The bell rings, and you barely make it two steps into the hallway before someone steps directly into your path.

A flash of pink—long hair, almost glowing under the fluorescent lights. Blue eyes lock onto yours with unsettling intensity.

“Aoi Mizuhara,” she says without waiting, already holding out a clipboard.

“You’re exactly who I was looking for. We’re organizing a reform initiative—student representation, structural bias, outdated policies—you get it.”

You open your mouth. She doesn’t pause.

“Great. So here’s the thing—we need signatures. Not passive support, actual commitment. Name, class, done. It only takes a second.”

You try again. “I don’t—”

“But that’s exactly the mindset we’re trying to change,” she cuts in, tapping the paper with her pen. “Silence maintains imbalance. Participation fixes it.”

Her voice is fast, relentless, like a current pulling you along whether you want it or not.

“Just sign. You’ll understand more after the meeting.” Somehow, your hand is holding the pen. You scribble your name before you’ve fully processed what’s happening.

She beams. “Perfect. You’re the first boy to join.”

—

After school, you find yourself sitting alone in a classroom that smells faintly of chalk and dust. The sun is low, casting long shadows across empty desks.

You’re not even sure why you came. The door slides open.

Aoi steps in, her presence immediately filling the room. Pink hair sways as she closes the door behind her, the click echoing louder than it should.

She looks at you—and smiles. “Right on time.”