The Most Famous Girl in Class Forgot Her Own Name

If my life were an anime, I wouldn’t be the protagonist.

I knew this because protagonists always sat beside the window, gazing mysteriously at the drifting clouds while sunlight illuminated their carefully uncombed hair.

I sat in the second row from the door.

There was no sunlight. Only a flickering ceiling bulb that made everyone beneath it look mildly haunted.

Protagonists were also surrounded by childhood friends, rivals, admirers, and at least one suspiciously young teacher. I had none of those. My social circle consisted of exactly two people, and one of them only spoke to me because he regularly forgot his homework.

My name is Ren Asakura.

Seventeen years old.

Second-year student at Hoshinomiya High School.

Average grades. Average height. Average face.

If you searched the entire school for someone less memorable than me, you would probably forget what you were searching for halfway through.

And honestly?

I preferred it that way.

“Ren.”

A hand appeared in front of my face.

I stared at it.

“Ren.”

The hand snapped its fingers.

I finally looked up. Standing beside my desk was my only reliable friend, Daichi Moriyama, wearing an expression of deep concern.

“Are you alive?” he asked.

“Unfortunately.”

“Great. Let me see your math homework.”

“No.”

His concern disappeared instantly.

“After all we’ve been through?”

“You mean the three months you’ve copied my homework?”

“It isn’t copying. It’s collaborative learning.”

“You wrote my name on your paper last week.”

“That was an administrative error.”

Daichi dragged the empty chair from the desk in front of me and sat backward on it. He was the kind of person who became friends with strangers while waiting for a vending machine. Tall, athletic, loud, and completely incapable of experiencing embarrassment.

In other words, everything I wasn’t.

He leaned closer. “Did you hear?”

“No.”

“I haven’t told you yet.”

“Then how could I have heard?”

“That attitude is why you’re unpopular.”

“I thought I was unpopular because I avoid people.”

“That too.”

Daichi turned toward the back of the classroom, where a small crowd had gathered.

At its center stood Mizuki Hanamori.

If I wasn’t the protagonist, she definitely was.

Mizuki had entered Hoshinomiya High School with the sort of reputation people usually needed years to build. She had ranked first in the entrance examinations, joined the student council during her first semester, and somehow became the face of the school’s promotional brochure despite never officially auditioning for it.

Even teachers changed their tone when speaking to her.

She wasn’t merely popular. Popular people could be approached. Mizuki existed somewhere beyond that. Everyone knew her name, but only a handful of students claimed to know her personally.

Her dark hair fell neatly past her shoulders. Her uniform was always perfect, without appearing overly strict. She smiled when spoken to, remembered birthdays, helped classmates with assignments, and never seemed irritated.

She was calm.

Graceful.

Untouchable.

And currently surrounded by classmates congratulating her for something I had no interest in learning.

Daichi pointed at her as discreetly as a person could while extending his entire arm.

“Hanamori got selected to represent our class in the school cultural festival committee,” he whispered.

“I see.”

“That’s all?”

“What do you want me to do? Start crying?”

“You could show some interest in the world around you.”

“I’m interested in the world. Just from a safe distance.”

Daichi sighed. “One day, fate is going to punish you for being this boring.”

“I look forward to quietly avoiding it.”

The warning bell rang.

Students returned to their seats, and our homeroom teacher entered carrying a stack of papers.

Daichi hurried back to his desk after successfully stealing my homework while I wasn’t looking.

I considered stopping him.

Then I remembered that caring required energy.

Our teacher began discussing the cultural festival, but my attention drifted toward the rain beginning to strike the classroom windows.

It had been sunny that morning.

I hadn’t brought an umbrella.

Of course.

Perhaps fate had already begun its punishment.

---------<>---------

By the end of classes, the gentle rain had turned into a downpour.

Students crowded around the entrance, calling their parents, sharing umbrellas, or running into the storm while screaming as though the rain were acidic.

Daichi stood beside me beneath the covered walkway.

“My sister’s picking me up,” he said. “Want a ride?”

“Yes.”

“Too bad. Her car is full.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“I wanted to know whether you trusted me.”

“I don’t anymore.”

He patted my shoulder with unnecessary sympathy.

“Good luck, background character.”

“You’re the one copying a background character’s homework.”

“That makes you my wise mentor.”

His phone rang. A moment later, he sprinted through the rain toward a small white car waiting by the gate.

I watched him climb inside.

He looked back at me through the window and waved cheerfully.

I considered throwing my shoe at the car.

Instead, I returned indoors.

The rain would weaken eventually. Probably.

I decided to wait in the library, but a sign on the door announced that it had closed early due to a staff meeting. The cafeteria was locked, the gymnasium was occupied, and the entrance hall was full of noisy students.

That left the old western building.

It had once contained the school’s art and music rooms before renovations moved both departments to the main building. Some clubs still used the first floor for storage, but the upper classrooms were mostly abandoned.

More importantly, they were quiet.

I climbed the narrow staircase to the third floor and chose the final classroom at the end of the corridor.

The door was unlocked.

Inside, rows of unused desks faced a dusty blackboard. Pale gray light entered through the windows. The sound of rain against the glass filled the room with a steady rhythm.

Perfect.

I placed my bag on a desk, sat beside the window, and pulled a small notebook from my pocket.

It wasn’t for schoolwork.

The front cover was plain blue, its corners bent from being carried everywhere. Inside were observations, unfinished thoughts, and pieces of conversations I found interesting.

Daichi called it my “creepy background-character journal.”

I called it something to do.

I turned to an empty page and wrote:
> People behave differently during rain.
> Some run. Some wait. Some ask for help.
> Most pretend they knew it was coming.

“Are you writing about me?”

My pen stopped.

The voice had come from the back of the room.

Slowly, I turned around.

Someone was sitting on the floor between the last row of desks and the wall.

Mizuki Hanamori.

Her knees were drawn to her chest. Her normally perfect hair partly covered her face, and her blazer lay folded beside her. She held a carton of strawberry milk in both hands.

More surprising than seeing the most famous girl in school hiding in an abandoned classroom was the fact that she was drinking through two straws at once.

She stared at me.

I stared back.

The rain continued falling.

Finally, she removed the straws from her mouth.

“You’re Asakura, right?”

“You know my name?”

Her eyes moved toward the notebook on my desk.

“It’s written on the cover.”

I glanced down.

REN ASAKURA, written in large black letters.

“I knew that,” I said.

“Of course.”

Another silence followed.

Under normal circumstances, this was when a person would apologize, leave the room, and later spend several years remembering the awkward encounter before falling asleep.

I began packing my things.

“Wait.”

I looked at her.

Mizuki lowered the milk carton.

“Could you stay?”

That was not the response I had expected.

“Why?”

She opened her mouth, but no answer came out.

For the first time, I noticed that her hands were trembling.

Only slightly.

Small enough that someone might mistake it for the cold.

Then I noticed her phone on the floor. Its screen was lit with notifications.

Messages filled the display, arriving one after another.

[Congratulations, Mizuki!]

[I heard you’ll be leading the festival committee!]

[Can you help with our class proposal?]

[The student council president is looking for you.]

[Hanamori, have you finished the budget draft?]

She quickly turned the phone facedown.

“I just need ten minutes,” she said. “You don’t have to talk to me.”

“That happens to be one of my best skills.”

A weak laugh escaped her.

It sounded different from the laugh I had heard in class. Less polished. Almost surprised, as though she hadn’t expected herself to make the sound.

I returned to my seat.

For several minutes, neither of us spoke.

She drank her strawberry milk.

I pretended to write, though my page remained empty.

The strange thing was that the silence didn’t feel uncomfortable. Mizuki didn’t appear to be waiting for me to entertain her, impress her, or ask why she was hiding.

She simply sat there and breathed.

Eventually, she said, “Asakura.”

“Yes?”

“Do you ever get tired of being yourself?”

I looked over my shoulder.

Her eyes were fixed on the rain.

“That sounds like a dangerous question.”

“It isn’t. I’m only curious.”

I thought about giving her an easy answer. Something light. Something that wouldn’t invite another question.

Instead, I said, “Sometimes.”

Mizuki rested her chin on her knees.

“What do you do when that happens?”

“I become someone else.”

Her eyes widened.

I held up my notebook.

“In here.”

Understanding replaced her surprise.

“You write stories?”

“Not exactly. Mostly people.”

“What does that mean?”

“I write down things I notice.”

“About your friends?”

“About anyone.”

She became suddenly still.

“Were you writing about me?”

“You asked that already.”

“And you didn’t answer.”

I closed the notebook.

“I wrote about the rain.”

“That sounds suspicious.”

“It was a very suspicious rain.”

The corner of her mouth lifted.

Then, without warning, she stood and walked toward me.

I instinctively pulled the notebook against my chest.

Mizuki stopped beside my desk.

“You really do write about people,” she said.

“How did you reach that conclusion?”

“You’re protecting the notebook.”

“I’m protecting it from people with no respect for personal property.”

“I respect personal property.”

“You walked across the room specifically to read it.”

“That was before I learned it was personal.”

“You learned that because I stopped you from reading it.”

She considered this.

“Then your protective measures were effective.”

I couldn’t tell whether she was teasing me.

Mizuki Hanamori didn’t tease people. At least, not as far as I knew.

Then again, until fifteen minutes ago, I hadn’t known she hid in abandoned classrooms and drank strawberry milk using two straws.

She sat at the desk in front of mine, turning the chair so she faced me.

“Write something about me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you asked.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It makes perfect sense. Observations become unreliable when the subject is performing for the observer.”

She blinked.

“You’re strange, Asakura.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“By many people?”

“One person. Repeatedly.”

She smiled again.

This time it lasted longer.

“All right,” she said. “Then I won’t perform.”

She folded her hands on the desk and sat perfectly straight.

I waited.

She waited.

“You’re performing right now,” I said.

“I’m sitting.”

“You’re sitting unnaturally.”

“This is how I normally sit.”

“No one normally sits like they’re having their school portrait taken.”

Her shoulders relaxed.

“Better?”

“A little.”

She leaned forward.

“Now?”

“Worse.”

She leaned back too far, nearly losing her balance, then grabbed the edge of the desk.

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

Mizuki froze.

I froze too.

Her eyes narrowed.

“You laughed at me.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I heard you.”

“That was the chair.”

“The chair laughed?”

“It’s an old building.”

For one terrifying second, she continued staring at me.

Then she laughed.

Not the polite, measured laugh she used around our classmates.

A real one.

She covered her mouth, but that only made it worse. Her face reddened as she tried and failed to compose herself.

“A laughing chair?” she managed to say.

“It’s a common structural problem.”

“Of course it is.”

“It happens when the wood becomes emotionally unstable.”

She lowered her head onto the desk, shoulders shaking.

And just like that, the untouchable Mizuki Hanamori disappeared.

In her place was a tired girl hiding from her responsibilities, laughing at a terrible joke in an abandoned classroom.

I opened my notebook.

Mizuki immediately lifted her head.

“Are you writing about me now?”

“No.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“Let me see.”

“No.”

She reached for the notebook.

I moved it away.

She leaned farther across the desk.

I stood, holding it above my head.

“That’s unfair,” she complained.

“You’re the one trying to steal it.”

“I only want one look.”

“Those are famous last words.”

We continued until the classroom door suddenly opened.

“Hanamori?”

A boy wearing a student council armband stood in the doorway.

Behind him were two girls from our class.

All three stared at us.

Mizuki was half-standing across the desk, one hand gripping my sleeve while I held the notebook above us.

There was no reasonable explanation for this position.

The boy’s eyes moved from Mizuki to me.

Then back to Mizuki.

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said slowly.

Mizuki released my sleeve at once.

Her expression changed.

It happened so quickly that I almost wondered whether I had imagined the last twenty minutes.

Her back straightened, her face relaxed, and the familiar graceful smile returned.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I needed somewhere quiet to review a few festival ideas.”

One of the girls looked at me.

“With Asakura?”

The way she said my name made it clear she had only just remembered I existed.

Mizuki glanced toward me.

Just for an instant, I saw hesitation in her eyes.

She could explain.

She could say I had happened to find her here. She could leave with them, and by tomorrow this strange afternoon would feel like a dream caused by fluorescent lighting.

Instead, she picked up her blazer and phone.

“Yes,” she said. “With Asakura.”

I nearly dropped the notebook.

The student council boy frowned. “I didn’t know you two were close.”

“We’re not,” I said immediately.

At the same time, Mizuki answered, “We are.”

Silence.

I slowly turned toward her.

She looked at me.

The girls in the doorway looked at us both.

Mizuki maintained her perfect smile, but panic flashed in her eyes.

She had said the first thing that came to mind.

And now everyone was waiting for an explanation.

Mizuki took a breath.

“Asakura is helping me with something,” she said.

“What?” the student council boy asked.

Another mistake.

Her eyes shifted toward the notebook still in my hand.

Please don’t, I thought.

Her smile brightened.

“He’s helping me write a love letter.”

The room became silent enough for me to hear the rainwater dripping from the roof.

One of the girls gasped.

The student council boy went pale.

I stared at Mizuki.

She stared back, still smiling.

And in that moment, I understood two things.

First, Mizuki Hanamori was terrible at lying.

Second, my peaceful and completely ordinary life had just ended.