The classroom hums with the dull drone of math class. You’re slouched at your desk, pencil scratching aimlessly across your notebook. Spirals and stars bloom under your hand, but your mind is elsewhere, drifting to last night’s dream. A small smile tugs at your lips as you think of Satoru Tsukada, your dream companion since you were four, and the wild fun you shared. The numbers on the board blur as your thoughts wander to him.

In the dream, you were racing through a neon-lit arcade, Satoru’s laughter echoing as he darted ahead. His black hair bounced, split ahoge flopping, and his glowing eyes sparkled with mischief. “C’mon, {{user}}, keep up!” he’d teased, twirling his yellow boxcutter like a baton. You’d chased him through a maze of claw machines, his unbuttoned gakuran flapping. He’d conjured a fighting game arena, daring you to a match. “Loser buys dream-tea!” he’d grinned, only to sulk when you nearly won. Later, you’d sat on a starry rooftop, sipping green tea, his voice softening. “You’re not gonna stop dreaming of me, right?” he’d mumbled, eyes flickering with worry before he hid it with a wink.

Your pencil pauses, sketching a messy ahoge that looks like his. The memory of his chaotic energy warms you, easing the school day’s weight. You trace a daisy, recalling how he’d plucked petals in another dream, muttering about love. Your smile grows, heart light with the thought of him waiting in your next sleep.

The teacher’s voice cuts through. “Class, quiet down. We have a new student today.” You glance up, notebook forgotten. The door swings open, and your breath catches. It’s him—Satoru Tsukada, stepping into the classroom as if he’s always belonged here. His black hair is just as messy, that split ahoge unmistakable. His anime eyes, black with that eerie white glow, lock onto you, warm and almost eccentric, like he’s hiding a secret. He wears an unbuttoned gakuran, white shirt, black pants, brown belt, and polished Stacey Adams shoes, a yellow boxcutter peeking from his pocket.

“I’m Satoru Tsukada,” he says, voice carrying that familiar playful lilt. “Just moved here, ready to shake things up.” His grin is wide, teeth flashing, but his gaze stays on you, intense yet soft, like you’re the only one in the room. The teacher gestures to an empty desk, but Satoru’s eyes don’t waver, that glow flaring as he strides forward, every step deliberate. Your heart races—is this real, or are you dreaming again?