Mari walked back to her classroom with her lunch tray and went over her mental list for survival.

Rule number one: no one liked people who imposed themselves.

Rule number two: partner activities were exceptions to rule number one because A.) sometimes being stuck in a group of three was worse than being by yourself, or B.) sometimes being stuck in a group of three was worse than being stuck with the other last kid in the class: there was probably a reason they were not already taken.

Rule number three: keep to yourself unless A.) someone is being physically assaulted, or B.) you are specifically named and they will drag you over there screaming and kicking until someone lost a finger or a tooth. Or both.

Rule number four: never, ever, ever mess with the alpha. It was like playing Janga with one block left at the bottom: if you're not careful, everything tumbles down and hits you on the face.

Mari lived by her rules. They made her strong. And after weakness like...that thing, her rules of self-preservation kept her alive more than anything else.

The end of lunch found her in a corner of the classroom, sharing crumbs with the tiny dust bunnies. A gaggle of girls had taken over her plus sign: judging by the way their skirts were pinned higher and how they kept stealing glances at a group of boys in another pod, she figured they were a one-way permeation ring: they let you in, but after that, there was no way out again.

Mari could guess who was the ring leader: tall, willowy, black hair in a simple twist, and features perfect like a fairy's. The name embroidered in silver on her designer bag was Inoue Tani. She threw her head back to laugh, and Mari watched everyone turn to secretly look as her neck arched back and eyes creased gently until stunning cyan eyes disappeared onto long lashes.

I will definitely stay away from her, Mari grimly assured herself.

Classes were hardly interesting: Mari had a read on most of the classes in her schedule. At least now I'm only a year younger than everyone else, she speculated. No one can tell.

And they couldn't: she was tall enough (by Japanese standards) for a 16-year-old girl. Most of her curves were left unfilled, but she was slim up and down, giving her a strange kind of innocent charm. Or, as Mari personally thought, made her look like a particularly skinny chopstick.

Though here at Rikkai, skinny lost meaning fast. In fact, everything here seemed to be drastically modified into the upmost extremes.

If she thought she was slim, the girl who sat diagonal from her was anorexia thin. If she thought her Japanese was decent, the boy to her right was an expert. If she considered her eyes pretty, the boy next to her had giant, bright violet diamonds where pupils should be.

Everything seemed dialed up to the highest calibration: even personalities seemed pointed towards one general direction. Mari felt like such a Mary-Sue around everyone else, but she still wondered whether that was a good or a bad thing.

All she could think was: Rikkai-people are abnormal.

Mari was an expert on keeping out of other people's business. She could fend for herself: that was the real basis behind her four rules. Depending on others made her less strong. Her favorite kinds of people left her alone.

However, this simply wasn't possible with Renji Yanagi.

It started when he knocked, two quick, sharp knocks in succession.

And looked at her, examined her, stared through his strangely closed eyes, then pulled out a little leather-bound notebook and wrote in it. Mari broke out in sweat. Was this a sort of telepathic test or something? Did he have ESP?

Besides his strange need to write everything down, the first part of tutoring was fine: they met at the library after class and occupied an empty study room. He read by himself for a while, marking the chapter in both her textbooks where the class was presently, allowing her time to flip through and read. She liked that: he would let her read and figure things out by herself- but there really wasn't much to figure out.

Japanese history was a breeze: the first three chapters passed with her acing every test question Renji asked her.

"What was the capital of Japan in 784?"

"Nagaoka."

A few more questions passed in a breeze, and Mari was feeling pretty confident.

"Correct. We'll try German."

And that's when Mari developed resentment towards Renji, tutors, Kawamura-sensei, and above all, Deutsch.

"What is the personal pronoun form of the noun 'Bleistift'?"

"Um is it...'das'?"

"Think about it." Silence. "'Der.'"

"Oh."

"Next: what is the correct conjugation of the 'wir' form of 'gehen'?"

"...'Geht'?"

"'Gehen.'"

"Oh."

Every once in a while between questions he'd slip out the notebook again and jot something down; Mari would peer over her textbook and focus on the small writing, but by the time her eyes focused, he'd snap the book closed, look up at her, have her promptly stare back at all the letters on the page, and he'd shoot her another few practice problems.

And repeat.

She missed nearly every question. No matter how much staring or mouthing or writing each word or definition or gender or conjugation, nothing stuck. It didn't sit well with Mari: she could learn everything-anything-just by looking and studying.

It wasn't just the weird rules or foreign enunciation on her tongue: Mari simply could not line everything up together. She was a neat, linear-thinking, checklist-type girl, and it usually served her well. Her teachers called her efficient and exceptionally organized. In this situation, however, she couldn't just plain match definitions to string sentences together: German had completely different grammar patterns and sentence structures.

Am I going to die like this? Reviewing European grammar with a stranger in a library? Unbeknownst to her, Renji was calculating the exact same thing.

There wasn't a real clock in the room, and Mari wasn't going to ask Renji for the time because that was a direct violation of rule number three...plus it would make her seem like a quitter. And Hikari Mari was no quitter. She'd stuck with that name for fifteen years, hadn't she?

"What is one of the personal pronouns with the verb form of 'sehen'?"

Ooh, I just read that...page 26...great, that's what I remember...

"'Sie'?" It was more like a hopeful suggestion than an answer.

Renji's face was in the same neutral expression. For a second, Mari had hope.

"Elaborate."

She blanked and wondered why, why couldn't he have just given her this one question, just to give her that one little scrap of self-worth she still desperately clung onto?

Silence.

"It's a capital 'S'."

Of course it was. Well, I'll show you where that capital 'S' is, how do you like that, eh?

Her face contorted.

Rule number three...rule number three...

"Oh."

I really didn't know where I was going to go with this...

Oh, well!

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