I was Thrown into an Unfamiliar Manga

Originally, there are almost no club activities at the beginning of the semester.

Unless it’s a sports club aiming for the national tournament, ordinary clubs don’t run that rigorously.
I was technically part of the student council, but since I was just an ordinary secretary, I couldn’t be of any real help with the president’s current project involving a sister school in Russia—so I ended up heading home early.
The current time was 4 PM.

Ichijo Academy, located in Minato Ward, a fairly central area of Tokyo with over ten million residents, was only a few stops away from a bustling district. Because of that, the subway station in front of the school was always crowded.
The neighborhood where I lived was Setagaya Ward, on the outskirts, so it took about thirty minutes by train.
When I first enrolled, I got pretty lost transferring between all the tangled subway lines, but now it didn’t faze me at all.

Avoiding the rush-hour tide of people flooding the station, I stepped up to the ticket gate.
Beep!
I tapped my Suica on the IC reader and stood in front of the platform display to check the time.

“Ten minutes until the next train?”
Since I had more time than expected, I looked around for somewhere to rest and spotted a vending machine.
I was feeling pretty thirsty, so I thought I might as well grab something to drink—but just as I started walking that way, someone suddenly tugged on my collar from behind.

“Excuse me…”
I turned around, wondering what it was, and immediately froze like a stone.
Because—

“You’re Kim-kun from my class, right? Do you mind if I ask you something?”
The one speaking to me with an awkward expression was none other than Kishimoto Rika, who had transferred into Class 2-B today.
***

“My name’s Kishimoto Rika! I came up from Shizuoka!”
I should’ve realized this foreshadowing when I heard her self-introduction this morning.
A girl who’d lived in Shizuoka her whole life wouldn’t be used to Tokyo’s hellish subway system.
Even locals found Tokyo’s subway lines confusing.

Of course, anyone looking at this mess of a subway map, tangled like tree roots, would inevitably end up asking someone for help.
Too bad that “someone” had to be me.
“How do you know my name?”

My mind was a total mess, but I forced myself to stay calm as I asked her that.
Kishimoto Rika tilted her head and pointed at my chest.
“It’s written on your name tag.”

…Ah.
Realizing I’d asked a dumb question, I scratched the back of my neck in embarrassment.
Regardless, Kishimoto Rika stayed as laid-back as ever.

“Anyway, can I ask you something?”
“…What is it?”
“I’m trying to get home, but the subway lines are too complicated. I have no idea how to get there.”

She showed me her pink smartphone, where her home address and destination station were displayed.
Seijo, in Setagaya Ward.
A well-known wealthy residential area, even by Tokyo standards where land prices are sky-high.

It was only two stops away from Chitose-Funabashi, where our family restaurant was located.
“If it’s there, it’s near my place. Just take the same train as me.”
“Really? Awesome! I’m so glad I asked Kim-kun!”

“Yay!” she said with a cute little gesture of joy.
It was the kind of overly bubbly move that would’ve made me cringe if anyone else had done it, but somehow it worked perfectly when a blonde beauty like Kishimoto did it.
Even though we ended up talking by chance, this was still our first day meeting each other.

We didn’t really have anything to talk about, so the atmosphere quickly turned awkward.
To break the silence, I slapped the vending machine lightly and asked,
“Want something to drink? I’ll get you one.”

“Oh? Really?” she said, without any hesitation.
Clunk!
I inserted the coins and pressed the glowing red button. Two drinks dropped into the bottom compartment.

I picked a cider, and Kishimoto chose a cola.
As soon as she got the cola can, she cracked it open and, with one hand on her hip, chugged it down.
“Kyaa! Now that’s carbonation!”

Her exaggerated reaction made it seem like she hadn’t had a cola in years, which naturally piqued my curiosity.
Standing next to her, I sipped my cider and asked,
“You’re not allowed to drink cola at home or something?”

“Huh? No, not really. I just didn’t drink it on purpose to manage my figure.”
“Figure management?”
“Yup. Believe it or not, I used to be a reader model for a fashion magazine back in my hometown.”

As she proudly flashed a peace sign under her chin, Kishimoto Rika showed me her photo album on her phone.
Sure enough, it was her—posing like a model in various outfits.
I looked back and forth between the photos and the real her.

The facial features and hair were clearly the same, but something was… different.
Something about the photo version of her felt artificial.
“Makeup magic?”

“Ugh! It’s not just that!”
She pouted adorably and smacked my chest in mock anger—but since my chest muscles were rock-solid, it only hurt her own hand, leaving her with a pained expression.
I apologized and handed her phone back, then crushed my empty cider can with one hand.

Even though I did it myself, it looked like it had been flattened by a combat boot.
Seeing that, Kishimoto Rika was stunned.
“Are your hands some kind of industrial press?!”

She quickly handed me her empty cola can and asked me to do it again.
I crushed that one just as cleanly and tossed both cans into the vending machine’s «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» trash bin.
…She had such an outgoing appearance that I thought things would feel awkward, but surprisingly, we got along well.

Maybe it was her naturally cheerful personality?
Or maybe it was just how generously she reacted to everything I said.
We kept chatting about little nothings for about five minutes, and just then, the train finally pulled into the platform.

The metal doors opened, and a crowd of people poured out. Only once they’d all exited were we able to board the train headed toward Setagaya.
***
After several transfers, Kishimoto Rika and I parted ways at Chitose-Funabashi Station.

She had to go two more stops, and as the train doors closed, she waved at me and said,
“Kim-kun! Let’s talk again tomorrow!”
…Wait, we’re meeting again tomorrow?

With her talkative nature, she’d chirped away like a baby bird the whole train ride. In less than thirty minutes, she’d managed to extract all kinds of personal information from me like a background check.
What do your parents do, where do you live, what’s your favorite food, what kind of workouts do you do to get that physique… and so on.
I probably talked more today than any other day this year.

Rather than heading straight home, I dragged my exhausted body to the gym near my house.
No matter how tired I was, I had to hit the gym daily to feel at ease.
Yesterday was chest and biceps, so today was leg day.

Just thinking about the feeling of my muscles tearing already had me in a good mood as I climbed the stairs.
When I opened the door to the gym, the usual gang of muscle maniacs was already there, drenched in sweat, pushing their bodies to the limit.
They were me. And I was them.

Watching other meatheads train so hard gave me automatic motivation.
Of all clubs, the gym is king.
Smiling to myself, I closed the door and headed toward the locker room.

***
Kishimoto Rika is a girl turning seventeen this year.
The daughter of a manga artist father and a first-generation cosplay mother—she’s half British.

She originally lived in Shizuoka, but in February, her father moved his studio to Tokyo, so the whole family had no choice but to follow.
Her mom, who’s still into cosplay even at nearly forty, was thrilled that she could now attend Comiket more often, but for Rika, who had to say goodbye to her hometown friends, it wasn’t such a welcome move.
Despite the various things that happened on her first day of transferring, her first impression of the new school wasn’t bad.

She’d heard Tokyo kids were cold and cliquish, but her classmates turned out to be surprisingly nice, so she was relieved.
Of course, there was one boy sitting in the back row giving off a strange aura—but despite his looks, he paid attention and participated in class.
Kim Yu-seong (キム・ユソン)?

When she asked the other kids during break time, they said he was a second-generation Korean-Japanese.
Rumors said he once fought off fifty gangsters by himself in his first year, or that the yakuza came to the school to scout him directly.
Still, to her, he didn’t seem like a bad person at all.

Her father always said: “Anyone who likes Weekly Shonen Jump can’t be that bad.”
She kind of wanted to talk to him too, but the other kids clearly discouraged it, so she had to give up.
That was until, after school, when she headed to the subway station to go home.

What is this…
She ran into a completely unexpected wall.
She’d heard Tokyo’s subway was complicated—but not this complicated.

It became clear that she’d have no choice but to ask someone for help.
As she frantically looked around, she spotted a familiar back.
A high school boy with a physique that clearly didn’t match his age—Kim Yu-seong stood near the platform just like her.

Kishimoto Rika saw this as a golden opportunity.
She’d get to talk to the boy she’d been curious about in class—and ask about the subway too.
Before approaching, she cleared her throat and tugged at his collar as he walked toward the vending machine.

“Excuse me…”
Kim Yu-seong turned around with a piercing gaze and said,
“What is it?”

The moment their eyes met, Kishimoto Rika realized:
This guy… looked exactly like the kind of shounen manga protagonist she had always dreamed of.