I knew it was coming.

  Group work is inevitable. Like taxes. Or train deys when you're already te. Every new school year brings it, and somehow, I still wasn’t ready.

  Matsumoto-sensei stood at the front of the room, writing something on the board in clean, fluid strokes.

  Css Activity: Literature Reflection Groups (3–4 students)Topic: “What makes a good story?”

  No escape.

  She turned to face us, smiling with the same ease she had at the café—except now, that smile had the power to rearrange my whole day.

  “We’re starting the year with a short group discussion,” she said. “Talk about stories you enjoy, genres you like, what kinds of characters you connect with. It doesn’t have to be academic—just be honest.”

  Okay. That’s not so bad.As long as I’m paired with quiet people. Bookish types. Fellow ghosts.

  “Groups of four, feel free to move desks.”

  The cssroom turned into a chaotic seating lottery.

  Desks screeched across the floor like musical chairs pyed by people who definitely had social skills. Laughter. Shouting. Rearranged alliances forming in seconds.

  Too loud. Too fast. Too many variables.

  I stayed frozen in my seat, eyes locked on the cover of my book.

  Maybe if I looked studious enough, they’d just assign me a group at random. Preferably one with an “enter silently, exit silently” policy.

  “Yo, Natsume!”

  I looked up.

  Minako was already dragging her desk next to mine. “We’re grouping, obviously.”

  Before I could respond, another desk cttered into pce beside hers. It was the quiet boy from the back—hoodie, earphones, the whole mysterious package.

  He didn’t say anything. Just nodded once and pulled out a mechanical pencil like we were in the middle of an exam.

  And then came the fourth.

  A tall guy with artfully messy hair and an annoyingly confident smile. I recognized him—he’d tried (and failed) to flirt with Matsumoto-sensei on day one. Chaos Boy himself.

  He slid into the seat across from me and leaned on the desk like we were already friends. “Heeey, Book Guy. Minako dragged me in. Hope you don’t mind.”

  I minded.

  “Don’t mind,” I said, politely.

  Internal diagnostics: social shielding weakened. Danger level: rising. Estimated containment time: six minutes.

  Minako looked far too pleased with herself. “Alright, Book Guy, you’re the literary one here. Lead the discussion.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Come on, we know you’re packing at least a hundred opinions in that head of yours.”

  I opened my mouth. Closed it.

  Then sighed.

  “Fine. A good story,” I said, “is one where characters act on emotion instead of convenience. Not because the plot demands it, but because they do.”

  There was a short silence.

  “…Whoa,” said Chaos Boy. “That was kind of deep.”

  Minako was smiling like she’d just unlocked a new level of my personality. “Okay, yeah, I can work with that.”

  Quiet Boy simply wrote something in his notebook.

  Okay. Okay, that wasn’t horrible. They’re listening. This is manageable.

  Then Chaos Boy leaned in. “So, like… would that apply to, say, a hot teacher character who’s clearly got a secret past?”

  Nope. No. Don’t bring her up. Stop.

  Minako ughed. “You’re obsessed.”

  “I’m just saying! Matsumoto-sensei totally has a backstory.”

  “She’s not a visual novel heroine,” I muttered.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing.”

  We talked for another ten minutes.

  Well—they talked. I mostly contributed in carefully measured doses. Chaos Boy’s real name turned out to be Okabe Kaito. He was surprisingly observant for someone with an unfiltered mouth.

  Quiet Boy wrote his name on his notebook: Kashiwagi Ren.

  Didn’t say much, but nodded whenever someone made a solid point. When he spoke, it was short and sharp, like cutting paper with a knife.

  Okay, so: Minako = chaotic friendly, Okabe = loud but not cruel, Kashiwagi = suspiciously perceptive.

  I took mental notes. That’s what I do.

  When the activity ended, Matsumoto-sensei walked around the room, stopping at each group to chat.

  I knew she’d reach us eventually.

  And I knew she’d py it cool.

  She did.

  “Well?” she asked, arms crossed loosely, smiling like this was just another café visit. “Any deep revetions about the human condition?”

  “Souji gave a literary TED Talk,” Minako offered.

  My soul left my body.

  Kaori—sorry, Matsumoto-sensei—looked at me and tilted her head. “Oh? You’re speaking up now?”

  My pencil snapped in my hand.

  Minako ughed. “See? He can talk.”

  “I regret everything,” I whispered.