All content in this novel is for fictional and entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. This story may include emotionally heavy or distressing themes. Reader discretion is advised.
No face nor name. I don't remember ever meeting someone like her. And yet — some stubborn part of me insists that I did. Or that I should have.
The classroom door slides open.
"Good morning everyone! Take your seats now."
Our homeroom teacher, Fujimoto-sensei, is the kind of guy who has the aura of someone being held emotionally hostage by teenagers.
Chairs scrape against the floor. The air shifts into routine. My desk sits in the worst spot possible: the front seat in the farthest left row. The perfect angle for the teacher to notice every breath I take. It's not everyday you get so lucky.
Mr. Fujimoto starts writing equations across the board, chalk tapping rhythmically.
My thoughts drift, not to academics but how ridiculous people can get. Everyone here is obsessed with connections. They act like being liked is a personality trait. Like affection is currency. It's stupid. Why bother getting close to people who will eventually leave? Hope makes humans delusional. I know that from first hand experience.
I sigh softly, watching the blossoms fall outside.
"Shirasaki please answer the question on the board."
I don't respond. I don't feel like responding.
"Shirasaki Mio," Fujimoto-sensei says, firmer this time.
Still staring at the window, I answer flatly:
"X = –5/2."
There's a long pause. The class turn their gazes to look at me in astonishment, but I couldn't care less about being your amusement toy.
"…That is correct. Good job. Wouldn't expect anything less from my star pupil."
If I was your star pupil then you could cut me some slack and keep me away from all your bull crap. Before Mr. Fujimoto resumes teaching, the intercom crackles to life.
📢 "First-year student Mio Shirasaki — please report to the principal's office"
📢 "I repeat: Mio Shirasaki, please report to the principal's office."
Great, what is it this time. Waking up from nightmares clearly wasn't enough excitement for one morning.
Whispers break out immediately. A few curious heads turn my way. Someone in the classroom whispers, "With that attitude, the principal office is her practically her second home, don'tcha think?" along with someone else who snickers, "She probably failed PE last year. I almost never saw her run laps."
You jackass, it's because I have asthma that you almost never see me run laps. You know this and yet your still dead set on making a fool out of yourselves.
Takumi flinches as he looks my way again like he wants to speak up—then Airi tugs his sleeve and glares, so he swallows the urge.
I never asked for your concern.
"Everyone, settle down. Shirasaki, grab all your stuff and head on over," Fujimoto-sensei says, gesturing toward the door.
I shove all my belongings into my bag, and stand. The floor feels unnecessarily loud under my shoes as I leave the classroom.
The hallway is unusually bright—sunlight bouncing off the polished floors that were too clean.
Fake perfection makes my teeth itch.
When I reached the principal's office, I barely touched the handle before the muffled sound of a women's voice reached me—followed closely by the calm, measured tone of the school's principal, Mr. Kenji Sakamoto.
Mr. Sakamoto was a man in his mid-forties, always impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit that never seemed to wrinkle. His hair was neatly slicked back, a few strands of silver visible at his temples that only added to his air of authority rather than age. He was known for being fair, but strict—never raising his voice yet never needing to. His words alone carried enough weight to silence a classroom.
Even through the closed door, there was a seriousness to his tone, as though every syllable was carefully chosen before being spoken.
"Ah—there you are."
The voice came from behind me so suddenly that I practically jumped. Turning, I found myself face-to-face with the assistant principal, Mr. Haruto Tanaka—young, only twenty-one, and noticeably out of place beside the stern image of his superior. Mr. Tanaka carried a different kind of presence—energetic, earnest, and almost too eager.
His suit jacket was a little wrinkled, his tie just slightly crooked—not sloppy, but lived-in, like he'd already jogged across half the school solving problems before first period.
Despite his youth, his passion made him memorable even if he wasn't intimidating.
He gave a reassuring nod toward the office door.
"No need to be nervous. It's nothing serious, I promise," he says. His attempt to calm me only makes my heart beat faster.
I swallowed hard and pushed the door open, my hand trembling slightly. Inside, the room smelled faintly of polished wood and old books. Principal Sakamoto sat behind his desk but he far from the only one in the room.
She's here. My mother, Shirasaki Naomi.
Hair perfectly styled. Expensive perfume. Posture sharp enough to cut glass. Arms crossed. Expression flawless, frozen, porcelain. Her gaze lands on me, assessing me as though she's checking for damage.
"There you are," she says, voice cool and precise. "You sure took your time."
"I came straight here," I mutter.
"Mm." She dismisses my statement like it was unnecessary air.
I hate how hard she is to approach. How untouchable.
Her gaze shifts slightly, but never softens, never acknowledges anyone. She doesn't need anyone to coddle her. And she doesn't need me.
If she's here personally then it's gotta be something important, otherwise she would be here at all.
"Anyways....We were discussing your situation."
My situation? Since when do I have one?
"You, your father, your brother, and I — will be leaving Tokyo this weekend. We will be staying in Hakone."
Her voice is crisp, businesslike — as if she's reading from a calendar entry.
"I have already spoke with your principal."
I nod stiffly, keeping my eyes neutral. "But why?.....I just started school."
That single phrase hangs in the air.
Her gaze sharpens — a warning glint beneath her calm composure.
"There are personal family matters that require our presence," she replies smoothly, giving no explanation to me, though her eyes flick toward Principal Sakamoto and Assistant Principal Tanaka — people who clearly already know more than I do.
Principal Sakamoto folds his hands on his desk.
"Your mother has informed us," he says, voice gentle but authoritative. "You will be excused from classes starting Friday. Your assignments will be prepared in advance to ensure you don't fall behind."
Assistant Principal Tanaka adds quickly:
"If you need extensions or support afterward, just let us know. Your circumstances are… delicate."
Delicate? Why are my circumstances delicate? Did someone die? Is someone sick? Is this about my asthma?
No — her posture, their tone — it's heavier than that.
"Then I trust there won't be any objections," she says — not to them, but to me.
She doesn't wait for an answer — because there isn't one she will accept. Saying no is pointless. Questioning her itself pointless. Everything was already decided long before I stepped into this room.
My jaw tightens.
"…Yes, I have no objections," I say quietly.
Her eyes skim over me — not with affection, but with the cold glare of someone saying, you have served you purpose well.
"Good," she says, getting up from her seat and turning towards the door. "Then we're finished here."
------Chapter Ends------