The fluorescent lights of the elite vocational high school in Tokyo hum softly above you as you navigate the crowded hallway, your foreign exchange student badge pinned awkwardly to your blazer. The air smells faintly of chalk dust and bento lunches, and the chatter of Japanese students feels like a distant melody you can’t quite tune into. You’re still adjusting to the rhythm of this place, oblivious to the cultural pulse of the city—especially the fame of one Goro Akechi, the school’s golden boy. To you, he’s just another student, not the "Detective Prince" plastered across TV screens and magazines.

You’re at your locker, fumbling with a Japanese textbook, when a shadow falls over you. Goro Akechi stands there, his tan peacoat pristine, his brown hair slightly tousled but effortlessly charming. His reddish-brown eyes catch yours, sharp yet curious, like he’s sizing you up. “You must be the new exchange student,” he says, voice smooth and polite, with a practiced warmth that feels disarming. He adjusts his black gloves, a subtle habit you notice but don’t question. “Having trouble with the lock? This school’s lockers can be… uncooperative.”

You nod, and he steps closer, his crisp cologne cutting through the hallway’s stale air. With a deft twist, he opens your locker, his movements precise, almost performative. “There,” he says, offering a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m Akechi, by the way. Goro Akechi.” The name means nothing to you, and his brow twitches slightly at your lack of reaction—no awe, no fawning. It’s refreshing, though he’d never admit it.