𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐔𝐓, BONTEN.

05. SO NONCHALANT

CHAPTER FIVE! PLAYED IT SO NONCHALANT.

FIRST-PERSON
point of view,

"Holy crap, it's huge."

Hanagaki Takemichi and Matsuno Chifuyu hovered by the silver, intricate gates of the prestigious academy, their eyes widened in awe, jaws nearly hitting the polished stone pathway as they took in the meticulously landscaped grounds: rows of rich, verdant trees, trimmed hedges that lined the walkways, and statues of honored figures from another era. At the center of it all was a massive fountain, water cascading in graceful arcs.

Everything was impeccable, so extravagant that their nerves tingled at the thought of touching the richness.

"It's not that great," I muttered, waving them off in a half-hearted attempt to downplay the grandeur. "Honestly, Tokiwa Academy was better."

Takemichi swung his gaze back to me, disbelief flashing across his face. "[Name], you're joking, right? That old school you went to was basically a rundown playground for every delinquent in town. This," he said, gesturing emphatically to the academy's imposing main building, "It actually fits you. It's. . . elegant. Refined. I mean, just look at this place."

Chifuyu nodded, his eyes scanning the towering buildings and polished facades before settling back on me with a wry grin. "Takemichi's got a point. If any place suits you, it's this one. And let's be real," he added, smirking, "after everything that happened back at public school, you don't really want to end up there again, right?"

I shivered, the memory flashing back of those boys snapping pictures underneath the staircase, Chifuyu stepping in to save the day.

"I can put up with them for a year," I masked my disgust by rolling my eyes. "Besides, Shuji already threatened all the male population of your school. No one dared anymore."

Chifuyu chuckled, leaning against his bike. "I supposed so. But, you know, there's not much fashion there. Maybe a home economics class with Mitsuya, but that's just a club, not a course."

I sighed, my hand tightening around the clutch of my leather bag. He was right, and I knew it. Yet, somehow, this place still felt. . . wrong. Hollow. Sure, I missed things like cheerleading and pageant events—the high school clichés I'd once participated in—but that was about it. I didn't miss the people here. My real friends were back at my old school, the one I'd left halfway through junior year.

"Don't worry, [Name]!" Takemichi gave my shoulder a reassuring pat. "Just because Hanma isn't here doesn't mean he's left you on your own."

I blinked, caught off guard. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Chifuyu smirked, kicking his bike into gear. "You're in for a surprise, [Name]!"

Before I could press for more, the roar of their bikes cut me off, their figures shrinking into the distance as they sped off, leaving me with more questions than answers. Puzzled, I lingered for a moment, their cryptic words echoing in my mind as I drifted through the school's familiar halls, footsteps soft against polished floors.

With a sigh, I made my way down the hallway, mind hazy and distant, preoccupied with their parting remarks. By the time I reached my old locker, I'd nearly forgotten why I was even there. The space felt like a time capsule, untouched since I'd been away last semester. Surprisingly, nobody had claimed it. My pink mirror, a mini whiteboard scribbled with faded notes, a collection of indie stickers, and—well, some dust-covered polaroids—were all waiting for me, frozen in time.

I glanced down at the polaroids, nostalgia mixing with something a bit sharper. Some things are better left in the past. "Should've tossed these ages ago," I muttered under my breath, pulling the photos from their spots and crumpling them into my hand.

"Should've tossed what?" a familiar voice uttered beside me, snapping me out of my thoughts.

Kakucho greeted me with a faint smile, leaning against his locker beside mine. The gesture seemed casual, but I knew better—his face held a glimmer of relief like the sight of me had lifted a weight off his shoulders, making his first day back a little more bearable. Despite his dread over the coming senior year, he looked grateful, even as he tried to play it cool.

Having his locker right next to mine was a coincidence I was starting to wish away. Now he had a convenient excuse to drift over whenever he pleased, close enough to exchange the kinds of glances I was determined to ignore.

I shut my locker with a little too much force and turned to walk off, but Kakucho was quicker, catching my wrist in one firm grip before I could take another step. The contact was gentle but unyielding, and I could feel the warmth of his hand seeping into my skin, a reminder of the countless times we'd shared moments like this in the past—moments I was trying to leave behind.

"Hey," he said, his voice low, holding that familiar note of pleading. I caught the look in his eyes and felt the pull of memories better left buried. His gaze was soft, the kind of look that had once been a source of comfort, but now it only stirred frustration.

I tugged my hand away, but he held on. I could see the hurt flash across his face, but I steeled myself. My decision to start fresh didn't include him, and I was determined to keep it that way. With one final, deliberate pull, I managed to free myself, ignoring the sting that lingered on my wrist.

"Let's talk, please."

Kakucho's voice was barely a whisper as he pulled me close, his chin nearly brushing against my forehead. His arms tightened around my waist, holding me in place even as I shoved at his chest, irritation simmering in my veins.

Sanzu and him. I thought they had discarded me like some forgotten relic of the past, so what have they been doing?

"Let go, or I'll make sure your mother hears all about this," I warned, my eyes darting around, praying none of the other students saw us like this—me tangled up with him.

"Just a moment, [Name], that's all I'm asking." His tone was raw, laced with a vulnerability I hadn't heard before. "I need to talk to you. Please."

"No," I snapped, my anger cutting through his words, the bite in my voice visibly wounding him. "I'm not falling for your little games again, Kakucho. Shut it before I do something I might regret."

His grip slackened slightly, a flicker of hurt flashing in his eyes. "I just want to have a proper conversation, [Name]. . ."

"About what?" I scoffed, digging my nails into his side, making him wince and almost pull away. "Is this about your undying love for Himari?" His eyes widened at the mention of her name, confirming my suspicions. It was always about her—always. He didn't care who got hurt in the process. "Sure, go ahead and have a detailed talk about how much you love her. See if I fucking care just like the old times."

I drove my knee into his abdomen and stomped hard on his expensive leather shoes, wrenching myself free from his grip. Without looking back, I tossed the Polaroids I'd been clutching into a trash bin nearby as if discarding every memory we shared.

What a lovely start to my morning.