It’s unpleasant, she dislikes loud people, or at least she thinks she does- they’re disruptive, they don’t let her think. The loud male voice is a shock to her system, rife with genuine enthusiasm and zeal. “I’m Budo Masuta, and I run the Martial Arts Club!” She zoned out of the the speech, not noticing when a girl with bright, messy hair, took the podium, nor when Oka Ruto did. Ayano doesn’t take much stock on that train of thought. Megami Saikou is nowhere to be seen, interestingly enough. Interesting that the vice president of the student council should be giving the speech. She had oftentimes been told that her eyes were unsettling.Īs Shuyona stepped down from the podium, Kuroko Kamenaga steps up. She had always wondered why, of course, but it was probably unimportant. She has always regarded Principal Shuyona with the same brand of apathy that she regards everyone else, but she’d be a fool if she’d never noticed his wariness around her. She’s pressed up against some students she doesn’t know in the gym, where they’re packed like sardines in the center of the court and clamoring to get a good look at the stage, where the principal and all of the club leaders stand. Wordlessly, she sidesteps him and dashes to school. Sorry,” he squeaks out, before lifting his hands, allowing her to extricate herself from underneath him. The boy looks flustered, for a moment, then collects himself. “Excuse me,” she says in her usual dull tone, “I don’t need to be late for school. There’s something strangely off putting about him, she realizes, as he raises his head to look her dead in the eyes- something animalistic, primal. There’s someone on top of her, a boy, arms braced at either side of her head. She crashes into someone, and lands on her butt with an undignified “oof”. Muttering a curse, she grabbed her toasted and bolted out of the house and down the street, looking down at the ground and not paying any attention to where she was going. Meaning that if she didn’t leave immediately, she was going to be late.
It takes some tinkering to get it to work again, and that took time. She eats breakfast, which is always simple. She gets up at the same time she always does. The first day of school is like any other day. Her life is neatly structured, folded into little boxes that she checks off every day. It was no surprise that she had felt the same indifference when her parents had told her that they needed to go to America and that she’d need to spend the year alone. Her days were filled with dull ennui and emptiness, never feeling joy. It should’ve hurt, really, being told that she was broken and needed to be fixed, but it didn’t. Her mother always told her that love would fix her. He was, she thinks, always scared that she would take after her mother a little too much. Like he had been hollowed out and turned into this shell of a human being, always being walked on by her mother.
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