This perfect weather, the time when the sun reached the sky and the moist gathered all evening starts to evaporate, was the picture perfect moment for Motoki who stared right out of the window. Hideyoshi gave him this room which once was a miniature shrine filled with portraits of his ideal women but now he's old the attraction he had for the opposite sex dropped to zero. Though, he could tell that the old man begrudgingly cleaned up that place for Motoki's nursery. As he got taller, the room got smaller and Motoki was no longer an infant to be carried, now a young boy who was starting school in a matter of hours. Hideyoshi had no choice but to renovate the room.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Hideyoshi pushed the door open with a bang, forgetting to knock on purpose. "You're still on bed. Aren't you supposed to be excited?" He asked with his arms crossed, almost contemplating whether or not dragging Motoki downstairs for breakfast. Most likely the latter, if he continued to moving at snail's pace.

Motoki rose, his body heavy as if the bed was whispering to lie back still and embrace its warmth. How he wished to laze around for five more minutes, reminiscing all the golden years and the advanced age he previously had with an expensive wine bottle and a cigar. But alas, stuck in this tiny frame, Motoki was buzzing with untapped energy.

And the old man knew it. Someone just had to enroll him where he could be with the same people. The neighbor must have pestered him again why his ward spent a whole day away from elementary school.

Anyways.

Schooling served Hideyoshi two benefits. One – Motoki may have the mind of an adult but his impatience at learning the Nihongo had Hideyoshi at wits end. If he had hair, Hideyoshi would have pulled it all from complete and utter exasperation. There could only be one impatient male in this household and it's him. Still, kudos to that guy, for the shot he made at parenting. He still sucks, 2 out of 5 stars.

No amount of chocolate bribes worked on Motoki as he kept mixing up characters and butchering the pronunciation of lengthy words. Especially with the phonetics. The Japanese words have its similarity to his mother language, and Motoki couldn't help but to compare. It was difficult enough for him to learn English in his previous life since his tongue wasn't used to variations in vowels where the letter 'A' should sound like 'ah' but still be the same 'aeeeyyy'. Its complex grammar rules didn't help, it variations and vast vocabulary made Motoki's head swim that it took eight years for him to converse with another english speaker… confidently.

Two – alone time. Whatever Hideyoshi did prior to adopting remained a secret as the man kept his lips shut. He doubts that man had any social life outside the two-storey home, him being a creature of isolation Hideyoshi lived off from money he earned writing literature. And his 'alone time' pertains to the state of bliss where their unrelenting hag of a neighbor wouldn't stop nagging about little things. The harpy's past time was apparently criticizing whatever fault she saw in Hideyoshi and letting the whole neighborhood know how Motoki wasn't enrolled to any school.

'Poor child must be lonely. What is that irresponsible Sasaki doing ruining a child's development?!' She screeched. That woman deserved the name 'Karen' even though she doesn't have blonde hair. And no, not one drop of foreign western blood got mixed on her bloodstream. Motoki frowned at her implications but refrained from voicing any negativity. She wanted to be called Emiko-obaa and Motoki acquiesce upon spotting the tray of freshly cooked tonkatsu behind her back.

God knows Hideyoshi can't cook even if his life depends on it. The tonkatsu smelled heavenly.

And chocolate was quickly becoming his reason for diabetes.

Now the consequences to his actions was staring right in front of him.

School.

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HOMEROOM

Motoki arrived at precisely 7:30 in the morning and he was first one in class. It's been decades since he last stepped on a classroom, the nostalgia put a funny indescribable feeling on his chest like a pressure he couldn't get rid off as Motoki shuddered from memories. He spent a moment surveying the munchkin-sized tables with its rubber corners, the board free from stray chalk dust, and the rows of locker each sporting different designs. It ranged from colorful rainbows to cute animals.

Yesterday served to be his first day of schooling, but Motoki wasn't in the right mind to absorb his surroundings much. He felt insulted when the principal mentioned their school was certified to teach special children like him, like his troubles speaking and understanding Japanese warranted the pitying gazes, like that made him inferior than his peers. The pride in his voice made Motoki want to punch his face.

Hideyoshi accompanied him as they were directed around the school. Principal Yamamoto handed them a map, each location exhibited a smiley face as if he was excited to be here at all, and was told to keep it safe. His old man then proceeded to pocket both maps in Motoki's bag, whispering, 'If you lost yours, you still have mine.'. Internally, Motoki seethed, he's not the person who's one step away from Alzheimer's. The old man had no right to say that!

As mentioned, 2 out of 5 stars.

Motoki felt justified with the rating.

It wasn't long before one by one children entered the room. All of them loud in greeting him, some waved their hands and pointed at his crimson locks as though Motoki's appearance screams odd.

He scoffed. The only odd one out in this classroom was the Seaweed Head from two rows down. The boy was the unfortunate offspring of wakame and algae, where his green hair waved like a desiccated piece of konbu. And they call it natural.

Motoki was then pulled out from his musings when a tall child stood before him. Their gazes bore into each other, unblinking, challenging. With a small voice of protest, the stare off broke as the boy uttered, "You're in my seat." and Motoki wants to reply how this seat was already taken.

"We have a seating arrangement you missed yesterday."

"..."

"Momo-sensei drew it on the board with our names on it and we had to wear name tags."

"..."

"This is my table, I drew Megaman here, look!" There was a blue robot in a superhero pose, or was it a human in robotic armor, that doesn't seem familiar to Motoki. Drawn as well was a comic bubble, a character for 'power' written inside that looked almost craved out.

"..."

He was pretty sure this boy would be scolded for vandalism.

"Momo-sensei said you should sit beside Mina-chan, see!" Gesturing at the girl and the empty chair, Motoki was unamused at this child's attempt to send him away all for the sake of a seat. The childish desire to be petulant reared its ugly head and Motoki stuck his tongue out, not willing to lift his butt and move.

"Why you!"

Frustration colored his features and the boy looked around for an authority figure, hoping to tattle about Motoki's behavior. When there was no one to reprimand Motoki, he looked back, huffing in resignation, "If you don't want to be with Mina-chan then I'll take that seat!"

"Kafka-kun!"

The christened child Kafka stomped away, griping the strap of his backpack in ill-concealed anger that slightly bewildered Motoki. Most kids would have a hard time reigning in their anger and he had a classmate with an impressive emotional control. If this all happened in reverse where Motoki was the receiving end of a bad-temper, his palm would no doubt meet Kafka's cheeks.

… Perhaps, he shouldn't project his displeasure in children. He felt somewhat embarrassed comparing himself to a literal elementary kid.

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MATHEMATICS

The numerical system, thankfully, remained the same. Small wins for Motoki!

In the world of hundred feet tall monsters that defied the natural course of anatomy shooting lasers from any orifice; people who have strange hair and eye colors that deviated from the norm; humans capable of surviving being thrown meters away… this piece of familiarity was what Motoki held onto because the universe is a mess!

A huge smile stretched out from his face remembering the symbols. The same symbols that he loathed, numbers he was forced to memorize until it chased him even in dreams. One may be spoken as 'ichi', two as 'ni', three as 'san', and so on but the digits were the identical to the ones he recalled. Thinking to himself, Motoki was going to ace this subject and leave these children behind. With their current level of schooling, he assumed multiplication would be the hardest concept they'll encounter and Motoki could rest easy in this subject.

Together, they will suffer schooling! Them with math, him with languages! Mwahahaha!

"Oh! What got you so happy Motoki-kun!" His teacher, a middle-aged woman, called up his name. She seemed encouraging Motoki to stand up, suddenly giddy at a student showing enthusiasm for her lesson because around him were dull and blank eyes of children who'd rather play than listen at this hour. Whoever though to place math as the first subject is a cruel, cruel, person.

"Multiplication, is when you add a number with itself repeatedly. Like in this example –" she lined the number seven with a blue chalk, speaking in an unhurried manner as the number three was lined with red, "Seven is multiplied by three."

The woman once again peered at Motoki before monitoring each children's expression. "You add seven to seven and another seven, so you'll end up with what?"

There was only silence that greeted her. The kids either doesn't know the answer, or weren't paying enough attention, or were still adding up based on the some finger counting going on.

"...Motoki-kun?"

Now, Motoki had no problem getting the answer. The issue lies on the fact that he can only count up to ten and was clueless on the Japanese equivalent word for twenty-one. It was too late for resentment, wasting his earlier years being a brat, not putting an extra effort to overcome the block. And with nothing else left to do, Motoki swallowed down the bitter bile of incompetence and pretended to be mute.

He instead made a hand gesture, the V-sign for the number two, and then brought down his middle finger for the number one.

If his classmates believe him to be the super duper shy kid, then Motoki's not refuting their impression.