The School’s Top Idol Is Acting Like She’s My Childhood Friend for Some Reason and Just Keeps Closing the Distance on Her Own…?! ~Stop Getting All Gloomy on Me Just Because I Turned You Down!~
In the few minutes before the teacher entered the classroom, I realized for the first time in my life just how violent silence could be.
No one was shouting or making a commotion. Perhaps because of the unique atmosphere of the morning of the entrance ceremony, the entire classroom was, for the most part, maintaining a certain level of decorum. But the stares were relentless.
From the blackboard side.
From the window side.
From the seats near the hallway.
And right in front of me.
For some reason, Hoshimiya stood right next to me, not moving. She showed no sign of heading to her own seat. If anything, she was blocking my escape route with a natural stance, as if to make sure I couldn’t run away. It seems celebrities aren’t just skilled at positioning themselves in front of cameras—they’re also adept at blocking the escape routes of ordinary high school boys.
Please stop.
Please don’t use those practical skills on me.
“…Um, Hoshimiya-san.”
I called out in a low voice.
I thought I’d kept it quiet enough so no one around us could hear, but a boy sitting nearby blatantly tilted his ear toward me. Don’t put all your focus on your hearing in the entrance ceremony classroom. Put some of that effort into something more constructive for your new life.
Hoshimiya turned her face toward me.
Her smile was perfect.
It was so perfect it was actually kind of scary.
“Just call me Rino.”
“I can’t.”
“You used to call me that.”
“But that ‘used to’ is a backstory you just made up this morning, right?”
Hoshimiya Rino’s eyelashes fluttered slightly.
It seemed my words had stung her just a little. For just a split second, the shape of her lips wavered. But the next moment, they were already set into that beautiful smile again.
“Seita has a bad memory, after all.”
“I don’t deserve to be criticized for my memory by someone who didn’t even know my name until yesterday.”
“I just didn’t know it yesterday.”
“That’s what people usually call a first meeting.”
Hoshimiya Rino looked away slightly at that.
I won.
Right now, I clearly won with logic.
But I didn’t have time to bask in the afterglow of victory. Because she was the type to fight with her expressions the moment she found herself at a disadvantage in logic.
Hoshimiya dropped her shoulders just a little and pinched the sleeve of my uniform. Her fingertips lightly gripped the fabric. She wasn’t pulling hard. She was just touching it, as if reluctant to let go.
That alone changed the atmosphere around us.
Someone gasped.
Someone else whispered, “The sleeve…”
I screamed inside my head.
Stop it.
Don’t comment on it.
“…Do you hate it that much?”
Hoshimiya’s voice was soft.
It was a sound that seemed to fall into the gaps of the classroom’s murmur. Yet, for some reason, it reached my ears clearly. Her gaze wasn’t on my face. She was looking slightly below, at my tie. As if checking the knot I’d just adjusted.
She didn’t look directly sad.
If anything, her expression was well-controlled.
It was just that the fingertips pinching the sleeve seemed strangely unsteady.
This is unfair.
No. Unfair isn’t the right word—it’s dangerous.
I’m not at fault. I’m definitely not at fault. She was the one who started pretending we were childhood friends; I’m just setting the record straight. Yet, if you look at this situation in isolation, it looks like I’m the one coldly brushing Hoshimiya off.
My social credibility is crumbling on the very first day of the entrance ceremony.
“It’s not that I dislike it, but it’s a problem.”
“It’s a problem.”
“It’s a problem.”
“Me?”
“The situation.”
“Not me?”
“…The situation.”
Hoshimiya fell silent, still clutching my sleeve.
That silence only fueled the curiosity of those around us.
Feeling sweat beading on my forehead, I desperately chose my words. If I denied it too strongly, she might react strangely again. But if I accepted it, the “childhood friends” setup would become a fait accompli.
Why was I being asked to handle such sophisticated crisis management even before the entrance ceremony?
“Anyway, I think you should go to your seat. The teacher will be here soon.”
When I said that, Hoshimiya turned her gaze toward the front of the classroom.
Then she checked the seating chart next to the entrance once more.
That movement gave me a bad feeling.
Her eyes followed my name.
Next, she followed her own name.
Then, the corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly.
“We’re next to each other.”
“Huh?”
I looked at the seating chart too.
Takahara Seita.
The seat to my right.
Hoshimiya Rino.
God is dead.
No, forget God—even the teacher in charge of seating arrangements might harbor some serious ill will toward me today. I know it’s just a coincidence; seating for freshmen is probably based on roll call numbers or something like that. I know that, but at this point, I felt like I’d been forced to move into a haunted house called “fate.”
Hoshimiya narrowed her eyes happily.
That smile had lost some of the artificial perfection it had carried just moments ago. It was a relaxed expression, similar to the one she’d had yesterday when she was sitting on the bench holding a manga.
“So, that’s what it is, after all.”
“What do you mean?”
“Destiny.”
“The seating chart.”
“The seating chart of destiny.”
“Please stop with the ominous rewordings.”
Hoshimiya chuckled softly and finally let go of my sleeve.
She headed for her seat before I did. Just walking around drew the attention of everyone around us—she really wasn’t an ordinary girl. Even the way her uniform skirt swayed seemed somehow calculated.
I followed a few seconds later, heading for my own seat.
When I sat down, Hoshimiya was to my right.
Just a desk’s width away.
A figure who, until yesterday, existed only on TV and in advertisements was now sitting next to me, opening her bag. It felt unreal. Moreover, she carefully took something out of the bag she’d hung on the side of the desk.
A familiar piece of fabric.
It was my hoodie.
The cheap one, slightly pilled, that I’d draped over her shoulders yesterday.
Hoshimiya was folding it as if it were a precious treasure.
“Did… you bring that?”
“Yeah. I had to return it.”
“To school?”
“Well, I didn’t know if we’d see each other again.”
After saying that, she lowered her eyes slightly.
It was just a brief moment, but her voice from yesterday came flooding back to me.
Will we see each other again?
At the time, I’d given a vague reply, saying that if we liked the same work, we might run into each other somewhere eventually. I didn’t mean to sound cool. It was more like I was running away. But Hoshimiya probably interpreted that vagueness in a different way.
She held the hoodie with both hands and gently placed it on my desk.
“Thank you.”
Her voice was soft.
They weren’t meant for anyone else to hear. It was a voice meant solely for me.
So I found myself at a bit of a loss for words.
Amidst this bizarre situation where a top idol was pretending to be my childhood friend, this moment alone felt strangely ordinary. I’d helped a girl in a bit of a bind, she’d returned what I’d lent her, and she’d thanked me. It was just that simple exchange.
That very ordinariness was what silenced me.
“…You’re welcome.”
When I managed to say that, Hoshimiya kept her eyes downcast and ran her finger along the sleeve of her hoodie.
“I washed it.”
“Eh, no, you didn’t have to go that far.”
“I wanted to.”
It was a short sentence.
But it felt strangely strong.
She said nothing more and let go of the hoodie. As I went to put it in my bag, I suddenly remembered what had happened yesterday.
When she was surrounded by those boys, I draped the hoodie over her. To hide her face. To avoid touching her, I pulled the sleeve rather than her wrist. Even when they asked her name, I didn’t answer.
What did that action mean to Hoshimiya?
I still don’t know.
But I did realize one thing: just returning the hoodie to me right now was making her a little nervous.
At the front of the classroom, I heard the door open.
A teacher who looked like our homeroom teacher walked in.
He was in his mid-thirties. His eyes looked a little sleepy, and he was holding the attendance book. The murmur in the classroom gradually subsided, and the students hurriedly took their seats.
I turned to face the front as well.
Hoshimiya, sitting next to me, straightened her posture instantly. It was the perfect posture of a model student—so much so that it was hard to believe she was the same person who had been tugging at my sleeve just moments ago. Her back was straight, her knees were together, and even the position of her hands on the desk was beautiful.
Is this what they call a celebrity’s ability to switch gears?
It’s terrifying.
Maigetsu