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Spring has never been Ranmaru's season. Not only does he have a foul case of hayfever - which he's too stubborn to take pills for - and a great displeasure towards the Sun, but it's also the beginning of the school season. Starting fresh each April, the only thing that makes him hate it somewhat less is how their break thankfully stretches over the first few days of the dreaded month. So, he gets to spend his best friend's birthday celebrating, instead of studying. He should probably focus on both work and leisure in his free time, but he just can't shake himself into action knowing he'll largely spend it sniffling.
He'll admit that it's a beautiful time, full of life and the thriving of nature, such as: the humble dandelion. His favourite flower of course, the resemblance is uncanny, and so it becomes the second reason he quietens his grumbling about the return to school. As he walks alongside one Kinashi Anzu (aforementioned best friend), he'll furiously search for puffs of white among garish green grass. The moment either of the pair catch sight of one - she'll screech, he'll wince, but they'll both be left smiling for the rest of the way.
Kinashi's like that. She has a way of making him smile, even when he doesn't want to. Without fail, every year when they're heading back to the dreaded place, when they once again might not make it out alive, she'll heroically save the day…! Her words. Verbatim. (Perhaps she's a bit dramatic. Or, is it just her passion for the arts?) She'll crack a joke, or stumble over a tragically misplaced stone. She's a born entertainer, the Ringmaster to his… ticket seller? …Something like that. She's the creative one for a reason. Ranmaru is, well.. He's not very talented, or motivated, or interested, really. To put it simply: Ranmaru Kageyama is rather boring. Though not for a lack of effort - it's just that he hasn't yet found his calling. He's tried many hobbies, once dedicating the better half of a year to the Gardening Club and the worse, frankly unspeakable half to the Debate Team. In fact, he fears that his metaphorical ‘life-phone’ has, tragically, been destroyed beyond repair. He's settled into being Kinashi's personal assistant, as it seems hers has never once stopped ringing; it’s constantly buzzing with opportunity. And she welcomes him, encourages it really, urging her friend to find his one passion through exploring her many. Truly, it’s another one of her mythical habits, dragging him into her high-speed orbit. Most of the time he doesn't even know what he's signing up for- like the two hour long drive he thought was to get to the beach, which was actually a trip to see Samurai Yaiba - “the best band since MCR", as she’d pleaded when begging for his forgiveness - in concert. He was far from happy with her for that one, but he'll at least admit it was fun.
Fun.Something that usually follows the jolly girl beside him as if they were tied together, but today seems lacking.
It's not that she doesn't try to raise his spirits. She points at all the dandelions they see, grinning wider and wider with each one; she sings as she skips along the path beneath their feet; she’s rhythmic and cheerful. Kinashi works through her - their - typical morning ritual, their key to a somewhat good day. It’s just that they're not the right dandelions. They're the yellow kind, offensively bright, so much so that he very nearly has to squint. (If Kinashi's dramatic, then what is he?) Her singing is off-key, too. That's not something he usually cares to notice, for getting lost in the simple joy of her presence is far too easy. Well, it was. Maybe it's because he slept awkwardly, his aching joints leaving no room for pleasantries. Maybe they've lost control of their spark, having had little contact during their spring break. They'll get it back. They always do. But for all his plainness, Ranmaru’s imagination is certainly one to rival, and it has him convinced: maybe it's a sign. An omen, if you will. A token of the bad luck that's sure to rush at him in waves the moment he steps through the gates. He takes a breath. Here goes. …Nothing. Nothing happens. Of course. Still, he doesn’t relax. Something is bound to, soon.
He sighs. It’s bad enough Kinashi's been on a Shakespeare kick lately, but what’s worse is his newly acquired tendency to think in her favourite lines - yes, he is fortune’s fool, thank you very much. The poor boy is such a fool that he puts his best friend’s clownishness to shame. And clownish is pushing it - she’s been job-seeking at the temporary circus… Okay, maybe he’s getting angsty now, and a bit too much for 8AM. He’s been getting angsty, he renounces with a grimace. What would his mother say? Wrapped up in unpleasantries again, ignoring the Coping Strategies™ outlined by his counsellor, he’s awful. No, he’s trying, and trying often doesn’t go great on the first go. Especially when you’d rather not bother.
…He’ll do better tomorrow.
~~
Once they’ve all filed into the assembly hall, bags and blazers rustling incessantly along with the general lull of teen chatter and the screeching sound of chairs on floor, there are two short claps. Then, hesitation. Then, silence.
For all his.. eccentricities, what Ranmaru does respect about Hiyori is his ability to intimidate. The man’s quirks majorly aid him with this, his lifeless yet soul-striking stare alone enough to bring the likes of the faculty’s former-professional boxer to cower below him. What’s more is how it allows him to silence even the rowdier students with such simple movement. His rhythm is precise, familiar; some say you’re not truly a Sonobeno student until you’re shivering at the recognition of those calculated footsteps nearby - footsteps which currently echo through the rigid stillness. He doesn’t speak, though it’s evident he wants to, one polished leather shoe tapping against the floor as he comes to a stop.
Fortunately for the student body, he was barred from assembly-leading after a somewhat nasty incident involving human experimentation and an uneasy volunteer. Still, he comes in useful for starting the gatherings smoothly, for whomever may take lead in the discussion. …Come to think of it, Ranmaru wonders how they even got him to agree to such a blatant act of submission. He’s not the type, especially not one willing to place himself below the just about cowering woman who patters centre stage in his stead. Hiyori’s demeanour now seems callous, envious, as he stares down his unjustifiably nervous co-worker. Truly, it’d benefit all those present if the two swapped places. They look similar enough with their striking green hair, and minus the obvious bodily discrepancies. Hiyori could merely slip on Namida’s outfit, untie his startling ponytail, and deliver the assembly smoothly without risking his colleague’s cardiac health - nobody would even know he’d swerved his lifetime ban.
Despite all of this tangential exposition, Ranmaru is making an attempt, though pitiful, to listen to Namida. She fiddles with the thick wool of her seasonally inappropriate turtleneck as she stutters through the usual reminders about both behaviour and uniform. Kinashi rolls her eyes at the latter, the glittering of her hair and blazer accessories having already received pointed glances from other staff present at the rows’ ends. It’s all a general bore, the routine already familiar to their cohort as they enter their second year at the highschool - someone delivers the same speech every time they return after a break. What’s new, however, and what finally catches his attention, is this:
‘..Ah, also…! We would like to thank Mister, sniff… Mister Chidouin. The father of one of our star students…! For his generous contribution… toward the auditorium’s renewal.’
And, omens be damned, this boy is cursed.
Though he’d appear safe to the untrained eye, one in favour of fate would certainly not be in this situation. His most terrifying prospect for the new academic year? The drama club’s reunion. The school board had been putting the auditorium and other refurbishments off for almost a full year due to the aforementioned Hiyori business - what with the, er, lengthy lawsuit that followed, though they stubbornly maintained it was a mere issue of government funding cuts. In spite of the broken windows letting a crisp winter breeze in, and the short-lived air conditioning in the summer, he’d been glad. The department in ruins meant no drama class, no drama club, and no Certified Kinashi Plan to get him involved in any musicals, plays, or dance recitals. Safety, security, sanity: key components to a quiet semester. But of course, the world mocks him, what with the evil glint in Kinashi’s eyes, and the even more sinister elbow to his side. He makes something of a pathetic noise, ribs aching. She grins.
Once recovered - and it takes a while, up until just before assembly’s dismissal - Ranmaru observes how a group of the self-professed ‘Theatre Kids’ Kinashi is so unfortunately fond of clamour around one girl, frantically chatting about the news. All he sees of her is a neatly tied head of red hair, the rest of her shielded diligently by a spikey, gaudy-looking brunette and a plain-looking, especially in contrast to the former, girl. The ginger must be Chidouin, he supposes, the reason behind his upcoming funeral. And she has the audacity to hide. He, the superior (he says, purely coping with the implications of her father's salary) knows there’s no escaping this. Yes, they’re going to get wrapped up in the mess she made together, and he has decided that he is going to hate her and all her money for it.
…
...
It’s going to be a long year.