10 When Everything Seems to be Going Wrong

"Can you explain what this is?" The principal utters in Nihongo or Japanese before sliding his phone on the table and shows us a recording on the monitor. Fortunately for the two of us, we knew the fundamental language before entering this school.

I know nothing about Nickson if he understands Japanese. He probably does since he lives in Japan despite being a Korean.

After all, the three of us are students attending a Japanese International school run down by predominantly Japanese people.

I expect the video to contain all three of us doing zany and embarrassing things. Following the scene, a teacher comes inside the room, pulls us towards his office, and gives us a lecture.

Everything we see right now has happened before. It feels like we are the protagonist of our show, but with comedic stunts that might get us expelled if we repeat this act inside the school.

Succeeding the end clip, professor Haruto leans closer, waiting for an excuse that he expects us to say.

"We did nothing wrong." My voice crackles, feeling nervous about what is happening around me. This incident is the first time that I got myself in trouble in a peculiar yet innocuous manner.

Haruto raises his brow, checking for my expression as if I am telling lies. He even stands up from his seat and peers closer to my face, nearly touching my nose.

'Hey! I thought Japanese people value their space!' I want to voice my thoughts out loud, but something hits me hard in the head. The pain is not physical, but instils critical mental damage inside my brain since watching the entire tape.

His parents must have raised him outside of the country and apply their culture as well. Considering he does not care about my personal space, he must have been a local from New York City or around the United States of America.

I am not generalising all of them. But most people out there would not bat an eye about this matter to some degrees.

"Sorry for intruding on your privacy, but I had to do it." Haruto abruptly retracts himself back to his seat, aware that he has done something wrong to me. "I call you guys here to inform you that."

Everything he is explaining is now in English. We are inside an international school, and English is the universal language.

'I am sorry for neglecting my Japanese culture,' I silently pray for my dead ancestors above, hoping they would forgive my insolence.

He slowly folds and clamps his hands together while crossing his legs, while staring at the three of us.

"That's why I will test you, my dear students."

His action of gazing intently into my eyes does not bother me one bit. I even find it well-mannered for him to pay attention to our expressions of how we presently feel.

"It's okay. I do not mind." I answer, while flashing him a kind smile.

"Just be aware of your surroundings if you guys plan on doing something crazy," He professes with his eyes locked on the three of us. "The guy who dragged you to his desk was really misconduct to our staff too. I hope you would not mind his actions and let this situation slide."

The teacher slightly lowers his head while expressing his apology. We return his gesture and bow our heads in response, acknowledging his defence.

"By the way, Nickson. I believe you have not handed over your enrollment yet to me." Haruto switches his gears and turns his attention over to the flabbergasted Nickson, and mentions the form.

'So that is why we could not find him even if we tried,' I grumble to myself after realising our efforts had gone to waste from that time.

"I am really sorry Mr. Haruto, for the delay." Nickson picks up his shoulder bag and hands the documents over to Haruto's waiting hands.

The schoolteacher promptly browses for the content before piling it with the rest of the files inside his drawer.

"Thank you, Nickson. I proclaim you as my student enrolled in our school."

The guy beside me smiles awkwardly while gradually looking at the ground. The confidence that he had before vanished from him right now. It is as if he has poles apart personality, apart from his sinister feelings.

"Hey, Yuki, is he usually like that?" Roxanne whispers through my ear.

"No, he isn't." I passionately shake my head, affirming to myself that this is not the Nickson that I know.

Soon, Haruto rummages his hands on the mountain of documents, looking for something we do not know. After a few seconds, he reaches out for three decorated papers and gives them to each of us.

"Are you guys going to the party this upcoming Saturday?" He utters, while curling up his lips together with his eyes.

"We will think about it." I briskly give him my answer, while laughing nervously afterwards. I do not want to sound rude in front of the dean, but I may have plans on that exact date during that party.

I am a busy author that needs to write three or more chapters in one day within seven to six hours after school.

"What do you mean by we?" Roxanne interposes, but I stomp his foot with mine while baring my teeth to my loquacious best friend.

"We," I repeat, while clenching her hand.

"Ah, yes. We. The two of us. One of a kind." She bites her lips and caresses her toes. "Of course we are!"

"I see. That's really unfortunate." He sadly replies with his hands, still offering the invitation letter for the gathering. "Keep it for now. You may want to change your mind."

Haruto recovers from his sorrows and gives me a sudden wink. For usual people, he may have acted creepy towards me here and now. But for me, I find his action comfortable, as if talking to my long-lost uncle that finally meets me after ten years of growing up in the city.

"How about you, Nickson?"

"Oh, no. I-,"

Before he could even utter anything, Haruto pats him on the back and abruptly bursts into laughter!

"Bah! I know you're going, alright!"

Nickson could only sigh after remaining powerless against the insistent nature of the principal. One misstep, and we would be the ones getting forced by the dean in attending that party.

We all know we hate you, Nickson, but you don't deserve that treatment-I think.

Haruto concludes the conversation and contentedly lets us leave the office. It had only been thirty minutes since the talk, and now we have nowhere else to go.

"But we do!" I yell while dragging the tired Nickson back to the park, where we last parted ways. It is also the site where Nickson had left his shoulder bag on the ground.

"Please let me go," He weakly tells us while struggling to shake our clasp.

"No," I answer. "We still need to talk!"

"What do we need to talk about?" Nickson mumbles while fixing his temples. He does not want to lose his lenses again, avoiding any circumstances of him becoming someone else.

We arrive at the square where it is quiet and greener than most places around the school. The buzzing cars racing from here and there pose no problems to our environment, making it convenient for us to hold our conversation.

"Are you Nickson-the mangaka who adapted my novel?" I present him with my phone while staring nearly at his globes.

"That's…" He fragilely points his finger at my screen while cowardly averting his gaze. I thought he had finally conceded himself at that moment.

I will prove myself wrong!

I deliberately pull out my cellular phone and check once more his anime profile picture. Instead of the adorable looking cat-girl, a muscular adult man greets my eyes. The bloke does not have any clothes on, with his shaft sticking out on the screen.

"No! I, uh-. Give me a second, please." I almost hurl out my phone in a panic after witnessing the wrong photo that I should have shown to him.

"This is for my reference!" I blurt out loud while explaining myself in front of Nickson with my croaking, nervous voice.

"Pfft, what was that about!" Roxanne bursts into tears while taking a glimpse at the reference that she also remembers saving the photo in my phone.

"Shut up! You're not helping!" I give her a karate chop on the head while I fix the site back from where I wanted. After swiping from the unnecessary sites for a few moments, I mark his profile in my tabs, this time double-checking it.

There is no more room for mistakes.

"Yup, the fox lady is there," I announce while mousily passing my phone to his waiting hands.

"You meanie!" Roxanne cries out her pain with her eyes tearing down a waterfall while rubbing her head.

"You'll be fine," I assure her, with my hand resting on top of her head. In return for chopping her head, I fiddle with her hair and massage the part below her left ear.

Roxane finds it relaxing when I do this to her. She even moans every so often, which I do not understand.

"Yes, this is me. And yes, that is my work." Nickson confirms our theory with his words.