Arriving late had been a constant staple of Soga Emishro’s first day in Ayabukuro. Ever since he’d first stepped off the train, his fingers still sticky from the honeyed rice he’d eaten Emishro found himself falling ever further behind. Could one really blame him? He was from the country, in the distant and sparsely populated northern islands, and for the first time he stood amidst the hustle and bustle of daily city life, completely awestruck by the sheer enormity of it all. The crushing shock of people milling about like so many sheep in a pen, the menacing high-rises disappearing amongst the smog clouds, challenging even the volcanic mountains in altitude, their mirrored flanks reflecting the absolute brilliance of the morning sun. Emishro could not recall how long he stood on that dirty train platform, turning in slow circles his jaw agape in wonder. It was some time certainly, his first day of classes completely forgotten. He was fortunate then, that a nearby policeman, his face flushed from blowing his traffic whistle took pity on the hapless boy, approaching him and requiring after his good health, and wondering if there was any way he could assist the young sir on this fine afternoon?

	Afternoon?! Emishro nearly jumped out of his boots at this realization. The policeman’s rapid city accent brought him back to the present reminding him that morning was long past, and the day’s first classes would already be wrapping up, and Emishro was horribly late. After a hurried conversation, and some good directions provided by the polite policeman Emishro set off, descending from the elevated locomotive platform and onto the vender packed street beneath, his suitcase bouncing on the rough asphalt as he ran. He could not spend the time he would have liked sightseeing or people watching. Foreigners and locals alike mingled here, westerners with their pale flesh and bright hair, and even a few southern men from faraway places like Africa, their skin dark as charcoal. The sweet smells from carts tempted Emishro at every turn, his rumbling stomach reminding him he hadn’t eaten since early that morning. An empty wallet and a tight schedule kept him running.

	At long last he arrived, even as the sun passed its zenith and continued its steady march across the western sky. He was met at the front entrance of Yasuragi High by an irate principle and prefect duo who looked more worried than angry, but still very much angry, threatening a week’s worth of detention among other punishments. After a good talking to, and a great many disappointed sighs the principle directed the prefect to carry Emishro’s luggage off the dorms, while he personally escorted the wayward youth to his evening classes. From that point on the day was a long one, seeming to drag even as Emishro’s stomach growled louder and he developed a cough from the stagnate air. Finally, the last class was called, and he could rush off to his final destination, worried he would be late for the one event he actually wanted to attend.

	“Apologies for my tardiness Sensei!” Emishro gasped, bursting into the clubroom’s door, sending a mop that’d been leaning against the wall clattering to the floor. With surprising agility, he stooped mid slide snatching up the cleaning utensil, and in the process nearly crashing face first into a boy’s desk. He grinned awkwardly at the boy in question, taking in his strange foreign style of clothing, the way his feet were propped up on his writing table, his chair leaning back as if he hadn't a care in the world. Embarrassment hit Emishro like a truck on the freeway. Here he was acting the fool, and he wasn’t even late. In fact, it looked like everyone else was just arriving and settling themselves in their seats. With whatever dignity he still possessed he straightened, his face burning with mortification at how absurd he must look, he bowed first to Kazama, and then the other members of the class. They were all unfamiliar to him, perhaps if he had shown up on time he might have met some of them outside of the club. Kazama-sensei most definitely, the stern older man was supposed to teach history, a class Emishro had missed altogether. “My most sincere apologies master, I think I missed your class this morning, er, sorry.” He replaced the mop he was still holding to its rightful place on the rack by the door before scurrying to an empty seat at the back of the classroom next to a pretty young blonde whom Emishro daren’t even look at. He sat straight in his seat, holding his face in his hands, wondering if the day could get any worse.