Chapter 1: Yuuji’s Mental Diary

Yuuji Tanaka stood at the gate of Seiryou High School and made a promise to himself.

No drama. No old classmates. No bullying. Just a normal, peaceful, forgettable high school life.

He adjusted his necktie, nodded once like a man closing a business deal with himself, and walked through the gate.

He didn't even make it to the shoe lockers.

"Yuuji-kun~!"

The voice hit him like a truck made of nostalgia and dread. His legs stopped working before his brain caught up.

No. Not her. Anyone but her.

He turned around anyway, because apparently his body hated him.

Airi Fujimoto was jogging toward him, waving both arms, hair bouncing, smile absolutely radiant.

"It's really you! You haven't changed at all!"

"Airi..." Yuuji said flatly. "You go here."

"I go here!!" she agreed cheerfully, as if this was a delightful coincidence and not a cosmic punishment.

"Airi go here," he repeated, mostly to himself.

"Aww, you remember my name! I'm so happy!" She clasped her hands together like he'd said something sweet instead of the verbal equivalent of a man watching his house burn down.

Yuuji did not smile back. His face simply gave up and picked "polite horror" as its default expression.

"So what class are you in?" she asked, leaning in close enough that he took a full step back.

"1-B," he said, already regretting it.

"Me too!!" Airi practically vibrated with joy. "We're going to be classmates again, Yuuji-kun!"

Somewhere, the universe laughed at him.

"Let's walk in together!" She grabbed his arm before he could object, and he stiffened like a man bracing for a trap he couldn't see yet.

But there was no trap. No shoe full of ketchup. No thumbtack conveniently left on his seat.

Just Airi, humming, cheerfully opening his shoe locker for him like they were old friends and not a girl and her former victim.

Yuuji stared at her like she might short-circuit at any moment.

Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.

He pulled a small notebook from his bag the second he sat down at his desk in 1-B, flipping to a fresh page.

Yuuji's Mental Diary – Day 1
Airi Fujimoto Status: ?
Damage Taken: 2/10
Confusion Level: 10/10
Notes: Why is she so nice?! I feel like I'm in danger.

"Whatcha writing?"

Yuuji nearly threw the notebook across the room. A guy with spiky blond hair was leaning over his shoulder, grinning like he'd already decided they were friends.

"Nothing," Yuuji said, slamming the notebook shut.

"Cool. I'm Daiki Morishita. Desk neighbors, I guess." Daiki glanced across the room, then back at Yuuji, then back across the room again. "Who's the cute one waving at you?"

"That's Airi Fujimoto. We used to be in the same class."

"Ohhh." Daiki's grin widened. "Childhood friends?"

"Sort of."

"Girlfriend?"

"NO." Yuuji said it loud enough that three people turned around. Airi giggled from across the room. Yuuji wanted to dissolve into his chair.

Daiki, delighted, leaned in closer. "Then what is she?"

Yuuji opened his mouth to explain and found he genuinely didn't know how to summarize it.

At lunch, under a tree that offered exactly enough shade to justify sitting there, Daiki demanded the full story.

"Okay but seriously," he said around a mouthful of rice, "what's the deal with you two?"

"She used to bully me," Yuuji said.

"No way. Her? She looks like she cries at dog food commercials."

"She once told the entire class I was a foreign exchange student from a country that doesn't exist, and made everyone call me 'Yuuji-san from Bordelia' for a month."

Daiki choked. "A month?"

"She rigged the class president vote so I'd win unopposed, then told the teacher I'd been 'begging for the position for weeks.' even had to give a speech I didn't prepare."

"That's... amazing, actually."

"She once convinced the whole grade there was a ghost living in my desk so nobody would sit near me for a semester."

Daiki was now lying on his back in the grass, wheezing.

"It's not funny!"

"It's extremely funny! You had a ghost!"

"I did NOT have a ghost, Daiki, that's the point—"

"Enemies to lovers," Daiki wheezed, wiping his eyes. "Classic."

"It is NOT enemies to lovers, it's victim and war criminal—"

"So basically she's obsessed with you."

"That is not what 'basically' means."

Daiki sat up, suddenly serious — or at least, serious for him. "Okay but real talk. You sure she's not planning something? Like a long game?"

"That," Yuuji said, "is exactly what I'm trying to figure out."

He glanced toward the school building, where Airi sat with another girl, black hair, neat bangs, a face so still it looked photoshopped onto her body.

The girl was looking directly at Yuuji.

She did not blink.

"Who's that?" Yuuji asked.

Daiki shrugged. "No idea. Haven't heard her say a word all day."

The girl kept staring. Yuuji looked away first.

Noted. Will be investigating later. From a safe distance.

Homeroom introductions were short, mostly because nobody in Class 1-B knew each other yet and everyone was too busy silently panicking about that fact.

"I'm Yuuji Tanaka. I like books. Please be nice to me," Yuuji said, and sat down as fast as physically possible.

Airi stood next, hands folded, smile dialed to maximum wattage.

"I'm Airi Fujimoto! I love sweets and cute things, and I hope we can all be great friends~"

The class applauded. Two boys in the front row looked like they'd witnessed a religious event.

Yuuji did not applaud. Yuuji had seen things.

Their homeroom teacher, Mr. Kumagai, had the look of a man who considered sleep a personal weakness. His tie was crooked. His shirt had apparently lost a fight with an iron.

"I am Kumagai," he announced. "You may call me Sensei. Or, if you prefer—" he paused for dramatic effect that nobody had asked for, "—Master of the Written Word."

Silence.

"I will now demonstrate my teaching philosophy," he continued, undeterred, and cleared his throat with the gravity of a man about to recite scripture.

"Spring brings new desks, new faces, new fears— homework is forever."

Nobody clapped. Somebody in the back whispered, "was that a haiku or a threat?"

"Beautiful," Kumagai said to himself, and moved on to attendance as if he hadn't just deeply concerned twenty-eight teenagers.

Yuuji added a line to his notebook without looking down.

Kumagai-sensei Status: Poetry Threat Level 10/10. Send help.

By the time the final bell approached, nothing had happened.

No prank. No note taped to his back. No mysterious itching powder.

This, somehow, was worse.

Yuuji spent fifth period flinching every time someone walked past his desk. When a kid dropped a pencil case behind him, he nearly launched out of his chair. When something brushed his shoulder, a stray gym uniform someone was folding, he yelped loud enough that Daiki had to pretend to cough to cover his laughter.

"You good?" Daiki whispered.

"I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop," Yuuji whispered back.

"Bro it's been like six hours."

"That's how she gets you. She lulls you into peace and THEN—"

"Yuuji-kun?"

He nearly ascended into the afterlife. Airi was standing right beside his desk, head tilted, smiling.

"...Yes?"

"Want to walk home together?"

Every rational part of him screamed no. What came out instead was:

"...Sure."

The walk to the gate was quiet. Comfortable, even, in a way Yuuji refused to trust. The evening light caught Airi's hair as the wind moved it, and for one unguarded second, Yuuji thought, huh. Okay. Fine. She's a little cute.

He immediately hated that he'd thought that.

At the corner, Airi waved. "See you tomorrow, Yuuji-kun~!"

"Yeah. See you."

He walked the rest of the way home telling himself, firmly, that maybe people really could change. That maybe two years and a growth spurt had turned a war criminal into an angel. That maybe he was safe.

Then he got home, opened his bag, and found a folded note tucked inside that absolutely had not been there before.

He opened it.

"It was nice seeing you again today. Let's talk more tomorrow. You haven't changed much… or maybe you have? ♡ – Airi"

Yuuji stared at it for a long moment.

Mental Diary – Update

Airi Fujimoto Status: ???
Damage Taken: 2/10
Confusion Level: 7/10
Notes: …Is this a normal note? Why does it feel like evidence?

He set the note down very carefully, like it might detonate.

Something was wrong.

Something was very wrong.

And tomorrow, he was going to find out what.