Life In The Reverse World

“Alright, alright, everyone, quiet down. Back to your seats.”

A lazy voice. A slouched, languid demeanor. Hands shoved in his pockets, unshaven stubble on his face—who was this scruffy old man?

Sizing up the figure at the podium, presumably the “homeroom teacher”, Harutaki couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

He hadn’t expected a young, beautiful teacher or anything, but this sloppy-looking uncle? Really?

Where was the “anime world” he’d been promised? Sure, there were already kids with hair in every color of the rainbow, but this was their teacher?

Then again, maybe that was the mark of a high-ranked prep school. Even with a teacher this halfhearted, the students obediently slipped back into their seats. It seemed this man had figured out he didn’t need to raise his voice to maintain order.

Harutaki, though, was pretty sure he was just plain lazy.

“I’m your Class 2-3 homeroom teacher, Asama Masayuki. I’m a laid-back guy, easy to get along with. But don’t think that means you can bring all your problems to me.”

Asama-sensei rubbed at his messy bedhead as he surveyed the thirty-some students in front of him, even as they were sizing him up in return.

“Ooh, lucky! Another class with Lord Awa-no-Kami-sensei in charge!” A girl in the front row waved energetically, teasing.

“I told you, Nishihara, I’m not from the Sanada clan.”

Wearing a baggy, wrinkled suit, Asama-sensei didn’t look like a teacher in the slightest. He scrawled “Asama Masayuki” on the board with a few brisk strokes, then pointed his chalk at the girl. “If you put half as much effort into history as you do into nicknames, Nishihara, Shimomura-sensei wouldn’t be complaining about your grades.”

“I heard Asama-sensei barely manages the class, but his students’ grades are always above average,” whispered Akihisa beside Harutaki, unable to hide his delight.

So, even in a prep school, a teacher who knew when to loosen the reins and acted mild and easygoing was still popular.

“We look forward to your guidance, Lord Awa-no-Kami!” called out the boy sitting next to Nishihara, joining in the joke.

“Yeah, yeah… just the same name. But since you volunteered yourself, I’ll save myself the trouble. You’re in charge of choosing the class rep and vice rep. Murai, handle it like last time.”

The boy who’d been laughing with his neighbors froze the instant he was named. “…Fine, fine.”

Already used to Asama-sensei’s style from last year, Murai didn’t argue. He simply stood up, strode to the podium, and took the teacher’s place.

“Anyone who’s seen the soccer team play already knows me.”

With a deliberately exaggerated gesture, Murai flicked his black bangs aside. His tone carried a smug arrogance before he gave a formal bow.

“The name’s Murai Ren, also known as Murai Awa-no-suke, Lord Asama’s trusted retainer. Any troubles, leave them to me.”

“You’ve been binging too much historical drama, Murai!”

“That was spot-on!”

“Can I leave the troubles of adolescence to you, too?”

Harutaki joined in on the teasing with a grin, earning a surprised glance from Akihisa, as if to say, “That was you, Harutaki?”

“That classmate who looks like a Shun Oguri—since you’re as handsome as I am, leave this kind of thing to a girlfriend instead. As long as your grades don’t tank, I doubt Asama-sensei will care.”

The classroom, already relaxed thanks to Asama-sensei, burst into easy laughter under Murai’s antics. Jokes flew back and forth. It didn’t feel like a newly mixed class at all.

And Harutaki, having gotten a laugh in, had successfully put his face on the map. Building connections from here would be easier.

“Alright, alright, let’s handle the important stuff first.”

Murai clapped his hands, the brightness in his voice returning.

“Anyone want to run for class rep? One below the teacher, thirty-four above you. Tremendous power. If no one dares take it, I’ll graciously accept the post myself.”

After a pause of silence, Asama-sensei smacked the podium and muttered, “Okay, Murai’s class rep. Anyone want vice rep?”

Murai added with a smirk, “Flatter me a little, and I don’t mind if the vice rep stages a coup.”

“M-Me, me, me! I’ll do it!”

A girl shot her hand up, grinning ear to ear. “How about I be vice rep?”

Seeing someone volunteer first, and a friend of Murai’s at that, Harutaki quickly shelved his own thought of trying for vice rep.

He hadn’t cared about the title itself. What he wanted was to expand his social circle, build some standing in class, and set himself up for a smoother school life. But if it meant competing? His odds were near zero.

Elections required connections. And for him, connections were the very thing he lacked.

“Cut it out, Miho. What exactly are you good at? Don’t go giving Ren extra trouble.”

The red-buzzcut boy in front of Harutaki, clearly one of Murai’s crew, ribbed her with a grin.

“Shut up, Haruto! I can name every active Johnny’s group backwards!”

This was Nishihara Miho, the girl Asama-sensei had called out earlier.

To Harutaki, her looks were average compared to some of the class, but she knew how to dress up. With some polish, she could just barely pass as a “cute girl.”

“Rejected! Nobody wants a vice rep whose only talent is idol trivia. Miho, you’re better off applying to Shūkan Bunshun.”