Chapter 1: The Rooftop Incident The first thing Hiro Akamatsu learned on his first day at Seiran Academy was that the vending machine on the third floor stole his money. The second thing he learned was that someone had filmed it. "You just got robbed by a can of coffee," said the girl filming him, not even bothering to lower her phone. "This is going on the class group chat." Hiro turned, tired eyes blinking slowly at her like he'd just been asked to solve calculus at 6 AM. She had short, wind-tossed brown hair, sharp amber eyes, and the kind of easy, athletic stance that suggested she'd spent more time on a soccer field than in a classroom. Her uniform jacket was tied around her waist instead of worn properly, sleeves of her gym shirt rolled up. "Could you not," Hiro said flatly. "Nope." She grinned, pocketing the phone. "Name's Sora Kazami. I run track, I run my mouth, and apparently I run the unofficial 'new kid embarrassment' channel now. You're the transfer student, right? Hiro something?" "Hiro Akamatsu. And I'd like my hundred yen back from the universe." "Bold of you to expect the universe to have manners." Sora slung an arm around his shoulder like they'd known each other for years instead of forty seconds. "C'mon, I'll show you around. Consider it reparations." That was how it started — not with fate, not with destiny, just a malfunctioning vending machine and a girl who treated personal space as a polite suggestion. By lunchtime, Hiro had learned Sora's entire life philosophy ("if you can outrun the problem, is it really a problem?") and absolutely nothing about where his actual classroom was, because she'd gotten distracted three separate times challenging random students to arm-wrestling matches. That's when he ran into the second disaster of his day — quite literally. He turned a corner balancing his lunch tray and collided with someone small, fierce, and immediately furious. "H-hey! Watch where you're—" The girl caught her tray before it fell, glaring up at him with sharp violet eyes framed by twin braids that somehow looked both meticulously neat and ready for battle. "Do you have any idea how long the lunch line was? If you'd made me drop this, I would have—" "Cried?" Hiro offered, deadpan. Her face went through several shades of red in under two seconds. "I would have made your life difficult, that's what I would have done! Ugh, transfer students are the worst. No manners, no awareness, just—just barging through hallways like they own the place!" "I didn't even know you existed three seconds ago. I can't have historical beef with you." "That's not the point!" She huffed, somehow managing to look both offended and like she was fighting not to smile. "I'm Yui Hoshikawa, class president, and I will be keeping an eye on you, Akamatsu-kun. Don't think this is over." "It was over before it started." "It is NOT—" She caught herself, smoothed her skirt, and straightened with the practiced dignity of someone who refused to lose an argument even when she clearly already had. "Just. Watch where you're walking." She turned on her heel and marched off, braids swinging, ears still red. Sora, who had watched the entire exchange while eating someone else's yakisoba bread without permission, raised an eyebrow. "Wow. Yui-chan actually talked to you for more than ten seconds without storming off. That's basically a marriage proposal in her language." "She seemed like she wanted to throw her lunch tray at my head." "Right, that's what I said." Sora grinned. "Class president's all bark, though. You'll see." He saw, exactly six hours later, on the rooftop. Hiro had escaped there after the chaos of his first day finally became too much — too many names, too many stares, too much everything — and found a quiet spot against the railing where the evening light turned the whole sky the color of weak tea. He wasn't alone for long. "Figured you'd be up here," Sora said, dropping down beside him without asking, legs dangling over the edge like the forty-foot drop wasn't a concern. "New kids always find the roof. It's like a magnet for brooding." "I'm not brooding. I'm recovering." "From what, my devastating charm?" "From a vending machine, a class president, and you. In that order of severity." Sora laughed — a real laugh, loud and unguarded — and the sound startled a third voice into existence behind them. "What are you two doing up here? This area's not officially designated for student use after hours!" Yui climbed through the rooftop door, binder clutched to her chest like armor, glaring at both of them with the particular fury of someone who took "officially designated" very seriously. "Relax, Prez," Sora said, not relaxing at all. "We're just watching the sunset. It's not a crime." "It's against policy—" "Yui." Hiro said her name for the first time, and something about it made her pause mid-sentence. He nodded toward the horizon, where the sky had gone the color of a bruised peach. "Five minutes. Then I'll personally escort myself back inside, write a formal apology, and frame it for your office wall." She opened her mouth to argue. Closed it. Opened it again. "...Fine. Five minutes." She sat down on his other side, leaving exactly regulation-appropriate distance between them, spine straight as a ruler. "But only because arguing with you is clearly pointless." "There it is," Sora whispered to Hiro, not whispering at all. "Bark, no bite." "I heard that," Yui snapped. "Good. Means my volume control's perfect." Hiro, sandwiched between a girl who flirted with danger like it was a sport and a girl who treated rule-breaking like a personal insult, found himself doing something he hadn't done all day. He smiled. Just slightly. Just enough. Outside, the sun kept setting, indifferent to vending machines, transfer students, or the absolutely chaotic first chapter of whatever this year was about to become.