The Returnee’s Quiet Journey Through High School – A Roshidere Fanfic

I glanced around, taking in the surroundings. The student council room was designed with precision and order in mind. Shelves lined the walls, filled with neatly arranged binders and documents, likely containing the inner workings of the academy. The table at the center was large enough to seat the entire council, its surface immaculate and polished to a reflective shine. A few large windows allowed sunlight to filter in, casting long shadows on the floor as the day stretched toward its end. The room felt official, almost sterile, with not a single item out of place.

In my periphery, I noticed Kenzaki standing confidently at the head of the table, a position that suited his role perfectly. Next to him sat the vice president, Sarashina Chisaki, who shifted slightly in her seat, a flicker of tension crossing her features when her eyes landed on me.

There were unfamiliar faces as well. On one end of the table, a petite girl with long, flowing black hair that reached her waist sat with an air of grace, her posture poised and elegant. Beside her stood another girl, this one with equally long black hair and deep brown eyes, standing tall, almost protectively.

On the opposite side, I saw the familiar faces of Kuze and the white-haired girl— ‘Alya,’ as she was called. Oddly, I still didn’t know her real name, but it didn’t seem like something I needed to concern myself with.

Kuze gave me a casual wave, his laid-back demeanour unwavering.

"Yo, Arima. Long day, huh?" he greeted, as if he’d expected me to walk in at that exact moment. There was something about Kuze’s tone that made everything feel like it was just another day, no matter how unusual the situation actually was.

I gave a small nod.

"Something like that," I said, keeping my response short. I wasn’t one for unnecessary conversation, especially in a room full of people I didn’t know well.

Kuze leaned back, his eyes flicking over to me, and I could tell he was trying to gauge me.

"Gotta say," Kuze began, his voice light with a trace of humor, "you don’t look like someone who’s all that fazed by this. Most people would be sweating it out right now."

He wasn’t entirely wrong. Most people in my shoes would probably be stressing out, constantly wondering what others were thinking, trying to predict every move. But for me, this wasn’t something to get worked up over.

"Must be nice to be that composed, huh? Or maybe you’re just good at hiding it." Kuze’s voice was casual, but there was a hint of curiosity behind his words. He scratched the back of his head and grinned, clearly more amused than genuinely probing.

"I wouldn’t say I’m composed," I replied, my tone even. "It’s more like... I know the trouble’s just starting to brew." I shrugged slightly, keeping my expression neutral.

Kuze let out a chuckle, clearly entertained by my response. "I figured as much," he said, the grin on his face widening.

President Kenzaki raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.

"Kuze, you’ve already met Arima?" His question hung in the air, and I could sense that aside from Kuze and Alya, the rest of the room had the same question in their heads. After all, my return wasn’t exactly expected.

Kuze leaned back, his grin widening. "Yep. We bumped into each other during lunchtime today in the cafeteria. Alya was there too." His tone was casual, but I caught the way Alya’s shoulders twitched at the mention of her name. Since I’d entered the room, she hadn’t made eye contact with me, instead keeping her gaze fixed downward, her expression almost thoughtful, though it was hard to tell exactly what was going on in her head.

"I see," Kenzaki replied, clearly intrigued. "Well, before we move on, I’d like to formally introduce you to the rest of the student council."

Kenzaki gestured toward the petite girl with the composed and graceful demeanor. "This is Yuki Suou, head of public relations for Seiren Academy."

Yuki Suou stood up immediately, her movements precise and deliberate, as if she were used to presenting herself in front of others. "Welcome, Arima-kun. I am Yuki Suou, nice to meet you." She bowed slightly after introducing herself, her posture as perfect as her speech.

"Nice to meet you too," I responded, keeping my tone polite but neutral. There wasn’t much to say, but her formality demanded a respectful reply.

She looked at me for a brief moment, her eyes lingering on mine. A small smile formed on her lips.

“Is something the matter?” I asked curiously.

“Not at all,” Yuki replied smoothly, her tone light and polite. Her small smile lingered, adding a touch of warmth to her otherwise dignified demeanor.

“I was simply appreciating the unexpected encounter. It’s always intriguing to meet someone new, especially in such circumstances.”

Her reaction caught me off guard. She giggled softly, the sound almost melodic, though it was subtle enough not to seem out of place. There was a certain charm in the way she laughed—polite yet genuinely amused, as if she found humor in my matter-of-fact response.

From what I gathered, Yuki Suou was someone who thrived on decorum, someone who understood the weight of her presence. She carried herself with a level of poise that matched her position, but there was a lightness to her demeanor that wasn’t typical of people in her position. Her laughter anything but forced. It seemed effortless, as if she wasn’t used to people speaking so plainly to her, and she found it refreshing.

Kenzaki nodded and proceeded to introduce me to the other members of the student council. His tone was more formal this time.

"This here is Maria Kujou, the Secretary of the Student Council."

Maria Kujou stood gracefully and smiled at me. Her expression was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the formal atmosphere of the room. "Nice to meet you, Arima-kun~," she said in a friendly, almost affectionate tone.

I glanced at her, taking in her demeanor. Her greeting was different, more relaxed, as if she were speaking to an old friend rather than someone she had just met. There was a softness to her voice that made her seem approachable, someone who could instantly make people feel comfortable in her presence. You can tell from the way she carried herself, her ease in this formal setting.

"Same here, Kujou-senpai," I replied, my tone curt, bordering on monotonous. Pleasantries weren’t exactly my forte, but there was something about her friendly demeanor that was hard to dismiss.

She clasped her hands together, a subtle smile playing on her lips, as if she found my formality amusing. Her expression remained composed, but there was a quiet spark of amusement in her eyes.

It didn’t take long for me to deduce she was a second-year. The teal bow tie she wore was a clear indicator—first-years sported red, second-years teal, and third-years blue.

"Please, call me Masha, Arima-kun," she said, her tone teasing yet affectionate.

"Masha?" I repeated, slightly taken aback by the sudden shift in tone.

Before I could dwell on it, Kuze leaned forward with a grin. "Yeah, Masha’s her nickname. We all call her that."

“I see,” I replied, keeping my tone neutral, though I could already sense the familiarity between the members. It was clear they had a close bond.

Just as Kuze finished speaking, Maria turned to him with a playful smile. “Kuze-kun~ You always know how to introduce me the best,” she said, her voice dripping with affection and light teasing. It wasn’t difficult to see the dynamic here—Maria was clearly the more expressive one in the group, using her warmth to bridge gaps.

Kuze, as expected, scratched the back of his head, flustered by her words. “Y-Yeah, well... Someone’s gotta do it, right?” His response was a classic attempt to downplay the attention, but the subtle blush on his face gave him away. It was the kind of interaction I could see repeated often between them. It was natural, easygoing.

So, this is the norm here. Watching the banter between the student council members, I couldn’t help but reflect. The dynamic was comfortable, as though they had known each other for years, and I was the outsider, thrown into the middle of it.

President Kenzaki, for all his composed nature, was taking his time with the introductions, almost as if he wanted me to familiarize myself with everyone properly. I didn’t notice it earlier, but his pace was deliberate, calculated. It felt more like he was offering me an opportunity to fit in than merely welcoming me to the company.

“- I presume you have already met Alisa Kujou, the treasurer of the student council?” Kenzaki’s words broke my thoughts. I nodded, confirming the brief encounter earlier, but then something struck me.

Alisa Kujou? So, Maria and Alisa are sisters. I hadn’t put the pieces together at first, but now I could see the resemblance—the subtle similarities in the way they carried themselves, though one was clearly more reserved than the other.

I glanced at Alisa, who immediately stiffened, her eyes avoiding mine. She stood up with a formal air, but there was a clear discomfort in her posture. Maybe now was the time to clear the air.

“I am Alisa Kujou, the student council treasurer,” she said in a voice that was more stiff than formal. Her posture was composed, but something was off. Her words were tight, rehearsed. Was it nervousness? Annoyance? Or maybe something else entirely? I couldn’t tell yet, but I knew I had unintentionally caused her some discomfort earlier.

“Good to know, Kujou-san,” I responded, maintaining a neutral tone. As she sat down gracefully, still avoiding eye contact, I realized that leaving things as they were might only worsen the situation.

"Kujou," I began, speaking in a tone that mixed both formality and sincerity. "Please allow me to apologize for my actions earlier during lunchtime. If I made you feel uncomfortable, that was not my intention."

Her reaction was immediate, though not what I had expected.

“I-It’s ok. Kuze-kun told me it was a misunderstanding.” She spoke in a fast, almost hurried manner, as though she was ready to get over the subject. I heard a little quiver in her voice, but it was difficult to tell if it was embarrassment or something more sinister. It was evident that she wasn't angry, but there was still unresolved tension beneath the surface.

I nodded slightly.

“I see. That’s good then.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Yuki Suou and Masha exchange curious glances. Their expressions subtly betrayed their thoughts. They were wondering about the 'misunderstanding' Alisa had mentioned. They didn’t ask outright, but their curiosity was evident. I could almost hear the unspoken question hanging in the air.

Before the silence could stretch too far, I gestured toward the two girls sitting on the sofa at the back of the room, slightly removed from the main table. “What about those two?” I asked, tilting my head slightly in their direction. Both were sitting stiffly, with Taniyama looking particularly tense.

President Kenzaki followed my gaze and nodded.

“Ah, Taniyama and Miyamae. They aren’t official members of the student council, but they assist us when needed. They’re valuable contributors to this school.”

"Valuable contributors?" I turned my gaze back to them, letting my eyes rest on Taniyama for a moment. Her posture was still unnaturally stiff. Her reaction was... interesting. I wondered if it had anything to do with our earlier exchange. She seemed more affected by it than I initially thought.

“Let me guess,” I continued, my tone growing a shade more serious. “You asked for their assistance regarding my absence?”

Kenzaki met my eyes evenly, his expression calm. “Right. They’ve been a great help, and given the importance of this matter, it seemed appropriate to involve them.”

The underlying meaning was evident despite his lack of detail. Kenzaki respected Taniyama and Miyamae's efforts, and they weren't simply any two students asked to do a favor; the student council trusted them.

But that wasn’t what piqued my interest.

Why he felt the need to emphasize their significance to me. Was there a deeper meaning he wanted me to grasp for them? Or was it a subliminal reminder of the power this council held, even over members who were not officially recognized?

I sighed inwardly, feeling the weight of the situation press slightly on my shoulders. The pleasantries had been handled, but the heart of the matter still remained unaddressed. If I was going to navigate through this, I needed to understand the full scope of what they expected from me.

“Now that the introductions are done,” I said, shifting the conversation back to the core issue, “I’d like to know the real reason you called me to the student council room, President Kenzaki.”

The room shifted noticeably as Kenzaki began speaking. His voice was steady, but the underlying tension was impossible to ignore.

“Arima, you must be aware of the situation at hand.” His voice was calm, measured, but I could sense the underlying pressure in his words.

“Your sudden absence for four months without any prior communication has raised concerns—legitimate ones.”

Legitimate concerns? I didn’t need to answer that right away. It wasn’t my place to ease their worries.

Instead, I tilted my head slightly, meeting his gaze.

 “So, I’ve heard. But I’m curious—why is it that the student council is handling this and not the administration directly?”

After a brief pause, Kenzaki continued.

“The administration felt that, given the… unique circumstances of your absence and your record here, the student council would be better suited to handle this. We’re in a position to understand both the academic and personal sides of things.”

Ah, so they were framing it as a matter of empathy. Smart, but not smart enough.

Sarashina then burst in, attempting to temper the tone.
"Arima-kun, we're not here to correct you." Her tone had softened, bordering on apology.
"It's more about making sure you're prepared to reintegrate into the academy and that everything is in place for your return."

I glanced over at her. Sarashina was someone who tried to maintain balance, but she was rattled during the administration meeting. I could see it even now—the slight twitch of her fingers as she spoke, the way she avoided looking at me directly. She wasn’t fully comfortable in this conversation, and that gave me an advantage.

“Integration? Or observation?”

My question cut through the room like a blade. A subtle shift in tone—enough to make them realize I wasn’t here to play along with whatever pretense they were building.

The student council wanted answers, but they weren’t ready for the questions I would ask in return.

“We’re not here to put you under surveillance, if that’s what you’re suggesting. This isn’t an interrogation,” Kenzaki said firmly.

The fact that he had to clarify that made me smile internally. He was on edge. But I didn’t push it just yet.

Kuze as if trying to lighten the mood, interrupts.

“Yeah, man, no one’s here to babysit you. We just want to get things back on track, that’s all.”

He spoke casually, like this was just another day in the student council room. But I could tell Kuze was paying attention. His laid-back demeanor masked the fact that he was carefully watching how I handled the situation. He had a quick mind, even if he didn’t let on.

“Getting things back on track assumes something has gone off course.” I paused, letting the weight of my words settle.

“The real question is—whose course are we following?”

Kuze blinked, a bit taken aback. It wasn’t often that people turned his own logic back on him so quickly. His easygoing smile wavered, but only for a second.

“Touché. But, y’know, there’s still a path we all have to follow, right? Even if you don’t like the route,” he said while grinning with an effort of recovering quickly.

Kuze was sharper than he looked. He was probing me, but in a way that felt more curious than confrontational. I could appreciate that, even if I didn’t fully trust his motives.

It was Yuki Suou’s turn this time.

“Arima-kun,” her voice was calm, graceful as always, but there was a subtle shift in her demeanor. “The academy isn’t trying to force you into anything. But I believe there are opportunities here—ones that could be mutually beneficial if you’re willing to consider them.” She smiled.

Suou was someone who relied on charm and poise to get what she wanted. She wasn’t like the others in that sense. Her approach was more refined, less direct.

But I wasn’t here to be charmed.

“Mutually beneficial? I’ve heard that phrase before. But tell me, what exactly are these ‘opportunities’ you speak of?”

I shifted my gaze toward her, curious to see how she would navigate this. Unlike the others, she didn’t seem rattled by the shift in tone. She maintained her smile, as if unbothered by the tension.

“Opportunities for growth, both academically and personally. You’re someone with great potential, Arima-kun. It would be a waste not to see where that potential could lead, “she said while smiling politely.

Ah, so she was going for the "you have potential" angle. A classic move, but one that didn’t work on someone who already knew their own value.

“And what if I decide that this academy doesn’t align with my growth? What then? Am I still considered a valuable asset?”

Her smile didn’t waver, but I could tell she hadn’t expected that particular angle.

"Come on, Arima-kun. We're not here to fight you. We're just trying to figure things out, right?" She smiled warmly, trying to dissolve the tension in the room. "And besides, no one's trying to put you on the spot. We're all on the same team here." Masha jumps in, trying to ease the growing tension in the room.

Her tone was friendly, almost too casual for the conversation. But I could see what she was doing—trying to bring the situation back down to a manageable level, where emotions wouldn’t flare up.

“Same team? I wonder about that.”

This whole setup was crafted to make me feel like they were in control—that I was the one on trial. But the truth was, they didn’t know how to handle me, and it showed. Kenzaki was trying to maintain order, Sarashina was trying to keep things from escalating, and Yuki was trying to win me over. They were all playing their parts. But I had already seen enough to know where this was going.

“You’re all asking why I disappeared, why I didn’t communicate with the academy. But the real question is—why is this such a pressing issue now, after four months? Was my absence truly that disruptive to the academy’s operations?”

Kenzaki opened his mouth to respond, but I cut him off.

“And before you answer, consider this: if my absence wasn’t important enough to warrant immediate action, why does it suddenly require the attention of the student council now?”

The room fell into a deep, suffocating silence. I had asked the one question they hadn’t expected—why they were dealing with this now, after months of inaction. Their expressions tightened, and the weight of my words hung in the air, unanswered.

It was simple, really. The fact that they were making such a big deal out of one student’s prolonged absence was telling.

I wasn’t irreplaceable.

This school wouldn’t crumble without me. Would it even affect my education if I didn’t attend? That was for me to decide, wasn’t it?

The truth was painfully clear. This wasn’t about me. This was about them. They weren’t concerned with my future—they were concerned with their reputation. The higher-ups were investing themselves in me not out of goodwill or some misguided duty to ensure my success, but because I had become a reflection of the academy’s "nurturing" capabilities. They could point to me as an example of what their institution could produce—a symbol of their superiority in Japan’s education system.

In short, I wasn’t a student to them. I was a trophy. A tool to polish their prestige.

But here’s the kicker: the academy stands to lose nothing if I leave. They could go on just fine. And I gain nothing by staying. If I do well, it’s because of them. If I fail, well, I was never that important anyway.

That’s what made it laughable.

I still remember the principal’s face—tight-lipped, brows furrowed—when I countered his reasoning during the deliberation at the administration office. He’d expected me to play along, to take the bait, and submit to their authority like any other student. But instead, I turned it on him, and the impact was instant.

There had been a pause, one long enough to make even Sarashina glance at Kenzaki, her worry seeping through her otherwise composed face. I could feel the shift in the room, the unease that they were losing control of the narrative.

What could they say? They’d let me slip through the cracks for months. And now, here I was, standing in front of them, challenging the very foundation of their concern.

The principal had no clever retort, no quick solution. His authority was being chipped away with each passing second of silence, and the truth was clear—they needed me more than I needed them.

I exhaled slowly, measuring the weight of the moment.

“This is going nowhere.” My voice broke the tension like a knife through air. “How about this—”

All eyes locked onto me, anticipating what I was going to say next. Their expressions betrayed the intensity of the situation, each member of the student council watching closely, as if bracing themselves for the next blow.

“I will continue coming to school from now on.”

A ripple of disbelief moved through the room. Kenzaki, the ever-composed president, looked genuinely surprised. He had anticipated more resistance, maybe even a refusal. But for me to agree so easily, after all the fuss I’d made? It didn’t add up.

"Initially," I continued, my tone unwavering, “I had only planned to come to school today to establish some form of communication with the administration. Once and for all. I was fully prepared to submit my withdrawal from the school today.”

Kenzaki lowered his gaze, seemingly processing my words. I watched the reactions ripple across the room like aftershocks from an earthquake. Some of them, like Masha, tried to mask their surprise, while others, like Alisa Kujou, had no such filter. She stared at me, wide-eyed, her expression dumbfounded. Her shock was palpable. It was almost as if the possibility of me leaving hadn’t even crossed her mind. She didn’t understand.

Maybe none of them did.

But what did it matter?

"However," I continued, my voice firm, drawing them back in, "I’m curious now. I want to see what this academy stands to gain from me staying. Consider it... a personal assessment of my own."

Masha, unable to hold back, leaned forward slightly. “So, you mean you’ll stay for good?”

I shook my head, just enough to keep them on edge.

“Not quite. I’ll stay for thirty days. I’ll figure out if there really is a reason for me to stay in the academy. But after those thirty days... if I don’t find a compelling motive to stay—" I let the pause hang in the air for emphasis. "—I will submit my withdrawal."

I could feel the shock spreading like wildfire. Masha blinked, her usual warmth replaced with disbelief. Alisa, still staring at me, seemed torn between confusion and frustration. Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but the words never came. Kuze, the only one still seated casually, gave a slow blink, his expression unreadable but clearly impressed by my audacity.

Yuki Suou, though graceful as always, shifted in her seat, her eyes narrowing in thought. I could tell she was already trying to piece together what my real game was. She knew I wasn’t bluffing, and that intrigued her.

Kenzaki remained quiet, processing. But his silence was louder than any argument he could have made. His carefully laid-out plans were crumbling, and he had no counter.

I’d flipped the script on them. They thought they had control, but now they were at my mercy, bound by the terms I had set. And what they didn’t realize was that I already knew how this would end.

They needed me to stay. I needed to prove there was no point in being here at all. That’s how I win.

Kenzaki finally spoke, though his voice lacked the certainty it once had. “You’re willing to stay... for thirty days?”

I nodded.

“Thirty days. But after that... it’s my decision.”

A palpable tension filled the room. I could feel the weight of their stares, each of them grappling with what had just been laid on the table. This was my stage now, and I had just set the terms for the performance. There was nothing they could do but watch.

For a moment, silence lingered in the air like a heavy fog, thick with unspoken thoughts. Then Kenzaki broke it, his voice steady, though there was a faint undercurrent of tension as he adjusted his glasses.

“I see. Then it’s decided. I’ll ensure the administration and the principal are on the same page with this agreement.”

“Wait, Touya—this doesn’t seem like a great idea. Are you sure about this?” Sarashina’s voice came in, her concern breaking through her usual composure. She looked at Kenzaki, then glanced at me, her brow slightly furrowed.

Kenzaki remained calm, though I could sense a slight strain in his voice.

“Chisaki, as the student council president, I have to honor the wishes of the students in this school. I have no qualms about Arima’s decision. It’s his future, and we have no right to determine it for him.”

Sarashina wasn’t convinced.

“T-That’s true. But still—" She was hesitating, her eyes flickering between me and Kenzaki. Her unease was evident, though she seemed reluctant to say why.

I could almost sense what was going through her mind. Perhaps she saw me as unpredictable. Perhaps she feared that my sudden departure would cause disruption, or worse—create a precedent for others to question the authority of the administration. Or maybe it was something more personal. Either way, she wasn’t ready to let this go without a fight.

Yuki Suou, sensing the tension, nodded in agreement with Kenzaki.

“I agree with Kaichou. It’s Arima-kun’s future. We don’t have a say in the matter.” She then turned her gaze toward Kuze, as if expecting him to chime in. “Right, Masachika-kun?”

Kuze, lounging casually but clearly lost in thought, hesitated. He wasn’t one to rush into decisions or confrontations. His eyes flickered toward me; the faintest trace of curiosity mixed with something more contemplative. I could tell he was still trying to figure me out.

"Yeah," he said after a beat, rubbing the back of his neck as if piecing together his thoughts. "I mean... I get it. It's his call. But..." Kuze trailed off, unsure of how to phrase it. He was still grappling with one thing: why someone like me, someone with my supposed potential, would even consider throwing everything away. He wanted to understand, but there were no easy answers. Not yet.

Before anyone could respond, Alisa Kujou, who had remained silent until now, suddenly raised her hand. "Hold on. I have something to say."

Everyone turned their attention to her. I watched her carefully. Her blue eyes were sharp, unwavering. There was a different air around her now, as though she had finally decided to voice what had been troubling her from the start.

“What is it, little Kujou?” Kenzaki asked, raising an eyebrow. He wasn’t dismissive, but there was a touch of curiosity in his tone.

Alisa stood, her hands gripping the edge of the table as she spoke. “I’m not convinced this is the best course of action,” she began, her voice steady but with an edge of frustration. “It feels like Arima-kun is making decisions based on... well, something we don’t fully understand yet. He’s speaking confidently, sure, but what if this is all just a bluff?”

I raised an eyebrow at that. A bluff? Interesting. I could see where she was coming from, though.

She continued, glancing around at the other members, her gaze lingering on me for a moment longer than anyone else.

“Look, he’s been absent for months without explanation. Now he’s here, proposing a deal where he’s basically promising the world for thirty days before walking away. It doesn’t sit right with me. If he’s really as capable as he claims to be, why leave? Why put this ridiculous condition in place unless he’s trying to manipulate the situation?”

Her words hung in the air, creating a ripple of unease among the council members. Yuki frowned slightly, and Kuze glanced at me again, this time with a deeper curiosity. Even Kenzaki looked thoughtful, as if considering her argument.

Sarashina nodded, finally finding her footing in the conversation. “She’s right, Touya. This feels… off. We’re talking about one of the most promising students the academy has ever had, and yet he’s willing to walk away like it’s nothing. I just don’t get it.”

The most promising student? How did they even come up with that?

I stayed silent, observing the conversation unfold. Alisa’s suspicion didn’t catch me off guard. It was predictable, almost inevitable. She wasn’t the type to trust easily, and it was clear she wasn’t fully convinced of my supposed potential, despite all the glowing reports and assessments she had heard.

Her skepticism wasn’t misplaced. In fact, it was logical. Practical, even. But it was also narrow. She was only seeing part of the picture—the part the academy had laid out for her, the carefully curated narrative they’d created around me. The 'prodigy' they wanted me to be.

I could see why she found it difficult to believe someone as 'capable' as me would be so quick to walk away, putting my so-called future at risk. There was a conflict in her mind—a disconnect between the version of me the school had built up and the reality she saw in front of her.

But that was the point, wasn’t it?

They believed in this version of me that didn’t exist, and Alisa was caught between skepticism and expectation, trying to make sense of it all. Letting her dwell on it worked in my favor.

Kenzaki, however, seemed to be weighing her argument against his own judgment. His fingers drummed lightly against the table as he processed everything.

“It’s not manipulation,” I said finally, my voice breaking the tension once more. “It’s a personal decision. Whether or not I stay has nothing to do with trying to gain leverage over the academy. You think I care about whatever power struggle you’re imagining? I simply don’t see the point in continuing here if there’s no benefit to me.”

Alisa’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And what exactly do you stand to gain by staying for thirty days? What’s the point?”

I leaned back slightly, meeting her gaze with the same measured calm. “I suppose that depends on what happens in those thirty days.”

A heavy silence followed. I could see them all processing my words, trying to make sense of my intentions. Alisa still wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t push further. Not yet.

Kuze, sensing the tension, scratched his head awkwardly. "Well, I mean... if he's willing to stick around for thirty days, that's better than nothing, right?"

Yuki smiled softly, always the diplomat. "Perhaps we should trust Arima-kun to make the best decision for himself. If he decides to leave after thirty days, that’s his choice."

"I’m glad we could come to an agreement. Just as expected from the student council," I said, pushing the chair back as I stood up.

My movements were slow, deliberate, signaling my intent to leave. I could feel their eyes on me, tracking my every move as if they were waiting for something more, something to explain everything.

But Kenzaki’s voice stopped me before I could reach the door.

"I will hold you to that agreement, Arima. But there’s something I have to ask you." His tone was soft, carrying an undertone of genuine concern. He was no longer speaking as the president of the student council, but as someone who cared about the well-being of the people under his charge. "Are you confident that the path you’ve laid out for yourself is the right one? Is the future you’ve planned truly a good one?"

His words hung in the air, echoing longer than I expected them to.

My future? What a loaded question. I didn’t need to think about it—because for me, the concept of a "future" was as foreign as it was futile. The path I walked wasn’t one that I chose, and no matter how many turns or detours I took, it would still lead to the same inevitable destination.

There was no future for me—not the kind they all envisioned, anyway. My path was set, like a line drawn in the sand, unwavering and unchangeable.

I was simply walking toward a conclusion that had already been decided.

I glanced back at Kenzaki. He was still waiting for an answer, one I knew he wouldn’t fully grasp.

"I appreciate the concern," I finally said, my voice even.

"But the future... it’s not something I spend much time thinking about. I have priorities—ones that can't wait."

My mind wandered for a moment, back to the one thing that truly mattered—family. That’s where my thoughts always ended up. My family was the only thing worth considering, the only reason I was still here, making choices that had any weight at all. Not the academy, not my so-called potential, not whatever greatness these people thought I could achieve. Just them.

In the grand scheme of things, there were far more pressing concerns—ones that weighed heavier with each passing day. Staying here, focusing on the trivialities of school life, felt distant, like trying to grasp at something that no longer had any meaning for me.

I wasn’t here to chase dreams or secure some bright future. I was here to make sure things were in place for the people who needed me, before time ran out.

I felt the weight of that thought—like a shadow creeping at the edges of my mind, always there, always reminding me of the ticking clock. A clock that was winding down faster than they could understand.

I glanced around the room. The student council members—they were good people; I could see that. Honest. Kind. They cared deeply about this academy, about each other. But me? I was different. Fundamentally different. They had futures, bright paths ahead of them that they could shape and mold.

I didn’t.

As I looked at them, that heavy feeling settled over me again. A part of me wished I could be like them—carefree, forward-thinking, optimistic. But I wasn’t. I was just a burden. A walking complication that they didn’t need, someone who could only cause trouble for those around him. I was... disposable.

“I see. I understand. You have priorities, I get that. However," Kenzaki’s voice softened as he spoke again, trying to reach me, "please think about your future as well."

I almost smiled at the irony. He couldn’t see it—none of them could. They were trying to offer advice for something they didn’t realize was already slipping away. But how could they? They didn’t know. And it wasn’t something I could explain.

The room felt darker, heavier now. Even the ticking of the clock on the wall seemed louder, more pronounced. I turned my back to them as I moved closer to the sliding door, but the words slipped out before I could stop them, unintentional but true.

"Unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of time to think about my future."

A silence fell, thick and tense. I didn’t need to see their faces to know how those words had landed. They wouldn’t understand. They couldn’t. But that was fine. They didn’t need to.

The room seemed to hold its breath as I reached for the sliding door, the finality of my departure hanging in the air.

But before I could leave, Kuze’s voice cut through the tension, his tone softer than usual—almost hesitant.

“Wait, Arima… are you sure you’re, okay? If there’s anything, we can help you.”

I stopped, my hand still resting on the doorframe. For a moment, I didn’t respond. His words hung in the air, genuine concern laced in them. I could feel all their eyes on me, waiting for something more.

I turned slightly, catching sight of Taniyama and Miyamae, who sat quietly on the sofa, their faces a mix of curiosity and unspoken questions. It was the same look I had seen countless times today—people trying to understand something that was impossible for them to grasp.

It was only natural, after all. None of them knew the full story, and I had no intention of telling them. Not because I didn’t trust them, but because it wouldn’t make a difference.

Still, Kuze’s concern had hit differently. His voice had lacked the formality of the others; it wasn’t laced with the same careful politeness or veiled authority. It was just… sincere. In that moment, I felt a small tug, as if for once, someone wasn’t looking at me with expectations or assumptions.

Slowly, I turned to face him, taking a measured breath. Kuze stood there, his expression softer than his usual laid-back demeanor.

“I appreciate your concern, Kuze,” I began, my voice calm, steady, though the weight of everything seemed heavier than before. I met his eyes, making sure he understood what I was about to say.

“But I’m fine. Really.”

I saw his lips part, as if to argue, but I wasn’t going to let him go down that path.

“If anything, I’m glad I could have this talk today with the student council. It helped… clarify a few things,” I added.

It was a fleeting gesture, something small, but enough to signal that I didn’t want this conversation to stretch any longer.

Taniyama and Miyamae were still watching me, their eyes filled with that same curiosity, the kind that asked questions without words.

I nodded slightly, as if to myself, and then turned back toward the door.

“Take care of yourselves,” I said quietly, almost as an afterthought, before finally stepping out of the room. The door slid shut behind me with a soft click, leaving the heaviness of that room—and their unanswered questions—far behind.

Author's Note:

Hey everyone, this is the author speaking! I’m fully aware that the idea behind this fanfiction is decent, but the execution might feel a bit lacking in some areas. This is actually my first attempt at writing fanfiction, so I’d really appreciate any reviews or feedback you might have. Your thoughts would mean the world to me and would help me improve as we go. I’m genuinely excited to be on this journey with you all, and I promise to listen to your concerns and do my best to make changes where needed. Thank you so much for taking the time to read, and I hope you’ll stick with me as we build this story together!