April.
The entrance ceremony.
"—A-ah, shimatta~!" I've been standing here like a penguin in the desert for almost an hour! My legs feel like overcooked noodles, limp and wobbly! Noodles, I tell you! And that man over there.
I jab a finger at the sleeping old man with a newspaper tented over his face.
"He hoards a seat, and he doesn't even appreciate it! Or actually, he is enjoying it too much... It's unfair! No, it's worse—it's cosmic injustice!"
Muscle integrity: 93%. Heart rate: stable. Estimated collapse time: 47 minutes. My left eyelid spelling SOS in Morse... but why prolong the agony?
The damn bus jolts violently every time it passes over a bumpy area. Ideal for destabilizing targets... and making fools like me look even more ridiculous.
I slump against the pole, sighing like a retired clown while grumbling about the cruel, unfair hardships of my existence.
"Excuse me."
?
My spine stiffens. Pickpocket? Poltergeist?
As my gaze snaps sideways, I notice a young-looking girl who wriggles past me and I reflexively contort into a human pretzel to carve a path for her in this sardine-can-on-wheels.
"Oh, by all means—roll out the red carpet for Her Highness of Efficiency!"
I mutter, my eyes following her skirt as she passes. A breath raises the hem of her skirt like a flag of victory. The wind is on my side today~!
But just as I revel in my triumph, reality sucker-punches me: some guy's already risen from his seat, hovering near the exit. I was the closest, but I was so wrapped up in my own dramas that this girl, attentive to her surroundings, commandeered the throne.
Ahh...! Greek tragedy comes to life! I, the misunderstood hero, sacrifice my glory for the comfort of others!
I hug myself, pretending to cry.
And the Oscar for 'Best Selfless Hero in Public Transportation' goes to... drumroll intensifies ME! Thank you, thank you, no need for applause!
The bus suddenly lurches to a stop, catapulting me into the lap of a hulking stranger, his burly biceps adorned with some dragon tattoos.
"—Whoa—oops, didn't plan our meet-cute this soon, big guy!" I quip, winking as he heaves upright like a bear poked with a cattle prod.
"So, does that dragon of yours breath fire or—?" I tap his bicep.
"Get lost," he growls like a dragon guarding its hoard, his pupils as sharp and icy as an icicle.
"Oh—'get lost'? Yes, of course, I was just about to... Right away, sir."
I scramble upright and return to my loser's corner, gazing out the window and puckering my lips as if I'm a gyaru trying to take a selfie.
This bus is the plaything of a cruel god! Even the potholes conspire to ruin my delicate being!
I rub my backside while watching the city's scenery change.
The weather is specially fine today, not a single cloud in the blue sky. Despite the harsh heat of the day, the nice atmosphere makes the bus ride feel much more pleasant.
But the air? Still a stale carbon dioxide soup, my lungs are begging for a single whiff of actual oxygen.
Well, at least the weather feels pleasant. Otherwise, I'd be cooked... no, absolutely fried.
The bus sways as I stare into the distance, the city sliding by in a smear of various colors. Just then, a street performer catches my eye, juggling pins with a smile plastered on his face. Is he really happy? Or is just part of the act?
My mind hooks onto the thought, tugging me inward in my chaotic sea of reflections.
Focus, I tell myself, but the hum of the engine pulls me deeper, my mind wandering aimlessly like a white cloud floating alone in the clear and vast sky.
I definitely made a mistake by taking the bus... and I can't help but to think that with each second, every meter, I'm inching toward ANHS's gates as I waste my time like this. I wonder, what role will I play in this new chapter? Will I be the popular guy who attracts all the girls? Or perhaps the serious and trustworthy leader...? I'm being delusional again.
Even so, a deeper question arises... Popular? Leader? Can a label really define someone more than the person behind it? What is individuality, in the first place? What makes us who we are?
I once stumbled upon a proverb online that stated, 'We all have three faces: the first face is the image we present to the world, the second one is the intimacy we share with those close to us, and the third one is that mysterious inner self we keep to ourselves.'
This guarded face is the true self that defines us at our core, yet it remains concealed. Only we can see it, and sometimes not even that...
We often fail to understand our true selves. Much like the dark side of the moon, some parts of us will always stay hidden... Isn't it fascinating to think that our true essence comprises these three faces, each revealing a fragment of who we are, shaped by how others perceives us and our own buried secrets?
But in the end, people always overlook this complexity. That's just how the world works. We become our reputations, reduced into mere masks: the 'weird,' the 'genius,' the 'pervert'... It makes me think of those 'Tsukumogami' stories, where old objects gain souls after a century embodying a single identity.
Here's the ugly truth: We're all subjected to the harsh judgments of others. Someone might call you 'kind' while another spits 'annoying'. None of it's real. Just projections based on the other people's warped interpretations of what they see.
I observe a little girl hunched over her notebook, her pencil scratching out amorphous figures and blurred outlines.
Maybe that's all we are: smudged charcoal sketches, half-erased and smeared, while the world insists on slapping tidy labels like price tags.
So why care about what others think? You can ask yourself, but that's easier said than done.
In reality, it's not as straightforward as it seems to be. For instance, if you decided to walk naked down the street right now, it probably wouldn't be taken lightly. But let's consider a more relatable scenario: Imagine applying for a job, getting turned down several times before you are even allowed to go to an interview, and then, after much effort, you finally get the opportunity you've been hoping for. Wouldn't you feel at least a little concerned about the judgment of the person who ultimately gave you the interview?
That's the catch: in order to succeed, you must listen to what those key people have to say and, if you are able, gather as many contacts as you can to improve your chances of getting your ideal job. In the end, success is less about being the most qualified and more about your ability to align with societal expectations—!
Unexpectedly, the man sitting in front of me—next to the little girl doodling, stands up. His seat becomes vacant, attracting the hungry eyes of everyone on the bus. A plump old lady and two students in high school uniforms swarm toward it like hyenas spotting carrion.
Não, não. Not this time.
I spring up with the agility of a cat pretending to be clumsy. I stumble forward, spinning until my back is pressed against seat's edge, with my arms flung out like a drunken bird warding off the hyena horde.
"Careful, careful!" I bark, flailing at the air like I'm swatting away a swarm of invisible bees. Man, the laws of physics are really against me today! Oh, gravity, you cruel mistress!
Without hesitation, I take advantage of the opportunity, dropping into the seat and replaying some gangsta type song in my head. Mission passed! Respect +
Just as I settle into the seat, I glance at the little girl beside me. Who's watching her? I thought that man was her dad, but she didn't follow him. Maybe she's just lost in her own little world, a world where drawings come to life.
Now that I think about it, that would be a pretty handy power. Imagine being able to summon multiple beasts to protect yourself as bodyguards or even use them to gather information without anyone noticing it.
...
Whatever, I'm too beat to care. I just want to catch a few winks, even if only for a moment.
The cold wind seeps through the crowded bus, the breeze feels like a cool and gentle kiss on the skin, refreshing and rejuvenating.
However, my gentle respite is promptly obliterated.
"Looks like there aren't any gentlemen left," I hear some voice nearby snapping, and I half-open one eyelid just to see a plump lady glowering at me, her voice turning into a serrated knife of judgment that slices through my peace.
What an eloquent and intellectual comment to start the day, huh?
I feign deafness, my eyes squeezed and lips pursed in a mock meditation pose, longing for some quiet time. But her glare feels like a spotlight, burning through my eyelids. Reluctantly, I tilt my head, cupping a hand to my ear like a Victorian aristocrat hearing a bad opera.
"Sorry, didn't catch that—wait, is the wind really that refreshing? Could you repeat that for me, please?"
"Oh-ho! So you're pretending not to hear me? I said there are no gentlemen left! A young man like you shouldn't snatch a seat from an old lady like me! A real man would've offered his seat!" she huffs, raising her voice for everyone to hear and drowning out the noisy chatter of the crowded subway.
Great, here comes a Karen-style boss battle. Let's dance, obaa-chan!
"How endearing. Found the last gentleman, did you?" I mutter, my grin as brittle as a politician's promise. Just then, I fold my arms and adopt a more relaxed pose.
"He's on sabbatical. Try the next bus," I add, trying to keep a serious tone, while her cheeks redden like an angry tomato. I can't help but grin wider, amused by her growing anger.
As she looks at me, her face is now flushed, and her eyes narrows into slits.
"What a disrespectful brat! Listen here, kiddo. I'm still going to give you a chance, so be a good boy and give me that seat right now."
"And... why would I do that? I was here first." I reply, feigning disbelief.
Her face contorts in annoyance, as her lips purse tightly, trying her best to hold back a biting remark. "You just don't get it, do you? Manners may be rare these days, but let me educate you. Giving up your seat is just basic courtesy, a small gesture that makes the world a bit better. But I guess manners aren't your strong suit."
I lift my shoulders in a small, mocking gesture. "Oh, right, manners... I totally understand. How naive of me to think seats follow the 'first come, first served' principle and not your 'superior moral reasoning' while occupying them."
She bites her lip once again, her expression growing more and more impatient with every word I utter. She steps closer, her granny scent clawing at my personal space. "Give up that damn seat, or you'll find out real quick what happens."
Far from surrendering my seat this easily, I shut my eyes, my mental gears grinding like an overworked engine. After a moment of deep thought, I reopen them, while adjusting my imaginary tie and clearing my throat with a deliberate cough, like a lawyer ready to drop the mic.
"I'm sorry, but I don't feel obliged to give up my seat just because you say so. True kindness doesn't stem from coercion, but from the free choice to help others. If I'm pushed to act, it reduces kindness to nothing more than rule-following. Authentic virtue lives in intention, and I prefer to keep that same integrity, even if it means facing a little more discomfort."
Her eyes widen in surprise as she looks at me, evidently not expecting Shakespeare language on some random bus. The other passengers turn their heads towards us, their expressions ranging from curiosity to concern.
Showtime! A live audience to behold my impromptu side quest: Troll the Boomer (Difficulty: Very Easy.)
Let's test my improvisation skills and find out how much she can take before she explodes in anger. I can't wait to witness her losing it.
"You—!" Her finger jabs the air like a malfunctioning metronome.
"You're supposed to respect your elders and give up your seat. You're being rude and disrespectful!"
I hold her glare, hiding any hint of annoyance as my anger simmers beneath the surface.
"Respect is mutual. While age deserves consideration, it doesn't grant the 'right' to treat others rudely. Simply put, even if there's an age gap, it does not sanctify poor manners."
Besides, even if I surrendered this seat, it's not like she'd show any gratitude. Judging by the way she's been behaving, she's not exactly the type to say 'thank you'. Why should I help someone like that?
The lady with a rounded face and rosy cheeks stands her ground, unyielding despite the growing unease in the air. Her slightly disheveled yet elegant hair is pulled back into a casual bun, framing lively eyes that radiate suppressed rage. She wears a warm-toned blouse and a modest skirt, which gives off a conservative and neat impression. Her demeanor exudes an air of superiority and entitlement.
"How dare you lecture me, child? You think you're so wise and mature? You may be well-spoken. But this is not about comfort—it's about respect for seniority. It's about common sense and basic decency. Your arrogance and lack of manners speak louder than your fancy words."
Well, it was about time. I had been wondering how long it would take her to see through my little 'intellectual superiority' act. Sharp lady, this is getting fun!
As the woman continues to argue with me, the atmosphere in the bus grows heavier with each exchange. Just before the situation escalates further, an office worker with thick-framed glasses and a jacket that denotes a touch of formality steps forward, his presence commanding attention.
After clearing his throat, he interjects with a firm yet polite tone.
"I think you should offer your seat to the lady," he advocates on her behalf, his voice smooth like a boardroom PowerPoint slide.
What a drag. Now that one person has defended the lady, it's only a matter of time before the whole bus turns into a moral tribunal. I need to avoid that situation and handle this cautiously without wasting time.
"Why?" I briefly ask, folding my arms and eyeing the worker curiously.
The salaryman responds without a moment's pause, his piercing gaze fixed on me, his voice firm and steady.
"She is a senior. Offering your seat is fundamental courtesy—not just tradition, but social lubrication. As a young person, you should be considerate of others; it reflects respect and chivalry, recognizing their lived experience."
His words echo through the bus, catching everyone's attention and putting pressure on me. I can feel the passengers beginning to side with the office worker. But inside me, my mind whirls with thoughts: if I give in this time without question, what precedent does it set? They'll expect me to give up my seat all the time, just because I'm young. That's not going to happen.
A sharp exhale escapes me, followed by a bitter laugh as the office worker's simplistic logic rings in my ears. My response carries stubborn defiance:
"No law says I have to give up this seat. She looks fifty-ish and perfectly able to stand. I've been on this bus for nearly an hour, I understand what fatigue feels like, but I get tired too. Just because I'm young, it doesn't mean my comfort matters less. If she were pregnant, that would be a different story, but even then, it's not my obligation."
The other passengers sitting nearby shoot judging glances at me, their eyes filled with disapproval as they silently condemn my bold words.
The office worker chimes in again, having caught the mistake.
"You're right. The law doesn't require you to give up your seat. However, let me just ask you this question: don't you think there's a sense of moral decency and consideration that we should show to those less physically capable?"
I lean back, with my smirk intact.
"That's not my problem. As far as I can see, I'm not in a priority seat, so why should I be singled out for this? Plus, you seem pretty comfy in your seat; if you're so invested in 'chivalry', why not lead by example? Actions speak louder than words, right?"
The salaryman tenses immediately. I can see the way his throat moves as he swallows hard. His eyes drift momentarily to the lady, then to the other passengers who are paying attention to our discussion. Suddenly, the spotlight shifts. Now it's his turn to squirm.
A quiet chuckle escapes me, shaking my head at the irony of the situation.
"And here we are," I muse, my voice dripping with irony.
"Everyone demanding someone else to make a sacrifice, but when it's their turn to demonstrate that supposed morality, the silence becomes revealing..."
I look around at the other passengers, silently evaluating them all as they fidget in their seats, avoiding my gaze. Seizing their discomfort, I continue my relentless avalanche of conclusions.
"If you're so eager for the lady to have a seat, why not offer her yours? If you don't, well... then I guess it wasn't a matter of principle after all."
The office worker opens his mouth but quickly shuts it right away. His jaw clenches in frustration and, with a snort, he decides to simply look away.
With that, I effectively blocked any further attempts to help the lady. No more annoying white knights for today, not when the hypocrisy has been exposed.
The lady frowns, her arms locking across her chest with a loud "Tsk," as she realizes the disappointing result.
"Disrespectful young people! In my day—"
As she launches into her "back in my day" spiel, I cut in.
"Well, since you're so desperate to sit down, how 'bout you sit on my lap?" I respond with a devilish grin while playfully patting my thighs.
"It's not that plump ladies are exactly my type, but hey, the wrinklier the raisin, the sweeter the fruit, right? C'mon, I'm waiting for ya. Chuu~" I wink, flicking a kiss from my fingertips.
Winding people up is such a thrill. I couldn't resist pushing her buttons. Come on show me what you've got, let's reach the climax of this shitshow together!
She leans in, her round face flushed with outrage. Her eyes blazing with contained fury.
"How dare you?! I'm a proper lady, not some hussy to sit on a random stranger's lap! You're nothing but an insolent, lecherous pig. Get out of my way!" She shouts, finally shattering the filter. Her bun is unraveling slightly as she stomps her foot like a child denied candy.
"I won't get out of your way; I'm sitting here, y'know?"
Unable to endure my flippant comments any longer, she shoots me a withering look, a laser that could even wither stone.
"Argh...! I've had enough of you, brat. Screw you!"
She huffs, her cheeks still flushing with anger, and turns away, muttering under her breath about "disrespectful youth" and "no manners these days."
Right then, with an abrupt gesture, the fifty-something woman storms toward the exit, perhaps unable to stand this humiliation. The doors hiss open, swallowing her whole, but her indignation lingers like cheap perfume in the air.
In this moment, the epiphany hits me: It wasn't some deep, philosophical debate; it was just a tactic to get a seat without having to justify herself. Basically, she was playing the victim card to get what she wanted, disguising her desire for comfort as some kind of fight for dignity.
Checkmate, oba-chan. It was fun while it lasted.
I chuckle softly to myself, enjoying my earned rest. The rest of the bus ride continues in relative silence, the tension slowly dissipating as the other passengers retreat into their phones and daydreams. I cross my legs victoriously and take a quick nap while waiting for the bus to carry me to my destiny.
After some time, the bus screeches to a halt, stopping at the school parking lot. I step onto the pavement, the crisp morning air biting at my cheeks.
Before me, I see a group of boys and girls in uniform walking toward a gate made of natural stone.
I notice that the girls' skirts are much shorter than what you'd expect from normal school standards.
"Advance Nurturing High School, huh?" I mutter, taking in the impressive architecture and the buzzing student energy. A smirk creeps across my face.
"Looks like my time here is gonna be quite exciting."