The classroom fell silent. Jun stood up and handed his test paper to the teacher.

  In truth, he had finished some time ago and was simply double-checking his work. He didn't want to disrupt the class or disrespect the instructor by turning it in too early.

  The timing now was perfect.

  Mr. Kashida frowned as he took the paper, but his expression smoothed out into surprise as he scanned the answers. He decided to stop the lecture entirely and pivot to questioning Jun directly.

  "What is the tidal nature of the majority of the Sea of Japan?"

  "Irregular semi-diurnal," Jun answered instantly.

  "Name the three great evolutionary marine faunas of the Phanerozoic."

  "The Cambrian, the Paleozoic, and the Modern faunas."

  "And the primary geological activity on Japan's largest uninhabited island?"

  "That’s a trick question, Sir. It’s not in the textbook."

  Mr. Kashida blinked, ready to argue. He didn't want to let a prodigy like this off the hook.

  "However," Jun continued, a fox-like glint in his eye, "I happened to read a recent issue of Geographic Journal. The largest uninhabited island is Oshima-Oshima off Hokkaido, and it's characterized by intense volcanic activity."

  Kashida remained expressionless for a long moment. Finally, he spoke. "How should I get the supplemental materials to you?"

  "I’ve asked Ko Tsushima to collect them for me."

  The students in the back row turned to stare at Ko. Ko just gave a helpless shrug. Great, thanks for making me the target of everyone’s envy, Jun.

  "You still need to check into my office periodically for evaluations," the teacher added.

  "Understood."

  Kashida turned back to the class. "If I’m ever unavailable, you can direct your questions to Matsue."

  Jun didn't say a word. He bowed to the teacher, then bowed to his classmates, and walked out.

  Ko Tsushima, still scribbling notes, whispered to the boy next to him: "One rule of journalism: Never draw a conclusion until the story is truly over."

  When Jun returned to his own classroom, he found it mostly empty, save for one person.

  Yuka was at her desk, writing. The setting sun cast a long shadow across the rows of vacant chairs.

  "Still here?"

  She gave him a serene smile. "Band practice just wrapped up. I thought I’d do some homework before heading out."

  They both knew the real reason. She was waiting for him.

  Jun grabbed his bag and headed for the exit; Yuka followed silently. They walked toward the school gate together. Jun hadn't brought his bike today; he had other plans for the evening.

  The road leading away from Haneoka High was a long, downward slope. Students often joked that getting to school was a marathon, but leaving was a breeze. Jun didn't think the geography had anything to do with it.

  It was July, the height of the crepe myrtle season. The bright pink blossoms lined the path, vivid and striking against the summer green.

  A sudden gust of wind sent a rain of petals swirling around them. Jun squinted against the breeze.

  "A love that arrives like a summer storm," he mused, "usually leaves just as quickly."

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  Yuka didn't argue. She stepped closer to his side.

  "I’ll prove you wrong," she whispered.

  _______

  After parting ways with Yuka at the intersection, Jun took a bus to Kuga-yama Station and boarded the Inokashira Line toward Kichijoji.

  The Inokashira Line, operated by Keio, is one of Tokyo’s most iconic private railways—running from the trendy streets of Shibuya to the lush greenery of the Inokashira Park area. It’s a short line, taking barely twenty minutes from start to finish.

  Jun was heading to Kichijoji for interviews. With summer break approaching, he needed a stable, high-paying "Hustle" for the holidays. Kichijoji was a prime commercial district, popular with tourists. With his fluent Mandarin and English, he knew he could land a premium gig.

  The evening sun was a violent, blood-red smear across the horizon. As the light flooded the train car, it looked less like a sunset and more like a crime scene.

  A girl sitting across from him, who looked no older than a middle-schooler, was staring at him with unblinking intensity—as if she’d finally found the person she’d been looking for her whole life.

  She slid into the empty seat next to him. Her school skirt brushed against his trousers. Before long, she was leaning into his space.

  "What school do you go to, Big Brother?"

  "Haneoka," Jun replied. He shifted slightly toward the man on his other side and pulled out his phone, opening TownWork to browse job listings.

  "Haneoka... that’s a tough one to get into," the girl muttered to herself. "What’s your name? Do you have a girlfriend?"

  Jun put his headphones on, feigning deafness.

  The girl didn't care. She kept talking, a low, relentless hum of questions.

  Jun finished looking at the job postings and took his headphones off. He looked out the window for a moment, then turned to her with a perfectly rehearsed smile. He pressed a finger to his lips, a gentle command for silence.

  "Don't miss a sunset this beautiful," he said softly.

  The girl went silent, staring at the red sky. For a moment, her mind was on a loop, replaying Jun’s fleeting moment of kindness.

  As she got off at Inokashira Park, she looked back at him with an expression of pure devotion. "I'll see you at Haneoka, Big Brother. I promise."

  Jun stepped off at the final station, wondering if he’d just accidentally inspired a future honor student. The Legend of Matsue the Motivator, he thought dryly.

  Kichijoji was as busy as ever. Jun’s first stop was Club Seata, a basement venue famous for "Underground Idol" performances. They were hiring event staff to handle ticket sales and security.

  A long line of applicants was already waiting outside the office. As he waited, several heavily made-up girls—the performers—passed by. No matter what they actually looked like, the stage makeup made them all look like porcelain dolls. The guys in the interview line were practically drooling.

  After fifteen minutes, a woman in a sharp suit appeared. Before starting the interviews, she began weeding out the applicants.

  "We don't need staff who are 'fans' of the talent," she said coldly, dismissing several guys who were looking a little too eager.

  Jun was the third person called into the office. Before he could even introduce himself, the interviewer spoke.

  "The idol auditions are on the second floor, second door on the left."

  "I'm not an idol," Jun corrected. "I'm here for the venue security and ticketing position."

  The interviewer exchanged a look with her assistant. Her tone softened instantly. "Are you sure? We have the resources to make you a star by the end of the year."

  "Thank you, but no." He was more experienced at turning down "talent scouts" than he was at buying groceries.

  The interviewer sighed in disappointment.

  The interview was a formality. He was hired for the night shift—6:00 PM to 9:00 PM—starting the first day of summer break.

  As Jun left the basement, the interviewer turned to her assistant. "While he’s working here, I want you to find a way to convince him to debut. By any means necessary."

  Outside, the city was draped in a deep, bruising twilight.

  Though the pay at the club was good, Jun had no intention of entering the entertainment industry. Being an idol meant being a slave to the fans’ expectations. The Hustle King was the master of his money, not its servant.

  His next target was a famous boutique bookstore frequented by international tourists.

  But his plans were derailed when a silver luxury sedan pulled up to the curb.

  Haruka Mochizuki stepped out. She was dressed in a black gothic-inspired dress, featuring intricate lace sleeves and a flared skirt with subtle cutouts. Standing under the darkening sky, she looked less like a high school student and more like a vampire aristocrat out for a stroll.

  "What are you doing here, Matsue?" she asked, her voice a model of feigned surprise.

  "Good evening, Mochizuki. Just interviewing for summer work." Jun didn't stop walking; he gave her a polite nod and kept moving toward the bookstore.

  Haruka stood there like a statue, watching him walk away.

  The bookstore interview was just as successful. Between his looks, his resume, and his fluent Chinese, he was the perfect "face" for the shop.

  Days at the bookstore, nights at the club, Jun thought as he exited the shop. A solid summer rotation.

  Suddenly, an arm blocked his path.

  "What now?" Jun looked down at the pale, slender arm barring his way. It was draped in black lace—a striking, almost forbidden-looking contrast against her skin.

  "Walk with me. We’re friends, aren't we?" Haruka, the "Vampire Queen," had made her move. "Besides, I saw you leaving school with Yuka today."

  Jun didn't ask how she knew. He simply assumed the surveillance was part of the "Haruka Package."

  They walked through the neon-lit streets of Kichijoji.

  "What’s your schedule for the break?" Haruka asked, watching the rhythmic swing of his arms as he walked.

  He listed it off: work, competitions, Journalism Club projects.

  "I have an opening for a position," Haruka said, her sharp eyes flashing as she dangled the bait. "The pay is astronomical, but it requires live-in management. Are you interested?"

  "Not a chance," Jun said instantly. "I'm spending my break at the orphanage."

  "The salary is... significant," she pressed. She wasn't used to people saying no to her money.

  Jun didn't flinch. "The Hustle King will never be a slave to his bank account."

  "The 'Hustle King'?"

  "My current high school objective."

  They stopped at a red light. Jun moved to her right side, shielding her from the crowded street.

  "That doesn't sound very 'high school,'" she noted.

  "I don't have a choice. I don't want to be a 'high schooler' forever. The career options are too limited."

  "Why not just skip a few grades? You have the brains for it."

  "Because," Jun said with a rare, genuine-looking smile, "someone once told me I should try to enjoy my youth while it lasts."

  "Who told you that?" Haruka’s smile vanished.

  "You know, Mochizuki," Jun said as they reached the station entrance, "you’re always asking questions, but you never tell me anything about yourself."

  By the time Jun disappeared into the station, Haruka still didn't have an answer.

  She stood at the curb as the silver sedan pulled up beside her. She climbed into the back, where a tablet was waiting for her on the leather seat.

  She picked it up and hit play. It was a high-definition recording of Jun’s interviews from earlier that day. Haruka wasn't a criminal, but she was a Mochizuki; she had simply "donated" enough to the venues to get copies of their security footage.

  She pressed a button, and the partition between the front and back of the car slid shut. She pulled a juice box from the car’s mini-fridge and sprawled out across the long seat. She watched the footage on 2x speed, her eyes fixed on the screen.

  Since meeting Jun, she had spent every spare moment observing him, constantly recalibrating her mental image of the boy.

  Watching the way his brow furrowed during the interview, she pulled out her phone and sent a one-line command to her assistant:

  "Make sure all his job applications from today are rejected."

  She leaned back, looking at the boy on the screen. Can someone like you really save me?

  She remembered the look in his eyes when he rejected her earlier. It was as cold as the gaze in her dreams.

  ....

  "Excuse me... is Matsue-kun here?"

  A soft, melodic voice echoed from the back door of Class 2 the next morning.