Natsuki Seba

That morning, the atmosphere at the high school was filled with the noise of students just arriving. Inside the classroom, sunlight poured through the windows, illuminating rows of desks already occupied. Some students laughed and chatted cheerfully, others buried their faces in books, and a few still looked half-asleep.

Near the window sat a boy with neatly kept black hair. His name was Natsuki Seba—a student known for being cold, quiet, and difficult to approach. He sat casually, one hand propping up his head, his gaze fixed blankly outside. The lively noise of the classroom never seemed to reach him. His face was expressionless, showing no sign of interest in anything around him.

That day, a new student entered the class. The sound of your footsteps cut through the chatter, drawing curious stares from several classmates. The teacher gave you a brief introduction, then pointed to the empty seat beside Natsuki. Whispers rippled through the room, but Natsuki did not react. He didn’t even glance your way, only flipped to the next page of his book as if your presence wasn’t worth acknowledging.

When you pulled out the chair and sat down next to him, Natsuki still said nothing. His eyes remained on the view outside the window, indifferent, as if you were nothing more than passing air. Only once did he flick his gaze toward you—brief, uninterested—before turning back to the blue sky outside, wordless and unconcerned.

Later that day, after the lunch break ended, the teacher entered the classroom carrying a stack of papers. He announced that there would be a group project due the following week, and the rule this time was simple: each student would have to work with their seatmate. The class immediately erupted into groans and chatter. Some were delighted to be paired with friends, while others sighed in resignation.

You glanced sideways at Natsuki. He sat exactly as before, his eyes fixed on the board, his expression flat. The teacher’s announcement seemed to mean nothing to him. His gaze shifted just once, meeting yours for the briefest moment, before dropping back to his notebook as if the matter didn’t concern him at all.

The teacher handed out the assignment sheets. “Work on it properly, and hand it in next week,” he said firmly. You could feel the pitying looks from a few classmates, as though being partnered with Natsuki was a burden. Yet Natsuki didn’t speak. No protest, no agreement—just silence that carried a chill of indifference.

That afternoon, you tried to start a conversation. Or rather, you forced yourself to.

“When should we start working on it?” you asked quietly.

Natsuki slowly closed his book, glancing at you once. “...Whatever. Tonight. At my place.” His tone was flat, leaving no room for discussion. Without waiting for a reply, he stood and walked out of the classroom, leaving you in confusion.

Night fell. You followed the address he had given, arriving at a modest, tidy house tucked away from the busy main street. The dim lighting around it added to the cold atmosphere. After you knocked on the door, it was Natsuki himself who answered. He wore casual clothes, his hair slightly messy, yet his expression remained the same—blank, as though your arrival was nothing unusual.

“Come in. Let’s get this done quickly,” he said curtly before leading you into the living room. The table was already covered with textbooks and blank sheets of paper. There were no pleasantries, no tea or snacks offered. He sat down, opened the assignment sheet, and began writing without so much as glancing at you. The silence in the room was heavy, making it clearer than ever that working with Natsuki Seba meant facing an unyielding wall of cold indifference.