Halfway through the first year of high school, our class gets a transfer student.

"I'm Hanazono Kairi," he says with a small bow when Tanaka-sensei tells him to introduce himself. "Please take care of me."

He doesn't look very tall, but he's got broad shoulders and a build that suggests he does something athletic. Jet black hair, kind of messy. And if I had to describe the expression on his face, I'd say...bored? He looks like he'd rather be literally anywhere else.

Understandable. I’d rather be anywhere else than here, too, but I’m on scholarship. 

He's also objectively handsome. Like, actor-level handsome.

There's something else too, something I can't quite name. Hanazono-kun holds himself carefully, like he's taking up as little space as possible. His eyes scan the classroom once—a quick, assessing sweep—before going distant and blank. I recognize that look. I’ve worn it myself plenty of times.

"Everyone, since Hanazono-kun is part of our class now, I hope you can all get along with him." Tanaka-sensei turns to the new kid. "You can sit next to Arimura. Over there."

Hanazono-kun bows in my general direction, then heads toward the empty seat behind me. I try not to stare. I fail.

The lesson resumes. I'm supposed to be focusing on biology—cellular respiration, mitochondria, ATP synthesis—but I keep thinking about the new kid behind me. There's something about him that makes me want to turn around, introduce myself properly, see if he really does look like that actor from that drama I watched last month—

"Excuse me."

I turn in my chair. Hanazono-kun is looking at me with that same uninterested expression, asking me something, but I can't hear the words because I'm too busy cataloging his face—brown cat-eyes, thick eyebrows, button nose, heart-shaped lips, freckles scattered across his nose— 

"Excuse me."

I blink. Give my head a small shake. "Sorry, what?"

"I asked if I could borrow a pen," he says, just loud enough for me to hear but quiet enough not to disrupt class. "Mine doesn't work."

I have to take a second because his words landed a beat off from where I expected them, like they have a rhythm to it. Something about that tells me he’s not from anywhere nearby. 

But I don't say anything. It’s not my business where his Japanese is from. 

"Oh. Yeah, sure." I grab a pen from my pencil case and hand it over. "Here."

"Thanks." He takes the pen and looks at me for a moment. "What's your name?"

"Yunanto."

"...Yunanto?" He frowns. "That's a funny name."

"That's what they all say." I want to laugh but I settle for a smile instead. He doesn't smile back, just nods once and turns back to his notes.

Okay then.

At lunch, I discover that my mom had packed me something with petai—stink beans. 

Of course she has. Of course. Just when I'm contemplating whether I should just eat quickly and be done with it, Itagaki and his loyal band of henchmen come strolling toward my desk like they own the place.

Ugh. This again.

I pretend not to notice. This isn't my first rodeo. In primary school, I had to wipe some nasty graffiti off my desk every morning. In middle school, someone spread a rumor that I ate dogs, which meant I spent three years eating lunch alone because nobody wanted to be friends with the ‘dog-eater.’

High school is marginally better. I've found my people in my after-school club, and they're genuinely great. But a few guys here and there are still jerks to me when they can't help it.

Itagaki just happens to be the biggest asshole. It’s a miracle he hasn’t shit himself to death yet.

"Shit, it smells like a dump in here!" Itagaki pinches his nose dramatically. "Your mommy made you dog food for lunch again?"

His lackeys howl with laughter like that's the funniest thing they've ever heard. Honestly, I’ve heard worse. Some people can be really creative, but Itagaki wouldn't know creativity if it slapped him in the face. Some of my classmates snicker, too. Figures, the lot of them, but I expected nothing less.

Am I the dog or am I eating the dog? I stay silent. Make up your minds.

I start to stand up, but Itagaki grabs my shoulders and shoves me back down. My spine hits the edge of my chair's backrest hard enough that I have to bite my tongue to keep from wincing.

"I'm not done talking to you, shitstain," Itagaki sneers. I resist the urge to spit in his face. "It's rude to ignore people like that. They don't teach you manners where you’re from, huh?"

Don't talk to me about manners, you waste of oxygen.

"This fucking bastard forgot how to talk." One of Itagaki's goons slams his hand on my desk. "Hey—"

"Yunanto-kun."

I feel a hand on my shoulder and look up to find Hanazono-kun standing there. His face isn't quite as blank as it was earlier.

"Can you show me around the school?" he asks. "I want to know where the cafeteria is." 

I'm still processing what's happening. "Huh?"

Hanazono-kun nods at my lunchbox. "You can bring your lunch with you."

Itagaki, predictably, is not pleased with this development. "Hey, new kid—"

"What?" Hanazono-kun cuts him off. "I'm talking to Yunanto-kun. If you knew anything about manners, you'd know that interrupting someone is rude."

I hold my breath as I watch Itagaki's fist curl, his arm drawing back. But Hanazono-kun doesn't flinch. Doesn't blink. He just stands there, perfectly still, and something about that stillness makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"You wanna pick a fight?" Hanazono-kun's voice is quiet, almost bored, but there's something something cold and certain underneath it. "Go on. See what happens."

For a second, Itagaki looks like he might actually swing. But then something shifts in his expression. Maybe he sees whatever I’m seeing; the coiled tension in Hanazono-kun's shoulders, the way his weight has shifted ever so slightly onto the balls of his feet, the complete absence of fear in his eyes.

I’ve watched enough of my little sister’s kempo meets to know that this guy definitely looks like he’s been in a fight before. And won.

There's a brief staredown. Then Itagaki scoffs. "Alright, bigshot." He gestures to his lackeys. "You want the dog so much, have him. He can't do anything but eat out of the trash, anyway."

With one last round of ugly laughter, Itagaki and his crew leave the classroom, presumably to be stupid somewhere else. It takes me a moment to realize that everyone else is staring at us—which, fair enough. The whole thing went down like a scene from some manga, and it's probably the first time anyone's stood up to Itagaki like that.

"Why did that jerk say 'dog' so much?" Hanazono-kun asks as I stand up. "What did he mean?"

"He meant me." Now that we're standing side by side, I notice that Hanazono-kun only comes up to my forehead. I smile. "I'm the dog. You wanted me to show you around, right? Let's go."