Classroom of the elite | The path that leads to nothingness - OC

The student council

The rain outside continued its rhythmic assault on the trees, each droplet pressing into the leaves, forcing them to bend and sway under its relentless pressure. Despite the burden, the branches held steady, rooted in a strength that defied the weight. I let my gaze linger on the downpour, finding a certain serenity in the steadfast resilience of the branches. The quiet hum of Hoshinomiya-sensei's voice blurred into the background, giving me a momentary detachment from the static reality within the classroom.

Then, a sudden roar of an engine shattered the calm, its loud presence instantly grabbing everyone's attention. Heads turned, including mine, each of us seeking the source of the sound. I could feel the curiosity among the boys in particular—a blend of fascination and envy at the suggestion of such a powerful vehicle.

"Ooh~" Hoshinomiya-sensei's voice broke the silence, her tone amused. "That must be Nakata-kun," she said casually before turning back to the blackboard, hips swaying slightly with each step, an action not lost on a few of the boys watching her.

"That's... his car?" Ike's voice sounded incredulous, his expression comically stunned as he struggled to process how someone our age could own such an expensive-sounding machine. Even with my limited knowledge of cars, I could tell this was no ordinary vehicle. It was something powerful, and luxurious.

"Sure is~" Hoshinomiya-sensei's voice lilted playfully, glancing briefly at the class before continuing her lesson. The underlying nonchalance in her voice felt oddly misplaced in a classroom setting, almost as if she found it amusing that we were all so captivated by a mere car engine.

The bell rang, dismissing us for lunch, and as students began to gather their things, I noticed Hirata at the front of the class surrounded by the usual group of girls. Karuizawa Kei was among them, her hand casually resting on Hirata's arm as she flashed a bright, almost practiced smile. "Let's go, Hirata-kun, we'll all eat together!" she said, her voice sweet and animated, though I could detect an edge of possessiveness in her tone.

Hirata glanced over at me as if looking for an escape route. "Why don't you all go ahead without me?" he suggested gently. "I'll join you in a bit."

"Oh... okay!" The girls hesitated for a moment before giving him space, exchanging whispered giggles and lighthearted glances before filing out of the room, their voices fading as they moved into the hallway.

Once they were gone, Hirata approached me, wearing his usual polite smile, though I sensed something deeper in his gaze. "Hi there, Ayanokouji-kun," he said, his tone friendly but direct.

"Hi, Hirata."

"You look rather lonely sitting here by yourself. Would you mind joining me for lunch?" he asked, feigning an awkward chuckle. "It feels a bit strange to be the only guy surrounded by so many girls."

It was clear he had more in mind than just needing company. Hirata wasn't one to make casual requests without reason, and I suspected he wanted to discuss something specific. I agreed, if only out of curiosity.

"Sure."

We made our way out of the classroom, navigating through the crowded hallways filled with students laughing, chatting, and ducking to avoid the raindrops tapping against the windows. I maintained my limp, the act of still nursing my injury drawing a few glances here and there. Hirata looked over with mild concern.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked.

I waved him off. "I'm fine."

As we walked, Hirata tried to initiate conversation, "Do you have any idea why Nakata-kun went to the medical room?"

"No clue. Maybe something to do with his lungs?" I replied, keeping my tone neutral.

Our conversation was punctuated by the sounds of bustling students and the faint patter of rain against the windows, creating a backdrop that felt almost surreal. As we walked past the lobby, a few students glanced our way, some caught up in their own conversations, others darting quick glances as though sharing some unspoken understanding about the events of the morning.