Mondays already felt like bad luck.
It had been a few months since everything—since the start of that quiet little chatroom, since I'd started logging in and talking like someone else.
Life moved forward, exams happened, classes shuffled.
And now we were here.
Nothing had really changed.
And yet, somehow, everything had.
So when our homeroom teacher walked in holding a clipboard and smiling like she had a surprise for us, I immediately felt a headache coming on.
"Alright, everyone," she said, tapping the board with her marker. "Big news. This year, our class will be working together with Class 2-B on a joint presentation for the cultural festival."
A quiet groan passed through the room.
Of course. Cultural festival. Group projects. And worst of all: another class.
I kept my head down and pretended to read the scribbles in my notebook.
Maybe if I didn't make eye contact, the universe would skip over me today.
"Now, Class 2-B is just next door, so you all know the drill. It's easier for the faculty to assign groups that way," she continued. "And to make this efficient, we'll be sending a few of you to help lead the planning phase."
My pencil stopped moving.
"The committee will need two students from this class to represent us and work directly with their leaders."
A few people started nudging each other. Whispers, laughs. I stayed perfectly still.
"Someone responsible. Someone with decent grades. Someone... like Hoshino-kun."
I looked up.
"Wait," I said before I could stop myself.
Laughter broke out in a few rows. Even the teacher chuckled.
"Come on, Hoshino-kun. It'll be good for you. I've already written your name down."
I sank into my chair, wondering what I did to deserve this.
I didn't even care about festivals.
Or decorations.
Or being around people.
"Joining you will be Minami-san," she said, nodding toward a girl in the front row who looked both annoyed and unsurprised.
Great. At least I wouldn't be alone in my suffering.
The teacher clapped her hands. "Planning starts tomorrow after school. Report to the multipurpose room. Class 2-B will be waiting."
I stared at my notebook again, but the words had stopped meaning anything.
Class 2-B. Whoever they were, I was about to spend the next two weeks dealing with them.
And for some reason, that made me feel weirdly uneasy.
After class, I stayed behind for a minute while everyone else filed out.
Sometimes I wonder if I've made it too easy to disappear.
It's like I trained myself to be invisible—head down, mouth shut, just enough effort to stay out of trouble.
And maybe that's fine.
But sometimes I wonder what I'm missing on the other side of that choice.
Not because I had anything to do—I just didn't feel like walking into the hall with a crowd.
When I did step out, I moved slowly, pretending to check my messages even though I knew I didn't have any.
The hallway buzzed with the usual after-homeroom noise. Guys shouting across the corridor, girls laughing about something they weren't going to tell you.
My classroom was loud, but the noise always felt distant, like a different world I was watching from the other side of a screen.
The worst part wasn't that I had to help plan some festival.
It was that I'd have to do it with people I didn't know—people who might actually want to talk to me. People who might expect things.
I pulled out my schedule from my pocket.
Sure enough, the note was written in our class bulletin: Joint planning begins Tuesday. Multipurpose room. Bring notebook and ideas.
Ideas.
What kind of ideas did someone like me even have?
I walked toward the lockers and overheard a few students from Class 2-B on the other side of the partition wall.
Their room had already quieted down, but a couple voices were still chatting, their laughter faint but oddly bright.
It's strange how certain sounds make you feel things. Laughter like that—open, easy—doesn't belong to someone like me. I hear it and feel like I'm looking through a window I don't know how to open.
I leaned against my locker for a second and just listened.
And that's when I realized something strange.
One of the voices—one of the girls—sounded familiar.
Not in a way I could place. Not someone I'd spoken to, not really. But it triggered something in the back of my mind.
I shook it off and headed out. No point in overthinking. I probably imagined it.
Still…
Something about tomorrow was starting to feel different.