With only one class left today, it’s Japanese history.
In just a few minutes, the class will begin, and I’ll pass the time pretending to sleep, hoping for my escape from this confined space. With that hope in my heart, my face is buried in my desk, and my view is dark. All I can hear are the voices of my classmates in the classroom.
It’s not something I’m proud of, but the phenomenon of my arm becoming numb and heavy from improper head positioning on the desk is probably a privilege only experienced people understand.
Anyway, putting that aside, I feel a sense of unease in the atmosphere of the voices around me. Is it just my imagination?
For a brief moment, the classroom seemed unusually quiet. Not that it’s a silent room, but it feels as if the air has become tense.
“Hey. What’s up, Shibuya? Need something?”
As usual, the loud voice of Sakaki, a guy who always seems to disrupt my thoughts, rings out. Based on the flow of conversation, it seems like someone from another class has entered the room.
I’m not particularly interested, but I glance toward the door of the classroom, discreetly looking between my head and elbow.
“Hmm, not really.”
Standing there is a woman from the next class. She has long, beautiful hair and long legs that extend from beneath her skirt, her cool expression accentuated by a small lollipop in her mouth.
Of course, we’re in the same year, but I’ve never spoken to her or interacted with her. She’s someone who stands out in this school, so I know her face from a distance.
Her name is Arisa Shibuya.
She’s a free spirit, one who disregards the school rules with her stylishly altered uniform. Even now, the skirt she’s wearing is clearly shorter than the regulation length, exposing more of her long, beautiful legs than the other students.
To some, she might seem like the type of rebellious girl you’d expect nowadays, but her academic performance is actually one of the top in our grade, a completely unpredictable and hard-to-read person.
In short, she seems aloof and difficult to approach, but when she becomes close to a friend she trusts, she shows a smile befitting her age. Along with her stunning appearance, she’s quite popular with the boys in the class, though in a different way from Sayaka Yamamoto, who is from our class.
“Hey. Are you looking for someone? I can help.”
“Hmm, not really.”
However, I’ve never seen her interact with boys, and even Sakaki, as evidenced by his current exchange, isn’t getting any attention from her. She’s responding to him without making eye contact, her tone distant.
She stands there, her hand in the pocket of her blazer, silently scanning the classroom with her sharp, wide eyes as if searching for something.
Well, I figure it’s none of my business, so I quietly lower my head back onto my desk.
Arisa Shibuya. While I might have some chance to interact with her later, she’s still a mystery to me.
“….”
But, what’s this? Could it be… I feel like I’m being watched from somewhere again?
I shift my gaze slightly.
Yeah, it was probably just my imagination.
Maybe she’s gone to another class? I can’t spot Sayaka Yamamoto anywhere in the room now. It was likely all just a misunderstanding. Even though we’ve made eye contact several times today, this is way too embarrassing. It must have been just my imagination.
Anyway, only about three minutes left until class starts. I try to rest my head on the desk again…
But then, quietly, I realize that my sense of being watched wasn’t wrong after all.
Why…?
“….”
I don’t get it. Why is she still looking at me from the doorway? Her cool expression unchanged, she’s staring directly at me as I sit here.
I can’t understand it, but it’s clear she’s looking at me.
I’m confident I haven’t done anything to her.
I’m not the kind of person who interacts well with anyone in my class, so how could I possibly have anything to do with someone from the next class?
But as I’m thinking about this, I see her turn her head slightly, muttering something to herself before heading back to her own classroom.
What was that just now?
I faintly think I heard something about a younger brother as she walked away, but I’m not sure.
In any case, it seems like it’s got nothing to do with me, so I’m relieved.
But still…
She really is like a cat, that girl.
Well, whatever. I’ll just go back to pretending to sleep.
No, pretending to sleep, I guess.
The final pretend-sleep of the day…
