New Beginnings (2)

The NHS uniform was very obviously tailored to my proportions. The sleeves ended exactly where they were supposed to, my arms completely filled out, and even my pants were tapered into a skinny fit that slid on in seconds.

I’d never experienced anything like it before. My only memories of clothes consisted of oversized shirts bought from thrift stores in the hopes I’d grow into them and sneakers with peeled off soles and butchered Abibas logos. But rather than feeling happy about my designer-quality school uniform (of which they’d given me 14 sets of, along with 5 pairs of leather shoes and 7 blazers), all I thought about was the fact that no government in the world keeps a register of citizens’ limb lengths.

Curious.

But not as much as the other thing.

Issue.

No, calling her an “issue” didn’t feel right. I appreciated her company. It was just bothersome because it was obvious she didn’t want to be around me. I guess that went without saying since no SJW ever would, but the thing was no matter how over-the-top or belligerent I acted, she continued fulfilling her duties instead of tapping out.

I kept giving her outs, and she kept refusing to use them.

In that case, I supposed whatever orders she received from above were stronger than her desire to get away from a sex pest. The school evidently meant a lot to her. Maybe she’d get expelled if she gave up on guiding me, maybe she was just genuinely turned on by the feet sniffing and trying (badly) to hide it. Maybe I was more handsome than I thought. (For the record, I didn’t actually believe the last two things, but those are the types of ideas you have to feed yourself to stave off anxiety.)

In any case, after she nonchalantly told me that she was my classmate, I concluded two things:

Firstly, the 240 students consisted of two groups — one group which was aware of the school’s “true purpose”, and the other group which was going in blind.

“That’s the athlete’s performance lab,” Erica said.

She pointed towards a cluster of buildings in the distance as we walked to school.

“Next to it is the indoor pool, running track, shooting range and football pitch. And opposite those facilities is another sector called the entertainment ward. Us students aren’t allowed to go there during school hours.”

Once she ran out of landmarks to point out, I asked her a question.

“Why do you think the school funds all of this?”

“Why? Not how?”

“Yeah.”

“…To give students the best learning environment possible?” She shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

“I’m not sure either.”

Secondly, I realised Erica was a very bad liar.

***

The school building turned out to be rather conventionally designed, with the only unique feature being the fully enclosed interior through excessive use of air-conditioning. There were four storeys, each corresponding to a grade level, with the bottom floor being the staffroom.

After explaining to me that our upperclassmen were absent because of something called a “Special Project”, we climbed a flight of stairs and reached our class.

1-A.

I could see 6 classes in total ranging from A to F, and according to Erica, there were supposed to be 240 students in our grade. Despite that, not a soul was present in the corridor. In fact, I hadn’t seen a single student over the course of our 10 minute walk to the school building — just miscellaneous staff like cleaners and gardeners.

“I have a feeling we’re late. Are we late?” I asked.

I didn’t get a reply. Instead, Erica simply tsked and slid open the classroom door at a faster-than-normal pace. I guess that in itself was an answer. Since she’d been putting up with my foot sniffing antics, I meekly followed after and made sure to look as remorseful as possible.

Erica bowed as soon as she made eye contact with the blonde teacher.

“Excuse us for being late, Madam.”

I was briefly stunned by Erica’s politeness, but then I remembered that girls who permanently scowled usually gunned for Secretary or Vice-President of the student council from Day 1. It hadn’t crossed my mind since the very first thing she did was call me a sexist and then try to break my spine, but I guess that’s what she really was. An ass-kisser.

Bloody two-faced cunt! “Uh, yeah. What she said.”

I couldn’t bring myself to say “Madam”, since this teacher looked to be 28 at most — hardly a Madam-esque age. Plus, judging from the way she dressed (nice!), her green contacts (wow!) and her stylishly dyed ponytail (tied up already!), she definitely knew a thing or two about giving h—

“No problem. I totally get it,” she smiled. “Go ahead and sit.”

No Darren, no no that was so not right.

She was too nice. Actually, her being nice or not didn’t matter. Only one person in this school deserved my wrath so far, and that was Erica Park because Erica Park is evil. Everyone else deserved respect. Innocent until proven guilty; don’t hate the player, hate the game; we live in a society; so on and so forth.

I hung my head in shame as I followed Bitchinatron 3000 to the two empty seats. Maybe you’re overreacting. Maybe it’s just a normal school. Erica took the nicer one in the protagonist’s corner, whilst I settled on the one in front of hers.

Ah, the window seat.

It’s a beautiful day. Birds are singing, flowers are blooming, my tour guide is sexy and this teacher is packing some serio—

“You look stressed. Is everything alright?”

Guh.

I wasn’t sure if that bubbly voice was meant for me or not, so I refrained from doing anything. The worst thing you can do on your first day of school is act over-eager, like waving back at someone who turns out to be waving at the person behind you.

“…”

“Uh, hello?”

I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. Oh god, not more interaction with females…

I turned to my right fully intending to tell this mystery person off, but then I saw a girl with pink shoulder-length hair, soft blue eyes, and a smile that radiated “nice and popular” energy. Wow. Wow-wa-wee. So then I changed my mind: screw telling her off, I wanted her to smile. I wanted to buy her flowers. If you would be so kind as to let me be crude for a moment, you could even say I wanted to get into a relationship with her.

But hot is also dangerous, and this girl was Erica levels of a red flag — as in, someone who would probably cause fights between the boys by the 3rd day of school or so. I felt my crotch tremble slightly. Thank god fear could lead to arousal if you tried hard enough.

“Hi, angel.”

“Wha?”

She blinked a few times in confusion. A totally innocent reaction.

And yet, even that involuntary action I found alluring. Every time those drawn eyelashes of hers fluttered, I felt my blood pressure increase just like when a hot nurse pastes stickers around your nipple for an ECG. I was certain she would grow up to be an important cultural export of Singapore.

“Er, I meant to say that I was fine.”

“Okay… It doesn’t really look like it, though. Your posture looks pretty stiff.”

She reached out and started feeling up my upper arm.

Holy balls.

Holy balls!

Her hand smelled like strawberry perfume. Was it normal for hands to smell like strawberry perfume? And was it normal to chub slightly when you smelled strawberry?

“Yeah… it’s just as I thought,” she frowned. “You’re tensing up your muscles sooo bad. Did something stressful happen this morning?”

“Well, yes. It’s actually happening right now.”

“Huh?”

“Look, enough about me. I want to know your name,” I demanded. I pressed my fingertip into my desk and flexed my thighs with all my might. If I didn’t draw the line with this girl, she would be giving me a stiffy for the rest of first period.

“Oh, sure, I guess. My name is—”

“Okay everyone, let’s start the class proper now that everyone’s present. My name is Dr. Sakura Emi, and I’m the homeroom teacher for Class 1-A. I know that’s probably an awkward name for most of you to pronounce, so you can also call me Madam or Teach or Emi or whatever is most comfortable. Even Dude is fine. I also happen to be the Head of Department for Aesthetics.”

Cucked by a teacher! My life was truly miserable. But maybe it was a blessing in disguise, since it meant I could seek refuge from the onslaught that was Hot Pink.

As soon as I thought that, though, I heard a terrifying whisper.

“You better watch yourself, doggy. Or I’ll make you.”

“…”

What? Make me what?

“In this school, classes are arranged in performance from A to F, with A being the best and F the worst. During Orientation, however, everyone is randomly assigned classes, so your current position isn’t legitimate. We’ll be sorting you into your real classes at the end of orientation. Since this might bring about confusion when we start talking about Class A as a concept, I’ll be addressing all of you as Group A rather than Class 1-A from now on.”

The teacher was saying some interesting things, but my mind was more occupied by the threats of Pink Bean and Dog Whisperer lurking around. Even looking at Ms. Emi was bringing about its own set of problems, so I desperately tried looking elsewhere to calm down.

At first, I settled on the guy in front of me, but I eventually got annoyed once I noticed his perfectly waxed hair and diamond earring. Maybe it was just my insecurity talking, but something about looking at guys with good fashion sense made me confused and uncomfortable and angry and itchy. I won’t elaborate further, so please do not ask me to.

Anyway, I started looking around and taking stock of my classmates to get my mind off things. Girl with a butterfly hair clip. Girl with wavy hair. Girl with straight hair. Girl with small tits. Girl with huge tits. Girl with huge—

“Oi, you there!”

Suddenly, the teacher raised her voice and yelled in my general direction. It looked like her head was about to swell up and burst… not the only things that looked like they were gonna burst. Hehe.

Wait a minute.

I pointed at myself. “Are you talking to me?”

“Yes, you! Stand up!”

“Uh, okay…”

Oops.

“Do you have a fucking learning disability?”

“No ma’am.”

“It was a rhetorical question, dipshit. I know you’re bloody gifted. So why are you constantly fidgeting? Was my lesson that boring? Or did you just want to get scolded that badly?”

“N-no ma’am, I was listening.”

“Oh, you were?”

“Yes..?”

The entire classroom had their eyes on me, including Pink Innocence. She looked like she was a kindergartener watching her parents go through the motions of divorce.

I mean, this is kinda your fault, but also not really, but also please stop looking at me…

“Okay, smartass. What did I just say?”

“Like, just? Just just?”

“Ha ha. If you’ve done something wrong, just admit it so we can move on. Do you have no shame?”

“Pardon?”

“I said you have no shame, kid.”

Wow.

Shame.

Is Boobies really trying to preach about shame?

“Fine. I’ll summarise your lesson for you. Point system. One point, one dollar. You can buy everything on campus and trade with anyone, staff included. There's a Shop application. Use it to buy things. CCTV footage if you really want to. Voyeurism runs deep in this place. Just keep in mind there's a 10% transaction fee on trades because some Japanese dude broke this school's poorly designed student economy before.”

“...”

“I could also go over the Orientation schedule if you want, but maybe we should wait for after you go over what an Affinity Distribution is, you—”

“Okay, enough,” the teacher said. “You were listening.”

Serves her right. She should read the scouting report next time. Mouse in the house. You reach, I teach. Hand down, man—

“But seriously… please stop shaking your leg in class. Everyone can hear your pants ruffling. It was bad enough that I had to stop the lesson.”

“...”

I could hear the entire class laugh — girls mostly — as I plunged my ass back into my seat. Bloody hell, it’s so hard for a guy to look cool nowadays. Modern society was in absolute shambles. And people wonder why I wanted to drop out of school since I was 9.

…

Huh?

“Good job,” Best Girl whispered. “You looked pretty cool there.”

Holy balls.

Holy cock and balls!!

“Assalamualaikum,” I instinctively replied.

A piece of paper slid across my desk, and in my horny stupor, I excitedly picked up the note like it was a golden ticket to Willy Wanker’s brothel.

I’m Marie-Anne! :-)

Looking forward to being your desk neighbour! What’s your name?

Your answer here → ______

Damn, she even drew hearts over her ‘i’s.

I quickly grabbed a pen from the pen holster attached to my desk, contemplated what to write for a bit, then decided that true men adopt direct approaches.

I’m Darren. I really like your hair.