The morning sun peeked through the cracked blinds of a half-lived-in apartment. Empty convenience store food trays, stacked like trophies on a low table. Incense smoke coiled from an overused ceramic holder shaped like a frog. The TV still pyed the ending theme of some te-night talk show.

  Kazuo's arm buzzed from the floor, buried under a sock.

  He didn’t move.

  Not until it buzzed again. Then came a grunt. A hand emerged from a sea of bedsheets and spped aimlessly around.

  “...Shut the hell up, time gremlin...”

  Finally finding the phone, Kazuo peeked with one eye at the time: 7:43 AM.

  He had seventeen minutes to get to school.

  Kazuo didn’t even look at the pile of clothes on the floor before he instinctively picked up whatever most resembled his uniform accompanied by a hoodie that had the least amount of stains on it.

  Ten minutes ter – on the street, Kazuo shuffled down the sidewalk with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. His uniform was buttoned wrong, hair tousled in every direction like he had wrestled a raccoon in his sleep—and lost.

  Kazuo: “’K. ‘Bout to battle my most dangerous enemy yet: Math css.”

  He lit up his cigarette, and kept walking.

  8:05 AM – Kuronuma High, Math Css 2-B

  “Alright, settle down,” the teacher droned, “today we’ll continue with derivatives and trigonometric identities. Turn to page 114—”

  “—Kazuo!” Chika stage-whispered as she slid into the desk next to his, grinning from ear to ear like a maniac who just found a new side quest.

  Kazuo blinked once. Then let his forehead drop onto his desk like a heavy thud of defeat.

  “Why are you always next to me like some glitter-coated ghost?”

  “Because I belong here,” Chika whispered like she was in a drama. “Next to my sleepy little chaos cloud.”

  “Y’all hear this?” Kazuo said to no one in particur, still face down. “This is what the side effects of an anime addiction and unmedicated trauma sound like.”

  Airi, one seat over, sighed and flipped a page in her notes. “She followed the seating chart specifically to be next to you. I warned you. She asked the teacher if ‘emotional compatibility counts toward desk alignment.’”

  Kazuo opened one eye. “I’ll pay you to swap.”

  “No deal.” Airi smirked. “This is more entertaining than any reality show.”

  As the csses dragged on, it finally came to an end, making space for a much-needed lunch break. The school rooftop was Kazuo Takamine’s preferred altitude. Not because it was quiet or offered a good view—but because no one would dare bother him up here. Or so he thought.

  As per usual, he y back on the concrete with his jacket as a pillow, eyes half-lidded behind his jet bck unbrushed bangs. Vape in hand. Cherry-fvored. The sun warmed his body like a zy summer afternoon.

  Peace. For exactly thirteen seconds.

  “Takamine-san,” came a cool voice from his right.

  Airi Omura stood with arms crossed. Her long sky-blue hair flowed freely around her shoulders, ending just above her waist. Her bangs framed her big yet sharp eyes, giving her the aura of a character who always wins the css elections without ever trying. She wasn’t actually the student council president—she just looked and talked like she could overthrow the school board with a single sentence.

  “You are currently vioting Article 4, Section B of the school grounds conduct code. Students are not permitted on the rooftop without explicit permission.”

  Kazuo cracked open one eye and let out a smoky sigh. “Cool. Write me up or whatever. Just don’t block the sunlight.”

  Before she could respond, a pink blur unched itself from the stairwell like a warhead fueled by delusion.

  “Kazuuuuuoooooo~!”

  Chika Tsunemoto crash-nded next to him, kicking up a gust of wind and several half-eaten pocky sticks. Her shoulder length, straightly brushed pink hair was now unrestrained, flying around her like cotton candy in a blender. Her uniform? Barely within code, with a skirt short enough to make the wind nervous and a bzer always just barely hanging on under the massive depth of her chest.

  “Guess what I saw today?” she said, eyes sparkling.

  Kazuo grunted. “If you say a horse in a business suit again, I swear to God—”

  “An alligator doing taxes!”

  He covered his face with his arm and let out a sigh of disappointment.

  Chika scooted right next to him. Like, shoulder-touching. “Your vape smells like sadness and cherries. It’s kinda hot.”

  Airi sighed. “Tsunemoto-san, your proximity is both indecent and disturbing. Please respect personal space protocols.”

  “Damn, you always talk like you’re at a courtroom hearing. Take a chill pill, Ice Queen.”

  Kazuo raised his hand weakly. “You’re both too close. I can literally hear your hormones going into overdrive.”

  The girls ignored him and began gring at each other.

  “You think he wants a pink-haired stalker with the mental stability of a broken vending machine?” Airi sneered.

  “And you think he wants a rule-spouting robo-girl who probably files taxes for fun? Bitch, please.”

  A wind swept across the rooftop, dramatic and unearned.

  Kazuo stood and stretched. “If y’all are gonna fight, at least do it quietly. My vape battery's low, and I ain't got time for background noise.”

  The moment he turned his back, both girls snapped out their phones and started covertly typing.

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