Chapter Text
The salty afternoon breeze blowing in from Sagami Bay ruffled the pristine white curtains of the second-floor library. From the open window, the rhythmic crashing of the waves against the Kamakura coastline provided a steady, white-noise backdrop to the profound silence of the room. It was late spring, the season where the hydrangeas along the Enoden train line were just beginning to bloom into vibrant shades of violet and blue.
Danheng sat at his usual corner table, shielded by two towering oak bookshelves. A thick, leather-bound encyclopedia of global history lay open before him. His teal eyes scanned the text meticulously, his posture impeccably straight, one pale hand resting beside his chin. To the rest of Hoshinoha Private Academy, the library was a place to cram before midterms or sleep during free periods. To Danheng, it was a sanctuary.
Hoshinoha was no ordinary high school. It operated on a strict, meritocratic point system. Every student was given an overarching 'Value Score' on their digital IDs. High test scores, club victories, and good behavior resulted in a surplus of points, which could be spent on premium cafeteria meals, better dormitory heating, or exclusive off-campus passes. Conversely, failing grades, tardiness, and misconduct drained those points. If a student fell into a negative deficit by the end of the academic year, expulsion, or at the very least, being held back was an absolute certainty.
Danheng thrived under this logic. He attended classes, submitted flawless assignments, fulfilled his duties as the student librarian, and maintained a pristine conduct record. He had amassed enough points to secure this quiet corner of the library exclusively for himself. It was a perfect, quiet existence.
Naturally, it was about to be ruined.
"Danheng! My man! You will not believe the utter bullsh*t I had to deal with today!"
The heavy mahogany doors of the library practically slammed against the walls. Danheng didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink. He merely let out a slow, measured exhale, turning the page of his book with deliberate slowness.
"Keep your voice down, Caelus," a soft, frantic whisper echoed right behind the loud intrusion. "Madam Herta is going to ban us from the library again."
"This is a designated quiet zone. We are supposed to communicate via telepathy," a third, deadpan voice added, accompanied by the aggressive, unmistakable crinkle of a plastic snack bag.
Danheng finally placed a silk bookmark between the pages and closed the heavy tome. He looked up.
Standing on the other side of his desk was Caelus, his childhood friend and the school’s star baseball captain. Caelus’s gray hair stuck out in a dozen different directions, his uniform tie hung loosely around his neck, and there was a streak of infield dirt smudged across his cheek.
Beside him stood his twin sister, Stelle. She mirrored his messy ash-gray hair and tall stature, but her uniform was surprisingly neat. Her golden eyes were half-lidded, utterly devoid of emotion as she reached a hand into a bag of spicy crab-flavored chips, shoving a handful into her mouth.
Lingering a few steps behind them, looking as though she wanted the floorboards to swallow her whole, was Firefly. She was the picture of innocent grace, her silver hair catching the sunlight filtering through the window, a nervous, apologetic smile playing on her lips. She clutched a chilled sports drink tightly against her chest.
"To what do I owe the displeasure?" Danheng asked, his voice smooth, cool, and flat.
"The coach is out of his f*cking mind," Caelus groaned, tossing his heavy, canvas duffel bag onto the floor and collapsing into the chair across from Danheng. The chair squeaked in protest. "We had a practice match against Yokohama Tech, right? We won. Crushed them. But because some idiot first-year threw his bat in celebration and shattered the faculty lounge window, the coach made the entire starting lineup run forty laps around the field."
"Fascinating," Danheng said, his tone suggesting the exact opposite. "And you decided the best place to recover from your physical exertion was the one room in the school where talking is prohibited?"
"We came for the air conditioning," Stelle noted, chewing loudly. "The baseball clubroom smells like wet socks and despair."
"You shouldn't eat those in here, Stelle," Firefly whispered, stepping forward cautiously. She gently nudged Caelus’s shoulder. "Um, Caelus? You're sweating a lot. Here. I bought this from the vending machine near the gym."
She offered him the chilled bottle. A faint dusting of pink settled across the bridge of her nose, her gaze dropping to the floor the moment he looked at her.
"Whoa, seriously? Thanks, Firefly! You're a literal lifesaver!" Caelus beamed, his golden eyes lighting up. He grabbed the bottle, his fingers briefly brushing against hers.
Firefly sucked in a sharp breath, her blush deepening, but Caelus had already cracked the plastic seal and was chugging the blue liquid as if he had been wandering the Sahara for days. He didn't notice the way her eyes lingered on his throat as he swallowed, nor the way she nervously tucked a strand of silver hair behind her ear, a soft, affectionate smile curving her lips.
Danheng noticed, of course. He noticed everything. The unspoken dynamic between the three of them was a constant source of mild exhaustion for him. Firefly had been harboring a massive, unspoken crush on Caelus since their first year. Caelus, despite his sharp instincts on the baseball diamond, possessed the romantic awareness of a brick wall. And Stelle simply existed to watch the chaos unfold while consuming an alarming amount of junk food.
"So," Caelus gasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "What are you reading, Mr. Genius? How to be more boring in ten easy steps?"
"I am reviewing the socio-economic impacts of the Edo period trade routes," Danheng replied, adjusting his posture. "Something you would know nothing about, given your history grade currently sits at a precarious sixty-two."
"Hey! Sixty-two is a passing grade," Caelus pointed a finger at him defensively. "Besides, points are points. As long as I keep winning games for the school, my athletic merit bonus keeps me out of the red."
"Relying on physical labor to offset intellectual deficiency is a dangerous gamble," Danheng stated. "If you sprain your ankle tomorrow, you will be expelled by December."
"You're always so negative, Danheng," Stelle mumbled, offering the bag of chips to him. He politely declined with a shake of his head. "You need a hobby. Have you tried digging through the recycling bins behind the cafeteria? I found a perfectly good, unopened can of peach soda yesterday."
"I will pass on the raccoon lifestyle, thank you," Danheng sighed. He glanced at the antique grandfather clock ticking in the corner. 1:45 PM. "We have five minutes until homeroom. I suggest you all gather your things."
"Ugh, homeroom with Mr. Welt," Caelus complained, slowly rising from his chair and stretching his arms above his head. "I swear, that guy's lectures put me to sleep faster than anything."
"Mr. Welt is highly knowledgeable," Firefly protested softly, defending the teacher. "He just... takes his time explaining things."
"He's old," Stelle corrected.
The four of them made their way out of the library, Danheng carefully locking the heavy wooden doors behind them. They navigated the pristine, polished hallways of Hoshinoha Academy. Sunlight streamed through the large glass panes overlooking the courtyard, where the school’s signature cherry blossom trees had already given way to lush summer foliage. Students in their crisp black and gold uniforms bustled past, their conversations a low hum of adolescent worries: point balances, upcoming exams, and weekend plans at the nearby Enoshima island.
As they approached Classroom 2-B, the noise level spiked dramatically. It wasn't the usual pre-class chatter; it was a concentrated, excited clamor radiating from the center of the room.
Danheng slid the door open.
A crowd of about a dozen students was clustered around the third desk in the middle row. At the epicenter of the commotion sat the anomaly of Class 2-B.
March 7th.
She had transferred to Hoshinoha three weeks ago, a bubbly personality that bordered on radioactive, and a camera perpetually hung around her neck. Today, she was animatedly gesturing with a vibrant pink pen, her striking pink hair bouncing with every nod of her head.
"No, I swear it's true!" March laughed, her voice ringing out like a silver bell over the noise of the classroom. "The raccoon at the Kamakura petting zoo literally unzipped my backpack! Look, I got a picture of the little thief right before he ran off with my strawberry lip gloss!"
She proudly displayed the screen of her digital camera. The surrounding students erupted into laughter.
"No way! That's hilarious, March!" a female classmate giggled.
"You're so brave for getting that close, I would have ran away," a boy added, his cheeks noticeably flushed as he leaned in just a bit too close to look at the screen.
Caelus stopped dead in his tracks at the classroom doorway. Danheng nearly bumped into his back.
"Move, Caelus," Danheng said flatly.
Caelus didn't move. His golden eyes were locked onto March. He watched the way her eyes crinkled into crescent moons when she smiled, the way the sunlight hit the vibrant hues of her hair.
"She's... radiant," Caelus whispered, mostly to himself, a dopey grin spreading across his face.
Danheng let out a quiet sigh. "She is loud."
"Loud," Stelle agreed, sidestepping her brother to walk to her desk at the back of the room. "Like a seagull fighting for a french fry."
Behind Caelus, Firefly’s gentle expression faltered. Her eyes darted from Caelus’s awestruck face to the center of the room where March was holding court. The soft pink hue faded from Firefly’s cheeks, replaced by a subtle, crestfallen pallor. Her grip on her schoolbag tightened, her knuckles turning white for a brief second before she forced a small, strained smile.
"Let's go to our seats, Caelus," Firefly murmured gently, tugging on his sleeve. "Mr. Welt will be here any second."
"Right. Yeah, seats," Caelus muttered, finally shaking himself out of his stupor. As he walked past March’s desk, he awkwardly puffed out his chest, running a hand through his messy hair in a vain attempt to look cool. "Hey, March. Cool raccoon story."
March looked up, her bright blue eyes widening in recognition. "Oh! Hey Caelus! Thanks! Did you win your baseball game?"
Caelus’s face lit up like a spotlight. "Uh, yeah! Yeah, we crushed them. Hit a double in the third inning."
"That’s amazing! You'll have to teach me how to swing a bat sometime, I’m terrible at sports," she beamed, flashing him a peace sign.
"A-anytime!" Caelus stuttered, stumbling slightly as he backed away toward his desk.
Firefly watched the exchange quietly from her seat two rows over, her lips pressed into a thin line. She meticulously arranged her perfectly sharpened pencils on her desk, refusing to look up.
Danheng walked past the commotion, a phantom amongst the noise, and slid into his seat by the window. He preferred observing the world rather than participating in it. He noticed the way Caelus practically vibrated with nervous energy. He noticed the way Firefly’s shoulders slumped. And he noticed the way March 7th effortlessly commanded the room's attention without even trying.
She was a variable. Danheng disliked variables. They disrupted equations.
The classroom door slid open again, bringing an abrupt halt to the chatter. Mr. Welt Yang walked in. He was a tall man with a sophisticated air, his neatly trimmed brown hair heavily graying at the temples. He wore a crisp dress shirt underneath a beige sweater vest, holding a stack of papers and a worn leather briefcase. He walked to the podium, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses with a weary sigh that suggested he was already tired of the day.
"Settle down, everyone. Take your seats," Mr. Welt's voice was calm, baritone, and carried a weight that instantly demanded respect.
The students scattered like frightened mice, rushing to their respective desks. March quickly shoved her camera into her bag, offering an apologetic, sheepish grin to the teacher.
"Good afternoon," Mr. Welt began, setting his briefcase down. "Before we begin today's lesson on modern political structures, I have the midterm results."
A collective groan echoed through the classroom.
"Yes, I share your dread," Mr. Welt replied dryly. "For the most part, the class average remains steady. I will be sending your updated Point Profiles to your digital IDs momentarily. Some of you will find yourselves flush with extra cafeteria credits. Others..." He cast a brief, pointed glance toward the back row where a few notorious slackers sat. "...will find yourselves restricted to basic tap water and plain rice for the next month."
Danheng’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn't need to check it. He knew his score was a perfect hundred.
"That being said," Mr. Welt continued, picking up a piece of chalk. "I just want to convey this information. Class dismissed for the day. Proceed to your club activities. Danheng. Remain behind for a moment, please."
Danheng frowned slightly. That was unusual. He packed his textbooks into his sleek messenger bag, waiting patiently as the rest of the class filed out.
Caelus paused by his desk. "Ooh, you in trouble, Mr. Perfect?"
"Unlikely," Danheng replied. "Go to your practice. Try not to run into any more windows."
"Bite me," Caelus retorted, jogging out of the room with Stelle trailing lazily behind him. Firefly offered Danheng a polite bow before following the twins into the hallway.
Soon, the classroom was empty save for Danheng and the homeroom teacher. The afternoon sun cast long, orange shadows across the wooden floorboards.
Danheng approached the podium. "You asked for me, Sensei?"
Mr. Welt rubbed the bridge of his nose, pulling out a singular test paper from his stack. He placed it face down on the podium.
"Danheng. You currently possess the highest academic point total not just in this class, but in the entire second year," Mr. Welt stated, his tone conversational but serious. "Your conduct record is flawless. You spend your free time managing the library archives. You are, by all metrics, the model student of Hoshinoha."
"I simply do what is required to maintain a peaceful environment, sir," Danheng answered carefully, sensing a trap.
"Indeed. And the school rewards you for it. However, the system relies on balance. A rising tide lifts all boats, as they say. But a sinking ship can drag the fleet down with it." Mr. Welt tapped his index finger against the face-down paper. "Tell me, what are your impressions of our newest transfer student, Miss March?"
Danheng paused, calculating his words. "She is... energetic. Sociable. She appears to have integrated into the class hierarchy without friction. Her interpersonal skills are high."
"Very observant. You are correct. Her social and conduct points are exceptionally high. She hasn't broken a single rule, she participates eagerly in homeroom discussions, and she volunteers for cleaning duty without complaint." Mr. Welt sighed, a heavy, exhausted sound. "But there is a fatal flaw in her profile."
Mr. Welt flipped the paper over.
It was the midterm mathematics exam. Danheng's eyes scanned the page. At the top right corner, circled in aggressive red ink, was a number.
12 / 100.
Danheng stared at it. He looked closer. The equations were not just solved incorrectly; they were approached with a methodology that defied all known laws of logic. In the margins, someone—presumably March—had drawn detailed, surprisingly well-shaded doodles of a small, rabbit-like creature holding a camera.
"A twelve," Danheng murmured, a rare edge of disbelief bleeding into his stoic voice. "If she guessed randomly on the multiple-choice section, statistical probability dictates she should have scored at least a twenty."
"It is a statistical anomaly, yes," Mr. Welt agreed grimly. "This isn't just mathematics. Her history score is a twenty-four. Her literature score is a thirty. Science is a nineteen. She is failing every core subject with spectacular consistency."
"Why are you showing this to me?" Danheng asked, his guard going up. He took a subtle step back.
"Because of the point system, Danheng. You know how it works. Her social points are currently acting as a buffer, keeping her head above water. But if she fails the final exams next month, the resulting academic penalty will trigger a massive deficit." Mr. Welt leaned forward, his brown eyes locking onto Danheng’s teal ones. "She will be expelled. Sent back to wherever she transferred from."
Danheng remained silent for a long moment. He looked at the window, watching a flock of birds fly over the Kamakura skyline.
"That is unfortunate," Danheng said evenly. "But it is the reality of this academy. If she cannot meet the standards, the system removes her. It is logical. I fail to see how this involves me."
"It involves you because I am making it your problem," Mr. Welt stated plainly.
Danheng finally frowned. "Sir?"
"The faculty is stretched thin. The tutoring center is fully booked preparing third-years for university entrance exams. As her homeroom teacher, it reflects poorly on me if a transfer student is expelled within her first semester." Mr. Welt pulled a document from his briefcase. It was an official school mandate form. "I am officially assigning you as March 7th's academic tutor, effective immediately."
"I must respectfully decline," Danheng answered instantly, shaking his head. "My schedule is fixed. Between my own studies and my duties as the librarian, I do not have the time to instruct someone who draws rabbits on calculus exams."
"It's a Pom-Pom, apparently," Mr. Welt muttered, glancing at the doodle. He cleared his throat. "Regardless, you cannot decline, Danheng. This is an official faculty request. If you refuse, I will be forced to deduct conduct points for insubordination."
Danheng’s eyes narrowed slightly. "You are blackmailing me."
"I prefer the term 'leveraging assets'," Mr. Welt offered a small, apologetic smile. "Look, I know you prefer isolation. But think of the logistics. If you accept this role, the school will grant you a substantial point bonus. Furthermore, I will personally authorize your exclusive access to the restricted historical archives in the east wing of the library. You’ve been requesting entry there for six months."
Danheng froze. The restricted archives. Hundreds of original Edo and Meiji period texts, untouched, preserved in climate-controlled silence. It was a historian's holy grail.
He looked at the disastrous test paper. He looked at Mr. Welt's unyielding expression. He thought of his peaceful afternoons, shattered by loud, hyperactive chatter and the daunting task of teaching basic algebra to someone who possessed the attention span of a goldfish.
It was a terrible trade. A miserable, agonizing trade.
"Three days a week," Danheng bargained, his voice tight with suppressed frustration. "Two hours per session. Not a minute more. And if she fails to show up, I am not liable."
"Agreed," Mr. Welt nodded, quickly signing the mandate form before Danheng could change his mind. "You'll find her in the courtyard right now. I suggest you go introduce yourself in your new capacity as her tutor. Good luck, Danheng. You are going to need it."
Danheng turned on his heel, his coat flaring slightly behind him as he marched out of the classroom. His mind was already calculating lesson plans, trying to find the most efficient, painless route to force knowledge into March 7th's brain.
He descended the main staircase, stepping out into the sun-drenched courtyard. The air was warm and smelled of freshly cut grass. Groups of students loitered around the vending machines and benches.
It didn't take long to spot her.
March was sitting on the edge of a large stone planter, her legs swinging back and forth. She was surrounded by a few girls from another class, animatedly talking while holding up a pink, sparkling smartphone.
"So then I said to the shop owner, 'You can't put mayonnaise on a crepe, that's a crime against desserts!'" March announced, throwing her head back in a bright, musical laugh. Her audience giggled along with her.
Danheng approached, his footsteps silent on the concrete path. He stopped a few feet away, crossing his arms over his chest. He stood there, waiting patiently for a gap in the conversation, his expression an impenetrable mask of stoicism.
One of the girls noticed him first. She paused, nudging March’s shoulder and pointing discreetly.
March turned. Her blue eyes landed on Danheng. For a brief second, she looked surprised, her head tilting slightly to the side, causing her colorful hair to spill over her shoulder.
"Oh! Danheng, right?" she asked, hopping off the stone planter. She bounded over to him with a blinding smile, stopping just a little too close for his comfort. He instinctively took a half-step back. "From class! We haven't really talked much. Did you need something? Do you want to see the pictures of the raccoon?"
"I have no interest in local wildlife," Danheng replied. He looked down at her. Up close, her energy was almost palpable, practically radiating off her in waves. It was exhausting.
"Okay..." March blinked, her smile faltering for a fraction of a second before bouncing right back. "Then what's up? You look super serious. Did someone die?"
"Only your academic future," Danheng stated bluntly.
March blinked again. "Huh?"
"Your midterm scores are a statistical anomaly of failure," Danheng continued, his voice devoid of any sugar-coating. "Mr. Welt has informed me that if you fail the final exams, your point deficit will result in immediate expulsion from Hoshinoha Academy."
The girls behind March gasped in shock, whispering furiously amongst themselves. March, however, just stood there, her mouth slightly open. The gears in her head seemed to be turning, slowly processing the harsh reality of the words.
"Expulsion?" she repeated, the word sounding foreign on her tongue. The bright, bubbly aura surrounding her dimmed, panic finally seeping into her wide blue eyes. "Wait, seriously?! But I just got here! I like it here! The cafeteria serves strawberry parfaits on Tuesdays!"
"A luxury you will not be able to enjoy if you are not a student," Danheng pointed out. He reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a crisp, blank notebook, holding it out to her.
March stared at the notebook, then up at his impassive face. "What is this?"
"This is your new reality," Danheng said, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. "Starting tomorrow, you will meet me in the library at 15:00. You will bring all your textbooks, your syllabus, and whatever is left of your dignity. I have been assigned to tutor you, and I refuse to have my own point record tarnished by your ineptitude."
March stared at the notebook in his outstretched hand. The lively courtyard chatter seemed to fade away, leaving only the sound of the distant ocean waves and the heavy, looming realization that her easygoing high school life had just collided head-on with a brick wall named Danheng.