Yota is stressed, to say the least. Mid-terms, the school cultural festival, sports day. Why are they all happening in the same month?!

Being student council president means he oversees every single big event. If anything goes awry, it’ll reflect on him. He’s dogged out of his mind. Not even the events’ PICs’—bless their souls—help could alleviate his anxiety.

He sighs, pushing his glasses up. It’s the long lunch break right now.

He prefers to spend lunch break alone to contemplate, but that’s a bit hard to do when his classmates are loud, obnoxious, and chronically online.

For goodness’ sake, if he hears ‘Six Seven’ one more time, he’ll do something drastic.

He’s a fun guy, he likes to think. (No he is not. The last time he tried to make a joke in the student council room, all the 12 other members stared at him with pity for the rest of the day). But these internet memes are getting outrageous and not classy at all.He’s annoyed by how shallow his classmates’ humor is. No tact. No brain.

“How much did you get on the test?”

“I got 83, bro. Screwed up the short answer bit. You?”

“I got 67-“

“SIX SEVEEEN!” Some boys from the back interrupt to holler and laugh.

Yota glances at his reflection in the classroom window. He can see his eye twitching, his patience seconds away from snapping. This is the part where he should be doing breathing exercises. Two out of five times they work. Yota has a feeling this will be one of the three.

“Deep breaths,” he mutters. He needs to get his bearings together so he can complete the event proposal by tonight. But goodness gracious he cannot handle this- this tomfoolery.

Should he speak their language to get them to understand? Sybaw, was it? Sybau? Sybau!!!!!!