During Haru Okumura's second year of high school, her father's business skyrockets from a moderately popular fast food chain to a Japanese staple that's somehow wormed its way into America, China, South Korea, Canada, and all across Europe. Kunikazu Okumura attends so many business meetings that, while she spends most of her time in his presence, she gets few opportunities to actually speak with him without having to compete for his attention with swarms of greedy socialites, politicians, and businessmen seeking to win his favor. Her family is, as those who have been wealthier than her for far longer often say, "new money" — a fancy term that means that, no matter how high Kunikazu's ambition reaches, he will never attain the same level of prestige unless he works for it. Even then, maybe only his grandchildren will be able to reap the benefits.

September through January is a whirlwind of activity, as her father drags her across Japan from meeting to increasingly stuffy meeting. The braids Haru has worn her entire life are tugged loose and her hair is cut short into a fashionable bob that makes her look about ten years older than she actually is. Her fingernails are filed and perfectly manicured so that they'll be ready for the ring some "old money" man with an interest in her father's image decides to grant her one day.

Her homeroom teacher gives her one long look the day she returns from her four-month absence and says: "I don't care if you're Mr. CEO's little princess. You're not going to make it to your third year if you don't catch up." Two minutes later, she calls Kunikazu on his personal cellphone, his number lifted from the school office's emergency contact records, and tells him calmly, politely, that his daughter will be staying back at school for an extra two hours every day until the end of the school year. Then, once the last bell rings, she sits backwards on the seat in front of her and walks her through every make-up worksheet and mock exam that would be assigned to someone whose father wasn't writing generous cheques to the school.

So, you could say that Haru Okumura owed Sadayo Kawakami a favor or two.

"I won't take up too much of your time," says Kawakami on the first day of Haru's third and final year at Shujin Academy, "but there's a new student transferring in today. I know this is a lot to ask, but can you show her around? It doesn't have to be today. She'll probably take it better coming from a senpai than from someone like me."

"Why me, and not the student council president?" Haru asks, though she already knows the answer: because the principal holds the president in his pocket, and he's watching the transfer student enough as it is. The transfer student being here at all is a political move, even if no one will admit it — transfers are rare in Shujin as it is, even with its sparkling reputation as a prestigious college prep academy.

"Because you're nice," Kawakami says blandly. "She seemed pretty nervous when I met her yesterday… she'd do well with someone like you to help her find her place here."

It's hard to tell how much of it is a compliment, and how much is Kawakami trying to make her own work easier — but Kawakami isn't like that; if she was, then Haru would be redoing her second year now. "I'll do my best, Ms. Kawakami," says Haru.

Kawakami sighs, and slumps back in her chair. The dark circles that seem like a permanent fixture under her eyes seem so much darker today. "Perfect," she says. "You're a lifesaver, Okumura-san."

"It's no trouble at all," Haru says politely, before bidding her former homeroom teacher goodbye and making her way to the third years' floor. As she does, an unfamiliar girl with wavy hair passes by her. Her gaze is fixed on the floor, and she only lifts her head when she stops at Kawakami's desk. Every other teacher in the room falls silent upon her arrival, the air heavy with tension.

(They let Akari go the next morning, and her mother comes to pick her up from the detention center. She doesn't say a word as she signs the necessary paperwork, or when Akari runs straight for the bathroom when they got home and empties her stomach of everything she's eaten over the past day. She does tell Akari to get ready for school in the same bland, half-distracted voice she'd use on any other morning, and even offers to drive her to school when Akari can barely stay on her feet because her legs are shaking so much.

So Akari goes to school the day after getting arrested, and it should feel normal and expected but it is not. Nobody knows yet — Mayu still greets her at the front gate, wearing her tracksuit and toweling her hair dry after the swimming club's morning practice; the boy in her class who'd borrowed her notes after being absent a week ago returns her notebook with a sheepish smile; the teacher takes one look at her too-pale face, and asks if she wants to go to the school infirmary.

Akari wonders for all of two seconds whether it would be worse to be inevitably pulled out from class, for everyone to see when the other shoe fell, or if it happened in private with only the school nurse watching. Though she does go to the infirmary after all, it makes little difference — everyone still knows. Sakurada-san's neighbor in class 1-D tells her senpai in the astronomy club, who tells her younger sister in class 2-C, who tells Mayu's older brother in class 3-B—

—by the time the school no longer wants anything to do with her, Akari no longer wants anything to do with the school. She stays home for the rest of the week; by Saturday, there's a phone call from the school principal telling her not to bother coming back.)

There were a few things that made school life very easy for Akari to navigate, back at home: 1) she could recognize almost everyone in her grade by name and by face because she'd been in their class at some point during elementary and middle school; 2) she wasn't pretty or charming enough to hold her peers' attention for long, or for her name to be casually dropped in conversation outside her friend group, so there were few opportunities to really humiliate herself (even though she would later take one of those and run with it); and 3) teachers rarely paid her any mind because she was a decent enough student to never have to take a make-up test, but not so good that she was anywhere near the top of the class.

Shujin's students don't really stare at her as Kamoshida guides her to the teachers' lounge. They stare at Kamoshida, and then their gaze inevitably drifts to her for a moment before snapping back to Kamoshida — like they don't really see her, but an extension of the man next to her. Maybe they don't know she's a transfer student at all. Maybe they do know, and wouldn't have cared to look if it weren't for Kamoshida next to her. His hand rests comfortably draped around her shoulders, his arm pressing into her back as he pulls her close to him.

When he drops her off, he leaves with a smile and a small wave. Then the teachers' lounge falls silent as she enters. They're all… staring too much. Some are already whispering to each other, and it feels like it did every time she left the house back at home, when people would see her and know who she was just by looking at her, because they knew what she did — and then they would just turn to the person next to them and whisper.

One teacher — tall, with his shirt buttoned up so high that it looks downright uncomfortable — makes his disdain plain as he glowers at her down his nose. Another teacher — darker-skinned, with her hair curling into a bob at her shoulders — touches her chin and narrows her eyes curiously.

Ms. Kawakami, looks even more tired today than she did yesterday, dark circles prominent under her eyes and her face just a little too pale. Her eyes narrow with the same brand of disappointment that she showed her yesterday. "Oh," she says dryly. "You actually showed up."

It… stings more than it should. She should have expected this — she had expected this — and yet Kamoshida had been so nice that it became easy to forget why she's here at all.

"As of now," Kawakami continues without waiting for her to respond, "none of the students should know about your… circumstances. Whether it stays that way or not is up to you. Got it?"

Akari flinches, even though she really shouldn't. It's a veiled threat — it has to be. Nobody knows now, but everyone could know — and when they do, it will be because Akari messed up, because she didn't toe the line enough even when she didn't know where that line was to begin with, because she made somebody upset without meaning to and they retaliated with the one trump card they would always have on her. What would it take for anyone at this school to use that trump card? Would anything be enough to convince them to not use that advantage they have over her?

Kawakami's expression softens, and she tilts her head to the side. "You okay?"

"Huh?" Akari answers eloquently, her voice cracking. It's only then that she realizes that she's too stiff — her shoulders are hiked up too high, her hands are clasped too tightly together, and she's breathing too fast. It takes a few moments for her to right herself, as she carefully measures her breaths, unclasps her hands, and lowers her shoulders. None of it helps.

"Sorry," Kawakami says gently. It's like she's a completely different person now — not as tired, not as disdainful. "I should've phrased that better. What I meant was that none of us here will tell anyone about your record. Not even the student council president knows. If you want to tell someone, then that's up to you. We're not going to punish you for it, but we're not going to force you to tell anyone either. Okay?" Akari nods, and Kawakami gives her a small smile. "Good."

Then they start walking to class 2-D. Akari still has to try to breathe properly, and everything is still uncomfortable, but at least Kawakami doesn't look quite so disappointed anymore — and for what? Akari didn't do anything in the teachers' lounge but panic. And with Kamoshida before, she didn't do anything but accept the ride to school he'd offered.

"You're from Miyagi, right Kurusu-san?" Kawakami asks. "Have you been to the city before?" Akari shakes her head. "Oh, wow. It's probably a lot different from what you're used to, huh?"

"Yeah…" Akari replies quietly. "You didn't have to get on a train to get everywhere."

Kawakami chuckles, and grins back at her. "I'll bet. So how'd you get everywhere, then?"

"I walked, mostly," Akari answers. "Sometimes, if my dad was in town, he'd drop me off at school on his way to work in the mornings. And… my neighbor biked to school, so sometimes she'd let me ride on the back." Airi, with brown hair pulled into a messy bun and a yellow ribbon tied into a bow at the top of her head — always yelling at her for being late, always threatening to leave her behind if she didn't get out of the house right that very second, but never following through with it.

"That's not exactly safe, you know."

"It was fun, though."

Then, Kawakami turns abruptly, and reaches for a doorknob. "Ready?"

Akari places a hand over her chest and takes a deep breath. It's not even that difficult. "Yeah."

Some of the students in Akari's class sneak their phones into the auditorium during the entrance ceremony. No one dares to whip out their phone when the principal is speaking, but they do once the student council president takes the stage. Some at least try to be subtle, letting their phones rest on their laps as they drag only one finger across it without ever looking down at it; others make no pretense of their disinterest, and hold their phones before them normally to text while very deliberately not looking in the direction of any glaring teachers.

The president introduces herself as Makoto Niijima. Shrill feedback reverberates through the room as she approaches the microphone, and she winces ever so slightly before saying in a voice slightly muffled by the poor audio quality and acoustics, "Hello, and welcome back to our illustrious academy. As I begin my term as your student council president, I'd like to share with you my vision for this year."

"Ugh, this is such bullshit," whispers a girl in the row ahead of Akari. "Oosawa-senpai was supposed to win!"

"Come on," whispers the boy next to her. "Niijima-senpai isn't that bad…"

On the opposite side of the auditorium, a few rows ahead, a slender boy with dark hair pulled back into a half-ponytail turns to the person sitting next to him, a taller boy with curly, reddish hair and a wistful smile on his face, and slowly wraps his arm around him. He rubs his shoulder for a few seconds before pulling him close, and the boy with curly hair rests his head on the dark-haired boy's shoulders.

(Last year, a second year named Hisame Oosawa tried to run against Niijima for student council president. The school staff, for the life of them, could not figure out why. It wasn't like he was involved in any clubs or committees at school. His grades were horrendously average. Niijima was the obvious pick: she served as a first-year representative on the student council for one year, and then as treasurer the next. She was ranked at the top of her class, and the principal had agreed to write her a letter of recommendation for college, handpicking her specifically from the hundreds of students in her entire grade. Niijima was a known quantity, a comfort in her predictability.

—and yet, it was Oosawa whose name frequently filtered into conversation. It was Oosawa who stayed back after school every day to tutor first years not because any teacher had asked it of him, but because some of the first years on the track team would be forced to drop the club if they didn't get their grades up. It was Oosawa who would go beyond that and tell them how Ms. Watanabe played favorites and would always grade certain students' papers higher than others regardless of quality, or how Mr. Yamazaki did a terrible job of explaining math and would give out exams at least a hundred times more difficult than the practice problems he covered in class. It was Oosawa that people would go to if they had to rush to cram school or a part-time job right after school, and needed someone to cover their after-school duties. It was Oosawa who did the bulk of class 2-E's work on their cafe at the school festival, even if the class representative later took all the credit.

He didn't want to run, at first. It wasn't his style, to directly take charge like that — only to watch from the sidelines and help where he could, even if it meant that a bulk of the responsibility would inevitably be passed to him. But to his partner Izumi Arakawa, whom he'd been dating since middle school, it was the most obvious solution to everything — to the track team, that had suddenly been disbanded after years of prestige and honor — to the rest of the students, so stretched thin by too much homework and teachers who cared more for test scores and school rankings than their welfare. There wasn't any real campaign — not really — but he made it known that Oosawa was running, that there was even another option besides what the school faculty had already decided on.

But to the principal, Mr. Kobayakawa, it was a very deliberate attack. There was already a plan — for such a quiet student who had always been so respectful, who was Arakawa to suddenly speak out like this? Who was Oosawa to think he could do this so suddenly when he had no prior student government experience? When the school's plan was always for Niijima and there was no room for anyone else?

It was laughably easy to put an end to Arakawa's efforts — a word to Ms. Usami to maybe watch how lenient she could be with regards to his and Oosawa's exams, a few jabs at the current state of the school's track team and how powerless Arakawa had been to stop its inevitable collapse, a strong warning to class representatives to urge their peers to vote for Niijima instead.

And yet, the revolution of sorts persisted. First years plastered flyers on the school walls urging each other and their senpai to vote for Oosawa. Former track team members and even students on other sports teams rallied in Arakawa's honor. Come election day, it was Oosawa's name that too many students wrote down on their ballots.

—although, technically, Niijima hadn't lost by that much — and at Shujin, the Principal always had the last word.)

"For us to reap the full benefits of our education," Nijiima concludes, "your participation, ideas, and enthusiasm are essential. Thank you."

Everyone claps politely — some of the parents and teachers far more enthusiastically than a lot of the students. "Please," the blonde-haired girl, Ann, scoffs from next to Akari. "It's so obvious she didn't write that herself."

The student council president is still standing on the stage, her hands clasped before her as she smiles hollowly at the parents and sponsors that now swarm before her. She looks so small, amidst the camera flashes, as the principal proudly beams next to her with his hand resting all too proudly on her shoulder.

The minute the last bell rings, Ann swivels around in her chair and asks, bluntly, "Do you want to get crepes?"

So they go to the same place Akari had gone to with Chihaya the previous day. Ann orders something with so much cream that it makes Akari a little nauseous just looking at it. Ann's friend Shiho, who met them at the school gate, orders matcha. Ann insists on paying — because it is Akari's first day, and because she owes Shiho money.

Akari nibbles on her own chocolate hazelnut crepe, and tries not to feel too guilty. It's… nice, to have an "after school" again. It makes things feel more normal than they have in a long, long time.

(Akari spends the months after her arrest and subsequent expulsion from school playing catchup, studying endlessly to make up for all the classes she misses because she needs to be ready — ready to take an entrance exam for another school at any given moment, and if not that, then ready to apply to one of those less prestigious colleges that will maybe, hopefully accept people who have not completed high school. There's no time to do anything else — or, perhaps more accurately, there's all the time in the world, but nothing else is worth it like this is supposed to be.

She doesn't dare leave the house. To do so would be to risk running into someone that will recognize her and know what she did. Her mother lets her stay home out of necessity, because she needs to go to work and taking Akari with her is simply not an option. Wake up, try to eat, study, try to eat, study, sleep — over and over and over again until the days start to blur together, until there's no longer any time to talk to her mother, or to say more than two words to her father whenever he calls to ask how she's doing.)

She has nothing to talk to them about. When was the last time she watched TV, or listened to anything but the same playlist of old idol songs by artists who have long retired? When was the last time she talked to someone her age, or talked to anyone at all for longer than a few minutes? Chihaya knows and is accommodating — more accommodating than Akari deserves by far — but Ann and Shiho don't know.

Ann licks the last of the whipped cream off her fork, and then abruptly stands up. "Split another one with me?"

"You're still hungry?" Shiho asks incredulously.

"Come on, Shiho!"

Shiho's smile fades for a moment — and in that moment, the light seems to fade from her eyes, her shoulders hunching forward ever so slightly. "I'll split with you," Akari says even though she's already pretty full, because the silence is stretching a bit too long and bordering on awkwardness.

Ann gives her a relieved smile. "Thanks."

It's not necessarily awkward when Ann leaves them to stand in line again, but Shiho still sits half-folded in on herself. "Are you okay, Suzui-san?"

"Huh?" Shiho's head snaps upward, and her eyes go wide. "Oh, it's… it's nothing." She smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "How are you liking Shujin? Probably not what you expected, huh?"

In so many different ways, Akari very deliberately does not say. "Is everyone always so…?"

"Yeah," Shiho answers. "Even the teachers. They're the worst. Speaking of which…" She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "I heard from Ann that Mr. Kamoshida gave you a ride to school this morning."

"Oh…" Akari says. It's not like she was trying to keep that a secret, but—

(—but earlier in class, before the entrance ceremony, there had been this one girl sitting near the back, whispering to the girl next to her, "Do you think she's really going out with him?"

"Well," the other girl had said, "you know what they say about white trash.")

"He probably seemed really nice… didn't he?" Shiho asks.

"Yeah, he did…" Akari answers uncertainly, and does not tell her that Kamoshida had been the first authoritative figure at this school to see her before he saw her record, who did not immediately remind her that the school was doing her a favor by letting her be there at all.

"Be careful around him, okay?" says Shiho. "He's… well…"

But by then Ann is back, sliding into her chair and laying out a new crepe in front of her, identical to the one she'd eaten before. "I don't mind if you use your own fork," she tells Akari as she immediately begins digging in. "You too, Shiho."

"No, I…" Shiho mumbles. Then she winces as her phone lights up and buzzes. Instead of looking at it, she flips it over so that it lies face-down on the table.

"Shouldn't you get that?" Ann asks.

"It's fine," Shiho replies a bit sharply. Ann nudges the crepe a little bit towards Shiho, who turns away from it and sighs.

(Last week, when volleyball practice had officially started for the new school year, Kamoshida leered at Shiho for a moment before telling her, bluntly, that she had gained weight since the last time he saw her. "There's no room for fat on this team," he said, and then told her to run laps while the rest of the the team got started on warm-ups. By the time she was done, the rest of her teammates were already on the court, hitting balls back and forth across the net. Kamoshida made her do double the warm-ups they had to do, and then run more laps.

Halfway through her sixth lap, pain suddenly sparked through her leg. She stumbled, before slowing down to a walk as pain tore through her leg. "If you have time to walk, then you can run another lap!" Kamoshida barked at her. Shiho bit down hard on her lower lip, and willed herself to not let the pain show. A few more strides, and she could run again, but it hurt.

Kamoshida didn't let her stop running until well after the water break, when practice matches between different strings were starting to wind up. He handed her a slip of paper from his clipboard: in his messy handwriting, a few fruits and vegetables, some meats to be prepared in a very specific way, and foreign-sounding grain she couldn't even pronounce. "If you're serious about volleyball," he said, "then you'll need to commit to it. Don't make me tell you this again."

Shiho crumpled up the paper and shoved it into her bag where she would hopefully never find it again. It wasn't like Kamoshida could watch her all the time — it was pointless to keep looking over her shoulder during lunch breaks, just in case he saw her with that bento box her mother had packed for her, filled with too many different ingredients that weren't on the list he gave her.

She would just have to try harder in practice. Work through the muscle strain, work through the exhaustion — after all, she was serious about volleyball.)

Shiho doesn't check her phone's notifications until she's safely back at home. There's six missed calls: two from Mishima, three from Ito-senpai, and one from Kamoshida himself. There are at least a dozen text messages asking where she is and why she isn't at practice, none of which she has any motivation to answer.

Shiho sighs, and drags her feet to her bedroom. She has to sidestep a few heaps of clothes on the floor to make it to the bed, but when she does, she collapses immediately into it. Maybe she should change out of her uniform. Maybe she should eat something substantial, because there's no way that crepe she had will hold her until breakfast the next morning. Maybe she should set her alarm, because—

—because if she doesn't, she'll miss morning practice, just like she missed afternoon practice today, and then maybe Kamoshida will pull her out of the starting lineup, but if he does that then maybe practice won't hurt so much — but she really can't keep skipping like this. She loves volleyball. She's serious about volleyball. It's just… hard right now, but it'll get better.

Her eyes sting, and her breath hitches in her throat. She's too tired, so she won't. She won't stay awake long enough to greet her parents when they come back home, so she curls onto her side, facing away from the door. Even when her parents do come — when her mother cracks the door open for a moment and calls out to her father that Shiho is already asleep — she doesn't move.

A part of her wishes that her mom had stayed anyway — maybe come to her bed and checked if she was really asleep instead of just assuming — but since when does Shiho have the right? She's the one that tried to avoid her mother, not the other way around. Maybe she should get up right now, make up some excuse about having just woken up — or maybe she should tell the truth, that she was only pretending to be asleep.

But Shiho is too tired, so she won't.

The snippets of Makoto's speech in this chapter are copied word for word from Mitsuru Kirijo's at the beginning of Persona 3. The principal insisted that she use it instead of writing one herself.