The bell had rung for lunch, but Tomoko Kuroki wasn't going anywhere. She sat stiffly in her seat, poking at her bento as if it were plotting her demise. Her homeroom teacher, a kind but somewhat oblivious man, hovered awkwardly near her desk.

"You've been really quiet lately, Kuroki," he said, scratching his head.

Tomoko blinked at him, her expression screaming, I'm always quiet, you idiot. But she only managed a weak grunt.

"Well, I think it'd be good for you to talk to someone about it," he continued, gesturing toward a paper in his hand. "We've got a new guidance counselor. Why don't you go see her?"

Tomoko's stomach dropped. A guidance counselor? Oh great, she thought. Another middle-aged hack who probably hands out pamphlets about "loving yourself" and "positive affirmations."

The teacher smiled. "She's very nice. Give it a try, okay?"

"Sure," she mumbled, her voice barely audible.

On her way to the guidance office, Tomoko trudged down the hall, muttering under her breath like an edgy anime protagonist.

"A guidance counselor. Pfft. Probably some washed-up college dropout," she sneered. "Bet she's on her third divorce, chugging boxed wine every night while watching terrible dramas about rich people having affairs. 'Let's talk about your feelings, Tomoko.' Yeah, sure. What am I paying you for? Oh wait, I'm not. Because you're not even worth minimum wa—"

She froze as she reached the door, her rant abruptly cut off. The plaque on the door read, Sakaki Azuma.

"Huh. Weird name," she muttered. Azuma? Sounds like a protagonist from one of those slow, artsy manga nobody reads. Bet she has a cat that's way more interesting than she is.

Steeling herself, Tomoko pushed open the door.

Inside was... not what she expected. No cluttered desk with papers strewn everywhere. No scent of stale coffee. Instead, the room was oddly calming. Minimalist. Tasteful. And sitting at the desk was a tall, stoic woman with long black hair, gazing absently out the window. Her sharp, almost statuesque features gave her the appearance of someone who might've walked out of a shampoo commercial.

Tomoko stood frozen, a small, involuntary squeak escaping her throat.

The woman turned her head, her expression unreadable. "Come in," she said, her voice soft but commanding. She gestured to the chair in front of her desk.

Tomoko shuffled forward, plopping into the chair with all the grace of a potato. Oh my god. She's gorgeous. Like... unfairly gorgeous. She probably doesn't even know what a pimple looks like. Her skin's so clear, it's practically Photoshopped. And her voice? Is she narrating a nature documentary in her spare time?

The woman picked up the file her teacher had sent and began flipping through it.

Tomoko's mind raced. Ugh, of course she's perfect. Bet she was one of those popular girls in high school. Surrounded by friends, everyone loved her. Probably went to karaoke every weekend and never got out of tune. And look at her hands! They're so elegant. Like, does she even have pores? She must bathe in unicorn tears or something.

"So, Kuroki-san," the woman began, setting the file down. "I hear you've been having trouble speaking up in class."

Tomoko blinked, her thoughts screeching to a halt. "H-huh?" she stammered.

Sakaki smiled faintly. "It's okay. I was the same way in high school. Quiet. Awkward. Not very many friends."

Tomoko's jaw practically hit the floor. What?! Her? No way. That's impossible. She's clearly lying to make me feel better. Oh my god, I've seen this in TV dramas. Next she's going to say something tragic about overcoming adversity and then give me a motivational speech that'll make me cry. Wait. Do I cry? I think I forgot how to cry. Crap, do I look weird just staring at her?

"I spent most of my time alone," Sakaki continued. "I loved animals, but they didn't always love me back. There was this cat in my neighborhood... It always bit me when I got close." She chuckled softly at the memory.

Tomoko blinked again. Wait. Did she just joke about getting bitten by a cat? Is this some kind of humility act? Or... is she actually serious? Oh god, what if she is serious?

Sakaki's expression softened as she leaned forward slightly. "It's okay to feel like you don't fit in," she said. "Sometimes, it just takes time to find your place."

Tomoko's internal monologue sputtered. Wait, is she... for real? She's not telling me to "believe in myself" or whatever? No stupid pamphlets? Just... a tall, quiet woman with a tragic cat backstory?

The absurdity of it all struck Tomoko like a slap to the face. Suddenly, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Instead, she blurted out, "Did you ever get the cat to like you?"

Sakaki blinked, clearly caught off guard. Then, to Tomoko's surprise, she smiled—a real, genuine smile that lit up her otherwise stoic face.

"Eventually," Sakaki said. "Maybe not that specific cat but it took a lot of patience."

Tomoko sat there, stunned. For once, her mind was completely silent.

As she left the office, her thoughts began to whirl again.

Okay, maybe she's not a washed-up guidance counselor. But still. A cat-biting tragedy? What is my life?

And yet, for the first time in a long time, Tomoko felt... a little less alone.