The morning sun slipped through Aiko Nakamura's window, its gentle rays a cruel reminder that the universe had no chill. For her, it wasn't just another day—it was emotional doomsday. She groaned, cocooning herself tighter in her blanket. "Not today," she muttered. "I'm emotionally unavailable."
But her traitorous brain betrayed her, flashing to Haruki Takeda—his strong arms lifting her in the classroom, his hushed voice at the hospital, the way he said her name like it was something fragile. "Nope," she said, sitting bolt upright, her hair a dramatic mess. "I'm done. Full introvert mode. I'm a ghost. Boo."
In the staff room, Haruki stared at the attendance list, his pen twirling between his fingers like a ticking bomb. She's avoiding me, he thought. Was it the hospital? The carry? The way he hadn't been able to stop looking at her? His lips twitched into a smirk. If she wants to play invisible… let's see how she handles front row.
In class, Aiko slipped in with her trademark stealth, aiming for her beloved last-row sanctuary. But Haruki's voice rang out, too loud, too crisp. "Attention, everyone! We're rearranging seats based on last semester's results. Check the board."
Groans and gasps rippled. Aiko rushed to the board, praying to every deity she knew. There it was: Aiko Nakamura – Front Row, Center.
Her soul briefly left her body. "This is a typo," she whispered, horror blooming in her chest.
Yui Suzuki—her glittery extrovert of a best friend—peeked over her shoulder. "Girl, you're in the sniper zone. He'll see every twitch."
"I forgot how to blink," Aiko whimpered, dragging herself to the front like she was marching to her doom. Yui, assigned to the seat beside her, snorted into her sleeves.
At his desk, Haruki watched, amusement glittering in his eyes. Let's see you avoid me now, Miss Ghost Mode.
Class began. Haruki scribbled complex equations on the board, his movements smooth and sure. Aiko stared at her notebook, willing herself to disappear. Every time he moved closer, she tilted away, dodging his gaze like it was a heat-seeking missile.
"You're dodging sniper fire," Yui whispered, barely holding in her laughter.
Haruki's smirk widened. "Aiko, would you solve this on the board?"
Her heart skipped. Kill me now. Legs trembling, she approached the board like it was a field of landmines. Their fingers brushed as he handed her the marker. A spark shot through her—unexpected and electrifying.
"I-I forgot how math works," she stammered.
Haruki leaned in slightly. "Relax. You've got this."
Her brain rebooted. She scribbled something resembling an answer—messy, panicked—and bolted back to her seat.
"You look like you saw a flirty ghost," Yui whispered.
"He touched my hand," Aiko muttered behind her notebook. "Accidentally. But still!"
Class ended. Students filed out. Haruki's voice followed them. "Good job, Aiko."
She squeaked. A literal squeak. Then ran.
Outside, she vibrated with nerves. "He complimented me. Should I frame it? Cross-stitch it on a pillow?"
Yui beamed. "He put you in the smirk zone. He's into you."
"No," Aiko groaned. "I'm transferring. Or moving to Antarctica. Penguins don't stare."
That night, she hugged her math notebook like it was a diary. His voice. His eyes. That whisper. A part of her, small and scared, didn't hate it.
The next morning, she sat in the front row with military-level determination. He doesn't exist. Lalala.
Yui plopped beside her. "Relax. You look like you're waiting for a firing squad."
"Because I am," Aiko hissed.
Haruki entered, his usual sharpness slightly dulled—his hair messier, step slower, smirk missing. Their eyes met for half a second. Her heart somersaulted.
"Good morning, class," he greeted. A girl in the back yelled, "Sir, you look like you cried over taxes!"
He chuckled. "It's just my moisturizer. Ninety-eight percent regret today." Laughter burst across the room. Aiko stifled a giggle. Haruki's gaze softened, catching the sound.
Her laugh made his day—but her quick glance away tightened something in his chest. So we're doing this the hard way.
A knock interrupted. An admin peeked in. "Sir, we have a new transfer student."
"Come in!" Haruki called.
In walked Junichi Sakamoto, tall, sharp-featured, with an effortless cool that made half the class swoon. His dark eyes scanned the room with casual confidence.
"I'm Junichi," he said. "Transferred because of my dad's job. Nice to meet you."
Haruki's jaw tightened slightly. "Pick a seat."
Junichi chose the chair beside Aiko.
"Any reason for that seat?" Haruki asked, too quickly.
"Eyesight," Junichi replied, flashing a boyish grin. "I like the front."
Haruki didn't smile. "Of course."
During class, Junichi leaned toward Aiko. "Mind sharing notes? I forgot my book."
"S-Sure," she said, scooting away slightly, cheeks coloring.
They giggled over a doodle in her notebook. Haruki turned—and paused. Aiko. Laughing. With Junichi. His throat went dry.
"Any doubts?" he asked.
"No, sir," the class chorused.
"Junichi. Aiko. See me after class."
Tension snapped through the room like static.
Later, in the canteen, Yui dragged Aiko to a table. "Spill. Why's he calling you in?"
"I don't know," Aiko mumbled, red in the face.
"He's jealous," Yui said, grinning. "You're the heroine. Junichi's the spark. Haruki-sensei's the storm."
"This isn't a K-drama!"
"Nope. It's better."
After class, Yui got a call from home and left. Junichi caught Aiko at the stairs. "Heading to the staff room?"
"Yeah," she said. "Let's go."
They entered. Haruki sat at his desk, his expression unreadable. Junichi stood tall beside her. Haruki's grip on the syllabus tightened.
"Junichi, copy this and return it," Haruki said, handing him a thick packet.
"Thanks, sir," Junichi said, then left.
Aiko remained, fidgeting.
Haruki's voice softened. "Are you okay?"
She nodded. "Just… trying to stay invisible."
He looked at her, something gentle flickering in his eyes. "You're doing a terrible job at that."
She smiled, unsure what to say. Her heart thudded wildly.
"Thanks for… checking," she said, and darted out.
Haruki leaned back in his chair, his thoughts tangled. So she's laughing with someone else now? Fine. But the knot in his chest only grew.