The savory scent of tonkotsu broth greeted Alex and Kenji the moment they stepped into Menma Master, their go-to ramen joint after school. The place buzzed with life—students crammed into booths, loud laughter mixing with the rhythmic slurps of noodles. As they slid into their usual seat, Kenji was already deep into a story, waving his chopsticks around like a conductor on caffeine.
"...and then I totally dodged it—like full-on Matrix style—but I think I tweaked something in my back," Kenji groaned, though the way he grinned mid-slurp betrayed how proud he actually was. "Anyway, serious question: Volkov-san. You think she's gonna fall into Hana's cosplay cult? Like, imagine her dressed as Sailor Neptune or something. That silver hair? Come on."
Alex chuckled as the image popped into his mind. Katarina—elegant, reserved, always composed—standing awkwardly in the chaos of Hana's Anime Club, buried under frills and sequins. It was almost tragic comedy. "Yeah, I'm not sure that's really her vibe."
Kenji nodded between bites. "Right? She's got that whole 'future valedictorian' thing going on. Like she files her taxes for fun. You ever seen her actually smile? I mean beyond that polite little twitch?"
Alex thought back to earlier in the week, when Mr. Tanaka had complimented her calculus work. There'd been a flush on her cheeks, a tiny quirk at the corner of her mouth. Barely there. But it counted. And the way she had murmured, "Ничего особенного, просто логика," had stayed with him. There was more beneath that ice-princess exterior, Alex was sure of it. He shrugged. "She's not as cold as she seems."
"Oho? Sounds like someone's intrigued," Kenji said, waggling his brows. "You thinking of thawing the frosty queen, man?"
Alex rolled his eyes. "It's not like that. She's just… interesting. Smart. Different."
"Different how? Like, mysterious-loner-girl-who-probably-has-a-knife-in-her-bag kind of different?"
"No," Alex said with a smirk. "The kind of different that makes you want to listen a little longer when she talks."
Kenji leaned back, nodding sagely. "Deep, man. Real deep. But seriously, how do you always stay so chill around girls like her? Everyone else was basically foaming at the mouth, and you were just... doing your usual Spock impression."
Spock. Not the worst comparison. Alex did prefer to keep things close to the chest—his Russian fluency, his strategic brain, his family legacy. No one needed to know how much he noticed. "Maybe I just don't let looks override everything else."
Which was only half the truth. Katarina was striking. But that wasn't what drew him in. It was her quiet contradictions. The way her Russian musings revealed a version of herself that no one else seemed to hear.
As they finished their bowls and left Menma Master behind, the sky mellowed into a soft gold. Conversation turned to exams and vague weekend plans, but Alex's mind wandered—back to a girl with silver hair and sharp blue eyes who sometimes whispered her thoughts to no one at all. Keeping his knowledge of Russian to himself felt more important than ever. It gave him access to something unfiltered, something real. If he told her, she might stop sharing that part of herself entirely. It was like discovering a wild bird singing just for you. Let it know you're watching, and it might never sing again.
Walking home alone, Alex usually used the time to reset—mentally rearrange the day, think ahead, let his thoughts roam. Today, though, they refused to wander far from Katarina. Her voice echoed in his head, that melodic cadence of frustrated Russian looping like background music.
He found himself thinking of his grandfather—Dimitri Volkov, a man whose life had been filled with quiet influence and fluent tongues. It was from him that Alex had learned Russian, and more importantly, learned the power that language held. "Language, Alexei," he'd said once, eyes serious beneath snow-white brows, "is not just how we speak. It's how we see."
Alex wasn't sure yet what this new view revealed—but he intended to find out.
The next morning, Seiwa International was bathed in soft light, the air unusually crisp. Alex arrived early, as he often did, craving the peace before the daily flood of voices. He sat near the window, a quantum physics book open before him, flipping pages more out of habit than focus.
Then she walked in.
Katarina. Her hair was tied back low today, revealing the clean line of her neck, her uniform pristine as always. But there was a tension in her walk—barely perceptible, but there. A slight furrow between her brows, a stiffness in how she set her bag down.
She unpacked her pens with precision, then exhaled—so softly that Alex might have missed it if he weren't already watching. And then, like clockwork, she murmured to herself:
"Ещё один день. Надеюсь, сегодня без сюрпризов. И чтобы эта розоволосая девушка оставила меня в покое."(Another day. Hopefully, no surprises today. And may that pink-haired girl leave me alone.)
Alex stifled a grin. So Hana had been extra persistent yesterday. Not surprising.
The morning passed smoothly. Katarina remained composed, engaged. She didn't smile, but she was sharp, every answer precise. And Alex watched—casually, he hoped—mentally collecting her small tells. A slight tap of the pen when annoyed. A shift of her gaze when thinking deeply. He was assembling a profile, though he wasn't sure what for.
When lunch came, Kenji invited him up to the rooftop with the usual group. But Alex hesitated. "Think I'll catch up on reading," he said. "Library's quieter."
Kenji gave him a mock-suspicious look but shrugged. "Suit yourself, nerd."
The library was calm, filled with the comforting scent of paper and polish. Alex found a quiet spot by the window, book in hand—but he wasn't really reading. Not yet.
Then he saw her.
Katarina, alone at a far corner table. A bento box open, a thick leather-bound book propped up in front of her. Not a school book. Something older. Personal.
She read slowly, eating with neat precision. There was a stillness about her, a kind of gravity. Not loneliness exactly—more like solitude by choice. She didn't look sad. She just looked... elsewhere.
Alex watched quietly, shielded by distance. Then she turned a page and let out a soft sigh. This one he heard.
"Как бы я хотела сейчас оказаться там, а не здесь. В мире, где слова имеют вес, а тишина – смысл."(How I wish I were there right now, and not here. In a world where words have weight, and silence has meaning.)
It hit him harder than expected.
There was something raw in those words. A weariness. A longing for connection that ran deeper than teenage dramatics. It was the kind of thing he understood more than he wanted to admit. He wasn't just curious anymore. He recognized something in her.
She continued eating, lost in her book, unaware of his gaze. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the concentration in her brow—it was all so... real. Like this version of her only existed in quiet corners, away from the eyes of the world.
For a moment, Alex wanted to cross the room. Ask her what she was reading. Offer a small bridge. But he stayed still. To approach her now would shatter something fragile. And if she spoke Russian again, he'd have to pretend he didn't understand.
No. Not yet.
The lunch bell rang. Katarina blinked as if waking from a dream. She closed her book gently, packing up with care, and walked out with that same quiet grace.
Alex stayed behind, watching the space she left behind.
There was so much more to her than anyone saw.
And for now, he was the only one who knew it.
[End Chapter 3]