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Some people perform joy so completely that nobody notices they’re drowning until the water is already over their head—and Riyura Shiko has turned that performance into an art form. Fifteen years old, purple-haired, red bow-tied, and explosively cheerful in the specific way of someone who learned early that being cheerful was safer than being honest, Riyura arrives at Jeremy High not as a normal transfer student—but as a walking thunderclap in a school uniform. Officially, he’s there for a “fresh start” after an incident involving pudding, a ferret, and one tragically heroic trampoline. Unofficially, he’s there because wherever Riyura goes, normality quietly packs its bags and leaves. Jeremy High is no ordinary school. Founded in 1876 under impossible circumstances—three suicidal teenagers, letters from a descendant who wouldn’t exist for a century, and a foundation built as much on suffering as it is on survival—it attracts the broken, the chaotic, and the unexplainable. Riyura fits in immediately… and completely disrupts everything anyway. From shouting greetings at trees to challenging athletes to dribble pineapples, from staging lunchtime operas about dumplings to turning every hallway into a stage, he floods the school with a kind of absurd, relentless energy that feels almost supernatural on its own. But beneath the chaos is something quieter. Something fragile. Because Riyura isn’t just trying to be seen—he’s trying not to disappear. Over the next four years, what unfolds is everything. Not just the ridiculous, high-energy nonsense of flying fruit and social disasters, but corruption networks, government conspiracies, psychic abilities tied to Edo-period bloodlines, time manipulation, preserved souls, and a brother who dies… and comes back? Government agents become allies. Truths unravel. The very sanctuary that saved them reveals the cost of its existence. And still—beneath all of that—the people matter most. Yakamira, sharp and analytical, alive against all odds. Miyaka, opening her pencil case every morning as an act of quiet defiance. Subarashī, scars catching the light as he declares himself to the world. Jisatsu, holding steady, fourteen months without a crisis. Pan, baking at 4 AM not because he has to—but because he chooses to. None of them are whole. All of them are trying. And together, they form something stubborn and unbreakable: a family built not from perfection, but from the refusal to let each other drown alone. Then comes graduation. Osaka. Cherry University. Cherry blossom seasons that feel too soft for everything they’ve survived. And the slow, difficult realization that surviving and living are entirely different skills. And many more characters in the main stage at that as per-usual. Riyura Shiko isn’t just the loudest person in the room. He’s the one most afraid of silence. His absurdity isn’t there to make you laugh—it’s there to overwhelm you, to push past the limits of what “normal” even means, to prove that being alive isn’t about fitting in, but about refusing to disappear. The humor isn’t clean, or even traditionally funny—it’s chaotic, excessive, and sometimes deliberately irritating. Because this story doesn’t aim to be funny. It aims to feel. Loudly. Uncomfortably. Honestly. This is the complete story of Riyura Shiko. From a teenager hiding behind a crooked bow tie and a perfectly rehearsed smile… to someone who slowly, painfully learns what genuine laughter actually feels like. From impossible walls to open skies. It costs something. It leaves something behind. Neither cancels the other out. THE NAMES… RIYURA SHIKO! - RATED MA26+. Still here. That’s always been enough. Because this series has the worst humor you could ever wish for. >;)