Aiko Nakamura's voice barely squeaked out, "I'm… Aiko," a whisper so faint it might've been telepathic. She collapsed back into her chair, praying the universe would grant her invisibility.
No such luck.
Haruki Takeda's chuckle rolled through the room, rich and warm, like coffee brewed with mischief. Her ears burned, her face a furnace set to incinerate.
"Well, Aiko," he said, that maddening smirk practically audible in his tone, "it's a pleasure to meet you… again."
The classroom froze. Heads swiveled in unison, a synchronized performance of teenage curiosity."Ooooooh," they hummed, a sound so perfectly timed it could've been choreographed for Broadway.
Aiko's heart plummeted.Anonymity is dead. Dignity has officially left the chat.She wasn't just Aiko—the quiet, back-row lurker. She was Bus Guy's Acquaintance. A status cursed enough to haunt her every math period for eternity. Quadratic equations plus public humiliation? This was her personal apocalypse.
She slouched deeper in her seat, wishing her molecules would merge with the desk. Maybe if she sat still enough, she'd dissolve into the linoleum. A quick peek through her bangs confirmed the nightmare: Haruki—formerly Bus Guy, now apparently Mr. Takeda, the Math Teacher—was still watching her with that insufferable half-smirk plastered on his too-perfect face.
Her cheeks burned, a thermometer about to explode.
Her brain spiraled.Is there a trapdoor under this desk? Can I fake teleportation? Would anyone notice if I yeeted myself out the window?All the options led to one conclusion: social suicide. Her only viable plan? Survive the Ultimate Introvert Nightmare.
Finally, Haruki turned to the whiteboard. Aiko exhaled, the shaky breath she'd been holding since the dawn of time.Maybe he'll forget me. Maybe I can vanish like a math ninja.
"All right," he said, wielding the marker like it was a wand from Hogwarts. "Let's dive into quadratic equations."
The class groaned in collective agony.
Aiko stared at the board where a jumble of x's, y's, and curly-bracket monstrosities glared back at her.Math or ancient alien runes? I'm not qualified for either.She gripped her pen, doodling meaningless spirals, hearts, and what might have been a squid in a hoodie, just to look busy.
But every few seconds, her eyes flicked up. Was Haruki still looking? Yes. No. Yes. Maybe?
Why is he so good at smiling? Why is my face a forest fire?She scribbled a new equation in her notebook:Aiko + Public Embarrassment = Lifelong Trauma.
And yet… a tiny, traitorous corner of her heart whispered:Well… math class just got interesting.
Then came the moment she dreaded.
"Who can solve for x?" Haruki boomed, gesturing at an equation that looked like algebra had thrown a temper tantrum.
Hands shot up like missiles—overachievers, Hermione Granger wannabes, and caffeine-powered keeners ready to shine.
Aiko? She was busy pretending to be a scuff mark on her sneaker.Be the scuff mark. Live as the scuff mark. Fade into the sneaker.
But the universe was a petty gremlin."Aiko," Haruki said, his voice slicing through the classroom like a lightsaber, "what do you say?"
Her head jerked up like she'd been electrocuted. Her heart pounded in her throat. Every eye turned to her, and she felt like a deer in a spotlight… on a stage… with no script… and wearing the wrong shoes.
She stood, legs wobbly, a phoenix rising from the ashes of her confidence—if the phoenix had asthma and crippling anxiety.
"I… I…"Her throat was the Sahara. Her tongue, sandpaper.She stared at the equation. It stared back like it wanted to fight.
"I don't know," she croaked.
The class burst.
Snickers ignited like fireworks, escalating into cackles. Someone actually wheezed. Someone else whispered, "Oof."
Aiko's face went nuclear.Death by math. Please send help. Or at least Wi-Fi and chocolate.
Haruki raised a hand. The room silenced instantly. His voice was calm but firm. "Let's not shame someone for being honest."
His gaze flicked to Aiko—unreadable, but not unkind.
She dropped back into her seat like a potato being re-shelved by gravity. The chair groaned. So did her soul.
Worst. First. Day. Ever.
The rest of class passed in a blur. Haruki's voice droned in the background like a distant podcast she hadn't subscribed to. Aiko doodled spirals on the desk with her fingernail, reliving her "I don't know" moment on infinite loop.
She caught him glancing her way. Not smug. Not pitying. Just… observant. Too observant.And that smirk. That awful, gorgeous, dangerous smirk.
The bell shrieked—a banshee of salvation."We'll pick up here next time," Haruki said, tossing her one last unreadable glance that somehow managed to both calm her and light her nerves on fire.
The moment the class cleared, Aiko bolted.
The bathroom was her sanctuary.
Cold tiles. Flickering tube light. The hum of the ancient exhaust fan.
She splashed icy water on her face, hoping to cool the volcanic eruption in her cheeks. It helped—for exactly three seconds.
Then the mirror reflected something worse than her humiliation: Emiko Tanaka.
Perfect hair. Perfect posture. Devil in designer sneakers.
The same Emiko who had nearly choked laughing at Aiko's algebra breakdown. She stood there, dabbing lip gloss on with military precision. Her eyes met Aiko's in the mirror—shiny, sharp, and sparkling with cruelty.
"Well, well," Emiko purred, voice honeyed with venom. "If it isn't our little mathlete."
She tucked a strand of sleek black hair behind her ear with the flair of a villainess in a Netflix teen drama.
"This day must've been divine for you, huh?"Her smile could slice steel.
Aiko's jaw clenched. Comebacks lined up in her head like soldiers.You're the human version of an error message.Your personality is why warning labels exist.
But her mouth refused to cooperate. Her hands balled into fists. Her silence stretched, thick and heavy.
Emiko drank it in. She thrived on Aiko's silence, sipping it like a gourmet latte.She leaned in, her voice a sugar-coated dagger.
"Don't worry, Aiko. I'm sure you and Mr. Takeda will have plenty more… moments to shine."She winked.
Aiko's heart pounded, but she didn't flinch. Not this time.Not today, Satan's cheerleader.
She turned, splashed her face once more, and walked out of that bathroom like it was a battlefield she wasn't done fighting.
This semester was war.
And Aiko Nakamura wasn't surrendering.