The pink shade of the famed sweets store slowly reveals itself in my sight. With the orange sunset to further compliment it, the store really looks like it’s glowing a heavenly light, just like its name implies.

  “Boy, they sure ain’t kidding when they say this store chain is famous nation-wide,” Michinari whistles in admiration.

  “I know right?”

  “Why are you acting all smug about it?”

  “Not to brag or anything, but I one of its first customers. This branch, I mean.” I shrug with a smirk.

  True to my companion’s words, the place is packed with customers. And the part where I boasted about my participation wasn’t a lie either. I can still remember it like yesterday, when this giant store was still just a dinky shop with nothing to its name… well, technically, it was pretty famous in the north, but in Tokyo, it was still a mystery. The foundations to laying the first bricks were none other than the genius patissier-slash-owner, Sakuraba Hikaru, Umeno, and me.

  And now, here we are—like light shining on a cherry blossom garden… a fitting name for a picturesque shop like this, isn’t it?

  But that’s not what we’re here for, after all. Today, we’re just regular customers like everyone else.

  The doorbell rings as I push the door to come in. “Sakuraba-san, it’s me!”

  Normally, greeting me is supposed to be a dashing young man in a pink apron behind the stalls, along with a gloomy-looking, but honest boy taking and delivering orders—Umeno has been working part-time here since middle school. However, today, said gloomy boy is downright wasted, as the first sound that I hear when I enter the shop is his teary sob, while the first image is a sloppy posture lying at the counter:

  “Suzuki-kunnnn…”

  “… Sakuraba-san, did you let him drink fizzy soda again?” Seeing the pile of cans and bottles on the table nearby, I call out towards the stall inside.

  “Sorry, Suzuki-kun,” replying to me is a gentle, but regretful, voice as its owner hastily dashes through table after table to take care of the plethora of orders. “I tried to stop him, but Umeno-kun just went in and immediately took everything on the shelf… Was there something wrong at school?”

  “We’re in different classes, so I’m not sure. But I can guess the issue.”

  Turning to Umeno, I pat the drunkard lightly on the head. Although, I have no idea how someone could be drunk just by having fizzy soda. “There, there. Was class B tough on you?”

  “I… I thought the days of middle school were over…” Umeno, still hasn’t sobered up, sniffles after every few words. “I tried to start fresh and make new friends… But no one even noticed me… I got ignored throughout the whole day…”

  Yup, I’m pretty much on the money, as unfortunate as the implications before it is. Even though we’ve tried our best to improve his image from middle school by having him work here, Umeno is… well, , to say the least.

  “Eh? What’s Ucchan doing here?” Before I can voice my opinion, however, another voice calls out, reminding me of who I went in with in the first place.

  “The usual, I guess,” I let out a sigh. “He’s not exactly the popular type since middle school.”

  “I see, I see,” Michinari nods in understanding.

  If only that was the only thing he has commented on. Instead, a wry smile curls up on the little gremlin’s face, as he takes a step forward and pats Umeno on the back with his unnaturally… well, unnatural strength.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Hey, Ucchan. Wanna have a makeover?”

  Either it’s through a pure stroke of luck, or Umeno still has enough of a rational mind within there somewhere, that he slowly shakes his head in refusal:

  “I don’t… hic… wanna…”

  “Aw, why not? I can make you the dream of anyone in Aoba.”

  “Does this ‘dream image’ you speak of have anything to do with putting Umeno in a dress, Michinari?” I ask.

  “Tch tch tch, you know nothing, Tacchan,” waving a finger, Michinari answers with a smug look. With a snap of his remaining hand towards Sakuraba-san, he continues:

  “Bossman-san, do you happen to have a copy of ”

  “You mean that male model magazine with the weird naming sense?“ Sakuraba-san stops to ask.

  “That’s the one.”

  “Yeah, it’s at the back corner, I think.”

  Following his direction, Michinari takes no time to discover the small shelf of various books of many kinds—from magazines, to newspapers and novels alike, and takes one out the shelf.

  To my surprise, on the cover is a certain glasses-wearing, black-haired individual in a dashing suit, striking a pose of him lightly pushing his glasses with his middle finger (thankfully, the hand is entirely open, or there would be major implications on that action).

  “Why do you want me to see Ryuuro posing as a model?” I frown from the magazine.

  “Ugh, I forgot that guy’s on the cover this month…” Michinari sighs. “But not him. Open the fashion section.”

  I follow the order, and once more, I almost gasp from the surprisingly familiar face that pops up. Featured in a double spread in all of his full glory is Michinari, but with a look nothing like what’s currently present before me.

  Sporting the same suit as Ryuuro on the cover, but contrary to the initial intelligent, mysterious look, the Michinari in the magazine confidence and attractiveness, as if being Prince Charming was his sole purpose in life.

  And as much as I hate to say it, this look he has is enough to even strike the hearts of boys, let alone girls.

  “Well? Am I good or what?” The gremlin next to me, however, shows a face completely opposite—smug, cheeky, and in need of correc… I mean playful like a woodland fae.

  “I don’t think anyone can pull off this look besides you, though.” I shake my head. If Ryuuro on the cover was already considered the pinnacle of handsomeness, then Michinari would be considered handsome enough to slap Ryuuro in the face, twice over even.

  Meanwhile, the somehow-drunkard, who has apparently regained enough soberness to follow our conversation, sounds once more:

  “Hic… then… what do I do?”

  “Well, the problem is to be popular, right?” Michinari asks.

  “More like just making friends is enough,” I answer. “Normally, I’d say the trick is to find a group that you share interests with, or finding someone extroverted enough to take you under their wing…”

  “Tacchan is the latter, I assume?”

  “What do you mean, ‘assume’? You’re the one who basically had me in a chokehold until we’re acquaintances.”

  “Aww, not friends yet?”

  “Not long enough. But maybe in a couple more days.”.

  “But in any case,” I continue. “Tough luck that we don’t have any extracurricular activities; that would be an easy starting point… I guess forcing them to interact with you would be the most feasible choice right now.”

  “That sounds… hic… mean…” Umeno sobs.

  “No, no, we’re not threatening them or anything!” I quickly wave my hand to deny the claim. “I mean the position of class rep!”

  “But… those are for… hic… the top-ranking members…”

  Oh, right. That whole debacle with my class completely erased that simple fact off my mind. For the so-called “average class”, why did mine have to be the outlier?

  Hah… Well, that’s out of the picture. Is there another way, I wonder…

  A sudden beep from my phone interrupts my train of thoughts. As I open the device to see two messages at the same time, I can’t help but widen my eyes in surprise. Both in the content, and the senders’ identity.

  [Suzuki-kun, remember that the deadline for the Student Council Election is tomorrow. Please collect the forms from the class for me by then—from Ichinose-sensei]

  [Ichinose-sensei just messaged a reminder to me. Make sure to inform the boys on time, you hear me?—from Tsunagi]

  Hah, these people… One time is enough already, don’t they know that? And Tsunagi is way too strict on these things too. Don’t you realize that since I’m a rep as well, Sensei will obviously send me a message too? Well, complaining doesn’t change things too much, I guess. I’ll just message the…

  A flash of genius runs through my mind like a jolt of electricity.

  “Wait, that’s it!”

  “W-Wha? What happened?” It seems like my shout shocks Umeno into soberness as well. What are the odds?

  Nonetheless, this is still the perfect chance.

  “I got it! A sure-fire way to get people to know you!”

  “Really?” Immediately, Umeno’s eyes sparkle as if a thousand stars have lit up. “What is it?”

  Taking out the all-important piece of paper in my backpack, I gleefully point towards the registration form:

  “Think about it. Aoba might be a special school devoted solely to academic results, but what is the one thing it shares with any other high school? The Student Council! The one division that deals with everyone’s problems! Umeno, if you can be the Student Council President, people will surely get to know and respect you better!”