005. The Boy at the Girls' School

Yuzuki Nagumo stood before the bulletin board, stifling a yawn. He had been waiting for some time, yet the freshman guide assigned to meet him had not arrived.

A gentle breeze stirred the cherry blossom trees lining the edge of the playground. A few pale pink petals drifted down, twirling softly in the sunlight before settling on the ground, releasing a faint, delicate fragrance.

It was already late spring.

Only then did he realize it. The spring semester in Japan typically began around April, and by the calendar, it was about that time now.

Feeling a bit weary from standing, Yuzuki leaned against the bulletin board. Bored out of his mind, he glanced at his watch, then looked up at the sky.

Waiting was one of the most tedious things one could do.

Especially in a place like Tsukinomori Girls’ Academy—one of the rare male students standing there drew no small amount of attention.

Though most of the students came from noble or affluent families and maintained a reserved demeanor, the passing girls couldn’t help but steal a few glances, whispering quietly to one another before quickening their pace.

Yuzuki quickly grew accustomed to it.

He continued to survey his surroundings with mild boredom, thinking to himself that Tsukinomori was indeed one of Tokyo’s most prestigious aristocratic schools. Admission wasn’t just about grades; one had to either come from a distinguished family or possess exceptional talent in the arts.

“So this is Tsukinomori Girls’ Academy…” he murmured.

Despite this year’s unprecedented acceptance of a small number of male transfer students, the standards remained stringent.

Grades alone? That held little value here.

After all, Tsukinomori’s reputation had never been built on academics.

If not for Yuzuki’s skillful guitar playing and his modest fame as a light novelist—thanks to his memories from a past life and a handful of plagiarized novels—he likely wouldn’t have even qualified for admission.

Though his academic record was commendable, for most here, grades were among the least influential factors determining one’s future.

With the prestige of a University of Tokyo diploma waning, the idea that someone’s hard work was merely another’s starting point was no mere cliché.

With a sigh, Yuzuki thought bitterly, “What are you half-breeds even doing? Endowed with extraordinary power, yet society remains this way. What’s the use of your bloodline? Are you all like dragons in fantasy tales, hoarding gold and sleeping on piles of coins every day?”

Lost in his musings, his peripheral vision suddenly caught sight of a figure.

A girl in the Tsukinomori Girls’ Academy uniform was briskly approaching him.

Her steps were quick, the hem of her skirt swaying lightly. Her long hair, a pale green tinged with soft gold, fluttered in the breeze, revealing a delicate profile.

Though her features were fine, her expression remained that familiar vacant look—even in motion, her face showed no emotion.

Wakaba Mutsumi.

Yuzuki recognized her at once.

Indeed, she was the freshman guide assigned to welcome him.

To help the few male transfer students acclimate to this century-old girls’ school, Tsukinomori had specially appointed a few gentle-natured, high-achieving students as guides.

Their role was to assist transfer students in familiarizing themselves with the campus and integrating into school life.

Since transfer students were so few—only a handful per grade—arranging guides wasn’t difficult.

Wakaba Mutsumi just happened to be Yuzuki’s guide.

Mor Mina’s remarkable intuition had proven accurate, almost prophetic.

Not only was Wakaba his guide, but also his classmate.

Since that night, they had exchanged contact information, though they hadn’t messaged each other.

Only upon learning that Wakaba was his guide before officially transferring did Yuzuki reach out, and they agreed to meet at the bulletin board—so he wouldn’t have to seek directions after entering the school.

As Wakaba hurried toward him, Yuzuki’s gaze involuntarily dropped to the small box she carried.

It looked like a chocolate box—elegantly packaged in a dark, sturdy cardboard box with gold-embossed branding at the corners.

Clearly not something off a supermarket shelf, but rather a bespoke item from a high-end patisserie.

Before he could speak, Wakaba had already reached him.

Though her pace was hurried, it was not disordered; her long hair fluttered softly with her running, settling down gracefully once she stopped.

She stood still, catching her breath with a slight rise and fall of her chest.

Then she lifted her head and extended the box toward him.

“Yuzuki, here,” she said, her voice as flat as ever.

Yuzuki looked at her face.

Even after running, her expression was unchanged, her eyes calm as if she had just stepped out of a classroom rather than having hurried over.

Though bathed in morning light, dressed in a short skirt, that vacant look made her seem almost robotic.

“No wonder they call her ‘Mutsumi the Head’,” he thought.

Yuzuki reached out and took the box, replying casually, “Thanks.”

Wakaba stared at him for a moment before speaking.

“Shoko is late.”

Yuzuki raised an eyebrow.

Wakaba’s way of speaking was always terse, her phrasing abrupt and her logic elusive.

Most people took a second or two to grasp her meaning; some never understood even after months or years.

But Yuzuki was different. His mind quickly filled in the missing subjects, verbs, and objects in her sentences, comprehending her intent the instant her words fell.

She meant that Toyokawa Shoko had encountered some delay, and as Shoko’s friend, Wakaba was temporarily held up, hence her tardiness.

And that box of chocolates was likely Wakaba’s way of making up for being late.

Yuzuki flicked the box idly, feeling the weight was somewhat unusual. He raised it slightly and peeked through a gap.

He caught sight of several vibrant green shapes, slender and moist with natural freshness.

Suddenly, he understood.

This was no chocolate.

They were cucumbers.

Wakaba’s cucumbers.

Several neatly arranged, glossy green cucumbers, even still glistening with droplets, as if freshly picked.

If chocolates were a “formulaic” gift, cucumbers were decidedly more personal—more in line with Wakaba’s style, a unique way of expressing her feelings.

Though giving cucumbers as a gift seemed utterly absurd.

For Wakaba, however, this was far more sincere than any box of sweets.

Yuzuki chuckled and stuffed the box into his backpack.

“No worries. I wasn’t waiting long anyway.”

Wakaba studied his face, as if gauging his mood, then gave a slight nod.

“Campus. Tour.”

With that, she turned and led Yuzuki deeper into the school grounds.