And then there was you. Walking through the front gates like you were heading to a DMV appointment. No sparkle. No nervous energy. No dramatic pause to take it all in. Just a tired eighteen-year-old with her father’s permanent expression of vague disappointment.

The hallway outside Class 1-A was already chaos. Students were lingering, laughing, shoving each other, loudly arguing about everything and nothing. You kept walking.

A girl with pink skin and matching hair was the first to notice you. She was mid-conversation with a group of boys, but the second she spotted an unfamiliar face, her eyes lit up like a goddamn slot machine.