Transmigrated as an Extra: Awakening of The Ex‐Class'-Chapter 78 : Preparations for the School Festival Part 3

When I arrived at the classroom, the atmosphere was charged, as if a magical storm were floating just above our heads. Conversations stopped as soon as someone new entered; some avoided my gaze; others watched me with suspicion or defiance. Without saying a word, I walked straight to my usual spot, the window seat, where I could always gaze at the sky and lose myself for a few seconds if I needed to.

But this time, something interrupted that routine.

On the desk, neatly placed, lay a pink letter. It had no name written on it, nor a stamp, but something about its appearance stopped me. I leaned in slightly, quickly glancing around. No one seemed to be paying attention to me, or if they were, they hid it well. I took the envelope carefully. The paper was of good quality, and as I brought it closer, a soft, floral scent enveloped me. Lavender with a hint of mint, perhaps. Something refined.

I gently opened it before the teacher entered, guided by a mixture of curiosity and caution. Inside, a carefully folded sheet of paper. The handwriting was fine, delicate, almost artistic. The letters danced softly across the paper as if someone had practiced writing like that for years.

«I’ll wait for you behind the school at 4:30.»

Just that, there was no signature, no name, not even any further explanation, but the message, imprinted with something more than ink, held emotion. The handwriting, the scent, the way it had been folded... everything spoke of intention, of care. It was a letter written with feeling, I couldn’t ignore it. Also, the way the ink was written, soft but sure, seemed like a woman’s handwriting.

I stared at the note for a few more seconds, as if I could extract some clue hidden between the lines. I had no idea who had left it, although I was beginning to suspect. A trap? A sincere confession? Another strange move in the leadership business? I didn’t know.

In my chest, a mixture of curiosity and a strange anxiety settled, like a persistent mist. With each passing minute, the clock seemed to tick with increasing weight, as if it knew what events awaited me. I didn’t feel truly prepared, but there was no turning back.

When the clock struck 4:30, I stood up and walked with a firm step through the halls of the building. A few curious glances met my gaze, perhaps, but nothing out of the ordinary. As I exited through the back, my steps led me to a quiet corner: a small garden that I recognized as the space tended by the botany club.

The place was surprisingly well maintained. Pots of flowers in different stages of bloom, delicately trimmed bushes, and a couple of wooden benches somewhat worn by time but still functional. The air there was fresher, with the soft scent of damp earth and flowers. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the breeze caress my face. For a few seconds, I felt completely at peace.

Then, I heard footsteps.

I opened my eyes and turned toward the sound. A figure was approaching, somewhat hesitant at first, but with increasing determination. It was a girl my age, with a robust build. She was wearing the uniform with her class emblem, although the sweater was a little tight. Her long, pink hair fell in soft waves past her shoulders and had a distinct shine, as if it had been carefully cared for.

She wore large-framed glasses and round-framed lenses that covered much of her face, making it difficult to see her expressions, but I noticed that her gaze remained fixed on me, although she was clearly nervous. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, and she was holding something tightly in her hands: it looked like a small paper box decorated with hand-drawn flowers. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

She wasn’t someone who easily drew attention in the school hallways, but there was something about her presence that stood out there in the middle of the garden: a kind of contained tenderness, a sincerity that didn’t need words to be felt.

I remained silent, waiting for her to speak first. The sound of the wind through the leaves seemed longer as the moment stretched. She took a deep breath, as if she were still gathering all the courage she had inside.

"I-I... I like you. Please, go out with me?"

Her voice was soft, shaky, but genuine. There were no beating around the bush or empty rehearsals. She had meant it with all her heart. I watched her for a moment longer. She was clearly nervous, her hands tightly clutching the small, decorated box she carried, as if she had placed not only a gift in it, but also her hope.

I felt a faint thrill in my chest. A mixture of surprise, gratitude, and a bit of tenderness. I didn’t want to hurt her. But the truth was, right now, I wasn’t in a position to get involved with anyone. Not when a single decision could lead to my death, my surroundings were a constant field of tension, and my thoughts were so far from romance.

I leaned slightly toward her and took the small box carefully, as if it were something fragile.

"Did you make this?" I asked gently.

She nodded with a slight nod, not daring to look at me directly.

"Y-yes... I made it..."

I looked closer. The box was beautifully decorated with hand-drawn floral motifs. It wasn’t perfect, but it had a unique charm, like something made with dedication. It genuinely surprised me.

"Wow... you’re very talented," I said with a small smile. My words were sincere, and as I said them, I felt her shoulders relax a little.

Then, for the first time since she arrived, she looked up and stared directly into my eyes. Her glasses reflected a bit of the sunset light, but I could still see the blush on her face deepen. We chatted for a few minutes.