Chapter Text
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Sojiro offered to drive them both to Shujin on Futaba's first day, but she refused his offer. She was in high school, she had Ren with her, and she was going to be fine!
She gripped the back of Ren's blazer the entire trip there, knees buckling and face hidden in his back. Why did guys smell so bad? Why did their colognes smell so overpowering? Why couldn't more of them take a leaf out of her brother's book and bathe daily and smell like coffee?
If it weren't for Ren and his frame blocking her from the mass of people pushed up against them, she would have undoubtedly ended up on the floor. And then she would've gotten trampled on and turned into a giant, gross, bloody puddle with bits of hair smeared across the ground as the only indication she'd been there at all.
"I think you should stop watching horror game streams before bed," Ren said. He put the cold bottle of juice he bought for her on her forehead.
Futaba yelped and snatched the bottle out of his hands. "I can handle them! Besides, getting trampled to death is more common than you think. There was a couple of incidents in the States that happened last November—"
Ren put his cold can of coffee—gross, how could he stand to drink that after drinking Sojiro's coffee everyday—on her forehead. "You're doing better than I thought. Want me to walk you to your classroom?"
She batted at him until he removed the can. "Nah, I got it. I promised you and Sojiro I was going to be brave and bold, right?"
"There's no shame in having someone walk you to your classroom on the first day of school. Ryuji did it for me."
"Didn't Ryuji take you to the wrong classroom?"
"Are you saying I'm going to pull a Ryuji?"
Futaba sighed and opened her bottle. "I'll be fine, you big worrywart. I swear, you're more of an old man than Sojiro."
Ren winced. "That hurts."
"Please. I know you think he's cool and you're banking on inheriting Leblanc from him. Seriously though, I'll be fine. Go find your friends."
"They're your friends too," Ren said. He ruffled her hair and nearly made her choke on her juice.
"Ughhhhh!" She stepped out of his reach and backed into another vending machine. "Gross! Can't believe I'm getting bullied before my first day even started!"
"Futaba."
"Aren't you supposed to be looking out for your poor little sister?!"
"Futaba."
"My hair's all frizzy now! What if people think I don't comb it?"
"Futaba," Ren said, and he pulled off his glasses. Ren's eyes were the color of steel, and they cut like a knife. "I mean it. They're your friends too."
She fiddled with the bottle. "Yeah... I know. But I want to make my own friends. I can't be known as that lame-o who's only friends with my brother's friends, you know?"
Ren's expression didn't change, but he put his glasses back on. "You aren't a failure if you can't find new friends on the first day. You'll always have us."
"Gross. Feelings."
Ren sighed, but he had a hint of a grin. "Are you sure you don't want me to—"
"I'm sure!" Futaba's arms hung limp at her side. The juice bottle smacked against her leg. "Besides, I need to psych myself up, and you being here is making me nervous."
He ruffled her hair one more time before he left, and Futaba grumbled to herself as she combed her hair with her fingers. She watched the students mill past her as she worked, and thankfully none of them stopped to grab a drink from the vending machines. There wasn't a familiar face in the sea of black and plaid. Futaba knew five people who went to Shujin, but five against the hundreds of students was statistically nothing. She couldn't, shouldn't rely on her senpais for everything.
No one at Shujin knew who she was. She could reinvent herself. Be anyone she wanted to be! Maybe be a normal girl who...hung out? Went to cafés not owned by her father? Went clothes shopping? What did normal girls even do? She'd never been invested in those things. Hanging out at Akihabara and sneaking glances at the maids was much more her scene.
But people looked down on otaku. She could fake being into normal teen girl stuff, but it wouldn't take long before her interests outed themselves. And faking being normal meant doing normal things like hanging out, having conversations, and not being an anxious mess. What if making friends meant they wanted to visit her room? Sure, Leblanc might be cool to show off, but her room was her sanctuary. She'd have to hide her figures! Get new posters about...bands or some other normal thing. Her battle station would be seen as over-the-top, wouldn't it?
No way. Too much trouble. Too much work. Did she really need new friends? Wasn't it the dream and goal of every underclassman to get their senpai to notice them? She already made friends with so many of her senpai! She already lived the dream!
The warning bell rang. Futaba popped back into reality.
There was no one outside. Crap. She was going to be late for school. Double crap. She was going to have to run for it. Triple crap.
Futaba bolted away from the vending machines and ran up the stairs. She was out of breath by the fourth step, but she pumped her legs and forced herself to continue. Her head was down as she climbed, and Futaba kept it down even when she made it inside.
If she picked her head up, she might have avoided running into someone else.
Futaba screamed when she smacked into another body. The person she ran into also screamed. They clutched Futaba's arms as they teetered dangerously. Futaba's limbs flailed as she tried not to fall. The bottle of juice slipped from her grasp. Futaba looked up and saw a silk red curtain of hair framing a lovely, wide-eyed face.
'She'd look cute in a maid outfit,' Futaba thought as the girl stepped on her juice bottle and brought them crashing to the ground.
Futaba's back and left shoulder collided against the floor. Her bones ached. Here it was, the downside to being an out of shape neet who skipped meals too often: she had no cushioning to ease the landing.
"Why," she said as she flopped to her back.
Next to her, the redhead groaned and pushed herself up into a dainty sprawl. Her glasses were askew and her hair was a mess, but she was still unfairly pretty. Futaba turned her head and gawked at her toned legs, lean body, and graceful pose. She looked like she was Andromeda and her schoolbag the boulder. Futaba probably looked like a dried out starfish.
"A-are you all right?" the girl asked. Even her voice was cute. "Are you hurt?"
Futaba stared slack-jawed into her eyes. Her face was so red it looked unhealthy. Her eyes were so wide it should have been creepy. Her bottom lip quivered so much it reminded Futaba of one of Ren's failed pudding experiments.
'Girl pretty,' Futaba thought. Mercifully, she maintained enough sense to not say it aloud.
"Oh, no," Pretty Girl said. She crawled over to Futaba. "A-are you concussed? How many fingers am I holding up?!"
"I'm not concussed," Futaba said. Pretty Girl recoiled from her volume. "You're holding up no fingers right now, but it used to be three."
Pretty Girl continued to shrink away. She looked less concerned and more shocked.
"I'm sorry for yelling," Futaba yelled. The last bell rang. Crap. Crap to the septillionth power. First day of high school and she was late. She made someone else late.
Futaba tried to get up, but the combination of running up the stairs and colliding into someone wore her out. Her body betrayed her and refused to move. Pretty Girl got up, limbs elegant and poised and holy crap, her legs were so long and bendy and that was not! Helpful! Information!
Despite the panicked look in her eyes, Pretty Girl approached Futaba with an outstretched hand. "Do you need any help getting up?"
The flood of adrenaline spurred by panic made Futaba move. She didn't move well, but she could do some abominable combo of a backwards crab shuffle and a worm squirm.
Pretty Girl snatched her hand back and took several steps away from Futaba.
"I'm good," Futaba said, scuttle-squirming towards the stairs. "Thanks for offering to help!"
"U-um," Pretty Girl said. She looked at Futaba like the devil had possessed her.
"Goodbye! I hope we never see each other again!"
Futaba's head hit the bottom step. She deserved that. She rolled over and climbed the stairs on all fours. This was normal! Her first day of high school was going great!
"Everything's terrible," Futaba said. Ren passed her a piece of bread. She ate it before she tucked herself back into a ball beneath his desk. "I'm going to drop out and make a living being a gray-hat hacker."
"You're skilled enough for it," Ren said. Ann whacked him with his bread wrapper.
"Don't say that! Futaba, you had a rough start, but I bet you'll look back on this in a few months and have a good laugh about it. Ryuji threw up on his first day of middle school, and he's doing fine."
"Ugh. I'm doomed to being compared to Ryuji. I really will drop out."
"Woah, okay. I see how it is. Guess I won't give ya this instant yakisoba you made me get hot water for."
Futaba stuck her hand out from under the desk and made grabbing motions. "Feed me."
Ryuji sighed. Ren stepped out of his seat, and Ryuji stooped down with a bowl of steaming noodles in his hands.
"Hey," he said as Futaba lifted her head and gazed at the noodles with hunger, "it's okay to have a rough time. So long as you're rolling with the punches and gettin' up, you'll be fine."
He handed the yakisoba to her, and Ren slipped a pair of disposable chopsticks to her as well.
"I know that," she said, "but I really messed up this morning. Not only was I late, I made someone else late! She probably hates me now. And thinks I'm a freak for the weird alien crawl I did. What if she's a gossip? What if I get a reputation of being alien girl, the girl who can't walk like a normal human being?!"
"I'm not gonna say no one's going to do that, because people are cruel," Ann said, "but they'll find any reason to make fun of you if they want to. You can do everything right, but all it takes is a single rumor to get out of hand before you get a reputation."
"It's especially bad if a teacher's the one spreading shit about you." Ryuji stood and scuffed the ground. "Effin' Kamoshida."
Futaba groaned. "I have gym this afternoon... I don't want to go."
"If that bastard starts pickin' on ya in any way, you let us know and I'll kick his ass."
"Ryuji, stop! Makoto's finally got some pressure on him, so don't screw it up by giving him a reason to retaliate."
Ren sat down. "We shouldn't have to worry to begin with."
"I know. Trust me, no one wants Kamoshida gone more than me, but..." Ann sighed. "What can we do? We're already lucky Makoto's on our side. I don't want to think about how much worse it can be if she wasn't."
Futaba sulked and fiddled with her chopsticks. "Maybe I'll skip. Ren, I can hide here until school's over, right?"
Ren reached down and attempted to pat her on the head. He nearly patted her yakisoba instead. "Hate to say it, but you're more likely to end up on his radar if you skip. It's easier for him to excuse targeting 'troublemakers'. If you see or hear anything suspicious, let us and Makoto know right away."
"Why is this so stressful? Maybe I'll bug his office and hack his emails to get him out faster."
Futaba slurped her noodles as the group fell into silence. They were silent for so long she assumed the conversation was over. Thus, when Ryuji shoved Ren's chair aside—with Ren still in it—to stoop down and gawk, Futaba almost choked.
"Can you do that?" Ryuji asked as she thumped her chest. "Get dirt on Kamoshida? Bug his office?!"
"Ryuji!" Ann leapt out of her chair to whack him with Ren's bread wrapper, now purposed to be her personal weapon. "Not so loud! Don't ruin the plan before we carry it out!"
Ren slid over a bottle of water, and Futaba gulped it down before she responded.
"Y-yeah, I could. I'd need a few days to prep the bug, but bugging a room isn't hard or complicated as long as I can get inside his office for a while to work."
"Dude."
"Makoto's not going to be happy about this if she finds out."
"Then we don't tell her." Ren leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. His smile was RPG villain levels of smug. "If we get something damning enough and submit it anonymously, she'll act."
Ann knelt down and joined Ryuji. "Can you really do it, Futaba? Not right away, but bugging his office would be a huge help in getting Kamoshida out."
Her yakisoba went down like grubs, but being relied on made her heart beat in anticipation more than anxiety. It felt good, like fighting a really strong Dim Spirit boss blind and winning.
"Yeah! If I can get into his office, then it should be no problem at all."
The look of hope in her senpais' eyes was almost worth the earlier humiliation.
Ren convinced her to go to gym, but Futaba lingered in the changing room until the last minute. The choice bit her in the butt not because of Kamoshida, but because Pretty Girl was outside the changing room when Futaba left.
Pretty Girl physically jumped into the air when she saw Futaba. Futaba's stomach metaphorically jumped out of her body when she saw Pretty Girl.
"It's you!" Pretty Girl said.
"AHHHHHHH," Futaba said. She clamped her hands over her mouth and walked backwards into the door.
Pretty Girl looked like she wanted to bolt. Futaba wished she would. But, no, Pretty Girl stuck around and kept talking.
"Oh, right," she said as she dug through her bag. "You left this behind this morning."
Futaba stared at the bottle of juice in her hands. Pretty Girl's nails were neatly trimmed. Nothing like Futaba's half-chewed claws. Her fingers were long and slim, but the skin on them looked kind of rough. Like she used them a lot. A pianist, maybe? It wouldn't have shocked Futaba if someone as elegant and pretty as her played the piano.
"Um... S-sorry, is it weird I hung on to it? I thought, um, you'd like this back because I've left things behind before and always felt bad afterward, so... I, um..."
Pretty Girl bowed so quickly Futaba worried her spine snapped.
"Sorry! I'm sorry for bothering you! I-I can leave the juice behind and leave! Goodbye! I apologize for intruding!"
Oh god. Pretty Girl was almost as awkward as Futaba. She was in love.
"No, no! You're fine! Better than fine!"
Pretty Girl remained in her bow. Should Futaba lift her up? Tell her to stop? No one prepared her to deal with incessant apologizers!
"I-I'm the one who should be sorry for making you late! And scaring you! And telling you I hoped we never saw each other again! And for the weird alien shuffle!"
Pretty Girl lifted her head up. "Oh. Um, I actually thought the move was cool... I couldn't stop thinking about it; I'd never seen anyone move like that before, and it looked really challenging to do."
Futaba's jaw dropped. Pretty Girl thought the alien-worm crab shuffle was cool?!
"You're not making fun of me, right?"
Pretty Girl's eyes widened as she shook her head. Her hair fanned out around her. It looked so soft. Futaba didn't know girls like her existed in 3D.
"No! I really do think it's cool! I'm actually a—"
"Yoshizawa-san," a booming voice said, "you're still here? I didn't realize you liked being around the gym so much. Guess that's to be expected of a top notch gymnast like yourself."
Kamoshida appeared out of nowhere and put a hand on Pretty Girl—on Yoshizawa's shoulder. He smiled at her, but the smile dropped off his face when he noticed Futaba.
"Who's this? Are you supposed to be in gym right now?"
Futaba couldn't get any farther away without merging with the door. She knew Kamoshida was tall, but seeing first hand how he loomed was something else.
His hand on Yoshizawa's shoulder was wrong; he could easily engulf her face with his palm. The hand was a monstrous thing—he was a monster. A late game boss seen too early, blotting out the ceiling lights and ready to snuff out her life.
"I'm so sorry, Kamoshida-sensei," Yoshizawa said, and her voice was the anchor that steadied Futaba's runaway thoughts. Futaba dragged her eyes away from Kamoshida's imposing bulk. Yoshizawa was much easier to look at. Her voice wasn't intimidating. Futaba's legs shook a little less.
"It's my fault she's not in your class right now," Yoshizawa continued. Her hands were clutching the juice bottle, and her posture was hunched in and closed. "She helped me out this morning, and I wanted to thank her. I didn't realize how much time had passed..."
Kamoshida sighed and squeezed Yoshizawa's shoulder. Yoshizawa grimaced, but she covered it up by lowering her head.
"Since it's you, Yoshizawa-san, I'll let it slide this one time. Wouldn't do for one of our star athletes to get in trouble on her first day, hm?" He looked at Futaba. Futaba tried not to scream. "You, what's your name?"
Oh, shit. "S-S-Sakura, s-sir!"
"Sakura, get moving. Tell the others to start stretching. I'll be back once I've escorted Yoshizawa back to her classroom."
Futaba's creep alarms went off. She looked at Yoshizawa's bowed head, tight posture, and Kamoshida's hand on her shoulder.
"A-actually," Futaba said, taking a shaky step forward, "I'm r-really bad with directions. Could you show me where the gym is?"
Kamoshida looked at her like she was the dumbest person alive. Futaba agreed with him.
"It's straight down the hall. Double doors at the end."
"I'm really, really bad with directions!"
Kamoshida glared at her, and it was so much worse than anything the other kids had ever given her. Kids were mean and cruel, sure, but they didn't have experience to back up their looks of hate and disdain. Futaba's body trembled. She teared up. No. Crying was bad. Showing weakness would invite more bullying. But maybe it'd be good in this situation? If Kamoshida thought she was pathetic, maybe he'd leave Yoshizawa alone.
"Kamoshida-sensei," Yoshizawa said, back curved and shoulders pressed forward, "I can get back on my own."
Kamoshida sighed again, but he took his hand off her shoulder. He turned towards the gym.
"This way, Sakura. Yoshizawa, please return to your classroom."
"Yes, sir," Yoshizawa said. She looked at Futaba with gratitude in her eyes and mouthed a silent thank you before leaving. Her red hair trailed behind her like a cloak of flames.
"Sakura!"
Futaba eeped and followed Kamoshida on shaky legs.
Futaba survived her first day of high school. Somehow. Didn't burst into tears once, even though there were some close calls. She made it through the tutorial; every day after would be the real challenge.
She flopped on her desk and lay there, arms hanging over the edge. People trickled out of the classroom, and Futaba couldn't decide if she was grateful or insulted no one stopped to talk to her. It figured. She was late on the first day, stuttered through her introduction, and then showed up late to gym with a ticked off Kamoshida. Yeah, her class definitely hated her.
"Woohoo," she monotoned into the desk. "Hard mode unlocked."
The classroom emptied. Her phone vibrated. Probably Ren, checking on how she was doing. She needed to send him a reply before he did something embarrassing like picking her up in person.
She was in the midst of texting him back when the classroom door opened. A familiar face stuck her head inside.
"Oh," Yoshizawa said. "You're still here. I'm, um, really happy."
Futaba's phone slipped out of her hands and clattered against the desk. She fumbled for it too late and smacked her hand instead.
"Hurk," she said. Yoshizawa rushed in and wove through the desks.
"A-are you okay, Sakura-san?!"
Futaba groaned from embarrassment rather than pain and clutched her hand. "Just peachy! U-uh, what br-brings you here?"
Yoshizawa stopped a desk away and flushed. She turned red way too easily. Futaba felt like she just learned some dangerous information.
"Oh! Well, uh, I wanted to thank you for earlier. With Kamoshida-sensei."
Yoshizawa whispered his name and ducked her head. Futaba grimaced.
"No, you don't need to thank me. I-I do get lost easily! And I made you late for class this morning, so we can call it—"
"I...wasn't late. My older sister and I had a meeting with the administration before class, so our teachers knew we would run late. But, um, that's why I wanted to thank you. Most of the students seem to love Kamoshida-sensei, but Kasumi felt something off with him, and I-I was intimidated by him... Anyway, I didn't think anyone else found him unsettling, so I— I—"
Yoshizawa bowed so low Futaba thought she was going to brain herself on a desk.
"Th-thank you! I truly appreciate what you've done for me, and I would like to offer this as a token of my appreciation!"
"No, you don't have to—"
Yoshizawa placed a bottle of juice on Futaba's desk. It was the same kind she left behind and never took back. This bottle was new. Unopened. Still cold.
"Oh... Thank you."
"It was the least I could do. The bottle from this morning seemed sad, so I rinsed it and recycled it. You deserve something better than room temperature juice."
Futaba felt herself tear up. She wasn't going to cry. If Kamoshida and being late didn't make her burst into tears, then a nice girl buying her a bottle of juice wasn't going to either.
"I'm sorry! This is really weird, isn't it? You don't have to accept it if it makes you uncomfortable!"
"Nuh uh," Futaba said. She sniffed. No crying. No crying allowed! Crying was not a free action! "Thank you. It's...super nice of you."
The bottle of juice was cool in her hands. The film of condensation felt much better than the sweat on her palms.
Before she could stop herself, Futaba looked up at Yoshizawa and blurted out: "Do you want to be friends?!"
She slapped a hand over her mouth out of reflex but forgot to let go of the bottle. It smacked her in the face, and the chill of the bottle alerted her to how hot her face was. Crap. Infinite crap.
Yoshizawa turned into a mannequin. Futaba threw the bottle onto her desk and clapped her hands together. She held them in front of her face and hunched more than bowed.
"O-oops! Weird question! You don't have to answer! I-in fact, let's forget this ever happened, okay? You can forget about me entirely!"
"Yes," Yoshizawa said, loud enough to drown out Futaba's rambling. "Not about forgetting you, but about being friends! I'd love to be friends! I...didn't think I'd make a friend on my own so soon..."
Futaba stared at her. "Seriously? But you're—" Pretty was not appropriate. "—cool!"
Yoshizawa stared back. "You...think I'm cool...?"
"Uh, yeah? I mean, I don't really know you, but you seem pretty cool to me."
Yoshizawa, to Futaba's horror, looked like she was going to cry. "You're not just saying that because of gymnastics or my older sister, are you?"
Crap. Were those things supposed to be a big deal? Futaba was going to look them up online. "Uh..."
Yoshizawa looked ecstatic at Futaba's hesitation. Futaba had no idea what was going on anymore.
"You really don't know anything...but you still think I'm cool?"
Yoshizawa sniffed. Oh, no. Futaba screwed up. She was going to look up Yoshizawa's entire family history once she got home.
"Sakura-san, I'm so happy."
Or...not. Maybe she'll avoid looking up anything about Yoshizawa if it made her happy enough to cry, and holy crap what was going on?!
Futaba patted her pockets. "I-I don't have a tissue! Crap, I'll run into the bathroom—"
Yoshizawa pulled out a handkerchief. Fancy. "No, it's all right. I'm sorry for getting emotional. I really want to be friends with you, Sakura-san. Although," she sniffed, "I don't think we've properly introduced ourselves yet."
"Oh! Right! Duh! I'm Futaba Sakura!"
"Sumire Yoshizawa. It's good to finally meet you, Sakura-san."
Yoshizawa bowed again. Futaba scrambled to her feet and returned one far less graceful.
"S-same here, Yoshizawa-san! I, uh, humbly thank you for accepting this pledge of friendship. The contract has been sealed!"
She wanted to bite off her own tongue, but Yoshizawa's giggling changed her mind.
"Contract accepted! I am in your care."
They both rose, and when they met each other's eyes, they fell into a fit of laughter. That was how Ren found them when he came to check on Futaba.