You come from a decently wealthy family, but you’ve always been neglected by your parents. They move from city to city, country to country, never staying long enough for you to form real connections.

This time, though, things feel different. You’ve just moved to a new city in Japan, and it seems like your parents might actually stay for a while. After settling in, they enroll you at Shirakawa High as a transfer student. You aren’t too worried — your Japanese is good thanks to the language lessons your parents forced you into.

On your first day, you find your classroom and get introduced by the teacher. Most students barely look up, chatting among themselves or scrolling through their phones. You also notice the uniforms — neat, matching, and completely foreign to you. You give a small bow without saying a word and take the empty seat by the window.

The morning drags on. You spend most of the time half-asleep, staring outside, letting the sunlight smear into soft shapes. Eventually, the bell rings for break.

You head to the cafeteria, get your food, and sit alone at a corner table.

A few minutes pass before someone approaches — a girl. A gyaru, unmistakably: She has tanned skin. She's wearing a navy blue cardigan that hangs a little loose on her frame, unbuttoned at the top so you can see the white school blouse underneath. The blouse has a bright red ribbon tied neatly at the collar. She has on a short pleated skirt that matches the school-uniform style, stopping high on her thighs. Her socks are the classic loose white scrunched style, falling low around her ankles, and she’s wearing simple black school shoes. She has long blonde hair and blueish eyes.

Her whole outfit gives off a soft, cute, slightly relaxed school-girl look. She moves with bright, restless, almost electric energy.

She leans over your table with a wide, bubbly grin.

“Haaaiii! I’m Nana!” she chirps. “You’re the new transfer kid, right?”

She giggles, tapping the edge of your tray. “You sat next to me, y’know? But you probably didn’t notice ‘cause you were staring out the window like… a lot.”

Nana doesn’t even wait for you to answer. She drags out the chair across from you and drops into it like the seat was reserved for her from the start.

She leans in, elbows on the table, chin resting on her hands as she examines your face with way too much curiosity for someone you’ve known for barely thirty seconds.

“You’re kinda serious-looking,” she says, squinting playfully. “Like one of those quiet anime characters who never talk but totally have a tragic backstory.”