My Seatmate Is Actually…

I spent my first three days in this town in peak hermit mode.

I literally didn't poke my nose past the threshold of my aunt’s front yard. And honestly, can you blame me? After a midnight encounter with an unnervingly flexible cashier hissing at dust bunnies in a corner, followed by a schoolgirl casually dropping severed human body parts in the dead of night, any lingering desire to explore had been ruthlessly snuffed out. My strategy was pure, unadulterated genius: barricade myself in my room and reduce contact with the outside world to absolute zero.

Unfortunately, harsh reality had no interest in indulging my dreams of becoming a professional hikikomori.

Tomorrow was my official debut at the local high school. Auntie had already mapped out my walking route, walked me through the school rules, and even laid out a crisp new uniform. That damn navy-blue blazer with its unfamiliar crest hung forlornly against my closet door—a mocking reminder that my days of peaceful isolation were officially numbered.

Throughout those three days, my only lifeline had been my handheld console. I spent morning to night grinding away, saving digital universes while the real world outside remained smothered under that perpetual, suffocating mist. Honestly, I couldn't have been happier with that arrangement.

“Ren! Dinner’s getting cold, get down here!” Auntie’s voice echoed briskly from downstairs.

Letting out a heavy sigh, I set the controller down and trudged into the kitchen.

Steaming bowls of white rice and simmered beef were already waiting on the table. Auntie sat opposite my seat, resting her chin on her palms, drilling holes into me with an intensely focused gaze.

“Well, hero? Tomorrow’s the big day. Fresh start at a brand-new school,” she began with an expectant grin as I picked up my chopsticks. “How are we feeling? Nervous? Excited to make some new friends?”

“I feel like I’d gladly stay home for another year,” I mumbled around a mouthful of rice. “Camp out in my room, play video games, do distance learning. It’s foolproof.”

Her smile vanished on the spot, replaced by an unimpressed scowl.

“Alright, young man, that’s enough of that nonsense. You’ve spent days glued to that stupid little button-box! You need to get outside and interact with flesh-and-blood human beings!”

“I get along fine without them,” I shrugged. “People are nothing but stress and unnecessary drama.”

She stared at me with a long, unblinking glare—the universal look reserved for irredeemable idiots. Without another word, she pushed her chair back and stepped out of the kitchen. Half a minute later, she returned with her hands hidden behind her back.

Thunk.

A hefty black plastic brick with a tangle of cords dropped onto the table right beside my bowl.

The power supply to my console.

“Hey!” I nearly jumped out of my seat. “What are you doing?! Give that back!”

“Now, listen to my terms, dearest nephew.” She crossed her arms, eyes narrowing like a hawk zeroing in on prey. “You only get this back on one condition: tomorrow after class, you go and join the school’s Student Support Club.”

I blinked, utterly dumbfounded. “A Student Support Club?! Are you joking?”

“Not in the slightest. Don't join, and this brick stays locked in my safe until graduation. You can do your homework by candlelight for all I care.”

“That's straight-up extortion!” I protested, feeling the ground crumble under my feet. “I have rights!”

Auntie merely tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, completely tuning out my outrage. Her face radiated absolute, iron-clad conviction. Arguing with her was a lost cause—suicide, really.

“Fine!” I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “I’ll go check it out! Just take a look, got it? I’m not promising I’ll sign anything! Why that club anyway? How do you even know about it?”

Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Because back in my high school days, I was a member myself! Oh, Ren-kun, it was so much fun! Best place in the world to make genuine friends. Instead of moping around like a gloomy owl... Do you even have friends?”

“I have friends!” I snapped, heat flaring across my cheeks as I quickly averted my gaze.

“Sure, sure, those invisible Tokyo friends of yours,” she teased with a smirk. “Anyway, in the club you get to help people out, socialize, find your crowd... Trust me, you’ll love it. So tomorrow after class—march yourself straight to the clubroom!”

I could only slump in my seat, knowing I’d been backed into a corner with zero avenues of escape.

The next morning, I stood in front of the entryway mirror, glaring miserably at my reflection.

Navy blazer, white collared shirt, tailored dress slacks. The uniform fit like a glove, but the fabric felt dreadfully stiff and restrictive.

“Oh, just look at you!” Auntie clapped her hands together in delight as she walked in. “A proper Tokyo heartbreaker! The girls are going to faint in the hallways!”

“It’s itchy, tight across the shoulders, and I hate it,” I grumbled, fruitlessly tugging at the uniform tie.

“Stop whining like an old grandpa. Come on, I’ll drop you by the gates—it’s on my way to work anyway.”

We piled into her compact car. As she navigated the narrow residential streets, I pressed my forehead against the side window, quietly taking in the morning commute.

Dozens of students were converging on the school. They walked in pairs and small groups, laughing, chatting, sipping juice from cardboard cartons, casually hoisting their bags onto their shoulders. Completely ordinary, noisy, average teenagers. No glowing red eyes, no feral acrobatics on all fours, and certainly no severed body parts tumbling onto the pavement.

The familiar milky haze still hung over the town, but bathed in the soft morning sunlight, it no longer felt threatening.

Maybe I really was just hallucinating from pure exhaustion that night, I thought, a wave of relief washing over me. Pulled an all-nighter, psyched myself out with horror cliches about the countryside, and my brain short-circuited. Everything’s fine. It’s just a normal, boring backwater town.

“Here we are!” Auntie braked near the towering school gates. “Good luck with your classes, Ren-kun! And remember: right after school, straight to the club! Your power brick is waiting!”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you...” I sighed, opening the car door.

The campus was fairly spacious, consisting of standard three-story concrete buildings. After tracking down the faculty office and clearing the usual paperwork with my homeroom teacher, I found myself waiting in the second-floor hallway.

The sliding door marked “Class 2-B” was shut. From the other side drifted the muffled hum of dozens of teenage voices. The teacher stepped inside; the chatter died down, and after a couple of seconds, his voice called out:

“Aoki, come in.”

I slid the door open and crossed the threshold.

Thirty pairs of eyes immediately locked onto me. I didn't scan the room, search their faces, or try to win anyone over with a charming smile. The less attention you draw to yourself, the quieter your life remains.

“I’m Ren Aoki. Transferred here from Tokyo. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” I recited flatly, offering a measured, polite bow.

A beat of silence hung in the air. The teacher clearly expected a follow-up—some spiel about my hobbies, favorite sports, or dreams for the future—but I simply stood there, staring straight ahead. Realizing he wasn't going to squeeze another syllable out of me, the teacher cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Ahem... right. Well, take an empty desk. Over there, the last seat by the window.”

My heart did a tiny, triumphant flip.

Back row. Last seat. Right beside the window.

The holy grail of anime protagonist seats! The perfect blind spot: the teacher barely looks at you, your back is covered by the wall, and whenever class gets tedious, you can daydream while staring out at the clouds.

I walked down the aisle between the desks, feeling the curious gazes of my new classmates tracking my every step. Whispers rippled through the rows.

And then I reached my desk.

Sitting at the desk right beside mine was a girl.

She looked so completely out of place that I nearly stopped in my tracks. Cascading over her shoulders were long locks of an ethereal, silvery-ash hair—the kind of color no salon bottle could ever recreate. Her skin was unnervingly, almost frighteningly pale, like polished porcelain. Her facial features were sharp and aristocratic, but her eyes...

The gaze of those dark eyes was so frigid, so profoundly detached from reality, that the air around her felt several degrees colder. She kept her focus pinned strictly forward, completely unfazed by the murmurs of the room.

I pulled out my chair and sat down.

It was blindingly obvious that this ice queen had zero intention of greeting me. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, a stubborn itch flared up inside me. We were desk neighbors, after all; we’d be sharing this space for an entire year.

“Hey,” I said quietly, leaning slightly in her direction. “I’m Aoki.”

The girl turned her head in agonizing slow motion. Her icy stare swept over my face—no malice, no curiosity, just pure, cosmic indifference, as though she were looking at an unoccupied chair.

Without uttering a single word, she turned back to face the chalkboard.

Right. A real tough nut to crack, I thought, pulling a notebook from my bag. Whatever. Less talking, fewer headaches.

Class began. The teacher’s voice droned on, scribbling formulas across the board while the tips of the pines swayed lazily in the mist outside the window. Everything seemed normal enough, but halfway through the period, an odd sensation crept up on me.

A heavy, prickling chill at the back of my neck.

You know that feeling when you're dead certain someone is drilling holes into you with their eyes? Your skin practically starts to crawl.

I tried shifting my gaze to see who was staring. I turned my head a fraction too sharply, my elbow jerked awkwardly against the desk—and my pen slipped off the edge.

Click. Roll-roll-roll.

The damn plastic cylinder bounded cheerfully across the floorboards, rolling to a halt squarely beneath the desk of my silver-haired neighbor.

I froze. I hadn't packed a spare—laziness had kept me from checking my pencil case that morning. Sitting idle for the rest of the lecture was a surefire way to draw the teacher’s wrath. I glanced sideways at the girl. She hadn't even twitched, her hand gliding across her notebook in impeccably neat handwriting. The fallen pen might as well not have existed.

Alright, Ren. Just lean down, grab it, and sit back up. Nobody’s even going to notice.

I slid quietly off my chair, dropped onto one knee, and stretched an arm under her desk. My fingertips brushed the smooth plastic... just a couple of millimeters more...

“Aoki! What on earth are you doing in the middle of class?!” the teacher’s voice barked right over my head.

The sudden shout made me jump out of my skin. My heart dropped straight into my stomach. Panicking, I tried to shoot back onto my feet—and slammed the crown of my head full-force into the heavy, solid oak corner of my neighbor’s desk.

CRACK!

It sounded like a watermelon splitting open.

A blinding burst of white sparks exploded across my vision. A searing shockwave of pain tore across my forehead and temple, knocking the breath straight out of my lungs. I hissed through clenched teeth, blindly scooping the cursed pen off the floor as I clamped a hand to my skull, yelling back:

“My pen! Dropped my pen, just picking it up!”

And then, something warm, thick, and sticky began trickling between my fingers. Blood. I’d split the skin, and it wasn't just a scratch—a pair of heavy crimson droplets splattered against the collar of my white shirt.

Still down on one knee by her desk, I turned toward my neighbor to apologize for the racket and explain myself. The last thing I needed on day one was for her to think I was some Tokyo creep trying to peek under her skirt.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to—” I started, and the words died in my throat.

The girl had turned her entire upper body toward me. The cold, unreadable mask had completely shattered. Her lips were parted, her chest heaving in shallow, ragged breaths, and her pupils were so wildly dilated they had practically swallowed her dark irises whole.

She was staring, unblinking, with a terrifying, primal hunger straight at the blood running down my brow.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

Protruding clearly beneath her upper lip, catching the fluorescent light, were two long, needle-sharp fangs. Real ones. They were easily twice the length of ordinary canines, glistening with predatory sharpness.

My mind completely short-circuited.

Fangs?.. Are those... actual fangs?!

“Good lord, Aoki!” the teacher’s panicked shout shattered the trance. “You’re bleeding like a broken faucet! Straight to the nurse's office, now! Hoshimiya, escort him immediately before he ruins the floor!”

Hoshimiya. So that was her family name.

I blinked, tearing my gaze away from her mouth with tremendous effort. When I looked back, shock hit me all over again.

Her lips were pressed into a firm, tight line. Her features had settled back into an impenetrable porcelain mask. Utterly void of emotion. It was as if the whole thing had been a concussion-induced hallucination.

Wordlessly, she rose from her chair, offered the teacher a curt nod, and cast a flat, quiet glance in my direction.

“Let’s go.”

I scrambled to my feet on legs that felt like overcooked noodles, pressing the sleeve of my blazer against my forehead. The dark fabric soaked up the crimson stain almost instantly.

The hallway was quiet, our footsteps echoing softly against the walls. We walked side by side, keeping a strict arm’s-length between us. My skull throbbed like an engine, the edges of my vision swimming, but my thoughts were racing at breakneck speed.

Pale skin. Freezing aura. Razor-sharp fangs... Is she a vampire?! Seriously, an actual vampire in a Japanese high school?! What happens if I just ask her? Will she snap my neck in the middle of the corridor and drain me dry?!

I stole a sideways glance at her.

Hoshimiya marched ahead, eyes locked dead center, but her breathing... It was heavy, ragged, air hissing sharply through her teeth with every intake. Her slender fingers were clenched into fists so tight her knuckles were bleached stark white.

And then I saw it: every few seconds, against her own will, her gaze would snap violently toward me. Not at my eyes. She was staring at the blood dripping steadily from my chin.

Her nostrils flared. She was practically inhaling the scent.

A sick, cold dread settled at the base of my spine.

Shit... She’s barely holding it together. Because of my blood!

Finally, we reached a white door bearing a red cross. Hoshimiya pushed it open, gesturing for me to step through.

The infirmary welcomed us with the sharp tang of antiseptic and dead silence. Beyond the glass divider and the broad consultation desk, there was no one. The school nurse was nowhere to be seen.

“Nobody’s here,” I murmured, feeling the room tilt slowly to one side.

My knees gave out, and I slumped heavily onto the nearest cot, burying my face in my hands. A dull, rhythmic agony pounded behind my eyes to the beat of my racing pulse.

Hoshimiya paused near the entrance. Her chest rose and fell heavily. She stood half-turned, clearly intending to spin on her heel and leave. Her fingers were already resting on the brass handle, but then she glanced back at me.

I must have looked thoroughly pathetic—chalk-white, covered in blood, struggling for breath.

She hesitated. For a fraction of a second, an intense war raged behind her dark eyes.

“Are you... alright?” she asked. Her tone was carefully neutral, but laced with a subtle, gravelly tremor.

“Yeah...” I managed, not lifting my head. “Fine. Just dizzy. You... you can head back to class. I’ll figure it out.”

She froze on the threshold. For a moment, it seemed she would gladly jump at the permission to flee the smell of blood.

Instead, she let out a quiet, resigned sigh.

Releasing the handle, she marched purposefully toward the glass medical cabinet, unerringly pulling out a bottle of antiseptic, a pack of sterile cotton pads, and a roll of gauze.

Crossing the room, she took a seat on the edge of the cot beside me.

A crisp scent of peppermint and winter chill rolled off her—as if someone had just cracked open the door of a deep freezer.

“Lift your head,” she commanded, quiet yet firm.

I obeyed. Soaking a cotton pad with the clear liquid, she pressed it against my split brow with surprising, delicate gentleness.

A biting cold sting flared across the wound. I flinched, hissing under my breath.

“Hold still. It’s going to sting,” she murmured.

She was right there. Close enough that I could count every single dark eyelash. Her fingers against my skin were like polished ice, but her movements were exceptionally steady, precise, and tender. She blotted the blood, positioned a gauze pad, and skillfully wrapped the bandage around my head, securing it with practiced ease.

I sat motionless, thoroughly bewildered.

The icy, untouchable girl who looks like she despises the entire human race... is sitting here gently patching up a guy she doesn't even know?

“Done.” Hoshimiya pulled her hands back and stood up abruptly, as though remaining near me had suddenly become agonizing.

A faint flush of pink dusted her cheeks; her breath remained shallow and uneven. Sweeping the used cotton into the wastebasket, she closed the cabinet and made for the door without looking back.

“I’m heading back to class.”

Her fingers wrapped around the metallic handle, pulling the door inward.

In that split second, something inside my brain snapped. Whether it was the head trauma, the blood loss, an adrenaline spike, or a total lack of any self-preservation instinct—I don't know what caused my common sense to completely short out.

I launched myself off the cot in a single stride.

Before she could step out into the hallway, my hand shot forward, clamping firmly around her wrist.

The skin beneath my fingers burned with the chill of absolute zero.

Hoshimiya froze instantly. Her shoulders locked tight. Slowly, with a mix of shock and sharp, rising defensiveness, she glanced over her shoulder—first down at my hand gripping her wrist, and then directly into my eyes.

Catching my breath, I stared back at that porcelain face and asked, quiet and clear:

“Tell me... Are you a vampire?”