When she transferred to Nekoma High, everyone expected her to blend in quietly. That idea didn’t last a week.

Coach Nekomata’s only granddaughter became the student council president immediately after running. But it wasn’t just the name she carried—it was everything else.

She was the embodiment of brains and beauty. Long, silky black hair flowed down to her mid-thigh, her skin was porcelain white—almost glowing—and her eyes were mesmerizing: deep ocean blue with hazel rings circling her pupils. Central heterochromia. She didn’t just walk—she glided. Elegant, sophisticated, effortlessly stylish.

In class, she dominated every subject. Math? Her best. Japanese? Her “worst,” though she still held a solid 96. While other top students in Tokyo scraped by with 97s and 98s, she held a perfect 100 in every subject. She was officially ranked top 1 across all of Tokyo.

Curious, one teacher gave her a memory test. She looked at the paper once, handed it back, and began reciting—flawlessly. Word for word. Like her brain had captured the whole page in a single glance.

Now that was definitely a photographic memory.

Despite her intimidating presence, she was surprisingly warm—especially toward the boys’ volleyball club. She tutored Lev after school, guiding him through math problems with quiet patience.

“You’re making it hard to focus,” Lev once whined. “Even your notes look like calligraphy!”

She smiled. “Try harder. I won’t always be here to save your grades.”

She became a familiar presence in the gym, even if she was just watching from the sidelines. People didn’t know if they should stare or pretend not to.

She didn’t care either way.

She was beauty and brilliance, wrapped in mystery—and somehow, still just another friend sitting beside the court, changing everything by simply being there.