SWNOVELXO Chapter 15: Chapter 15 First Day Of School 1
"Are you sure you have everything?" my mother asked for the fourth time as I adjusted my tie in the hallway mirror.
"Yes, Mom. I have everything."
"Notebooks? Pens? Lunch?"
"Yes, yes, and yes."
"What about your phone? And your emergency contact card? And—"
"Mom," I said gently, turning to face her. "I'm seventeen, not seven. I can handle a day of school."
Yeah, my little stunt Two days ago did it. By the time I got home, she was basically pacing up and down in the living room and was just one short point away from calling the police to file a Missing's person report. It made me feel sad, and warm at the same time.
Blergh! Emotions. As you have probably already figured out. Yes, today is Monday morning and school is in thirty minutes. I had to repeatedly assure her that I could find my way on my own without her needing to drive me.
Today was my first day, and having your parent drive you to school? Unless you were coming out of a luxury car, was not cool.
I was still a 17 year old after all. One who was going to be attending final year of Junior high with people several years below me. Sure, it was only going to be for a semester or two, but I was definitely going to stick out like a sore thumb.
To think I who was in college back on earth at this age had to degrade.
Ugh ... Deplorable.
Best to blend in if I had to go through this.
She bit her lip, and I could see the worry lines creasing around her eyes. "I know, I just... This is your first day back in a normal routine. What if something happens? What if you have a panic attack? What if someone recognizes you from the news and—"
"Then I'll handle it," I said, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. "And if I can't handle it, I'll call you. Okay?"
Please, If there was something the current me couldn't handle, we might as well call All Might.
She took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay. But promise me you'll be careful. And if anyone gives you trouble—"
"I'll handle it responsibly," I finished. "No unnecessary violence, no showing off, no drawing attention to myself."
"Good boy." She smoothed down my collar even though it didn't need smoothing. "I'm proud of you for doing this. I know it can't be easy."
It wasn't. The thought of walking into a classroom full of teenagers who'd known each other for years, being the odd one out, pretending to be someone I wasn't sure I'd ever been, made my stomach churn with anxiety.
But it was necessary. I needed to establish normalcy, create a paper trail, and prepare for the U.A. entrance exam. Plus, my mother clearly needed this—needed to see me living a normal teenage life instead of wandering the streets like some kind of vagrant vigilante.
After some more lectures, and about Fifty pictures taken by the same old camera in my school uniform while I had a face that literally read I wanted to be somewhere else, she finally let me leave the house.
"My son's first day back at school!" she'd said, tears in her eyes as she snapped yet another picture. "I need to document everything!"
"I'll see you tonight," I said, grabbing my bag and heading for the door.
"Have a good day, sweetheart!"
The walk to Aldera Junior High took about fifteen minutes through suburban streets lined with small houses and convenience stores. It was the kind of neighborhood where everyone knew everyone else's business, which explained why I got more than a few curious stares from people tending their gardens or walking their dogs.
The school itself was a modest three-story building with a small courtyard and the kind of worn-down charm that spoke to decades of budget constraints and deferred maintenance. Students in navy blazers clustered around the entrance, some chatting and laughing with the easy familiarity of people who'd been doing this routine for years.
Others looked like they wanted to be literally anywhere else. Many looked, odd. Weird hair, weird eyes, weird skin, weird faces, hands, legs, ... I think I saw a walking octopus.
Talk about No room for racism.
A few were arguing about weekend plans or complaining about homework.
Normal teenage stuff. The kind of mundane normalcy I'd never really experienced.
My mother had insisted on making me a bento lunch, despite my protests that I could just buy something from the school cafeteria.
"Well," I muttered to myself, "no point standing here all day."
I took a deep breath and walked through the front gate.
The hallways were exactly as chaotic as you'd expect from a Japanese middle school. Students rushed past in clusters, their voices mixing into a constant background hum of conversation. Lockers slammed shut, teachers called out reminders about assignments, and somewhere in the distance, someone was getting scolded for running in the halls.
The main office was easy enough to find—just follow the signs and the trail of harried-looking administrative staff. A middle-aged woman with wire-rimmed glasses looked up as I approached the reception desk.
"You must be Takumi-san," she said with a practiced smile. "I'm Mrs. Sato, the vice principal. We spoke with your mother yesterday about your enrollment."
"That's right. Thank you for accommodating the late registration."
"Not at all. Given your... unique circumstances, we're happy to help however we can." She handed me a folder thick with paperwork. "Your schedule, school map, locker assignment, and student handbook. You'll be in Class 3-B with Mr. Hayashi."
I flipped through the schedule. Mathematics, Japanese Literature, English, Science, Social Studies, Physical Education. Standard stuff, though I noticed they'd placed me in the advanced sections for most subjects.
"Your mother mentioned you were academically ahead of your age group before... before your absence," Mrs. Sato continued. "But due to the circumstances We've placed you with students at the graduating class. If you find the material too easy or too difficult, please let us know."
"Thank you. I'm sure it'll be fine."
She gave me directions to my homeroom and sent me on my way. The hallways were starting to fill with students as the first bell approached, and I tried to ignore the curious glances and whispered conversations that followed in my wake.
Room 3-B was on the second floor, overlooking the courtyard. I paused outside the door, took another deep breath, and knocked.
"Come in!"
Mr. Hayashi was a thin man in his forties with blonde hair and the kind of expression that suggested he'd been dealing with teenagers for a very long time. He looked up from his desk as I entered.
"Ah, Takumi-san. Right on time. Class, we have a new student joining us today."
Twenty-plus odd pairs of eyes turned to stare at me.
"This is Takumi Rei," Mr. Hayashi continued. "He's an exchange student with special circumstances and he'll be finishing out the year with us before moving on to high school. Please make him feel welcome."
Then then man turned to me.
"Would you like to introduce yourself to the class?"
Hmm? Could I not?
I stepped forward, scanning the faces in front of me. Most were unfamiliar, but a few...
In the middle of the pack, a few seats away, looking like he was trying to disappear into his chair, was Izuku Midoriya. He was staring at me with wide green eyes, his mouth slightly open in what looked like shock.
'Hehe,' I chuckled internally. 'Didn't expect to see me this soon, did you Deku?'
Among the students, Midoriya's disbelieving gaze was the second most intense in the class. Why second?
Because right in front of Deku by two seats, slouched with his feet up on his desk, was Katsuki Bakugo. His gaze was the most intense, staring at me with a twitching face.
"Um," I started, suddenly feeling very exposed. Should I go with the sarcastic personality? Blunt Deadpan Sakuta Azusagawa? Emotionally Apathetic Saiki Kusuo? Cool guy Jin Woo routine? Satoru Gojo? Before you ask, yes, the last one is the personality equivalent for cocky and arrogant.
"I'm Kenneth Rei. T. Takumi. I'm seventeen, which I know is a bit old for this grade, but I've been... away for a while. I'm
.. let's be honest here, not really looking forward to this but life's inherently unfair, isn't it? I like Music, writing, drawing, food watching Movies, I hate loud screeches, bullies, annoying little punks who think they're on top of the world because their quirks are decent .... That's all."
A girl in the front row raised her hand. "Where were you? If you don't mind me asking."
"I..." How do you explain Ten years of amnesia-induced absence to a classroom of teenagers? "I had some family issues that kept me away from school. But I'm back now."
It wasn't technically a lie.
"Any other questions?" Hayashi asked the class.
Several hands shot up.
"What's your quirk?" someone called out.
"Are you single?" asked a girl near the window, which earned her several giggles and a raised eyebrow from the teacher.
"You're pretty tall. Does your quirk make you look older than you're supposed to be?" asked another student.
I wasn't even surprised they would think it's a Quirk thing. Worse things have happened.
Before I could answer any of them,
"YOU!"
The voice cracked like a thunderclap through the classroom. Every conversation died instantly. The students who'd been giggling or whispering now twisted in their seats to look between Bakugo and me like they were watching a bomb about to go off.
Which, to be fair, they were.
Katsuki Bakugo had exploded to his feet, literally—his chair clattered to the floor, and his palms were already sizzling with tiny pops and bursts of combustion. His face was a mask of disbelief, betrayal, and rising fury.
My face? A polite smile.
"Hi, neighbor," I said smoothly, ignoring the sudden spike in classroom tension. "Long time no see. About... Eighty six hours, give or take?"
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"
"Transferring in, obviously. Didn't you hear the teacher?" I glanced at Mr. Hayashi, who looked like he was seriously re-evaluating his career choices. "This is Class 3-B, right? Or did I walk into an underground fight club by accident?"
"You—! You—!" Bakugo spluttered, clearly malfunctioning. "You can't be here!"
"Why not?" I tilted my head innocently. "It's a public school, right?"
"This is my school! My class!" Bakugo jabbed a finger towards me. "You're not supposed to be here! You're supposed to be—anywhere else but here!"
"Wow," I muttered. "And people say I have a god complex."
A few students near the back choked on their laughter. Even Midoriya looked like he was trying not to smile.
"Bakugo!" Mr. Hayashi snapped, regaining his composure. "Sit down and stop shouting at the new student!"
"Like hell I will! This guy—he's—he's—!"
"Here to attend school," I cut in. "Look, I know it's shocking that someone as amazing as me would share a class with common mortals, but let's try to keep the explosions metaphorical, yeah?"
Bakugo's hands sparked violently. "I swear, if you open your mouth one more time—"
"You'll what?" I stepped slightly closer, keeping my tone calm but just sharp enough to twist the knife. "Throw a tantrum? Blow up the desk? Burn your GPA?"
"You bastard!"
"Bakugo!" Hayashi's voice cracked like a whip. "One more outburst and you're getting detention before the day's even started."
Bakugo looked like he wanted to argue—his jaw clenched, fingers twitching—but years of barely restrained self-control finally won out. With a growl deep in his throat, he yanked his chair upright and slammed himself into it, arms crossed, eyes burning holes into the side of my skull.
"Fine," he spat. "But I'm watching you, Takumi."
"Aw," I said as I made my way to an empty seat—conveniently located right behind him. "Right back at you, Sparky boom-boom boy."
The class lost it. Even the stoic types couldn't hold back anymore. Snickers and whispers broke out in all corners. Mr. Hayashi massaged his temples like he had a headache forming that could end worlds.
"Class," he groaned, "this is going to be a long semester."
I slid into my seat and dropped my bag beside me, casually ignoring the death stare being burned into my skull as Bakugo turned around and glared.
From my right, a whisper.
"Ken—uh, Takumi?" Deku hissed, trying not to draw attention. "You're really in our class?!"
I gave him a thumbs-up without turning around.
"Holy crap," I heard him mutter. "This year's going to be insane."
He wasn't wrong.
____
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