Chapter 23: The Class President of The Year, Class 2

(Part One)

July 26, 2025, Saturday.

Morning sunlight creeps through the floor-to-ceiling window, inching across the silver-haired girl’s face, but it fails to rouse her from sleep.
A ding from her charging phone signals that water and electricity have been officially connected at her new place.
She moved in yesterday evening, but with no utilities, she bathed at Liuli’s before coming over.
The night wasn’t pitch-black—streetlights and shop signs cast a surprising glow, keeping her excited and scrolling her phone until the power bank died, only then falling asleep.
So, even though it’s bright out, she has zero intention of getting up—it’s vacation, a little extra sleep won’t hurt.
For someone asleep, hours pass like a fleeting moment.

Ding-dong, ding-dong…
Ding-dong—

An unfamiliar doorbell starts faint, like part of a dream, growing clearer.
“Mm…”
The dream’s hold loosens; Cola’s lashes flutter, and she struggles to open her eyes.
“Phew… ha…”
Her first move isn’t to answer the door but to grab her phone from the tatami, checking the time.
Seeing 17:10, she thinks she’s still dreaming.
The sky outside is still bright, but the sun’s dipped west—if it weren’t, she’d swear it was morning.
“Uh… afternoon already?
Slept through a whole day…”
Cola stumbles up, staggering to the door.
“Liuli?
Yawn… sorry, overslept a bit… huh?”
Opening the door, it’s not the familiar figure she expected.
Instead, a girl stands there, cold and unyielding as granite.
Her long black hair cascades like a waterfall, red-framed glasses slightly worn, thick brows framing a stern expression that screams don’t mess with me.
Cola, reminded of middle school terror from goody-two-shoes classmates, swallows hard, stepping back.
The girl frowns, eyeing Cola up and down, seemingly displeased with her disheveled appearance.
“Cough…”
Cola, wearing her old guy clothes as pajamas, adjusts the slipped collar revealing pale skin.
“Uh… you are?”
The girl leans forward slightly.
Cola braces for a formal Japanese apology like “Sorry for disturbing you,” but she just nods.
“I’m the class president of Year 1, Class 2, Seta Agricultural Girls’ High School.”
“Oh, Seta Agricultural… same school as me, I think… wait, huh?!”
Cola’s eyes widen.
“How do you know where I live?!”
“Your guardian sent me.”
“Guardian…?”
“The grade director, Kitagawa-sensei.”
Cola blinks, picturing that old man.
She mutters in Chinese, “Didn’t expect that plain old guy to be the grade director… thought he was retired…”
“…”
“Ah, cough.”
Realizing someone’s waiting, Cola snaps back, blinking awkwardly.
“So… what’s up?”
“You didn’t attend last semester. Kitagawa-sensei asked me to bring you copies of all subject notes.”
“Oh, oh… for that?
Thanks.”
“Here.”
The stoic girl hands over a paper bag.
“Thanks, appreciate it… Wanna come in for a Cola?
Not cold, though…”
“…No.”
She shakes her head, stepping back.
“Take care, goodbye.”
“Leaving already?
How ‘bout dinner downstairs?
I change fast!”
“Thanks, no need.”
“Don’t be shy, my treat!”
Cola leans on the doorframe, shouting as the girl walks away.
She pauses at the stairs, glancing back.
“…Don’t push yourself… bye.”
“She’s really gone.”
Cola scratches her cheek.
“Pretty, but so serious… doesn’t use much honorifics, though, not like most Japanese…”

(Part Two)

Waking at 5 p.m. has perks—water and electricity are already on.
After a quick wash (brushing teeth sloppily and wiping her face with a towel), Cola’s first move is stuffing all the Cola cans from Liuli’s place into the fridge.
Worried they won’t chill fast, she tosses some into the freezer—half an hour, and they’ll be drinkable.
Freshly awake, she’s not hungry despite skipping meals, so no rush to grab food.
She rolls up her bedding, tosses it aside, and sits cross-legged at the simple tea table.
One hand flips through the bag’s notes, the other scrolls LINE chats on her phone.
The top message is from her language school teacher, asking why she hasn’t shown up recently.
“Blocking feels harsh…”
Cola hesitates, then replies, “I’ve returned to my country.”
No friends from language school, thankfully, so no other inquiries—replying to tons would be a pain.
Scrolling down, past random news and weather, she finds Liuli’s messages, seven or eight, sent around 9 a.m.

“Miss Cola, I pulled an all-nighter, still energetic, you awake?”
“Miss Cola? There? There?”
“Miss Cola, come for breakfast?”
“Still not up, Miss Cola?”
“Can I visit you now?”
“Getting sleepy…”
“Sorry, Miss Cola, gonna nap, will contact you after I wake…”

Followed by cute zzz emojis.
“Hah…”
Cola chuckles.
“She’s not still sleeping, is she?”
She sends a Tom Cat eyebrow-raise emoji, getting no reply.
“Living in a chill family’s nice, sleeping this late without a scolding…”
Cola mutters enviously, flipping her phone face-down, and dumps the bag’s contents.
Twelve sets of notes, some thick, some thin.
“Math, Modern Japanese, Biology Basics, Microbiology… huh, aren’t these the same subject? Why two sets?”
She scratches her head.
“Language Culture… classical lit? Agricultural Info, Food Manufacturing… weird, high school teaches this? Feels like vocational school…”
Muttering, she opens a notebook, noticing the class president’s name copied in.
“Matsuhisa Yuki? Kinda awkward to read in Chinese or Japanese… handwriting’s so neat, total goody-two-shoes.”
Flipping a few pages, she tosses the notes aside, spotting a mini umbrella, about Cola-can-sized, still in pristine packaging.
A stapled note on it reads:

“Heard you have albinism and are returning to school. Don’t push yourself. This portable parasol might help. —Matsuhisa Yuki.”

“Albinism, huh? Probably an excuse to let me attend normally…”
Cola brushes her silver hair.
“Guess it fits, even my brows are white… Hm, this serious class president seems unexpectedly caring?”
Muttering, she stuffs the notes back in the bag, dreading the thought of actually studying.
Her phone buzzes—a reply from the language school teacher, shocked:

“What?! Mo-san, you returned home? Not studying anymore? You worked hard and had talent for Japanese. Why go back? Facing hardships? If life’s tough, I can lend you money.”

“Ugh, saying that makes blocking harder.”
Cola tugs her hair, mulling before replying, “My dad’s gravely ill, I have to care for him in his final days, so I can’t return to Japan for school.”
“Unbelievable! But I believe it’ll be okay, Mo-san. You can still take exams. I’ll send class recordings—you’ll pass for sure!”
“Thank you so much. If I can return, I will. I’m busy now, sorry for not replying further.”
“No problem, take care!”
Cola exhales, shaking her head with a bitter smile.
“Even if I could turn back, no way I’d make the exams… damn, why’s he so nice? Makes me feel guilty, and it’s not even my fault…”
She slumps on the table, a bit melancholic—for her lost male identity and for lying to a caring teacher.
Her stomach growls, protesting its neglect.
“Hungry… time to eat. Hm… what to get? Convenience store? Or… yeah, find a gyudon place nearby. My Tokyo membership card should still work…”