The morning sun filtered through the windows, casting a soft glow across the classroom. From the top floor, we had a clear view of the campus below—students walking, talking, laughing as the day began.
Inside, it was quieter.
Most of my classmates were on their school phones, reading books, fixing their appearance, or just quietly relaxing. The contrast between the lively energy outside and the calm in here was striking.
I stepped in and walked toward my seat.
Reika was already there, sitting in her usual spot. Her face was blank, half-hidden behind her long hair and the book she was reading—same as always.
"Good morning," I said, setting my bag down on the desk.
"Morning," she replied, her tone flat.
After that, silence lingered.
The quiet here… it wears on me. It's like I never really left that place—Even though I'm just sitting in a classroom.
The door creaked open.
It was Miyu. As usual, all eyes turned to her. She carried the familiar folder in her hands and walked gracefully toward her desk, her hair swaying with each step. She paused in front of the class, then cleared her throat and set the folder down.
"Good morning, everyone. The school has issued an order for all first-year students to introduce themselves to their homeroom teacher—one by one," she said, her sharp eyes narrowing as they scanned the room.
Introduce yourself, huh?
People think introductions are about names, hobbies, maybe a quirk to seem interesting. But that's not what matters.
What matters is the impression—the anchor.
The brain is lazy. It craves shortcuts. So the moment you open your mouth, people unconsciously begin constructing a model of who you are. It's called cognitive anchoring—the human tendency to latch onto the first piece of information they're given and let it influence every judgment after.
Say you're confident, and you become "the dependable one." Say you're aloof, and now you're "the cold one." From there, it's confirmation bias—everything you do is filtered to fit the label they've given you.
It's automatic. Neurologically, it starts in the prefrontal cortex, where decisions and social judgments are processed. Combine that with the amygdala, which tags emotional weight, and the hippocampus, which catalogs the memory—and just like that, you've been boxed in. Your entire persona, decided in seconds.
And the worst part?
Once labeled, people will defend that label—because changing it would mean admitting they were wrong. The ego resists that. So even if you show something real later, it's already been overwritten.
So then... what do I show?
Kindness is forgettable. Intelligence is threatening. Humor is disarming, but leaves you underestimated. Indifference is... misunderstood.
No mask is safe. But having none is even more dangerous.
I glanced at Reika from the corner of my eye. Her expression was blank, but her attention was locked on Miyu. That wasn't apathy—she's thinking, too.
I wonder what she will choose to be.
The room remained quiet.
A few students glanced around awkwardly, while others avoided eye contact altogether. No one wanted to be the first.
Then, the chair at the far end of the row scraped lightly against the floor.
The boy with sharp green eyes and yellow hair—the same one who spoke up during the Kazehaya Link System explanation—stood up.
His uniform was crisp, his posture straight. Confident, but not arrogant.
"I'll go first. I don't know any of you yet, but I'd like to," he said calmly, then stepped forward and cleared his throat.
"I'm Nanase, Haruki. I'm not into anything specific right now, but you can rely on me. Just call me if you ever need anything."
He gave a soft smile.
I bet this guy's going to be popular. Maybe even our class leader, or the representative.
I'm not sure yet. But from this impression alone, I think most people would trust him.
…Even me, if I had to.
A girl two seats over stood up with grace. Her soft, wavy hair fell just to her mid-back that has wavy strands, and her glassy blue eyes gave off a delicate shimmer. With her petite figure—the kind most normal teens fantasize about—she instantly gave off the "most beautiful girl in the class" vibe. Her presence made a few boys on the other side shift in their seats.
She turned toward us.
"Hi, I'm Komori, Yukiha. Just call me 'Yuki'… I'm into cliques and clubs. I like friendship and hanging out. Just call me anytime," she said, her voice gentle and soft, ending with a warm smile.
Yukiha, Komori, huh?
She looks soft. Vulnerable. Sweet. Short. Beautiful. I don't see her as a threat.
But I think she'll be useful in the future.
Cliques, clubs, and 'into friendship'—she might become popular here, if she isn't already.
I'm looking to get along with her. Soon.
Yukiha sat back down, as did Haruki. Then, the girl beside Yukiha stood up.
Her hair was short—cleanly cut just above the nape of her neck—and a striking shade of yellow that caught the morning light. It framed her face in a way that highlighted her sharp jawline and defined cheekbones. Her soft green eyes held a quiet edge.
She had the look of a tough girl—confident stance, shoulders squared—but even with that aura, she was undeniably pretty. Not delicate like Yukiha, but in a way that drew respect more than admiration.
Everyone, including me, looked her way.
She faced us directly and spoke with clarity.
"Hello. I'm Tachibana, Tsumugi. I'm into sports. You could think of me as the girls' sports leader—I want that role."
Her voice was calm, yet there was a firm tone underneath—like a warning not to take her lightly.
I didn't know what to say, but one thing was clear—
If anyone was going to represent the girls, it would be her.
And if I ever needed eyes on their side…
Tachibana would be the one I'd ask.
Time passed as they introduced themselves one by one.
Most of them didn't really catch my attention.
It might sound harsh, but honestly, most of them gave off a pathetic first impression.
Until—
"And you?" Miyu asked, her eyes landing on Reika.
Reika's face stayed unreadable, but she stood up without a word. I watched her.
She didn't look at Miyu—her eyes scanned the class instead.
No fidgeting. No change in expression. No smile.
Just her voice—steady and cold.
"I'm Shirogane, Reika. I don't do much in life… but—"
She doesn't do much in life?
Not exactly the kind of thing you say if you want to be taken seriously.
Sounds lazy. Or worse—like she's already given up.
"…I want to reach Class A. And graduate leaving something behind. A memory, for the students here."
She sat down right after—like she hadn't just said anything worth reacting to.
A moment of silence hung in the air.
Maybe the others were trying to figure her out. An ambitious goal from someone who looked so detached.
Honestly…
I was thinking the same thing.
I looked at Reika from the corner of my eye.
As expected, she was already staring at me.
Her brows twitched, like she was irritated—like she was asking why I was even looking at her.
I closed my eyes for a second.
It was my turn.
I stood up slowly and looked around the room.
I didn't speak right away.
I scanned their faces.
The silence stretched out just long enough to make some of the girls shift uncomfortably.
Honestly, I didn't know what kind of impression I was supposed to give.
But I figured I'd just go with the flow.
When the moment felt right, I took a breath.
"Hi. I'm Hoshigami, Kazuya… uh, you can call me Hoshi. I'm not interested in anything particular, but… I'll learn here."
That was it. Not impressive. Not memorable. But maybe... honest enough.