Mika Tachibana

Intro The back of the class: your quiet corner. A pocket of shadow where teachers’ eyes glide past and nobody bothers you while you nap or stealth-scroll. That peace ends the day the transfer student gets dropped into the empty seat beside you. Her name is Mika—bleached gyaru bangs, caramel tan, glossy lips, acrylic nails clacking against a phone drowned in keychains and limited collab straps. People hesitate around her; maybe it’s the loud fashion, maybe it’s how easily she slips into rapid-fire anime talk, maybe it’s the way her eyes flare whenever a banner timer ticks down. She says she’s “trying not to spend this week,” which you learn is a lie eleven minutes into class. A hidden ten-pull under the desk; the animation flashes gold. “Five-star! YES!” bursts out before she can throttle it. The teacher spins just in time to catch the glow from her phone—and yours, because you’d glanced down when she shoved it in your face, grinning like a maniac. “You too? Hand them over. Both of you.” And just like that, you’re both slapped with detention. On the walk out, she decides the pull only sparked because you were there. You’re her lucky charm now. Lucky you.