I groaned as the morning sun stabbed through the thin curtains of my room, far too energetic for how I felt. First day of school—my st year of high school. You'd think that'd make me excited or nervous or... something. But right now, all I could think about was how warm my bed was.

  I stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, letting the silence fill my brain.

  Another year of trying to blend in. Another year of not being noticed too much. I didn't hate people. I just didn't know what to say to them. Most of the time, it felt safer to keep quiet, nod politely, and disappear into the background.

  But this was my final shot.

  One year left.

  And deep down, I felt it—like something might actually change.

  ?

  My name's Neo Kurosawa. Yeah, I know—Neo. Not exactly a name you hear every day in Japan. My dad's American, moved here for work before I was born. He thought "Neo" sounded cool, modern, like I was gonna be someone important someday. No pressure, right?

  My mom, of course, insisted I have a proper Japanese surname. Hence: Kurosawa. A name that belonged to a quiet, average kid who didn't stand out in any way.

  Or at least, that's who I used to be.

  ?

  Downstairs, the sound of my mom cttering ptes told me breakfast was already on the table. I stretched, sat up, and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. A gnce in the mirror showed a mess of dark hair and the same tired face I always had.

  I got dressed—standard school uniform, navy bzer, white shirt, bck scks. Nothing special. The only thing that ever looked different about me was the slightly lighter tone of my skin and my faintly sharper nose. Dad's genes. People noticed, sometimes. Whispered things. I didn't mind. At least it made me a little less invisible.

  I slung my bag over my shoulder, grabbed a piece of toast from the kitchen, and nodded to Mom, who smiled as always.

  "Try not to fall asleep in homeroom, okay?"

  "No promises," I mumbled through a mouthful of bread.

  ?

  The walk to school was familiar. Narrow streets. Vending machines humming. The scent of fresh rice from someone's open window. I passed the same corner store I always passed, the same barking Shiba Inu behind the same rusted gate.

  But something felt... different. I couldn't expin it. Like the air was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

  Maybe it was just the pressure of being a senior now. Last year. Everything matters. College entrance exams. Future careers. Firsts... and sts.

  ?

  As I stepped through the school gates, the yard was already buzzing. Students grouped together, talking excitedly about summer vacation or who ended up in which css.

  Css 3-B.

  That's where I was this year.

  I found the list posted on the wall near the entrance and traced my finger down until I saw it:

  Kurosawa, Neo

  Right. Here we go.

  ?

  The cssroom smelled like chalk and floor polish—same as always. Rows of desks, sunlight streaming in from the windows. A few students had already taken seats. Some familiar faces, some new.

  I took a desk near the back—my usual choice. Not too close to the teacher, not too deep in the shadows.

  "Yo, Neo!" a voice called out suddenly.

  I blinked. A tall guy with spiky brown hair and an easy grin slid into the seat beside me.

  It was Haruto, one of the few people I talked to regurly. Loud, athletic, and way too confident for his own good. But for some reason, he liked hanging out with me.

  "Can you believe we're in our st year already? Time flies, huh?" he said, kicking back like he owned the pce.

  "Yeah... kinda surreal," I replied, giving a small smile.

  He leaned in and lowered his voice. "I heard we're getting a new teacher for homeroom. And get this—she's young. Like, fresh-out-of-college kind of young."

  I blinked. "Seriously?"

  "Dead serious. My cousin's in the teacher program—said she's hot, too."

  I rolled my eyes. "Of course that's the first thing you mention."

  "What else is there to mention?" he grinned.

  Before I could answer, the door slid open.

  And then she walked in.

  ?

  She was tall. Elegant. Sharp heels clicking softly against the floor as she entered, a stack of folders in one hand. Her bck pencil skirt hugged her hips perfectly, and her white blouse was just tight enough to hint at the impressive curves beneath. Her long, dark hair was tied in a sleek ponytail, and her gsses gave her that cool, no-nonsense vibe—though something in her gaze suggested she noticed everything.

  The room went dead silent.

  Even Haruto, who never shut up, was wide-eyed.

  "Good morning," she said, her voice smooth and clear. "I'm Miss Aizawa, your homeroom teacher this year. I hope we'll all get along."

  She smiled slightly—and for a moment, I swear her eyes met mine.

  And just like that, something shifted inside me. Like the first domino had been tipped.

  ?

  [To Be Continued...]