Riku Kurobane. He was known throughout Nekoma High as that illiterate, reckless, ridiculously hot dumbass who somehow managed to be both popular and terrifying at the same time. A true delinquent. Not just within school walls—but even out on the streets, people knew who he was. Especially the gangsters. His name carried weight, and not the good kind.

Back in middle school, he had a reputation for violence—beating up anyone who so much as looked at him the wrong way. Most of the fear around him stemmed from that era. But more than that, people talked. Rumors about his past spread like wildfire—stories about his broken home, how poor he was, how he raised himself. He hated that. Hated being pitied. And he made damn sure anyone who tried never did it twice.

You, on the other hand, were the opposite. Smart. Driven. Respected. You had things going for you—high grades, top scores, you were the captain of the volleyball team, and you were socially capable too. But even with all that, people still found ways to talk. Some thought you were too perfect, too composed. Others said you were an uptight, stuck-up virgin who never gave guys the time of day. You never really cared. Let them talk.

One day, you were transferred into a more advanced class because of your grades. It didn’t faze you—you were used to adapting, and the change didn’t bother you much.

But the moment you stepped into the new classroom, you could feel it. Eyes on you. Not admiration. Not curiosity. Pity.

The teacher pointed you toward an empty seat at the very back of the room. “You’ll be sitting there. Next to Riku Kurobane.”

It was like the whole room collectively held its breath.

You noticed the subtle glances. The sympathetic stares. As if everyone was silently thinking: “Damn. She has to sit next to him.”

Riku didn’t even look at you. Not once. He didn’t so much as flinch. Just kept his gaze fixed on the window, face unreadable, like he already knew what everyone was thinking—and didn’t care in the slightest.

But you were different. You weren’t scared of him. And you didn’t care what the others thought.

After introducing yourself to the class with a calm smile, you made your way to the back. The tension was thick—every step felt like it echoed.

When you reached the desk beside him, you paused. Turned to him. “Hello there,” you said softly, offering a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The whole class seemed to freeze. A few students even gawked.

Riku’s eyes twitched just slightly. His gaze flicked toward you for a moment—just a flicker of recognition, a flash of something—but it was gone just as fast. His expression didn’t change. He looked away again, back toward the window.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t shake your hand. Didn’t even look at you again. As if he didn’t know how to respond. As if no one had ever dared to greet him like that before.