Hi thanks for clicking on my story. This is my first fan-fiction, so I can't not guaranty the quality of what your about to read, but I can guaranty that I have done all I could to make it worth the read. English is not my native tongue so please bear with me.
BTW I do not own Maid-sama! nor will I ever claim too.
Five hundred girls, I'm surrounded by five hundred girls.
To most sixteen year old guys that would probably be the dream, but I just look at them thinking that they are wasting they potential. Most guys would probably imagine them naked and do everything to make their dream a reality. I would imagine outfits that would flatter their body-type and personality. Most guys would probably see them as potential love-interests. I just saw a bunch of lifelike mannequins.
I have never wanted a girl for anything but as dress-up doll.
I'm standing at the front gates of my high school about to enter for the first time in my second year. The school is a big ugly black of red bricks, white windows and black roof tiles. I am attending a design school with an 85 percentage of females, five hundred girls and one hundred guys. Most of the guys are on the graphic-design line or the architectural line. I am one of three on the fashion-line; the other two are third years.
I push my way through the crowd to see the class dividing sheet on the bulletin board. One of the few perks of being a guy is the extra height. I stand more than a head taller than most of the students - since they're girls – and I can see the paper without much trouble. I quickly find my name, Hyoudou Aoi, among the others.
I'm in class 4 up until lunch and then I'm in class F2 after. Before lunch this school teaches an ordinary curriculum, but after lunch begins the personal choice classes. F class is Fashion class, which include, both design, production, history and some theory about the wants of the masses.
My classroom is in other end of the school I realize to my dismay. I start running. It is not that I care about being tardy I just want a good seat, furthest away from the teacher.
Class 4 is a fairly small room; only twenty desks have been set up. Two of the seat has already been taken.
In the none-window corner seat sits a short boy with bleach blonde hair, I recognize from last year. The guys face twists in repulsion when he sees me. He is a known homophobe and convinced that I am gay. I smile widely to creep him out.
Thrust me blondie if I were into men, I still would have no interest in you.
The corner seat with a window is taken by a girl with pitch black hair, cut short. It is ending just below her chin. Her hair is unruly and hides most of her face. She looks like the type who wouldn't speak to me and that is just perfect. I take the seat next to her and whip out my phone. On the top of the screen blinks a little icon with and envelope and the number three. The first email is from my aunt. I delete it before I am done reading the whole thing. It is just another one of her rambling about fated meetings and young love. It had been kind of funny when her victim was Misaki, but now that I am the protagonist of her delusions it is just plain annoying.
The class slowly fills while I read the next two emails. The second is from Honoka, who has recently become a good friend of mine.
The last one is from Usui Takumi. The email doesn't really have any relevant or even understandable content, just a bunch of random contradictory emoticons. Poor guy, he's probably bored now that he's in a different university than Misaki. Even though it's not that easy to see with his confident attitude, that guy is totally whipped. They're such a dumb couple.
I quickly put my phone back in my pocket when the teacher walks in. I have no interest in having my cellphone confiscated.
We stand and bow to the teacher and the class passes like nothing changed from last year.
The rest of the classes pass with nothing interesting happening. It is only after lunch the real classes start.
We all start walking to our new class rooms. The amount of males in the hallways drastically falls the closer I get to the F classes.
It is only when I almost walk into her that I noticed that the raven-haired girl is walking less than I meter from me. She is taller than most of the girls, but still significantly shorter than I am. She's curvy, but not to the point where it looks vulgar, and her legs and arms are long and slim. The gears in my head instantly start turning, trying to figure out what would look good on her. I end up with no result, none, nada, nothing. I can't come up with half decent idea, can't even come up with a dumb idea. I am for the first time in my life completely blank. I look around at the others in the hall and within half second I have outfits for all of them, but the girl in front of me, nothing. She is a black hole of ideas, a killer of creativity, and the anti-muse.
I stare daggers at the back of her head while we walk and when she suddenly stops, I almost walk into her again. She has stopped in front of a classroom, my classroom. She walks in without hesitation. This time we're last. Only two seats remain empty, one in the back and one in front of it. While the girl hands a thick stack documents to the teacher, I secure myself the seat furthest from the front.
Two girl with unfortunate perms, whisper to my right. I try my hardest to zone them out, but their words register with me anyway.
"Well, this sucks. I thought we would be free of Faceless this year." The least ugly of the two whisper loudly.
"I know. I thought she would have quit. She doesn't even care about being here" the other whispers and looks at the raven-haired girl, who is now walking towards the empty seat in front of me.
The nickname Faceless, although cruel, fits her quite well. The only part of her face not hidden by her hair is a little bit of her chin.
"She's so freaking creepy" the first one whisper louder than if she had screamed it.
"You are aware that I can hear you, right?" a heavily accented emotionless voice says in front of me.
The two girls flinch and one of them blushes.
The teacher claps loudly twice to get the classes attention.
I know the teacher; I have seen him around school several times last year. He looks around 35 and seems to have a thing for American-movie cosplay. Today he is dressed in beige pants with a white shirt and a brown fedora. I'm guessing that he wants to look like Indiana Jones. Let me tell you the truth, he does not.
"Congratulation on passing the first year." he says and sits on the desk.
So we're trying to play the cool teacher, are we?
"It's just too bad that the real test begins now" Indiana not-jones says dramatically. "As you know the schools cultural festival is in the first week before summer. That means there is a two month deadline. Our class will be presenting a fashion show, where you will be both designers and models."
Exited mutters spread through the room.
"But… to make the task more… challenging, you will not be designing clothing for yourself. You will partner up in groups of two and design for each other. If you fail to present a product that I deem acceptable you will fail this year and be asked to find another school."
The others seem shocked. I remain completely calm.
They say this to the second years every year. It is a sort of test to see who would break under pressure. My sort of friend, Akira, a second year, told me that this was just a hoax. She had failed last year and continued to her third year. There had been a small catch though. Last year those who failed had to clean toilets for half a year.
But what do I care about the punishment. This is a test I can't fail. I can design anything for anyone.
"Hyoudou Aoi you will pair up with…. Vinter Yuki?" the teacher says the last part like a question, probably because of the strange surname.
Vinter? Who the heck is Vinter?
"Um… teacher? Who is Vinter Yuki?" I ask, trying my hardest to sound polite.
The teacher doesn't seem to know either.
"Vinter, raise your hand so Hyoudou can find you" he says and looks down at his papers.
A pale hand with black nails is raised… right in front of me.
…
Dammit. I'm going to clean toilets for six months.
Thank you for reading.
Please write a comment if you think I should continue this as a longer story.