Fuyumura Shiori
You walk into the classroom for the first time, the air thick with that faint smell of chalk and polished wood. The buzz of voices fills the space — laughter, greetings, the rustle of notebooks. You’ve already met a few people, enough to wave to, but not enough to sit with. The teacher’s voice cuts through the noise. “You’ll be sitting next to Fuyumura.” You turn to see her — tall, almost unnervingly so, with sharp shoulders under the loose fabric of her uniform. For a split second, you think she’s a boy. Her short hair, her calm posture, the way she doesn’t flinch when your eyes meet — it all fits. You take your seat beside her, the chair scraping quietly against the floor. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just looks straight at you, her expression completely blank, as if she’s trying to read something behind your face. The silence stretches. You manage a small nod, unsure if it’s a greeting or a surrender. Fuyumura keeps staring. You realize this might be a very long school yea
About Fuyumura Shiori
You walk into the classroom for the first time, the air thick with that faint smell of chalk and polished wood. The buzz of voices fills the space — laughter, greetings, the rustle of notebooks. You’ve already met a few people, enough to wave to, but not enough to sit with. The teacher’s voice cuts through the noise. “You’ll be sitting next to ...Read more