The first day at a new school is like standing in the middle of a stage under the spotlight, not knowing either the text or your place.
I hate days like this.
—Hirasawa Miyako,— I said, bowing, feeling my cheeks burn with embarrassment.
I could hear my voice—it was shaking. Curse. Even when I'm confident, my body betrays me.
The teacher pointed to an empty seat next to a boy with black hair who had a look... calm. Strangely calm.
I sat down next to him, carefully put my bag down, trying not to make a sound.
He turned to me and said briefly:
— Kurume.
I replied:
— Miyako.
That is all. We didn't exchange any more words.
But... As soon as the lesson started, I realized that something was wrong.
He was fast. The answers came one after the other, confidently, without pause. But I thought that I would stand out at least here.
While he was writing formulas, I stole glances at his notebook. The handwriting is neat, but slightly suppressed.
That's what people who think a lot write.
In the next lesson, I tried to answer first. It was almost there... a childish wish. Not because I want to be the first.
But because he was the first.
He became my invisible target. A silent rival.
Every correct answer is a small victory. His every silence is like a medal.
When I got a 98 on the test, my heart was pounding in my chest like a drum.
Not because it's "great." But because it's better than his.
I glanced in his direction. He was looking at the results chart. Cold. Exactly.
But... I saw his eyebrow twitch a little.
And do you know what I felt?
Stupid, barely noticeable... joy.
As if I had forced him to pay attention to me.
That night, I couldn't sleep for a long time.
I was thinking about his voice. He rarely spoke, but there was not a drop of ostentatious politeness in these words.
When he looked at me, it wasn't out of politeness.
He looked like he was trying to read it.
And for the first time in a long time, I thought,
"I don't just want to beat him. I want him to understand who I am."