Disclaimer: Persona Series is owned by Atlus games and Honkai Impact 3rd by miHoYo.

There was something strangely comforting about the hum of morning conversations, the soft shuffle of shoes against pavement, and the distant chatter of students filtering through the school gates. The warm sunlight streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the tiled floor. It was, in every measurable way, a perfectly normal morning.

Which meant, of course, that Takeshi was talking about sports again.

"—so obviously, I had to go all out, you know? The guy was huge, but size isn't everything. You gotta be fast, too. Speed and reaction time? That's what really separates the good from the great."

I turned a page in my book. A man with two souls, trapped in the same body, endlessly debating with himself about the meaning of existence. Not particularly groundbreaking literature, but a decent way to pass time.

Takeshi, undeterred by my silence, continued.

"And get this—he actually tried to trashtalk me. Can you believe that? Like, mid-game, he's out here acting like we're in some shonen anime. 'You can't keep up with me,' he said. Me. I almost started laughing."

I hummed vaguely, which in Takeshi's mind translated to "Yes, I am actively engaged in this conversation and would love to hear more."

"So naturally, I had to prove him wrong," he said, grinning. "I mean, not in a petty way. Just, you know, in a completely justified, sportsmanlike kind of way. Destroyed him in the next play. Should've seen his face."

"Mm," I replied, turning another page.

Takeshi leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. "Man, you really should get into basketball. You've got the height for it."

"I prefer activities that require less running," I said without looking up.

He snorted. "Reading?"

"Thinking."

"Thinking about reading?"

I considered that. "Something like that."

Takeshi chuckled, shaking his head. "Man, I don't know how you do it. Just sitting there, flipping pages, while the world moves around you. Don't you ever feel like you're missing out?"

I glanced up briefly, watching as students passed by outside the window, laughing, chatting, completely immersed in their own small realities. "Missing out on what?"

"I dunno. Life? Excitement? The thrill of competition?"

I returned my attention to the book. "Not particularly."

Takeshi sighed, but it wasn't an annoyed sigh—more like the kind of exasperation you'd have toward a friend who insists that coffee tastes better black when you *know* adding sugar makes it ten times more enjoyable.

It had been like this ever since the day he treated me to ramen.

I hadn't thought much of it at the time—just another passing moment, another instance of someone being friendly. But after that, he just… stuck around. Talking to me like we had always been friends.

I didn't mind.

It reminded me of him.

A familiar presence, filling the silence with stories about things I didn't particularly care about, but never expecting me to change for his sake. Just someone existing next to me, without pushing, without demanding.

It wasn't the same, of course. No one could be. But I didn't find Takeshi's presence unwelcome. If anything, it made mornings feel a little less empty.

"Well," Takeshi said, tapping his fingers against the desk, "at least tell me you get excited about something."

That was a loaded question. Excitement wasn't exactly in my vocabulary. Not in the way Takeshi meant it. It wasn't that I *disliked* things—it was just that most things didn't spark that kind of rush in me. Maybe it was just how I was wired. Or maybe I'd simply learned to keep my expectations in check.

Still, if I didn't answer, he'd just keep pressing.

"…Good books," I said finally. "Quiet mornings. Interesting conversations."

Takeshi raised an eyebrow. "*This* counts as an interesting conversation?"

"No," I said, turning a page. "But I was being polite."

He let out a laugh, shaking his head. "You're impossible, man."

"I try."

Takeshi crossed his arms, tilting his head as if analyzing me. "Y'know, sometimes I wonder if you were born like this, or if something happened to make you this way."

I kept my gaze on the book. "If you figure it out, let me know."

The warning bell rang, signaling the start of homeroom in five minutes. Takeshi stretched again, standing up with the kind of energy that should be illegal this early in the morning.

"Well, guess we should head to class. You coming, or are you gonna sit here and 'think' some more?"

I sighed, closing the book. "I suppose I'll grace the classroom with my presence."

He grinned. "Oh wow, what an honor." And strangely enough, I didn't mind it.

"Minato Arisato, a word."

I looked up from my book to see her.

Shizuka Hiratsuka, our homeroom teacher. Late twenties—though, judging by the number of sighs and stress-fueled coffee breaks she took per day, you'd think she was pushing forty. Sharp eyes, tired but not unkind—like a veteran who had fought too many battles, lost most of them, but still showed up on the frontlines.

Always in a neatly pressed blazer, yet somehow always slightly disheveled—like she'd managed to put herself together just enough to look presentable but had long since given up on perfection. And most importantly—single and unmarried.

Not that she advertised it, but it wasn't exactly a state secret. Between the way she sighed when she caught students flirting in the halls, her grumbling about how "romance is overrated," and the occasional muttering of "maybe I should just marry my job and be done with it", it wasn't hard to put the pieces together.

She stood with her arms crossed, her expression a perfect blend of exhaustion and simmering irritation. It was the look of a woman who had been forced to deal with one too many teenage antics before eight in the morning.

"Yes, Sensei?" I said, closing my book.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "How's school treating you?"

A normal enough question. But the way she asked it—the sharp edge in her tone, the concern barely hidden beneath her usual gruffness—told me this wasn't just about academics.

Considering I was an orphan in this world too, I supposed it was expected.

"It's fine," I said. "No problems."

She stared at me, unimpressed. "That's it?"

"That's it."

She let out a long, suffering sigh, rubbing her temples as if she were already regretting this conversation. "Minato, you're not exactly a chatterbox, but you *do* know that 'fine' isn't a real answer, right?"

"It's an efficient one."

"Efficient my—" She exhaled sharply, visibly reigning in her temper. "Look, I just want to make sure you're settling in. You've only been here for a week, and…"

She hesitated, her voice losing some of its usual sharpness.

"Your file said you have been adopted by various family but it never worked out."

I didn't respond right away.

Because she wasn't wrong.

Before coming here back in my world, I had drifted from one house to another. Different relatives, different guardians. Each one temporary. Each one keeping me at arm's length, unsure of what to do with the quiet boy who never caused trouble but never quite *fit in, either.

And, at some point, I had stopped trying.

It was easier that way.

Easier to go through the motions, to let the world move around me while I stayed still.

Even now, in a world that wasn't my own, I feared that part of me hadn't changed.

I didn't *belong* here. That much was obvious. There were no familiar voices, no tired yet determined allies, no midnight battles against fate. No one to share the weight of things too heavy for one person to carry.

SEES was gone. That life was gone.

Shizuka's voice cut through my thoughts. "You're spacing out again."

I blinked. "Maybe."

Her eye twitched. "'Maybe' my ass."

That temper of hers—always just below the surface. She wasn't the type to coddle students. She was the type to grab them by the collar and *shake* them out of their self-imposed misery.

She crossed her arms again, her expression softer now but still firm. "Look, I'm not asking for a sob story. But if something *is* bothering you, talk to someone. I know Takeshi's been hanging around you a lot, so I doubt he'll let you mope for too long."

That was… an accurate assessment.

Miss Shizuka sighed, then jabbed a finger at me. "Just don't close yourself off too much, alright? It's good to be independent, but it's not good to be *alone*."

I met her gaze for a moment.

Then, finally, I nodded. "Understood."

She exhaled, satisfied. "Good. Now, one last thing."

I waited.

"You need to join a club."

I blinked. "*What?*"

"Don't 'what' me," she said, already looking tired of my hypothetical protest. "Every student is required to join at least one club. It's school policy."

I frowned. "I don't recall seeing that in the handbook."

"Because no one actually *reads* the handbook."

"…I read it."

She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "*Of course* you did." Then she fixed me with a look that told me resistance was futile. "The point is, you need to pick something. I don't care if it's the literature club, the kendo club, or the 'sit-in-the-corner-and-be-broody' club—actually, no, that last one doesn't exist, and if it did, you'd probably be president. Just pick *something*."

I sighed. "I'll think about it."

"You *will* think about it," she agreed. "And then you'll actually *do* it. I'll check back in next week, so don't even *think* about trying to weasel your way out of this."

I had been cornered.

"Understood," I said reluctantly.

She smirked. "Good. Now get back to class before I make you start a 'help the teacher grade papers' club."

With that very real threat lingering in the air, I took my leave.

A club, huh?

That wasn't something I had considered.

But, then again… maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing.

It wasn't the first time someone had told me to join one. Back in my old world—my *real* world—every school I transferred to had clubs. And every time, I had the same response.

Pass.*

Not because I had anything against clubs. I understood the appeal—shared interests, teamwork, a sense of belonging. For most students, a club was a way to make memories, meet people, and carve out a space in the endless machine of school life.

But for me?

A club was just another obligation. Another place where I'd be expected to talk, participate, interact. Another social contract I'd have to sign without ever fully committing to.

I had tried, once.

Back in middle school, someone had convinced me to join the literature club. I had no particular passion for literature, but reading was something I did often enough, and the idea of quietly sitting in a room while flipping through pages seemed… manageable.

It lasted two weeks.

The moment they asked me to read my thoughts on a poem out loud, I realized I had made a mistake.

Then there was the kendo club. Not by choice—one of my temporary guardians had insisted. Said it would "build character" or something. I lasted longer there. The structure was easy to follow, and the movements made sense. But clubs weren't just about the activity—they were about the *people*. And I had no connection to them. When the other members went out for drinks after practice (non-alcoholic, obviously), I went home. When they laughed and bonded over shared struggles, I stayed silent.

Eventually, they stopped expecting me to show up. I didn't argue.

Then there was the music club. Another mistake. I didn't play an instrument. I didn't *want* to play an instrument. But someone had dragged me in, saying I "looked like a pianist." Whatever that meant. I tried. I really did. But enthusiasm doesn't manifest out of thin air. I quit after a month.

By the time I reached Gekkoukan High, I had given up entirely. SEES took up most of my time anyway, but even if it hadn't, I knew how it would go. I wasn't the kind of person who fit into groups. I wasn't antisocial, exactly—I could hold a conversation, I could be polite—but *belonging*? That was something else entirely.

And yet…

There had been a group I belonged to, once.

SEES wasn't a club. It wasn't an after-school activity. It was a duty. A fight. A shared burden. But despite everything, despite the battles, the exhaustion, the looming sense of an inevitable end—those people had been my friends.

They had accepted me, quiet and all.

They had made me feel like I wasn't just some drifter passing through.

And now… they were gone.

This world didn't have SEES. This world didn't have the Dark Hour or Tartarus or personas or shadows. It didn't have *them*.

It only had the present. And a teacher who insisted I join a club.

Would it be the same as before? Would I sign my name on a roster only to fade into the background until I quietly disappeared?

Probably.

But… maybe not.

Maybe I'd find something.

Maybe I'd *try*.

Or maybe I'd just pick the least exhausting option and call it a day.

Miss Shizuka had all but declared it a decree from the heavens—or, at the very least, from the school board. And while ignoring her was technically an option, I had a strong feeling she would make my life a bureaucratic nightmare if I tried.

Which meant I needed help.

I stood up, the thought of a club weighing on me like a thousand invisible eyes.

Takeshi was a nice guy. A good guy. But when it came to *ideas, I couldn't help but picture him suggesting I join the track club or the sports team—neither of which I had the stamina or desire for. Besides, if I went down that path, it wouldn't just be Takeshi's constant presence that'd weigh on me—it'd be the whole *sports* culture, which, frankly, I had little interest in. The locker rooms, the constant yelling, the 'let's be teammates, let's be brothers!' rah-rah pep talks. I could feel myself recoiling just thinking about it.

No, I needed someone a little more… *grounded*. Someone who wouldn't look at me like I was crazy when I expressed my disinterest in running around in circles for an hour.

I looked around the room, scanning the sea of students chatting, laughing, or already knee-deep in their own club fliers. And then my gaze fell on her: Raiden Mei.

Yes, *Raiden Mei*. The only other person in this school I had a semblance of an acquaintance with.

I wasn't sure why it was her, but there it was.

I took a deep breath and approached her desk. Not that I was nervous—okay, maybe just a little. She had this quiet air about her that always made me second-guess myself. But I wasn't here for hesitation. I was here to get the *job* done.

"Raiden-san," I said, keeping my voice polite, measured—because let's face it, if I didn't—if I let a hint of irritation slip through—her fan club *would* descend on me. And trust me, when I say 'fan club,' I don't mean it in the cute, sparkly-eyed 'OMG, you're my idol!' way. Oh no.

I meant it like a swarm of bees. A relentless, organized army of *devotees* that followed her around like, well, like…

A swarm of bees.

You think I'm exaggerating? Try being a guy within a ten-foot radius of her. You'll understand.

She look up from the book she was reading. "Yes?" she asked, her voice quiet yet piercing.

I cleared my throat.

"Can you help me find a club?" I asked, though it came out more like a *statement* than a question.

Yes I am alive and don't ask me where i was

hope you enjoy

and

Happy new year guys !!

even if i am a month late