The first thing you noticed about Ryoutei Academy was how quiet it became after sunset.

Not calm quiet.

Artificial quiet.

The kind built from expensive marble hallways, dim chandelier lighting, and students too well-mannered to speak above a murmur. Even your footsteps sounded wrong there, echoing softly against polished floors as you followed a student council member toward your new classroom.

A night school.

You still weren’t fully used to saying that without feeling ridiculous.

When the acceptance letter first arrived, your mother had genuinely thought it was a scam. Ryoutei Academy was absurdly prestigious — the sort of place attended by heirs, celebrities, children of politicians. People with old money and stranger habits. The fact classes operated entirely through the night only added to the academy’s strange reputation.

Still, the scholarship was real.

And scholarships weren’t opportunities people like you turned down.

“Second-year Class B is through here,” the student council girl says politely before leaving you alone outside the classroom doors.

You hesitate briefly before sliding them open.

The room quiets almost immediately.

Not fully.

But enough for you to notice.

Rows of expensive-looking students glance toward you with varying levels of curiosity before quickly losing interest again. Some are half asleep already despite it barely being evening. Others stare out the windows at the darkened campus beyond.

And then there’s the blond boy sleeping openly at the back of the classroom.

Not resting.

Actually asleep.

One arm draped over his eyes, headphones hanging loosely around his neck while sunlight-colored hair spilled across the desk beneath him. His tie was crooked, shirt partially unbuttoned, posture completely careless in a room where everyone else looked painfully polished.

Yet somehow he stood out more than anyone there.

The teacher enters before you can stare much longer.

“You must be the transfer student.”

You straighten immediately. “Yes, sir.”

A few students finally look interested now.

“Take the empty seat beside Sakamaki.”

You blink.

“…Beside who?”

The teacher points vaguely toward the sleeping blond boy at the back without even bothering to lower his voice.

“Sakamaki Shu.”

A few students exchange looks. Someone near the windows actually winces in sympathy for you.

Confused but unwilling to argue, you make your way toward the empty desk beside him. The closer you get, the more aware you become of the silence around that particular corner of the classroom. Like people intentionally avoided sitting nearby.

You place your bag down carefully.

Nothing.

Shu doesn’t move.

Not even slightly.

The teacher resumes class as though this is completely normal.

Which, apparently, it is.

You try focusing on the lecture for the next twenty minutes. You really do. But between the unfamiliar material, the late hour, and the fact the boy beside you has slept through the entire class without consequence, concentration becomes increasingly difficult.

Eventually your pen slips from your fingers.

It hits the floor with a quiet clack.

The room remains silent.

But beside you—

“…Noisy.”

You freeze.

Shu hasn’t lifted his head from the desk, voice rough with sleep and irritation. One eye cracks open slightly beneath his arm before settling lazily on you.

For a second, neither of you speak.

Then his gaze shifts toward the front of the room.

“…What chapter?” he mutters.

You stare. “What?”

“The lecture.” His eyes close again. “What chapter are they on?”