______

  The afternoon classes wrapped up quickly.

  Jun pulled out his phone to check the time. 15:30.

  What a luxury, he thought. Back in the hyper-competitive schools of his first life, he had never once left a campus before the sun had already set.

  "Matsue, come to my office for a moment." The homeroom teacher, Ms. Kominato, rarely sought out students after hours.

  Jun followed her, his mind wandering as they navigated the hallway. Lately, I’m always two steps behind someone, he realized. He adjusted his stride, his long legs easily overtaking the petite teacher.

  He told himself that a successful man should always be at the front, leading the way.

  Ms. Kominato looked up as her student suddenly began leading her toward her own office.

  "Matsue, are you trying to show the teacher where to go?" she asked, sitting down at her desk.

  "I just thought you were walking a bit slow, Ma'am." Ms. Kominato was barely five-foot-two.

  She straightened her back and tried to put on a stern, authoritative face, but the way she had to crane her neck to look up at him made her look more like a pouting younger sister than a disciplinarian. The girls at school adored her, calling her the "Pocket-Sized Mentor."

  "You missed a lot of material during your suspension," she said. "We need to make sure your grades don't slip."

  "Is that really necessary? My rank has been consistent since day one."

  Since the start of the year, Jun had stayed comfortably in the top thirty of the freshman class. Not quite the valedictorian, but elite enough to maintain his "perfect student" reputation.

  "Besides, you know I have a job to get to. I don't have much free time." Jun tried to appeal to her sense of pragmatism.

  "Then you’d better guarantee you’re studying on your own clock." That wasn't her main point, anyway. "The first semester is almost over. How are you holding up?"

  "The school is great, and the teachers are supportive. I’m especially grateful to you for helping me get that work permit."

  She rolled her eyes. "You’re losing your touch, Matsue. That sounded way less sincere than your usual flattery."

  Jun smiled and looked out the window. On the field below, the sports clubs were already in full swing, students pouring sweat under the afternoon sun.

  Ms. Kominato hesitated for a second. "The rumors... they haven't affected you too much, have they?"

  "They have. I had to quit my last job. Now I’m back to square one." Jun spread his hands, signaling his precarious financial state. Thanks to Yuka, his bank account was on life support.

  "That's not what I meant." She tapped a pen against her desk. "I mean your social standing. Your relationships. You aren't in any clubs, are you? Why don't you do anything after school besides work?"

  He raised his hands as if framing a photograph. "I’m technically in the Journalism Club. Attendance is... flexible."

  He’d joined specifically because it was a low-effort way to earn a bit of extra cash for "freelance" articles.

  She sighed, blowing out her lingering worry. "As long as you’re okay. If things get heavy, you come to me. Understand?"

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Ever since she found out Jun was an orphan, she’d been protective of him. Normally, Jun hated the "pity look" people gave him, but from the tiny Ms. Kominato, it felt oddly natural.

  "You know, Ma'am, the students have you all wrong."

  "What?"

  "You aren't a 'Pocket-Sized Mentor.' You’re more like a 'Protective Big Sister.'"

  She grabbed a stack of lesson plans and stood up to swat him on the head, but he was too tall. She ended up just jabbing him in the chest with the rolled-up paper.

  Jun made a pained face. "Do all you girls aim for the same spot?"

  After escaping his teacher’s interrogation, Jun went back to the classroom to grab his bag. When he reached the school gate, he found both Yuka and Haruka waiting for him.

  "What is this, a committee meeting?" Jun stopped, wheeling his bike.

  "I wanted to walk home with you, Jun," Yuka said. She held her bag in front of her with both hands, a posture that naturally drew the eye to her silhouette.

  Haruka, who didn't need to carry her own bag, stood beside her with her arms crossed. It was her signature "Queen" pose, effectively hiding her smaller frame.

  Jun ignored Yuka’s invitation and looked at Haruka. "And you, Mochizuki? Do you need something?"

  Haruka gave him a slow, head-to-toe appraisal. He was leaning on his handlebars, his bag slung over one shoulder, the evening breeze ruffling his hair. With one button of his white shirt undone, his jawline looked sharper, more masculine.

  He looked more like a romantic lead than a high school kid.

  She burned the image into her memory before speaking. "I'm just waiting for my car."

  In reality, she’d seen Yuka waiting and decided that whatever Yuka was planning, she wasn't going to let it happen.

  "Then keep waiting. Jun and I are leaving," Yuka snapped.

  Haruka opened her mouth to argue, but the words died in her throat. She just looked at Jun with a strange, lingering intensity.

  Jun thought for a moment. The Mochizuki family funded his old orphanage. He remembered a kind woman with that last name visiting when he was a child. Had there been a little girl named Haruka with her? Had they met before?

  He had a perfect memory; he knew he didn't have a "childhood friend" trope waiting to be unlocked.

  Whatever, I need to get to work, he decided.

  "One person in a car, one person on foot, and one person chasing the wind," Jun said, his voice sounding like a line from a noir film. "We were never meant to travel the same path."

  By the time he pedaled away into the sunset, the "pedestrian" Yuka had called her own car, and Haruka was walking out the gate alone, her bodyguard trailing behind her with her bags.

  Jun biked for fifteen minutes, passing his apartment and stopping at a small convenience store called Mitaka Forest.

  A silver-haired man looked up from the counter. "Back again, Matsue?"

  Jun nodded, hopping off his bike. "I quit the other place. I’m back to bother you, Grandpa Kashida."

  Kashida had run the store since Jun was a "sapling." When Jun didn't have a steady job, he’d come here to help move stock.

  A head with a short ponytail popped up from behind the counter. "Big Brother Jun!" It was the old man’s granddaughter, Hana.

  Jun ruffled her hair and went to the back to change into his work gear—a pair of heavy, dark green overalls. He rolled his sleeves up to his shoulders and headed to the loading dock just as a delivery truck pulled in.

  The driver rolled down her window and waved. "Long time no see, Jun-kun!"

  "Hey, Momoe-san," Jun said. Women always worked harder when he used their names.

  Maruyama Momoe was a college grad who couldn't find a job in her field, so she’d taken over her father’s delivery route. She’d seen Jun moving boxes once and had been "volunteering" for this route ever since.

  Maybe because of his reincarnation, Jun’s physical stats were off the charts. He could carry three heavy crates at once without breaking a sweat.

  As he worked, the sweat glistened on his shoulders and arms. Momoe watched him from the cab, her mouth practically watering. She surreptitiously pulled out her phone and filmed a quick clip of his muscles tensing as he lifted a crate, sending it to her best friend in the city.

  The reply was instant: ARE YOU KIDDING ME? You stayed in the suburbs for THIS?

  When do I get to touch? followed by a heart-eyes emoji.

  Momoe giggled. She was a "sneaky" beauty—sporty clothes hiding an hourglass figure.

  "Here, let me help you with that sweat," she said, approaching him with a handkerchief. Jun didn't pull away; he just kept moving boxes.

  Once the warehouse was organized, Jun threw his overalls in the wash and changed back into his school slacks. He joined the family for dinner—golden pork cutlets and steaming miso soup.

  Grandpa Kashida handed him a crisp ten-thousand-yen bill.

  "This is too much," Jun said, putting his chopsticks down.

  "It’s for the lifting today, plus the week you spent walking Hana to school," the old man insisted.

  "I like Hana. That was a favor, not a job." He pinched the girl’s cheek, making her pout.

  "Just take the money, kid!" Kashida barked.

  Jun took the bill, a quiet vow echoing in his head. Tears on my plate, but a million in the bank. I’m making it out of here.

  When he got home, he checked his messages.

  Yuka: I wasn't the one who told Mochizuki about us. (Bunny emoji)

  Haruka: We need to talk tomorrow. (Cat emoji)

  _______

  During the third period the next day, Jun checked out again. He opened his notebook to that first page.

  The Yuka Problem: She’s no longer "special." Just another variable to manage.

  The System: Semi-disabled for now, according to the "suspect" Yuka. No more "prophetic dreams" lately. But the real question is: Is she the only one who has it?

  The Exit Strategy: He circled this one. High school was just a stepping stone. What was the endgame?

  Jun’s face grew increasingly grim as he stared at the blackboard, contemplating the heat death of his social life. The teacher, unnerved by his intense gaze, hurried through the lesson.

  When the bell finally rang, Jun headed for the cafeteria. The path was lined with maple trees, casting deep shadows that did nothing to cool the summer air.

  He bought a bowl of cold soba noodles.

  I thought I hated cold food, he mused, slurping the noodles. He analyzed the contradiction. He was an orphan of a different culture; his stomach craved warmth. But seventeen years in this country, combined with the suffocating heat of a Japanese summer, had rewired his instincts.

  He thought of Yuka. She was like the summer heat—smothering, intense, trying to sweat the truth out of him.

  Because of her blatant pursuit, the other guys in class had been giving him the "death stare" all morning.

  Jun looked up. Someone had sat down across from him.

  The girl’s cold, porcelain face felt like a refreshing breeze in the humid cafeteria.

  Haruka Mochizuki changed her hair constantly. Today, she had a "Princess Cut"—straight bangs and side-locks that framed her face, making it look tiny. The rest of her hair was tied into twin-tails. It was a visual trap: her eyes were cold and sharp, but the hairstyle was undeniably "sweet."

  Jun finished his water and wiped his mouth. "You’re here about the text message, I assume?"

  Haruka didn't speak. She just gave a regal, chilly nod. A group of girls from her class walked by and gasped.

  "Oh my god, is that Haruka-hime? In the cafeteria?"