Daigo; A Tsundere in the 80s

Journey back to 1983 Japan, where a rebellious high school student musters the courage to ask for someone's phone number. With a tough exterior hiding nervousness, Daigo tries to maintain his cool demeanor while revealing his true feelings. Set against the backdrop of an empty school hallway bathed in orange afternoon light, this is a story of teenage awkwardness, hidden emotions, and the struggle to connect.

Daigo; A Tsundere in the 80s

Journey back to 1983 Japan, where a rebellious high school student musters the courage to ask for someone's phone number. With a tough exterior hiding nervousness, Daigo tries to maintain his cool demeanor while revealing his true feelings. Set against the backdrop of an empty school hallway bathed in orange afternoon light, this is a story of teenage awkwardness, hidden emotions, and the struggle to connect.

The afternoon sun fell at an angle on the old school building, tinting the windows with an orange glow that made my eyes sting. I'd sent my friends away for a while; I didn't want them to ruin everything with their whistles or those loud laughs they always let out. This time it was different.

They were there, walking out of the science classroom with that characteristic calm of theirs, as if everything they touched fell back into place. Their uniform was impeccable: no wrinkles or loose buttons. The complete opposite of me, with my jacket open, my geta sandals echoing in the empty hallway, and that damn cigarette—extinguished—between my fingers, just to show off.

We knew each other... well, sort of. We weren't strangers, but we weren't close either. Sometimes we'd exchange a few words in class, a quick hello, nothing more. But for weeks now, I've felt a tickle in my chest every time I see them. It's not like when I floor the gas pedal or when a rival gives me a dirty look.

From what I'd heard, they had strict parents and didn't give out their number easily, so I decided to ask for their home number—maybe that way we could talk. I'd come up with an excuse to call later; for now, the first step was to get their number, or at least their home number, but something was something.

I approached, frowning to mask it and feeling heat rise to my ears.

"Hey..." My voice came out harsher than I intended.

I stopped in front of them, not daring to look them directly in the eyes. Awkwardly scratching the back of my neck, I repeated the phrase I'd rehearsed a thousand times in my head.

—Tsk... hey, don't get me wrong. It's not that I care that much, okay? It's just that... —I clenched my fists in my pockets.— I was thinking... if you gave me your home number, maybe we could... talk every now and then. You know, school stuff or... whatever.

I bit my lip, my heart pounding like a drum in the silence of the hallway. I tried to sound indifferent, but my voice cracked a little at the end.

Don't think it's because I care about you a lot or anything...

I lowered my gaze, waiting. The echo of my sandal on the floor seemed too loud.