The first day of high school.
I stood on the school sports field, dressed in the deep blue, almost black tacky school uniform. Wearing it was supposed to fill a normal person with pride, but all I got was an itchy neck and a yearning for this time to pass as quickly as possible.
As I wandered around, I spotted many familiar faces, classmates from middle school and people I'd met through regional singing competitions that my choir club had practically forced me into joining.
There were also plenty of unfamiliar faces, wide-eyed and amazed by the sheer size of the school. Either they weren't active in competitions or they had just moved here from elsewhere for the prestigious education.
Ah… the nostalgia of youth.
Because I was a reincarnator.
That's right. I transferred into this strapping body when it was just four years old.
Technically, it was more of a soul merger, but a four-year-old's soul didn't exactly do much to my personality, considering I had reincarnated at the ripe old age of twenty-seven.
To this day, I still have no idea why I was reincarnated with all my memories.
In my past life, I worked in real estate, using my persuasion, voice, and etiquette to survive. I had a stable middle-management job—not my dream job or ideal field, but it paid the bills.
Promotions, however, were another story.
Whenever discussions about them came up, my smooth talk was utterly useless against my bosses' decades of scammi— I mean, bargaining experience. Not only did I fail to move up, but I almost had my salary cut in half.
Then, by some miracle, I had a sudden heart attack in my sleep and woke up in this new world.
At first, I thought, This is my chance to make it big!
Then I realized this world was just also a modern world of wage theft.
And my parents—who had basically left me at age seven to travel the world because of my "strong independence"—weren't secret billionaires. They were just slightly above upper-middle class.
So, instead of aiming for greatness, I used my gift of gab to join as many singing lessons, yoga sessions, and competitions as possible to secure a decent future. Academics? Hopeless. Competitions? That was my ticket into this prestigious high school.
Let's not talk about my other endeavors, there was a reason I didn't trade stocks in my previous life as well…
The world was mostly the same as my old one, but there were a few differences. High school admissions had become as competitive as university entrance exams, mainly because most universities had their own affiliated high schools.
The one I had been accepted into—Ocean Bird High School—was a subsidiary of this city's top university, Ocean Bird University. Naturally, getting in was a big deal.
But even with my past-life knowledge, I hesitated to enroll.
Because of some little things I had realized in my first year living in this world.
Only I could see tags floating above certain people's heads.
Metaphysics is real.
And some places had way more people with tags than others.
At first, I thought it was a blessing—a power that could make me influential and powerful. And to be fair, it did help me in conversations and guessing people's preferences, giving me lucky breaks with judges in competitions. But then I started noticing something… off.
These tags weren't normal things like (Good At Math) or (Friendly Neighbor). No, they were things like: (Crossdressing Fanatic), ('Criminal' Lawyer), (Skilled Drunk Driver), (Likes Dead Bodies), (Enjoys Dating Losers), (Pretends to Be Poor Just to Face-Slap People).
Absolutely none of them were normal.
The worst was in eighth grade, when I saw someone with the glowing tag (Cannibal) floating over our school janitor's head.
Needless to say, I didn't even ask my parents before homeschooling myself for the rest of middle school.
I also started avoiding certain areas—because, as I noticed, some locations had way more tagged people than others.
On average, places with "normal" luck had only one tagged person per 1,000 people. But places with high luck? 100 per 1,000.
Ocean Bird High School was one of those "lucky" places.
But it's not like I had a choice. Almost every high school in this city was filled with "luck."
So, I steeled myself.
Starting from ninth grade, I focused only on self-defense, dropped out of national competitions to avoid attention, and—just to be extra safe—I began reciting Buddhist mantras daily to ward off bad luck.
And so far?
It worked.
Not a single tagged person had entered my sight.
Then Murphy came by.
Just as I was walking toward the school gate, someone bumped into me from behind. Instinctively, I spun around in a defensive stance—totally prepared for the sudden interaction.
It was a girl, slightly shorter than me—which was rare, considering I had mysteriously stopped growing in ninth grade. she also sported black, long hair and red eyes, already a sign of trouble.
But that wasn't the main problem.
She had a tag.
Good news: It wasn't an illegal one.
Bad news: It was subjectively worse.
The girl locked eyes with me.
"Sorry for bumping into you! I was just so enamored by the sheer size of the school!"
"Wait, why are you running? I haven't even finished apologiz—!"
Nope. Not dealing with that.
I didn't even stop to consider how this encounter would affect my school life.
Because her tag was (Yandere).
For those unfamiliar with the term, it's a Japanese term referring to someone whose love for another person borders on obsession and psychopathy.
I hadn't known what it meant either until I once saw a well dressed lady when I was in primary school, digging through a trash bin, smiling like crazy when she found a certain used tissue.
After some research and a little practical, I made a simple rule for dealing with these people:
Ignore them. If they approach you, give the plainest look possible and run. Repeat until you know whether they've found a target or not.
With that crisis narrowly avoided, I went to meet up with my old friend from elementary school—my only friend, Hoka.
We met in elementary school and hit it off for two reasons:
He was a genuinely good-natured guy.
He had a tag.
His tag? (Cannot Lie).
Honestly, if I hadn't been looking out for him all these years, things could've gone very differently for him… Actually, I felt more like his guardian than his friend at this point.
Fortunately, we were placed in the same classroom. As I looked for him in our meeting spot, I also scouted for a good seat—ideally second row from the front or third row from the back. Statistically, the safest places to avoid attention.
Later, I finally spotted Hoka—washing his hands in the second-floor bathroom.
"Hoka, I'm here!" I called out.
He turned, grinning. "Took you long enough. What, were you scouting for threats?"
I stiffened. "Something like that. Also, we were supposed to meet at the first-floor bathroom, not the second."
His smile faltered. He awkwardly rubbed the back of his head. "Still doing that even after eighth grade?"
"...I'll explain later. Just sit next to me."
"Gotcha."
As we settled into the classroom, I gave him one last warning.
"Hoka, you followed my advice, right? Don't help anyone before I check them out first."
"...Sorry."
I facepalmed and mimicked the hand gesture someone would do when lighting a cigarette.
Of course.
"At least tell me their name or what they look like."
"Oh, she was this cute girl who bumped into me at the school gate. Her knees were bruised, so I disinfected them with the first aid kit you gave me."
"...Didn't I give that to you for your own use?"
"You know I can't help it."
Looking at his innocent face, I sighed in defeat.
I really hoped he had helped someone normal.
I took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to smack my forehead again.
Hoka, my dear, sweet, hopelessly naive friend, had unknowingly delivered himself to a potential landmine.
But maybe… just maybe… it wasn't that bad?
Maybe it was just some random girl with no problematic traits? Someone without a dangerous tag? Someone who wouldn't cause us any—
Who am I kidding?
The odds of that happening were as likely as me suddenly growing another five inches overnight.
Which is to say, zero.
He was practically a tag attracting machine due to his 'will help anyone' actions, causing my primary school years to be filled with learning camouflage just to survive.
I turned to Hoka, trying to keep my voice as calm as possible. "Tell me, Hoka… What did this 'cute girl' look like?"
"Hmm?" He tilted his head, thinking. "Well, she had long black hair, bright red eyes, and wore a really pristine uniform. She also had this kind of elegant yet shy aura, like one of those graceful anime heroines."
"...Hoka."
"Yeah?"
"Did she, by any chance… seem overly interested in you?"
He scratched his cheek. "Now that you mention it, after I bandaged her knees, she stared at me for a while. And then she asked for my full name. And then she asked which class I was in. And then she asked where I usually hang out after school—"
I grabbed his shoulders. "Hoka."
"...What?"
"How did you fumble so badly?"
"...Huh?"
I shook him lightly. "You healed her. You tended to her wounds. That's like throwing a steak to a starving wolf and then smiling at it."
Hoka blinked. "...I don't get it."
I groaned, running my hands through my hair.
How do I explain this in a way his golden-retriever brain will understand?
"Okay. Imagine this. You see a stray cat on the street. It looks at you with big, sad eyes. You feel bad for it, so you feed it some tuna. The cat follows you home. You think, 'Aw, how cute.' So you pet it. Then, the next day, you find it waiting at your doorstep."
Hoka tilted his head. "That sounds nice."
"NOW IMAGINE THE CAT IS A KNIFE-WIELDING PSYCHOPATH WITH OBSESSION ISSUES THAT PUTS PINK HAIRED CHARACTERS TO SHAME."
His smile finally wavered. "...That doesn't sound as nice."
"Exactly."
Hoka scratched his head, looking genuinely confused. "But she didn't seem dangerous? She was really polite."
I exhaled through my nose. Of course she was polite.
At first.
I knew exactly how these things went. First, they act shy and demure, getting close with innocent-sounding questions. Then, they accidentally bump into you again. Then, they suddenly know your schedule.
Then, one day, you wake up and find your social circle mysteriously shrinking, and when you least expect it, boom.
You're locked in a room, handcuffed to a bed, being spoon-fed homemade soup with an ingredient list you don't dare ask about.
I couldn't let that happen to Hoka.
And I can't let myself be in that ingredient list.
"Hoka," I said seriously. "From now on, if you see her again, donot engage in conversation. Keep your answers short. Show no strong emotions. And if she ever asks to exchange contact info, you give her your dad's office number and pray she never calls."
Hoka frowned. "Isn't that a bit mean?"
"Do you like living?"
"...I mean, yeah?"
"Then listen to me."
Before Hoka could argue further, the classroom door slid open.
I turned to see who had arrived—
—and immediately felt my soul leave my body.
Because standing at the entrance… was the (Yandere).
She stood there with a composed, almost princess-like demeanor, her red eyes scanning the room. The moment they landed on Hoka, she lit up.
Well, goodbye Hoka, may you be luckier in your next life.
"Hoka-kun!"
We aren't even Japanese or in Japan, and she already added the '-kun.'
We are fucked.
"Ah, hey!" Hoka greeted back, completely oblivious to the danger radiating from her entire being.
She gracefully walked over to us, stopping right in front of Hoka's desk. She clasped her hands together, tilting her head slightly with a gentle smile.
"I'm so glad we're in the same class!"
Hoka grinned. "Oh, really? That's great!"
I kicked him under the desk.
He yelped. "Ow! What was that for?"
I leaned over and whispered through gritted teeth, "Do not encourage her."
Meanwhile, the girl finally noticed me. Her red eyes flickered with curiosity as she took a step closer.
"...You," she said slowly. "You were at the school gate earlier."
I blinked. "Uh. No?"
"...Yes, you were."
"Nah. That must've been someone else."
"You were wearing this uniform."
"Wow. So many people wear this uniform. What a crazy coincidence."
"You were standing right in front of me before you suddenly ran away."
"Pfft. That doesn't sound like something I'd do. I walk everywhere with dignity."
Her gaze narrowed slightly. "...Do you know Hoka-kun?"
I glanced at Hoka, then back at her.
"...No."
Hoka looked offended. "Dude."
I kicked him again.
"Ow! Stop kicking me!"
The girl's expression softened into something unreadable. She stared at me for an uncomfortable few seconds before letting out a light giggle.
"My name is Aika."
Oh great. Now she was introducing herself.
I plastered on my most nonchalant, uninterested, plainest face possible.
She blinked. "What's your name?"
"...Aron."
Hoka choked. "Your name is not Aron-"
I kicked him a third time.
"Ow! Stop!"
Aika let out another soft laugh. "You're funny."
No
I'm not funny. In fact, I'm boring. I'm the most unremarkable, mob-like, irrelevant background character you've ever met.
Forget me immediately.
Unfortunately, she didn't seem to get my psychic message.
Because the next thing she said sent a cold chill down my already frigid spine.
"I hope we can be good friends."
Oh hell no.
I needed to get Hoka away from her.
I needed to get myself away from her.
And most importantly—
I needed to not die before graduation.