Crossover Fan Fiction ❯ My College Romantic Comedy Was Wrong, As I Expected ❯ My College SNAFU: 1 ( Chapter 1 )

My College Romantic Comedy Was Wrong, As I Expected [SNAFU]

The rejection by Yukino still ached when I was taking late entrance exams. I applied to several schools in Chiba, several in Tokyo, and one down in Nara Prefecture. News of my rejection had spread like the poisonous gossip it was destined to be, and my broken heart made me feel very alone. Even my cute little sister couldn’t cheer me up.

“You told her how you felt, and she rejected you. Perhaps if you’d been kinder to Yui things might be different, but it is too late now. Is being here in Chiba, filled with reminders of what you lost, going to be good for you, Gomi-chan?” she asked, and it was a very hard question. Our parents were both working, again, and it was just the two of us in the house on this hot summer morning. Our breakfast plates set aside, a cup of hot tea apiece.

“I can’t be here and keep it together,” I finally admitted. She nodded, knowing this was true. She was always a perceptive girl, even when she played the fool.

“So it’s either live in Tokyo, which you can’t afford, or this cheaper arts school down south? Rents are low, so living expenses are not bad. Only a small percentage of graduates get the jobs they wanted, though. That’s not so good. Still, there are greats out of that group too. A few are directors of shows, some authors, some recording artists and editors with success in their fields. Are you that sort of person, Gomi-chan?” she asked. This felt like something I should be hearing from Mom or Dad, but she was here so I thought hard about it.

“It’s worth a try.”

“Saki will be sad if you leave her behind. I’ll let her know your decision.”

“What? Why?” I asked her, confused.

“Don’t worry about it, Gomi-chan.”

I contacted the school and was accepted eventually. There were forms and names and a student housing placement person helped me find a dorm near the campus, where other students also stayed.

When I arrived there in the following Spring, with Sakura blossons pink across Japan, I found it was subsidized housing, only four rooms plus the main room with kitchen, and two shared bathrooms. I ended up on a bottom floor room with a nice view out over the town and the Pacific Ocean beyond brought smells of the salt waves and whatever fish was being fried by a house nearby. It is possibly perfect, so I was suspicious.

My roommates were arguing about food, personal space, bathroom use, chores all that stuff siblings do only without the mercy. I ended up with a bunch of chores, but so did the others so I kept my bitterness to myself. I was trying to write my memoir because I think my life thus far hasn’t been really great so other people would probably like to read about it and feel superior. If I can capitalize on my own suffering and humiliation with a moderately selling novel then I was in the right place after all.

Two of my roommates were girls, women I mean. One was a tall Gyaru with blonde hair and big Harunos named Kogure Nanako. She wasn’t as overtly sexual and pushy as Haruno, which was a nice change so I decided she could be a friend.

The short one had big Harunos and was shaped like had been designed for obscene dreams which require showers after. And she was nice, like Yui had been, only with a Kansai accent. She introduced herself as Akishima Shino, and asked to be called Aki. So we called her ShinoAki instead.

My other roommate was a reasonably organized guy named Hashiba Kyouya, who accepted the chores list without complaint and finished drying the dishes.

It was time to go. We gathered our things and trooped off to school, climbing the hill past the blossoming sakura (youth is a lie!), and onto the main campus.

It was weird. There was a long narrow building below ground, with grass on top and walkways and railings there so you could actually use that for picnics or something. The trenches on either side concealed two layers of doorways with odd signs which suggested they were clubrooms.

People were reacting to my eyes as they usually do. I sighed. Screw them if they don’t like me. No compromises. I’m through trying to get along with people. Look how that turned out. Changing yourself to suit others is the same thing as rejecting yourself, of losing. There was something in my eye just then so I wiped the tears clear and soldiered on.

Our first class was one we all attended, Intro to Visual Arts. It was required so all students had this course. There were 138 of us in the room. The sensei, Kano-san, asked us what we wanted to do, showing hands. There were editors, voice actors, photographers, animators, game designers, and screenwriters present. I am part of the last group.

“How many of the graduating class last year found jobs in their preferred occupation?” she asked. She paused. “Eight. Eight got jobs doing what they wanted to do. That is a reality in our studies. Only the very best and most determined will succeed.” I groaned internally. Way to setup the expectations with a high bar. No wonder it was easy to get in and the tuition rates are low. This is why. I was determined to write my memoir because whatever I learned here wasn’t likely to help. This was a pause, somewhere away from home with cheap rent and mandatory associating with riajuus with Dreams. Grr.

We were handed an assignment, as a group. Make a three minute short film that tells a story. Our household would do this together, having various skills. I would be writing the script. I had templates so I could do that. It will be good practice if I get a job working for a TV station and get stuck coming up with ideas for children’s shows where former athletes have to sing songs and explain lessons to happy toddlers who won’t understand them at all. I mean, that could happen. It would be hell, but better than jobs like my parents, who never seemed to come home. Maybe my parents were vampires? Maybe I was hungry and hallucinating from low blood sugar.

Class ended so I went in search of lunch. The cafeteria was very ordinary. Their coffee was not good. It was both burnt and weak, at the same time. I added lots of sugar and milk to it, and suffered through a cold onigiri wrapped in cellophane with a very sour pickled plum inside. I spit out its pit and decided this development is pretty much what I deserved today.

At least the coffee was sweet.

Afternoon classes were more specialized to writing, and I’d at least read the textbook intro chapters to professional script writing. So I knew the forms and the basics. The sensei called on me despite me being dozy, and I was able to answer him. I think that coffee saved me, but I may have to learn how to make good coffee myself and a thermos to keep it warm.

The redhead in front of me looked shocked after my answer was correct. I think she was trying to throw me under the bus. I did that already, and got the xrays to prove it. Two weeks in a cast and reading my favorite manga later had spoiled my high school debut, leading to the essay that put me in the service club and many adventures in reason and accountability. And then getting my heart broken. Something in my eye. Wiped some tears away with my handkerchief. My hanky will never betray me!

I left campus, ignoring the riajuu invitation flyers for the Freshman Mixer on the front lawn over the club rooms. I wasn’t in the mood. I walked off campus and headed for a grocery store, finding a Lawson offering a part time job stocking shelves. I inquired within, and got hired on the spot.

“We hire several of these jobs every semester. If you know anyone reliable, send them our way.”

“I have roommates. I will mention it to them,” I said. I would start tomorrow. Some income to pay for food and the minimal tuition would be better than being a parasite on my family back in Chiba. They needed to focus on Komachi and her future. She was the one who would succeed. I wasn’t. I eventually found the actual supermarket in town and bought some food, carrying it back up the hill to the Share House Kitayama dorm. I found some room in the fridge and on the shelves, marking my food with the English H. Hopefully nobody would steal it by mistake.

I sat down to write my memoir on my old reliable PC. It wasn’t comfortable, but the view was nice. I wrote, and I thought about how I felt so smug back then because I’d figured it all out. How people really are, and what they really think, and how they treat each other like disposable trash. I wrote about Hiratsuka-senseis punch to the guy at my joke about her single status and age, and being dragged off to meet Yukino, about how cold she was, and the revulsion she felt towards me, fearing for her chastity because of my lewd eyes.

Only Yui never complained about my eyes. Well, not Saki either, even when I saw her panties that day. And Haruno never minded. She liked the honesty, she said. Something about my eyes being heraldic in an age of affordable beauty. I think she was referencing something. Not sure what. I need to read more books.

I wrote about our argument, trying to remember her sharp words and insistence she’d already fixed me with the first step, and Sensei returned with her offer to create a contest where the loser would have to do whatever the winner said. It was an underhanded move, both because Yukinoshita objected and because it put me in a bad light. I can see that now, after the fact. It drove a wedge between us, at the start.

Light started to fade after hours writing and I was alone in a darkened house. I descended, feeling my way and switched on the one over the stove to cook myself something for dinner. Pitiful ramen with an egg so I wouldn’t die. I’d need to be ready for work tomorrow. The uniform I’d received was a loaner and smelled so I’d washed it in the shared laundry, which I am grateful we have, and hung out to dry in the blustery air. It was cool and damp, unfortunately. I brought it inside, putting it on a hanger in my room in hopes it would dry there in time for tomorrows shift in the evening after school.

After I went to bed the others arrived, ShinoAki and Kyouya laughing and drunk. They went to their rooms and crashed out for the night. Nanako must have come in at some point. I missed it. I slept.

The following morning my roommates and I fought for bathroom access and I resolved to shower after work in the evening to avoid this fight in the morning. Women are so needy. My little sister wasn’t this bad.

We trooped up the hill to the campus after a quick breakfast and I sullenly kept my feelings to myself, not wanting to hurt anyone else. I learned from my experiences. Friendship leads to misery.

We organized ourselves around the project, trying to come up with an idea. I had something I was considering from an idea’s folder I’d created after reading a Checkov short story from a literature collection from the last century. When Kyouya mentioned having an idea from the same one in my story folder I was shocked. I went and checked my computer, but the folder hadn’t been accessed in months. I printed it out and handed it to him, then asked him to meet me outside. It was cold.

“How did you know?” I asked him. I admit I am angry.

“What do you mean?” he wondered, confused. I waved the story idea at him.

“This is from my ideas folder. I wrote this a few years ago. How did you manage to produce the very idea I had, almost word for word?” I demanded. He was speechless. I stormed back inside.

That day I was feeling paranoid. I and I realized I was seeing a familiar face on campus, peering at me. I doubled back and got behind them. Okay this was a good plan. She’d shaped up nicely.

“Kuroi Pantsu,” I said quietly. She yelped and swung around leading with a fist. I swung back on my hips, doing my Agent Smith impression. This worked until she followed up with a kick in the shin, which dropped me in pain.

“Oww! Kawasaki!” I complained.

The walkway ceiling was painted in a mural I had never noticed before. It was subtle using dyes that chemically bound to the concrete. I have no idea how long it had been there.

“Interesting view,” I said. Kawasaki snapped her legs shut, glaring. I pointed at the ceiling. After a moment she checked the ceiling and noticed the mural. It was a depiction of the cave paintings from Lascaux in Southern France. Giant bulls, elephants, rhino, giraffe, antelope. And people with bows and spears hunting them. The originals had been chewed and spit out, using hands to block the paint. It’s the oldest known form of human art still surviving.

“I didn’t know that,” admitted Saki. “So you’re here too, obviously. What are you studying?”

“Scriptwriting, though I am probably going to write novels.”

“You read enough of them. It’s probably a good idea. What kind of novels?” she asked.

“I was thinking about romance. It’s a big market with lots of interest. How about you? Why here?”

“I’m working towards fashion and costuming. I’m already good at modifying clothes.”

“You had good style back at Soubu. Your friends probably liked your clothes.”

“I never had time for friends. I was too busy.”

“Sorry. But I respect you for sticking to your guns. And being smart enough not to offend sensei and get forced to join the service club against your will.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I was forced. It wasn’t my idea. I wanted to be alone, like you were. I was comfortable alone.”

“That’s… really odd. And kind of sad, Hachiman.”

“It’s who I am. And look how things turned out. Half the people I tried to help I made things worse, and I lost my friends from Soubu in the process.”

“Not all of them.”

“Most won’t even speak to me.”

“I’m talking to you, Hachiman. Don’t write me off in your pity party,” she contradicted me. I glared back at her. I sighed.

“Yeah. Okay, so some still talk to me. I let a lot of people down. I hurt Yui, and she didn’t deserve that. And I’ve lost Yukinoshita for good. She hates me.”

“High school sucks,” Saki said.

“Yes it does.”

“So what are you writing?” she asked me.

“My own story. I need to get it out or I don’t think I’ll recover. Its like poison. I have to bleed onto the page or I’ll just remain sick.”

“That is a very vivid and chuuni description you just provided, Hachiman. I am totally telling your sister you said something so cringe,” she promised.

“Not Komachi. I can’t take her frown emoticons and Gomi-chan accusations.”

“Now that neither one of us is there to stop those two from going at it like rabid weasels? How long before there’s a shotgun wedding and a stain on my shirt?” she asked, quoting Beck.

“Really. Loser? You’re quoting Beck right now after giving me the image of my precious little sister swollen like a guppy with your brother’s embryo-spawn? I am not sure I can forgive you,” I complained. She mocked my complaint with a laugh. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Saki laugh.

“C’mon. I know a place with good coffee.”

The place turned out to be the sewing club in one of those ridiculous rooms under the front lawn. They had a basic coffee machine, but someone actually measured the grounds and used clean water to make it, not the usual chlorinated garbage that came out of the local city taps. The coffee was just right in strength, hot and from good beans. It was a good cup of coffee. I felt much better.

Saki was working on some clothes modifications.

“Take off your trousers, Hachiman.”

“I realize we’re at college, and we’re adults now, but do you really want to move our relationship that far forward on our first date? What about my chastity? What if I don’t respect you in the morning?” I demanded. She gestured to me to stand up and measured a spot on my trousers near my feet, marking it was some chalk and then some pins from her mouth to hold it in place.

“Go behind the screen, dummy,” she shooed me. I did so, and removed them, sticking myself on pins twice. I passed them around and there was the sound of an electric sewing machine working for a surprisingly short time before they came back.

“Try them on.”

“Only one leg is sewed,” I complained.

“Just try them on already,” she ordered. I did.

“Step out.” I did.

“Yeah, that’s good. Okay take them off.” I glared. She shooed me back behind the screen.

The dance repeated and I got back trousers which actually fit now and didn’t have to be rolled on the ends.

“I can’t be seen with you in bad fitting clothes. Have some consideration for my pride, Hachiman.”

“Fine. Thank you. Its nice,” I offered out my cellphone to exchange contact data. 

“I already have yours. But thank you. Where are you living these days?” she asked.

“Off campus, the Kitayama Share House. Its pretty close by. Hey, do you need a job?” I asked her. She raised an eyebrow.

“I got one already at the sporting goods store in town. They wanted an on-call seamstress, and I fit the bill.”

“Oh? Good. Glad to hear it. I’m about to start working at Lawsons just off campus. Stocking shelves, pulling spoiled sandwiches and dumping them. Its going to be super exciting working there.”

“I thought you used to say that to work is to lose.”

“And I have lost. I retain my dignity at being right.”

“Beats bartending, though Angel Ladder wasn’t bad. My boss never hit on me.”

“Your boss was gay as a three yen coin.”

“That’s not even enough for an ice cube. That’s not very gay, you’re saying.”

“He was gay. Any straight guy would hit on you. Even with your emotionless expression and demand for payment. The gap moe of that suit on you was excellent,” I admitted, remembering her look fondly.

“Oh?” she asked, clearly fishing for compliments. I sighed in defeat.

“Yes, you were hot. Still are. It’s no longer creepy to say so. I don’t have a pair of girls glaring at me anymore.” 

“Hmm. Well, work on your compliment style. I woman never wants to be compared to an ex,” she insisted. “I’ll see you around.” She shooed me in the direction of the door.

I thanked her for the fitting and stepped out of the little sewing room, realizing I’d better move if I wanted to make work on time for my first day. I got home in record time, got into the terrible Lawson shirt and hat and appropriate black slacks and got to work before I was late. I got shown the timecard system, on a computer in the back, and the lockers, where I could leave my uniform in future rather than wear it outside, and shown where the expirations dates were, and the stock rotation, and got going placing drinks into the backs of the coolers for other college kids to buy with their limited funds. I even stocked single beers and various wine coolers and such softer adult beverages. I also dealt with the many kinds of milk-like products, several of which had expired and would be going into the locked dumpster, to be taken away by some kind of trucking company I did not care a bit about. Only that there was a key and I needed to lock up after use. The shift eventually ended well after dark and I headed home to the dorm, to a reheated dinner, a shower, and bed.