The morning sun slipped through the curtains, a soft glow that nudged Aiko Nakamura's room with promises of new beginnings. But Aiko, cocooned in her blanket, had other plans—ones that involved more sleep and zero sunrise pep talks. In her dreams, a tall, impossibly handsome guy stood beneath a cascade of cherry blossoms, smiling at her like she was the only girl in his fictional universe.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!"Ugh, shut up," she groaned, flailing at her alarm clock as if it were a persistent mosquito. She burrowed deeper into her blanket, chasing the fading edges of her dream.
"AIKO! YOU'RE GOING TO BE LATE FOR COLLEGE!"Her mother's voice roared through the house, a verbal earthquake that rattled the walls.
"Coming!" Aiko yelped, launching herself out of bed like she'd been zapped by a cattle prod.
What followed was a frantic blur: a messy ponytail thrown together in seconds, a smear of toothpaste clinging to her chin, a slice of toast jammed in her mouth like she was starring in an anime opening sequence. Bag flapping against her side, she sprinted out the door, praying she'd catch the bus.
She skidded to a stop at the bus station, panting, and yanked out her phone. No texts from Emiko Tanaka, her best friend and designated first-day-of-college wingwoman. Frowning, Aiko dialed her number.
"Hey, where are you?" she hissed, keeping her voice low to avoid drawing attention.
"I told you, I'm coming tomorrow, not today," Emiko's voice crackled through the speaker.
"What?" Aiko's stomach plummeted. "You mean I have to face the first day of college alone?"
"Yup. You got this, though!" Emiko chirped, entirely too cheerful for the betrayal she'd just unleashed.
Aiko groaned, her heart sinking as she boarded the overcrowded bus. The air inside was a chaotic blend of cheap deodorant, stale lunches, and something suspiciously like regret. She wove through the crowd like a ninja with manners, dodging gossiping aunties, dozing uncles, and one guy reading a newspaper… upside down. Seriously?
Then she saw him.
He was seated near the back, radiating main-character energy in a government bus that screamed "supporting cast." Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a fitted black shirt, he had a jawline sharp enough to cut glass and an aura that belonged in a K-drama, not this sweaty reality show. His dark eyes flicked up, catching hers for a split second.
Aiko's brain short-circuited.
"Is this seat taken?"His voice was smooth, like warm Nutella spread over toast, and it hit her like a sneak attack.
She blinked, her mouth opening before her brain could catch up. "Y-Y-Yes!" she blurted, then immediately cringed. "I mean, no! You can sit!"
Smooth, Aiko. Real smooth.
He slid into the seat beside her, his presence overwhelming in the cramped space. Aiko froze, her body suddenly convinced it was a wax statue at Madame Tussaud's. Her brain screamed a mantra: Breathe. Don't stare. Don't fall in love. Don't spontaneously combust.
"So… are you a student?" he asked, his tone casual, like he hadn't just disrupted her entire existence.
Aiko's eyes narrowed. Is this a survey? A scam? A rom-com setup?
"Y-Yes," she said cautiously. "Why do you want to know?"
He turned to face her, his gaze calm but piercing, like he was studying a rare, slightly unhinged specimen."May I know your name?"
"Eh?" Aiko's suspicion meter spiked. She leaned back, giving him a once-over. Up close, he was even more unreal, like Photoshop had gotten bored and sculpted a human.
"Why do you want my name out of nowhere? You trying to rob me politely or something?"
He grinned, a slow, dangerous smirk that could ruin lives."Just like that."
"Just like that?" Aiko arched a brow, her confidence flickering to life. "You sound like you're into me." She paused for dramatic effect, then dropped the bomb. "But sorry, I don't date old men."
The bus fell into a stunned silence—or maybe that was just Aiko's imagination. The guy's jaw dropped, his cool facade crumbling like a sandcastle at high tide. He looked like she'd just told him the moon was made of cardboard.
Before he could recover, the bus lurched to a stop.
"My stop," Aiko declared, tossing her bag over her shoulder like a queen adjusting her crown. She strode off the bus, her exit as dramatic as a soap opera cliffhanger.
Outside, she paused on the sidewalk, her heart still hammering from the encounter. A grin tugged at her lips as she murmured, "Well, that was something."
But inside, her mind was a chaotic scream: Why was he so unfairly gorgeous?
Aiko slipped into the classroom with the practiced ease of a back-row veteran, her footsteps light as she navigated the familiar chaos of a new semester. The morning sun streamed through the windows, too bright for her liking, casting long shadows across the linoleum floor. The hallways had buzzed with post-break energy—students swapping stories of summer misadventures—but Aiko, introvert extraordinaire, had only one goal: claim her sacred spot in the last row, farthest corner, safely obscured by the classroom's towering potted plant.
She sank into her chair, the chipped wood of the desk a comforting constant in her world of variables. The bell screamed through the air, sharp and jarring, like a banshee fueled by caffeine.
The room filled with the hum of chatter, a mix of nervous excitement and complaints about early mornings. Whispers floated past her like stray breezes.
"New teacher this semester," someone murmured."Heard he's strict. Like, drill-sergeant strict," another voice added."No way," a third chimed in. "My cousin said he's chill. And, like, hot."
Aiko slouched lower, willing herself to blend into the desk's faded laminate. Let me become one with the furniture, she thought. She didn't care about new teachers or their alleged hotness. Her only ambition was to survive the day without making eye contact or, God forbid, engaging in small talk. A modest dream, really.
Then a voice sliced through the room, deep and unnervingly familiar, like a blade through warm butter.
"Good morning, future mathematicians!"
Aiko's heart stopped. Her stomach executed a triple backflip. Her brain, traitor that it was, froze entirely.
No. It can't be.
She peeked through the curtain of her bangs, cautious as a mouse in a hawk's shadow.
There, at the front of the classroom, stood him. Bus Guy. The same stranger she'd nearly tackled during last week's rainstorm, when she'd tripped and almost face-planted into his lap before shouting, "SORRY, I'M A DISASTER!" and fleeing the bus like it was rigged to explode.
He stood there now, all sharp jawline and effortless confidence, his black shirt somehow too perfect for a Monday morning. His lips twitched into a smirk—not overt, just a subtle curve that screamed, I know exactly who you are, and I'm enjoying this far too much.
Aiko's face burned. She wanted to melt into her chair, the floor, the Earth's molten core. Beam me to Mars. Or Pluto. Anywhere but here.
"I'm your new math teacher," he said, his grin widening. "Call me Mr. Haruki Takeda. Or just Haruki. Now, let's get to know each other—introductions, starting now."
A collective groan rippled through the room.
"Ugh, introductions again?" someone muttered."Not this torture," another voice whined."My only hobby is napping. Don't make me say it out loud," a third added.
Aiko barely registered the complaints, too busy spiraling into an existential meltdown. This is karma. For every awkward thing I've ever done. For calling that cashier 'Mom' last summer. For waving at a stranger who wasn't waving back. This is cosmic payback.
One by one, her classmates stood, sharing their names and quirks with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
"I'm Jake. I build Lego cities in my basement.""I'm Nia. I've watched Bridgerton five times.""I'm Carlos. My hobby is annoying my siblings and surviving high school."
Aiko felt her turn approaching like a glitter-dusted freight train. Her palms grew clammy, her pulse a frantic drumbeat.
"And you, in the back row," Haruki said, his tone casual but his gaze locked on her like a heat-seeking missile.
She stood slowly, a deer caught in slow-motion headlights, her face blazing hotter than a summer sidewalk.
"U-uh… I'm Aiko," she mumbled, her voice barely louder than a whisper in a windstorm.
Haruki raised an eyebrow, that infuriating smirk still lingering."And… any hobbies, Aiko?"
Her mind screamed, Don't make me say it. Don't make me tell the truth.But her mouth betrayed her, the words slipping out like a confession.
"Crying in bookstores."
The room went silent for a heartbeat. Then a giggle broke the quiet, followed by another, until the entire class erupted into laughter.
Even Haruki chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender."That's valid," he said, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Honestly, same."
Aiko sank back into her seat, her face still flaming but her mortification easing—just a fraction. Maybe surviving this semester wouldn't be entirely impossible.