not a luxurious penthouse.

A simple second-floor apartment above a flower shop.

She walked slowly toward the stairs, her bag weighing heavier with every step.

They all think I’m rich. That I live in a luxury apartment. That I’m perfect.

But I’m just the daughter of a flower shop owner. And if they find out…

Yuzuki imagined Miyako’s face twisting into laughter.

“You? The flower seller’s daughter?”

“All that elegance? All fake?”

“How embarrassing…”

Her chest tightened.

She’ll hate me. She’ll leave. The whole school will mock me. Ayaka will make sure of that…

She wanted to tell the truth. She almost had—until Ayaka showed up.

That vulture will spread it everywhere. I’m cornered.

She turned the corner of the narrow hallway, her footsteps soft.

From the living room, she heard the sound of video games and two voices.

“Come on! One more round!”

“yeah why not.”

She blinked.

Who…?

Her little brother's voice called out.

“Welcome home, sis!”

“Yeah…” she mumbled automatically.

But then—another voice followed.

His voice.

“Welcome home.”

She froze.

Her eyes widened.

Ayan Shouta was sitting on her living room floor, holding a controller, grinning faintly at her younger brother.

She stopped in the hallway.

Backed up one step.

Peered in again.

Still there.

Still him.

She stared, eyes twitching.

Wait… what—