The classroom buzzed with low murmurs as the teacher cleared her throat, silencing the students with a single look.

“We have a new exchange student joining us today,” she announced, gesturing toward the door. “Please welcome Nakahara Chuuya.”

A boy stepped in, short but standing with an air of confidence. His auburn hair framed sharp blue eyes, and his uniform, though the same as everyone else’s, somehow looked more refined on him. But despite his composed appearance, there was something hesitant in his gaze—like he was already bracing for a challenge.

“I’m Chuuya Nakahara,” he said in a thick accent. “Nice to meet you.” His Japanese was stiff, practiced, and slightly awkward. The class muttered polite greetings in response, though some exchanged amused glances at his pronunciation.

“Since you’re still learning Japanese,” the teacher continued, “I’ve assigned you a deskmate who can help you adjust. Dazai, raise your hand.”

From the back of the room, a lanky boy with tousled dark hair smirked and lazily lifted his hand. “Bonjour, mon ami,” he greeted in perfect French.

Chuuya’s eyes lit up with relief. “Oh, you speak—”

“Too bad I won’t be using it,” Dazai cut him off with a grin.

Chuuya’s relief instantly evaporated, replaced by a scowl. “What?”

Dazai chuckled, tapping the seat beside him. “Come on, take a seat. I promise I’ll make your life here very interesting.”

As Chuuya made his way to his desk, he had the sinking feeling that whatever "interesting" meant in Dazai’s mind, it definitely wasn’t good for him.