Fresh Starts Are Never Actually Fresh

My name is Andie Ryuu, first name Andie, last name Ryuu. Half Japanese, half Singaporean, and 100% done with this day already.

I stared up at the massive gates of Paradise Heights Junior College, adjusting my tie for the third time in five minutes. The crisp fabric of my new uniform felt unnaturally stiff against my skin. They really went all-out with these new designs, tailored cuts that somehow managed to flatter everyone's physique regardless of body type. A miracle of modern fashion engineering, I suppose.

"It's just another day at school," I muttered to myself, clutching my bag tighter. "Not a death sentence."

Well, the jury was still out on that one.

The cherry blossoms swirled around me in a cinematic fashion that felt entirely too on-the-nose. If my life had background music, it would be hitting a crescendo right about now, probably something with violins and piano that's supposed to signal "your youthful adventure begins here!"

Yeah, right.

Paradise Heights was the crown jewel of Japan's educational experiment, a two-year pre-university programme designed to reduce stress and give students a smoother transition into higher education. A noble goal, I suppose, but right now it just felt like two more years of social purgatory. The morning's entrance ceremony had been a painful blur of speeches about "educational innovation" and "pioneering futures." As the inaugural class, we were apparently supposed to feel honoured. Mostly I just felt tired.

I couldn't help but notice how the female uniforms accentuated curves in ways that seemed... deliberate. The male versions weren't much better, designed to showcase broad shoulders and athletic builds. It was like someone had decided that hormonal eighteen-year-olds needed even more help noticing each other's bodies. Was this educational institution or education fashion week?

"Andie-kun! Wait up!"

I suppressed a groan. So much for slipping in unnoticed. My post-ceremony stealth mission had failed before it even began.

Turning around, I spotted Hina Aoki running toward me, her class president badge already pinned to her uniform. Behind her trailed Yui Kawaguchi, our deputy class president, who offered an apologetic smile as if to say, "Sorry for Hina's morning enthusiasm."

"Morning," I managed, trying not to sound as antisocial as I felt.

"Can you believe we're in the same class again?" Hina adjusted her glasses, a habit she'd had since elementary school. "Class 1-A! Just like our grouping since junior high! I've already got the classroom assignment sheet."

"She stayed up all night analysing it," Yui interjected with a knowing look.

"And it's statistically improbable that our entire junior high class would remain together into senior high school and now junior college!" Hina continued, undeterred. She was clutching her tablet so tightly her knuckles were white, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she spoke.

"Either fate or administrative laziness," I replied. "I'm betting on the latter."

Or maybe whoever's writing the script of my life just couldn't be bothered to create new characters and found it easier to recycle the same cast. Talk about conservation of detail...

"Always the optimist, Ryuu-kun." Hina laughed, then immediately checked her watch. "Oh! We should hurry. Mei and the others are already setting up the welcome packets."

Before I could formulate a response, another familiar voice called from behind us.

"Yo, Andie! Hold up!" Kazuki Nishida jogged up, his uniform hanging perfectly on his lean frame. His typically styled hair bounced with each enthusiastic step. As the self-appointed leader of what some might call the "nerds", though they preferred "CORE: Community, Otaku, Rollenspiel, Eskapismus", Kazuki had the unique ability to make even running look like it required a controller and HUD display.

I'd never understood the bizarre multilingual backronym they'd been using since junior high. Why mix English, Japanese, and German? And seriously, was "escapism" not good enough that they needed the German "Eskapismus"? It was like they'd gone through a dictionary of gaming terms in different languages just to spell "CORE." The things people do to sound cool while actually achieving the opposite...

"Morning," I nodded to acknowledge his existence.

"Can you believe we're all in the same class again?" Kazuki fell into step beside me. "The whole gang from 3-A is back together! Me, Yuto, Sora, Hiroko, and Sakura, we're already planning our first raid night of the semester."

"Are you logging in tonight?" he prodded. "You-know-who set up a guild raid and we need our best tank."

Ah yes, my secret shame. Despite my best efforts to remain socially invisible, I'd somehow become entangled with this group of enthusiastic gamers. It wasn't that I disliked gaming, I actually enjoyed it, but I maintained a careful separation between my online persona and my real-life one. A separation that was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain.

"Maybe," I hedged. "Depends on how much homework they pile on first day."

"It's always 'maybe' with you," Kazuki said, shaking his head. "One of these days you'll admit you actually like hanging out with us."

"And ruin my carefully cultivated image of apathy? Never," I said, deadpan.

The truth was, I did enjoy their company, probably a lot more than I should. They felt like family in a way that made my chest ache sometimes. Not that I'd ever tell them that. I had an "emotionally distant protagonist" image to maintain, after all.

The hallway widened as we approached our classroom, revealing a familiar tableau of social dynamics. Seven years together had crystallised our class into distinct groups that functioned like their own little ecosystems.

Near the windows, Kenji Tanaka and his crew had claimed their territory. Ryo Sato was playfully shoving Taro Yamada while Hiroshi Nakamura and Akira Suzuki laughed. They weren't genuinely bad kids, just louder and more prone to solving problems with their fists than words. In their midst, Shinji Kato sat with hunched shoulders, his eyes darting nervously around the room. The designated target of their "friendly" harassment.

"What do you think, Ryuu?" Ryo called out as I passed. "Kato here says the new history teacher isn't going to last a month. I give him two weeks."

Shinji flinched, clearly uncomfortable being the centre of attention.

"Maybe try not terrorising the faculty this year," I suggested, earning a bark of laughter from Taro and an eye roll from Hiroshi.

"Where's the fun in that?" Akira grinned, cracking his knuckles.

I frowned, watching as Kenji flicked Shinji's ear, causing the smaller boy to flinch. As our eyes met briefly, I could read the silent accusation in Shinji's gaze: Why doesn't anyone ever help? I looked away first. Another conversation for another day.

Opposite them were the studious ones, led by Daiki Abe, who shot me a collective glare as I entered. I'd committed the cardinal sin of occasionally outscoring them without joining their study sessions or showing appropriate academic reverence. "Look who decided to grace us with his presence," Daiki muttered just loud enough for me to hear, but not loud enough to risk Kenji's crew overhearing. Kaito Ishii and Shota Fujita nodded in agreement, while Emi Okada pretended to be deeply engrossed in her notebook. Only Yuna Hasegawa offered a small smile before quickly looking away.

"I hope you studied over break, Ryuu," Daiki added. "Wouldn't want to see your ranking slip."

"I was too busy having a life," I replied with a thin smile. "You should try it sometime."

Yuna stifled a laugh behind her hand, earning a betrayed look from Daiki. The brief flash of warmth in her eyes before she composed herself again told me volumes about the complex social dynamics at play. The studious group's antagonism toward me was only half-genuine, the other half was resentful admiration that I could score well without their intense study regimens.

The centre of the room was dominated by the Populares, Saki Watanabe, Mei Takahashi, and Rio Kondo chatting animatedly with Ren Sasaki, Yuma Ikeda, and Keita Noguchi. They existed in a strange social space where everyone knew them, but no one knew why they were popular. They just... were. It was as if they existed in a higher resolution than the rest of us.

"Morning, Ryuu," Ren called out with that effortlessly cool nod that probably took hours of mirror practice to perfect.

"Sasaki," I acknowledged, wondering as I always did what exactly I had done to earn even this small amount of attention from the popular crowd. Maybe it was some kind of cosmic balancing act, for each group that wanted to adopt me, another had to reject me. The universe's way of maintaining social equilibrium.

By the back wall, the jocks were already comparing workout routines. Ryota Tachibana, our former basketball captain, nodded at me as I passed. "Ryuu! When are you going to join us for a session, man?" he called out. "Kenta set a new personal record yesterday, and Shohei's been asking about your routine."

"Yeah, we've been trying to recreate whatever you're doing," Masato Inoue added, flexing subtly. "You've got to tell us your secret."

I shrugged. "Just basic stuff. Nothing special."

"Bullshit," Tatsuya Fujimoto coughed into his hand.

The jocks had been trying to recruit me ever since Ryota needed to borrow notes last year and I mentioned my home gym setup. I'd converted a bedroom in my house into a private workout space after my parents died, expanding it over the years, adding equipment piece by piece with money from my part-time jobs. It was one of the few connections to my father I still maintained, his philosophy had been simple: "The more we sweat in peace, the less we bleed in war."

It had become my mantra during those first lonely years, when lifting weights was easier than processing grief.

"I'll let you know," I said, which was my universal code for 'please stop asking.'

"You can't avoid us forever, Ryuu," Shohei called after me. "Your track potential is wasting away!"

Near the jocks, the sporty girls clustered together. Hitomi Yamada, the volleyball captain, smiled at me with a warmth that always made me slightly uncomfortable. There was something in her eyes, concern, maybe, that suggested she saw more than I wanted her to.

"Morning, Andie-kun," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "How was your break?"

"Uneventful," I replied, which wasn't entirely untrue. If you didn't count the forty-hour gaming marathon I'd participated in with Kazuki's crew.

"We're having a welcome-back practice match on Thursday," she said. "You should come watch. Asuka and Nana have been working on some new plays."

Asuka Tanaka and Nana Shimizu perked up at the mention of their names, offering enthusiastic waves. Behind them, Kurenai Shiranui, Ayaka Nishimura, and Miku Sato exchanged knowing glances.

"I'll see if I can make it," I lied, knowing full well I'd conveniently "forget" by Thursday.

Asuka rolled her eyes. "That means no, ladies. Let's not push it."

Miku shot Asuka a reproachful look. "Don't be so negative," she whispered, before flashing me an encouraging smile.

I felt a strange mix of guilt and relief as I moved away. The sporty girls were always nice to me, but their attention felt weighted with expectations I wasn't sure how to handle.

And then there were the gyaru girls, already surrounding Miyako Yukihana's desk as she held court. Their uniforms had been subtly modified in ways that technically adhered to regulations while completely subverting their intent. They were loud, confident, and terrifying in the way that only beautiful, self-assured women can be.

"Andie~!" Miyako called out, waving imperiously. "Come here! We need your opinion on something!"

"What now?" I sighed. As I approached, I noticed Rina Suzuki, Haruka Endo, and Aoi Saito clustered around, scrolling through what appeared to be fashion photos on Haruka's phone.

"Which handbag looks better with this outfit?" Miyako demanded, pointing at the screen. "The structured tote or the slouchy hobo?"

I blinked in confusion. This was not the Miyako I knew from our online sessions, the ruthless guild strategist who could calculate optimal damage-per-second rotations in her head.

"Uh... the first one?" I guessed.

"See!" she turned triumphantly to Airi Yamamoto, who rolled her eyes. "Even Andie agrees, and he has the fashion sense of a potato."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I muttered.

"No offence," Miyako patted my arm, then leaned closer and whispered, "We need to talk later about that... research project. My notes are incomplete."

I nodded, understanding the code. Research project = game; notes = strategy guide. The great irony of Paradise Heights was that Miyako and Airi, the two queens of gyaru fashion, were secretly hardcore gamers who would rather die than let their fashionista friends discover they spent weekends raiding dungeons instead of clubs.

Haruka leaned forward, resting her perfectly manicured nails on my desk. "Speaking of opinions, Ryuu-kun," she said loudly for the benefit of others nearby, before lowering her voice slightly, "what do you think of my new highlights, Andie-kun? Subtle but statement-making, right?"

"They're... nice?" I offered, having not noticed any change whatsoever.

Aoi snorted. "He didn't even notice, Haruka. Give it up."

"I'm just being friendly," Haruka protested, though the way her eyes lingered on me suggested 'friendly' was a very elastic term in her vocabulary.

Before I could respond, my eyes caught on two figures entering the classroom, and my world narrowed to a painful pinpoint.

Miyuki and Mochitsuki Kimochi, Miyuki and Mochi, as I'd called them since we were kids. My neighbours. Once my closest friends. Now practically strangers.

They moved with identical grace despite not being twins, born eleven months apart to the same parents, Miyuki in January and Mochi in November. Their mother Naomi-san had always joked that Mochi was a "Valentine's baby," a comment that took on new meaning after their father's infidelity came to light years after his death.

When the sisters entered the room, a subtle shift occurred. Conversations softened. People moved slightly out of their way. It wasn't obvious respect or fear, but something else, a kind of instinctive reaction to the quiet intensity they carried.

As they entered, both sisters paused at the threshold. Miyuki's eyes swept the room in what seemed like a practised security scan. When she spotted Kenji's group by the window, her body tensed imperceptibly. Beside her, Mochi's breath hitched, her hand tightening around her bag strap until her knuckles turned white.

They took a wide berth around all the male students, sticking close to the wall as they made their way to their seats. When Taro's laugh suddenly boomed across the room, Mochi visibly flinched, nearly dropping her books. Miyuki immediately stepped between her sister and the perceived threat; her expression carefully blank but eyes hyper-alert.

I still didn't understand what had happened between us. One day we were inseparable, racing bikes down our street and sharing popsicles on my porch. Then, seemingly overnight in our second year of junior high, they started avoiding all boys, me included. The abrupt loss of their friendship had left a wound that never quite healed.

They took their seats without looking in my direction.

"Earth to Andie?" Miyako waved her hand in front of my face. "You still with us?"

"Sorry," I muttered. "Just... thinking."

Her eyes followed my gaze, softening slightly when they landed on the sisters. "You know, you could try talking to them again."

I shook my head. "Ancient history."

"That's what museums are for," Miyako said cryptically.

I shot her a questioning look, but she just smiled and turned to Airi, speaking in that coded language they used when discussing game strategies in public. "So, about that... fashion collection we were discussing yesterday? The one with the special limited-edition items?"

"Right!" Airi nodded, catching on immediately. "I think we need some expert advice on how to... coordinate the accessories."

As roll call began, I stared at the back of Miyuki's head, just three seats ahead of me. Seven years of shared classes, and we might as well have been strangers.

A memory surfaced, from about four years ago, when I'd finally worked up the courage to confront Naomi-san about her daughters' sudden withdrawal. We'd been standing in her kitchen, the afternoon light casting golden rectangles on the floor. I'd always loved that kitchen; it had felt more like home than my own empty house after my parents died.

"Naomi-san," I'd asked, my voice cracking embarrassingly, "did I do something wrong? Why won't they talk to me anymore?"

The pain in her eyes had been unmistakable as she set down the dish she'd been drying. For a moment, she'd looked like she might actually tell me something important, something that would make sense of the painful distance that had grown between us. Then she'd simply sighed and touched my cheek with maternal tenderness.

"Oh, Andie-kun," she'd said, using my first name like she'd done since I was small. "You didn't do anything wrong. Sometimes... sometimes things happen that change people. It has nothing to do with you, I promise."

"But what happened?" I'd pressed, desperate for answers.

Her hand had dropped away, and something like shame had flickered across her face. "I can't... It's not my place to say. Please understand, they're going through something difficult."

"But I could help! We've always helped each other!"

"Not with this," she'd said firmly, then more gently: "Give them time, Andie-kun. And... don't give up on them entirely. They'll find their way back when they're ready."

But they never had.

The morning dragged on in a haze of syllabi and introductions. By lunchtime, I'd accumulated a stack of paperwork detailing proposed club activities, campus services, and the revolutionary educational philosophy of Paradise Heights.

The class representatives were buzzing around distributing even more papers. Hina approached my desk with a clipboard.

"Andie-kun, you haven't signed up for any committee positions yet," she said, her voice soft but insistent. "As the inaugural class, we need everyone to help establish the school traditions."

"Right," I said, scanning the list without enthusiasm. "I'll take... library organisation, I guess." Since we were the first students, the library needed volunteers to help set up the cataloguing system.

"Oh!" Hina's face brightened. "I'm on library organisation too. We'll be working together on Wednesdays."

"Great," I said, trying to sound at least neutrally pleased.

Yui appeared at Hina's shoulder. "Don't forget to tell him about the club recruitment festival committee too, Hina."

"Oh, yes," Hina nodded, then turned back to me. "We're still short one person for the committee planning the festival for new clubs. The deadline for club formation is in three weeks, and we need to help students who haven't found their place yet."

"Fine," I sighed, wondering when exactly I'd lost control of my own schedule. "Add me to that too."

"Perfect!" Hina smiled, a genuine warmth lighting her face. "We meet tomorrow after school."

"Andie-kun, join us for lunch," Hitomi said, appearing beside my desk with a bentō in hand. "We're eating on the roof."

Nana nodded encouragingly beside her. "Kurenai made extra inari sushi. She always brings too much."

Kurenai blushed furiously at this revelation and suddenly became very interested in adjusting her ponytail.

Before I could formulate an excuse, Miyako swooped in like a gyaru-styled ninja. "Sorry, Miss Muscles, but Andie promised to help me with something in the computer lab."

I had promised no such thing, but I knew better than to contradict Miyako in front of others. She had an uncanny ability to make people believe whatever she wanted, a superpower I both respected and feared.

Hitomi's face fell slightly. "Oh. Maybe tomorrow then?"

"Maybe," I echoed, feeling like a broken record.

As Hitomi walked away, I caught Ayaka and Kurenai exchanging glances. Great, now I'd probably be the subject of sporty girl gossip all afternoon.

Miyako grabbed my hand. "Come on, lone wolf. I actually do need your help."

I let myself be dragged to the computer lab, where Airi was already waiting, her pink-tipped hair catching the fluorescent light.

"Did you bring him?" she asked, looking up from a monitor displaying what appeared to be battle statistics.

"Of course," Miyako pushed me into a chair. "Andie, we have a problem."

I raised an eyebrow. "A real problem or a game problem?"

"Is there a difference?" Airi asked with complete sincerity, her eyes wide behind stylishly framed glasses she only wore in private. The contrast between her carefully crafted gyaru image and her secret nerd tendencies was almost comical.

Miyako quickly glanced toward the door, making sure it was closed. "Keep your voice down," she hissed at Airi. "You know the rules. Code names only at school."

Airi rolled her eyes. "No one's here but us."

"You can never be too careful," Miyako insisted. "What if Rina or Haruka walked in? Our social lives would be over."

I watched this exchange with amusement. The great Miyako Yukihana, who once told our maths teacher his teaching style was "more outdated than dial-up internet," was terrified her friends might discover she spent weekends leading raid parties in Champions of Eternity.

"Our," she lowered her voice to a whisper, "guild is falling apart. The logistics coordinator quit after that drama with the loot distribution, and somehow I got volunteered to take over."

"And this concerns me because...?"

"Because you're the only one who understands both the game mechanics and has the patience to deal with twenty fragile egos," Airi said. "Please? We'll buy you that limited edition figurine you've been eyeing."

I stiffened. "What figurine?"

Miyako smirked. "The Battle Sorceress one. The super-detailed collector's version with the lacework. You know, the one with those intricate patterns on her outfit that you stare at for hours."

Heat crept up my neck. My private collection of figurines, particularly those featuring elaborate lacework and delicate designs, was my most closely guarded secret. Or so I had thought. The Battle Sorceress was my holy grail, her outfit featured some of the most detailed lacework ever produced in a collectible figure, with patterns so fine they looked like real fabric under the right light.

"How did you,"

"We have our ways," Miyako waved dismissively. "And by ways, I mean Airi's cousin works at the hobby store and saw you place a pre-order. That special edition with the upgraded lacework details costs what, 30,000 yen? Are you helping or not?"

I sighed deeply. "Fine. But find someone else before the semester gets busy."

"You're the best!" Miyako exclaimed, dropping her gyaru persona. Before I could react, she jumped up from her chair and moved behind me, wrapping her arms tightly around my shoulders in an enthusiastic hug.

I froze as I felt her chest press firmly against my back, her soft cheek brushing against mine. The sweet floral scent of her perfume enveloped me, making my head swim. Through the thin fabric of our uniforms, I could feel something I wasn't prepared for, the delicate pattern of lace pressing against my back.

The intricate design of Miyako's lingerie was unmistakable against my shoulder blades, not just any lace, but what felt like a complex honeycomb pattern interwoven with floral elements, remarkably similar to the special edition Battle Sorceress's signature corset design. The realisation sent a wave of heat rushing to my face as my collector's brain automatically catalogued the similarity. Was that a scalloped edge along the,

"M-Miyako!" I stammered, my brain short-circuiting from the sensory overload. My entire body tensed as I became hyperaware of every point of contact between us, the softness pressed against me, the warmth of her breath near my ear, and that damned intricate lacework pattern that my mind couldn't stop analysing and comparing to my prized collection.

The door suddenly opened, and Haruka poked her head in. "There you are! We've been looking everywhere," Her eyes widened at the sight of Miyako hugging me from behind, her arms still wrapped around my shoulders.

"Well, well," Haruka smirked. "Are you two dating now? Why is Miyako being so... intimate with you, Andie-kun?"

"No!" I protested, my face burning hotter.

Miyako, surprisingly, didn't release me. Instead, she leaned forward to reach the mouse, and as she did, her blouse gaped slightly between the buttons directly in my line of sight. My eyes inadvertently caught another glimpse of that intricate Battle Sorceress-inspired lacework, confirming my tactile impression and sending another wave of heat through my entire body.

She quickly clicked to minimise the game stats and brought up a fashion website with her free hand. "Just showing Andie the new TrendMasters collection!" she explained smoothly, still holding me with one arm. "What do you think of these platform boots?"

I stared at the screen, bewildered by the sudden change in topic, the image of honeycomb lacework burned into my retinas, and acutely aware of Miyako still partially embracing me. "They're... tall?"

Haruka rolled her eyes. "You are hopeless. Anyway, Rina saved us spots in the cafeteria. You coming?"

"Be right there!" Miyako smiled brightly until Haruka disappeared, then slumped in relief. "That was close."

"Your secret identity remains intact, O Great Guild Master," I said dryly, trying to regain my composure while still feeling the phantom impression of that intricate lacework against my back.

"Mock all you want, but some of us have reputations to maintain," she replied, finally releasing me and standing up. "We'll finish this discussion later. Eight o'clock, usual server?"

I nodded, still trying to process what had just happened.

"By the way," she added casually as she gathered her things, "we can stop by Collector's Paradise after school tomorrow to check out your figurine. Airi's cousin says it's even better than the promotional images."

"I, okay," I agreed, still feeling slightly dazed from our earlier proximity, and lunch passed in a blur of spreadsheets and inventory management that Miyako had sneakily emailed me. By the time we returned to class, I'd somehow become the de facto resource manager for a virtual guild of strangers. Just another entanglement I hadn't asked for.

The afternoon classes were merciful in their brevity, first-day formalities rather than actual content. As the final bell rang, I considered my options. The logical choice was to head straight home and enjoy the quiet before homework began piling up. But something made me linger, watching as the classroom slowly emptied.

Miyuki and Mochi were among the last to leave, gathering their things with methodical care. I noticed how they waited until Kenji's group had left before moving. For a moment, I thought Miyuki glanced my way, but she was gone before I could be sure.

I found myself following them at a distance, telling myself I was just heading home, we lived on the same street, after all. The familiar route took us past convenience stores and vending machines that had been landmarks of our childhood. Three blocks from our neighbourhood, the sisters turned down a side street, and I continued straight ahead. If they were taking the shortcut home to avoid me, I wouldn't force an encounter.

Our street was lined with modest family homes, mine sitting directly across from the Kimochis'. My house had stood unchanged since my parents' death, a shrine to the family we had been. The only addition was the home gym I'd expanded over the years, converting what was once a spare bedroom into my personal training space.

I was unlocking my front door when something caught my eye, the Kimochi's front door was slightly ajar. This wasn't normal. Naomi-san was meticulous about home security, especially since becoming a single mother.

Unease prickled along my spine. The rational response would be to call the police, but something stopped me. What if it was nothing? What if the sisters just forgot to close it properly?

But what if it wasn't nothing?

I slipped into my house, dropping my bag and moving quickly to my room. If something was wrong, I couldn't go over as myself, the sisters had made it clear years ago they wanted nothing to do with me. I grabbed my rarely-worn black hoodie and pulled it tightly over my head, adding a face mask and sunglasses for good measure. The combination would conceal my features completely, unlike the baseball cap that would leave too much of my face exposed. From the cupboard, I retrieved my father's old baseball bat and my gel blaster toy gun, not lethal but realistic enough to be intimidating.

Heart pounding, I crossed the street and approached the Kimochi house. The silence from within was more alarming than any noise would have been. Carefully, I pushed the door open wider and stepped inside.

The entryway was undisturbed, shoes neatly arranged in the genkan. I moved silently through the hallway, years of childhood visits guiding my steps around the squeaky floorboard near the kitchen.

Then I heard it, male voices, harsh and threatening, coming from the living room.

"Just hand over the valuables, and no one gets hurt," one voice demanded.

"We've already given you everything!" That was Naomi-san's voice, tight with fear.

I peered around the corner and froze. Two men in dark clothing had corralled Naomi-san, Miyuki and Mochi against the far wall. One held a knife, while the other rummaged through a drawer. The women's faces were pale with terror.

What struck me most wasn't just their fear, but how differently each displayed it. Naomi-san stood protectively in front of her daughters, her hands trembling but voice steady. Miyuki had gone completely still, her face a blank mask, eyes focused on some middle distance as if she'd mentally transported herself elsewhere. Mochi was breathing in short, shallow gasps, her eyes darting frantically around the room like a cornered animal.

"Everything? I don't think so," said the man with the knife. "Nice house like this must have more hidden away."

His partner glanced up, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "And three pretty ladies built like models like yourselves must have some nice jewellery stashed somewhere."

My blood ran cold as the man took a step toward them. Miyuki flinched violently, her stoic mask cracking as she pressed herself against the wall. Mochi let out a small, wounded sound, not quite a whimper, but something deeper, more primal.

Their reaction seemed disproportionate to the threat, intense in a way that hinted at something beyond the current danger. There was history here, a context I couldn't see but could feel in the charged atmosphere of the room.

"Please," Naomi-san stepped further in front of her daughters. "Take whatever you want and go."

"Oh, we will," the first intruder said, gesturing with his knife. "But first, let's see what you're hiding under those nice clothes. Start unbuttoning, ladies."

The world seemed to slow down. Naomi-san's hands shook as she reached for her top button. Behind her, Miyuki's face had gone completely vacant, a thousand-yard stare that was more frightening than any expression of fear. Mochi had begun to cry silently, tears streaming down her face as she robotically followed the man's instructions.

I should have moved then. I should have done something. But as the three women, hands shaking, began reluctantly unfastening their tops, revealing the edges of lacy undergarments beneath, my brain short-circuited.

Are you kidding me right now? I screamed internally at myself. You're noticing LACE in THIS situation?

It was my private weakness, the very thing I'd kept hidden in my collection of figurines, rendered in terrifying reality. The contrast between the delicate lace and the horrific situation created a cognitive dissonance that paralysed me for precious seconds.

Great job, hero. Really excellent timing for your brain to blue-screen. "Congratulations, you've unlocked the worst possible moment to discover you have functioning eyeballs!" Would you like to collect your award for "Most Inappropriate Millisecond of Awareness" now or later?

Get it together, Andie! I forced myself back to reality, rage replacing embarrassment. These were people I cared about, regardless of what had happened between us, and they were in danger.

Taking a deep breath, I raised the gel blaster and fired two rapid shots at the light fixture overhead. Glass shattered, plunging the room into relative darkness as the intruders shouted in confusion. In the chaos, I swung the bat hard at the knees of the nearest man. He went down with a howl of pain. The second intruder lunged toward the sound, but I was already moving, driving the bat into his solar plexus. He doubled over, gasping.

"Run!" I shouted to the women, my voice deliberately lowered to avoid recognition, the mask further muffling my identity. "Get out now!" They didn't need to be told twice. As they fled toward the front door, I landed another swing on the first intruder who was attempting to rise. Both men were down but not unconscious, it was time for my own exit.

I backed away quickly, keeping the bat raised until I reached the hallway, then turned and sprinted after the women. They had already made it outside, huddled together on the pavement. I veered sharply away before they could get a good look at me, cutting through the neighbour's yard and circling back to my own house.

Once inside, I locked the door and collapsed against it, adrenaline still coursing through my system. Through my front window, I could see police cars arriving, lights flashing. Someone, probably Naomi-san, had called them.

I peeled off my makeshift disguise, hands shaking slightly. The image of the three women, frightened and vulnerable, flashed through my mind again. There had been something in their reactions, something deeper than the fear of a home invasion. Something that resonated with old wounds. I'd seen how Miyuki and Mochi had reacted, not just with normal fear, but with something that looked like a triggered memory, a re-experiencing of some past horror. I didn't understand what it meant, but I knew enough to recognise trauma when I saw it.

I sank onto my couch, suddenly exhausted. My first day at Paradise Heights Junior College, supposedly a fresh start, and I'd already been pulled back into the orbit of the Kimochi family in the most dramatic way possible.

As sirens wailed outside and officers took statements, I stared at the ceiling, wondering what tomorrow would bring. Would the sisters connect their mysterious rescuer to their childhood friend? Would they even care if they did?

I supposed I'd find out soon enough. That was the thing about slice-of-life situations, the next slice always comes, whether you're ready or not.

Closing my eyes, I let out a long breath. "First day of school and I've already hit my yearly quota of heroic rescues and inappropriate physiological responses," I muttered to the empty room. "If this were a manga, the readers would be calling my character development inconsistent and the plot contrived. Can't say I'd blame them."