Chapter 3

Math was never loud, until now.

Mr. Nakano had barely written the first equation on the board when someone near the window raised her hand. Straight posture, clear voice.

“Sensei, the question’s answer isn’t 14. If you use substitution from the previous formula, it simplifies down to 12.”

She spoke like she’d been waiting to be right all morning. Tall, glasses, long black hair — the kind of student who probably had her notebooks color-coded and test dates memorized three months in advance.

Mr. Nakano blinked at the board. “Twelve, huh? Anyone want to double-check that before I accidentally mislead an entire generation?”

Another hand went up. This one from the back of the class — the boy in the wheelchair.

“No offense, but she’s wrong.”

The girl turned her head slightly. Just enough to glare at him without being dramatic about it.

“If you plug the equation directly,” he went on, voice casual but clear, “you get 12. But if you reverse-engineer it from the variable relationships in the second line, it gives 14. So technically, both are valid depending on which method you’re applying.”

A pause.

Mr. Nakano looked at the board. Then at his notes. Then at both students.

“I’m… gonna pretend I understood all that.”

Laughter again. Even the girl — the first one — smiled slightly, like the challenge was welcomed.

“Right,” Nakano muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “I should’ve known. You two were the math tournament winners last year, right?”

He pointed vaguely between them.

“You” — he gestured to the girl — “Fujimoto, right? Rika Fujimoto.”

She gave a quiet nod, already flipping to the next page in her textbook.

“And you in the wheels — Yuuji Amakusa, right?”

The boy in the back gave a lazy salute with two fingers.

“Knew I recognized your names,” Nakano said, shaking his head. “Don’t let these two fool you, class. If they start arguing, the rest of us just have to accept we’re breathing a different brand of oxygen.”

I chuckled under my breath.

It wasn’t that I hated math. It just didn’t speak to me like it seemed to speak to them. Numbers were fine. Logic was fine. But the moment things got into letters and floating variables, my brain politely excused itself and walked away.

I watched them — Rika, with her laser focus and perfect notes, and the kid in the wheelchair, Yuuji, leaning back like he could solve equations in his sleep. They were just on a different level.

I scratched behind my ear and sighed quietly.

If I had to rank myself, I was probably mid-tier at best. Never failed anything, but I hovered in the zone where effort made the difference between embarrassment and just scraping by. Math especially. My brain liked movement, not formulas. I’d probably do better once we hit P.E.

Soccer. Now that was my language. Simple rules, constant motion, space to breathe. I wasn’t amazing or anything, but I could hold my own on a field. My middle school team even made it to districts, not that anyone here would know.

“You spacing out already?”

Aoi leaned forward from behind me, whispering just loud enough for Daiki to hear too.

“Let me guess,” she said, “you didn’t even understand the question.”

“I understood it was math,” I said.

Daiki snorted.

“You’re lucky you’re not sitting in the front. Sensei would’ve already asked you to solve it out loud.”

“Moriyama,” Mr. Nakano said suddenly from the front of the room, eyes still scanning his textbook. “What’s the value of X in problem four?”

Daiki froze behind me.

“...There’s a problem four?”

Mr. Nakano didn’t even look up. “It’s on the board.”

Daiki leaned slightly to the side, whispering like I was a lifeline. “Hey, Kaito, be a bro.”

“Focus on the lesson, please,” Nakano said before I could respond. “Both of you.”

More chuckles rippled through the classroom. Daiki slumped lower in his chair.

“I jinxed it,” he muttered. “I totally jinxed it.”

To Be Continued