AN: Hello, there! This is HaleStorm25. I'm glad to be collaborating with my long-time friend DellaNee-Chan for this Ouran story. Hopefully, you will enjoy my chapters as much as you do hers. Enjoy!

Chapter 2:
From the point of view of Yoo Mi

Six months of language lessons, tons of hard work, and hundreds of arguments all added up to this moment: arriving in a Japanese airport for my impending hell.

Dad knew how much I hate it here… how much mom hates it here, but he still decided to pick us up, pack our things, and toss us towards the nearby island we all know as Japan. Well, fuck him. Fuck him and his stupid job.

After searching for my bags and muttering a few curse words in Korean, my native language, I trudged over to this large group of people holding up signs. The majority of them were written in Kanji, but I tried to ignore those and search for an awkward sign written in Korean. It didn't take too long; I saw my name, Kim Yoo Mi, quickly scrawled onto a piece of cardboard with sharpie held by my dad towards the back of the crowd. He had been here for almost a month already, since his new job demanded it. He thought it was for the best, anyway, since it would make the Big Move a lot easier for us. That's what we've been calling it, by the way: the Big Move. We don't know why, we just have been.

Dad decided to dress for comfort, I'd noticed, since he had taken a day off to get me settled in. This was a rarity, since his job is so demanding. Instead of a suit, he wore jeans and the jacket I got him for Christmas last year with a pair of sneakers. Dad's thick eyebrows were scrunched together in concern and he was attempting to stretch his neck out to get a better view, since he wasn't very tall. He adjusted his glasses, frowning.

Upon noticing me, his eyebrows shot upward and his lips spread into a wide smile. I avoided an eye twitch. I still wasn't over this huge fiasco.

Dad's arm shot up and he waved at me, hoping to get my attention. After putting one bag down, I gave him a small salute with my left hand, adjusted the strap to one of my bags, and grabbed the other one I put down as I begrudgingly put one foot in front of the other and made my way towards him. Noticing my struggle, he suddenly woke up from whatever reverie he was having and scrambled to get some of my bags. I rolled my eyes… same old dad.

"Yoo Mi! I've missed you so much, sweetheart." He looks lovingly at me and I proceed to slightly frown. He had only been there for about a month, and he decided to talk to me in Japanese. This irked me, though I don't think he noticed. "How are you? Is your mother doing well? Was the flight nice? Did you forget anything? Isn't this place-"

"Dad," I interrupted him, slightly annoyed at his game of twenty questions. "Pardon my frankness, but what's the point of asking one question after the other if I can't answer any of them?" I answered him with Korean, which was my own little way of rebelling against the Big Move.

His face fell slightly, and he opened his mouth to apologize profusely, like he tends to do.

"Whatever, don't worry about it." I assured him. "I'm feeling just dandy, mom is okay, the flight was swell, besides the young married couple trying to calm down a colicky baby right next to me and the crappy food, I doubt I forgot anything, and this place is just fan-freaking-tastic."

I usually don't have that much sarcasm and attitude when speaking to my parents, but I was reaching my breaking point. I made a note in my mind to be nicer to him later.

"Ah… I see." Dad replied, nodding his head. We made our way towards the parking lot, and Dad went back to rambling like usual whilst fumbling for the car keys. This time, he decided to swap over to Korean, so I think he picked up on my attitude. He started to lilt about the great sites and culture surrounding us that he's only just beginning to explore as well as the nice house he bought for the four of us-the four of us being my dad, mom, brother, and me. I almost forgot about him, actually. My younger brother, Kibum, was at home with my mother. They were coming in another flight within a couple days.

I came early so I could start school when everyone at school gets back from winter break. (Kibum, being the baby of the family that he was, convinced my mom to let him "take his time and adjust to his new surroundings.") I was starting at this school called Ouran Academy. It was apparently top notch as even I, in another country, had heard of its prominence. My dad highly encouraged me to go there a few months ago, and I complied, blasé with whatever stupid school I attended.

Upon looking into the matter, though, I became slightly interested. I would never admit this aloud, of course, since it's obviously full of those damn Japanese people, but I couldn't deny it to myself. Only the best of the best (or, if you prefer, the richest of the rich) could make it in there, and the alumnus of the school have all become greatly successful in the real world. The school itself was very extravagant in appearance and looked very impressive in the pictures I saw. They clearly took themselves very seriously, as even the uniforms were not the casual, everyday clothing that commoners wore. They were above that, I suppose.

The girls' uniform wasn't very pleasing to me, however; it just wasn't my style. They were piss-yellow dresses, for crying out loud! Begrudgingly, however, I have to wear it. What else could I do, wear a boys uniform? Uh, sorry, but no thanks.

My dad helped me dump my bags in the trunk and opened the door for me on the passenger side. He told me at one point it was another hour before we got to our new house, which made me want to groan. Instead, I drowned out the noise of his continuous babble and tried my best to make up for my lost sleep.