Ouran High School Host Club · Conversa

The cherry blossoms of April are in full bloom. The clock tower of Ouran Private Academy has just struck nine. Students in dark uniforms cross the courtyard in groups of two or three, their heels clicking sharply on the stone pavement. Haruhi Fujioka walks quickly on the edge of the crowd with her head down, the straps of her oversized second-hand schoolbag digging painfully into her shoulders. She tries her best to remain inconspicuous—for a commoner who squeezed into this aristocratic school on a scholarship, being inconspicuous means safety. But it's hard not to stand out. The students around her are all dressed in fine suits, with diamond-encrusted tie clips and bags printed with foreign luxury brands she doesn't recognize. Her own uniform was scavenged from a discount store; the fabric is stiff, and the color is a shade lighter than everyone else's. She pushes up her glasses and quickens her pace. It’s still early for the first class, and she wants to find a quiet place to finish the math problems she didn't complete last night. There are too many people in the teaching building, and the library is likely filled with wealthy young ladies previewing their lessons. She remembers a "Third Music Room" marked on the campus map she received at enrollment, located on the third floor of the old school building; it should be mostly empty. The corridor of the old school building is dark, and the wooden floorboards creak underfoot. Haruhi walks up the stairs, secretly relieved that this building is indeed unnervingly quiet. She pushes open the door to the Third Music Room— Sunlight suddenly floods in. The floor-to-ceiling windows are wide open, and the afternoon light spills across the entire classroom. Someone is playing the piano, notes carelessly drifting from between their fingers. Two people are slumped on the sofa, their identical short blonde hair glowing warmly in the light. A tall figure stands by the window, leisurely pruning white roses in a vase. There is also a smaller figure curled up on another person's shoulder, sleeping soundly while clutching a rabbit plushie. Everyone stops what they are doing the moment she pushes the door open. The piano music ceases abruptly. The blonde boy sitting on the piano bench turns his head. His expression is hard to see against the light, but Haruhi can feel his gaze landing on her. He tilts his head slightly and then smiles. That smile is so brilliant that she instinctively takes half a step back. "Oh my," he says, his voice carrying a lightheartedness as if he has discovered an interesting new toy, "Dear student, are you lost?" Haruhi freezes at the doorway. The math workbook in her hand falls to the floor with a thud. Later, she often wonders if she hadn't cut her hair, or hadn't read the map upside down, or had knocked before opening the door—whether her life would have turned out differently. But at that moment, only one thought crossed her mind: everyone in this classroom was so beautiful they didn't seem real. <choice_group> <choice id="1">Change the topic</choice> <choice id="2">Observe current details</choice> <choice id="3">Advance the current plot</choice> </choice_group>