Chapter Text
Chihiro Fujisaki, a first-year at Hope Peak College known as the ultimate programmer, was one of the many girls roaming these hallowed halls. Ever since she was a kid, she’d been a walking, talking bundle of nerves. Her chronic lack of confidence made her practically invisible, but this semester, she was fed up with being the pushover and decided to get her act together, vowing to become stronget than any other student at school, even stronger than Oogami.
Strutting down the sprawling, echoic corridors with her mind deep in lines of code and programming homework, she finally parked herself at the very back of her classroom. The last desk was her safe haven where the mischief-prone slackers hardly bothered showing up. Next to her sat Tōko Fukawa, the ultimate writer, smashing out lines in a notebook crammed with doodles that could only be described as “abstract erotic chaos.” Seeking a tiny dose of interaction, Chihiro mumbled, “H-hello, Fukawa-chan.”
Almost instantly, Tōko’s smirky expression contorted into a face of pure disgust as she shrieked in an ungodly pitch, invading Chihiro’s personal space. “DON’T YOU SEE THAT I'M IN THE MIDDLE OF WRITING MY NOVEL?!... I’M TRYING TO SPIN A LITTLE TAIL OF LOVE HERE!” she bellowed, tugging at her unruly braids.
Flustered, the programmer whimpered, “I-I didn’t mean to be rude…” amid sniffles that betrayed her nerves.
“Oh, relax,” Tōko retorted with a dismissive wave. “This draft’s a steaming pile of shit anyway! Honestly, why am I even here? Someone as utterly pathetic and useless as me shouldn’t be anywhere near a classroom—especially not for studying,” she paused dramatically, as if reciting lines from some dark group therapy session.
“But our class group is super chill. I can totally tell… you’re totally crushing on that rich boy.” said Fujisaki
Tōko’s face turned an overdramatic shade of crimson, and she let out another high-pitched shriek, “EEEEEK! How the FUCK do you know? Who spilled it? Is it THAT obvious?”
“N-no, it’s just that… whenever he saunters by, you can’t help but ogle him like a lovesick puppy,” Chihiro stuttered.
“You’ve gotta admit, the guy’s a total heartthrob…” Tōko cooed.
“Uhh…”
“BUT HE'S MINE, EH? NO BITCH IS GONNA SWIPE HIM OUT FROM UNDER ME!” Tōko raged, her voice hitting an even more ridiculous pitch.
"Yeah, yeah… Besides, you literally turn into a puddle when he walks by," countered Chihiro.
Before the conversation could spiral further into absurdity, Tōko’s attention returned to her mess of a notebook, where she resumed scribbling out yet another ridiculous tale reeking of teenage angst and erotic doodles—perhaps plotting her next conquests or scheming a master plan to snatch Prince Togami’s affection. Who the hell knows?
Clearly, it was time for some actual work. Chihiro pulled out her beat-up, modded ThinkPad and began punching away at binary code for her big project—an assignment from a major corporation. Yet her mind was still half-ensnared by Tōko’s antics and their awkward banter. A secondary project, dubbed “Alter Ego,” had her juggling too many tasks at once. In a flash, she ran the program, and up popped a pixelated version of herself, grinning cheerfully, “Good Morning!”
Startled out of her thoughts, Chihiro hastily typed in, “Fukawa is here—” but before the machine could finish its sentence, it continued in a cheerful robotic drone, “…ehem… Miss Fujisaki, how can I help you today?”
For a brief moment, a shy smile tugged at her lips as she typed back, “Time to test the search function: look for videos of propane grills.”
The machine’s reply came out with a bang, “It is understood! Searching for videos of supa hot girls!”
“NOOOOOOO!” Chihiro shrieked, turning as red as a boiled tomato. Even Tōko couldn’t help but blush at the crude mishap.
“F-Fujisaki, you just flashed your true colors! What a nasty, filthy way to reveal your freaky tastes,” Tōko teased, her tone dripping with edgy humor.
“Sorry, it was just a mistake!” Chihiro pleaded, nearly in tears.
“Listen Chihiro, we could have had a heart-to-heart about the sweet, messy love between two girls—a saga so passionate it could inspire the next salacious bestseller. But no, you just sullied our pristine, virginal classroom vibe with your porn searches,” Tōko snapped. "Oh CRAP, now I know you’ve been sitting next to me just to ogle my meaty thighs,” Tōko exclaimed with defiant glee. “Did you see them? Did you code something to admire my scars? I swear I stopped self-harming, okay?”
“No!” the nervous programmer yelled, mortified.
With that, Chihiro slammed her computer shut and bolted, red-faced and mortified.
Left in the dust as per usual, Tōko smirked at her solitude. She nonchalantly rummaged through a classmate’s backpack—her perpetually bedraggled classmate, Hagakure—and plucked out a bottle of Calpis and a pack of cookies. Without any hint of remorse, she wolfed them down.
“At least this chick isn’t stealing MY prince,” she chuckled darkly for a moment—then choked on a cookie, because life, like love, is just a series of awkward, crude moments.
Fujisaki crammed her stuff into a locker and dashed off to her makeshift fortress—the grimy, second-floor girls' bathroom. Her secret lair was the back stall, where she’d perch on the toilet tank like a covert ninja, her feet propped up, determined not to be spotted. Instead of, you know, taking care of business, she’d sit there ruminating on her colossal screw-ups, never once giving nature its due. Some of her classmates noticed the odd behavior but, frankly, they were too busy avoiding the building’s overflowing bathroom situation to meddle.
Pulling a battered computer from her bag, her little fingers danced on the keys. She was hammering out new, alternate responses to commands—more crucially, ensuring that videos of grill masters weren’t bizarrely mixed up with nothing-but-naked babes.
That day, of all days, the Japanoiserock progressive alternative eclectic neopsychedelic experimental avant garde band "The Leachates of Ibuki Mioda" was cranking out an important concert. Our heroine loved rock, but, let’s be honest, this band was like a sonic assault on the eardrums. So, she figured she’d hide out a while longer… unless something wildly unexpected happened.
Ah, and speaking of unexpected, it was 9:15 AM—plenty early for the swimming class girls, who’d already gathered to pee and gossip about boys. Leading the charge was team captain Asahina Aoi, bouncing and hollering, "You’re all rockstars! Keep this up and we’ll totally nail nationals!"
Within seconds, the rest of the squad streamed in, high-fiving and preening in front of mirrors before trotting off to the bathrooms. Unfortunately, Fujisaki had totally forgotten to lock her stall.
Before she could even reconsider her life choices, a clack-clack echoed as the flimsy door swung open. In strode Peko Pekoyama—the ultimate second-grade swordsman—with an unamused stare plastered on her face.
Chihiro, caught completely off guard, let out a strangled squeak and went as red as a boiled lobster when she saw their classmate, half-soaked, topless, and rocking tousled hair. Without a word, she bolted.
"Whoa… what a girl!" Peko remarked, clearly flabbergasted.
"Relax, that’s just her. Under pressure, she stars running," Aoi chimed in.
"But come on, she really needs to stop running from her problems. If she wants to be a strong woman, she should stick around and face the messy crap that is life!" Peko argued.
"Uhm… I guess so, Peko," Aoi muttered, still hopping on with her morning enthusiasm.