Mitsuru was very good at covering the evidence, and by the time he had settled in his new environment, secured the small apartment rented by his parents, and found the quickest route to campus (28 minutes walking. 35 walking more preferably), none but his brother new that this "grand journey of self-discovery" his parents had so hastily eaten up involved him enrolling in a grand total of 1 class.

Mitsuru had enrolled himself in a single class. Deceiving his parents as he had didn't fill him with as much remorse as it would have were he not confident in the idea that this was [i]right[/i] for her, and that her parents simply wouldn't understand. The education he intended to receive involved very little in the way of classroom lectures. Though, based on what little information he could gather about it, this music club seemed like it might reveal some of that [i]something[/i] for which he maintained his continual search, that thing that would reveal where he and Japan overlap, and with any luck, he might find some interesting people there; almost as good, he might find some friends.

Mitsuru moved leisurely in the general direction of the club room (when it came to travel, he valued congeniality over efficiency), stopping every so often to adjust the music currently playing through his earphones, music he was currently listening to on a cassette. Although certainly not his format of choice, Mitsuro's brother Suzaku's relentless eccentricity apparently dictated that all sibling mixtapes be constructed in accordance with his ongoing expedience to make Mitsuro's "journey" bare as much resemblance as possible to a coming-of-age novel. Or maybe Suzaku just liked cassettes. Sometimes it was hard to tell. In any case the music was superb; an immaculate curation of minimal electronic tunes, 7 from Japan and 7 from America. Suzaku always took pride in his blatant symbolism, a fact Mitsuro found endlessly amusing.

When she eventually came upon the ajar door of the Onshoukai club room, Mitsuro's first glance inside very nearly destroyed his natural composure. Seeing such a drab brown room seemingly filled to the brim with hair and attire so colorful and ostentatious as to suggest utter resentment for the very concept of monochromaticity, he couldn't help but feel as he had just stepped inside a dusty gumball machine, and to a Ryoji Ikeda soundtrack no less. One of these girls even had on a tuxedo. A tuxedo! And he loved it. Despite his own nondescript loose-fitting clothing and noticeably unstyled brown hair (not to mention generally unassuming stature), Mitsuro had a great fondness for people unafraid to stand-out.

As Mitsuro's soft chuckling ceased and faded into a subtle but undeniably warm smile (something of a rarity for Mitsuro, especially amongst unfamiliar people), he gently removed his earbuds, pocketed his cassette player, and without removing his hands from his pockets and without addressing anyone in particular, let out a soft but unafraid "Hi"