Then, shaking her head quickly, she grabs her luggage and hurries up the steps, following right behind him.
Walking down the narrow center path, Renjiro finds two empty seats in the middle row. He slides into the spot near the window, resting his heavy duffel bag on his lap. He leans his head against the cold glass, staring out at the passing streetlights.
Mako follows him. She sits down in the aisle seat right next to him and places her canvas bag on her knees.
She does not say a single word.
She sits perfectly still and stares straight ahead at the back of the plastic seat in front of her. Her hands rest quietly in her lap and her mouth is firmly shut.
Renjiro observes her from the corner of his eye.
She's miraculously quiet.
The logic bomb must have hit her hard. Forcing her to confront her own social weakness actually shut down her vocal cords.
A tiny, rare spark of satisfaction flares in Renjiro's chest.
This is amazing. I can finally enjoy some silence.
He closes his eyes and sinks lower into the stiff bus seat, preparing to drift off into a light nap.
Then, a sudden rush of footsteps enters the bus.
Two new passengers walk down the center path. A girl wearing a uniform similar to Mako's dark turquoise skirt takes a seat in the same row, settling into the spot on the opposite side.
Renjiro and Mako sit on the right side. The new girl sits on the left.
Right next to the new girl, occupying the window seat on the left side, sits a teenage boy. He wears the exact same crimson blazer and crisp white shirt as Renjiro.
Renjiro cracks one eye open, scanning the boy across the gap.
The guy looks dangerous. He has shoulder-length magenta hair that falls wildly around his face, styled sharply on either side. His eyes hold a piercing, violent magenta color. He leans back in his seat with arrogant, relaxed posture, completely ignoring the people around him.
A cold breeze suddenly whips through the bus, rustling the new girl's hair.
"Excuse me," the girl says, turning toward the magenta-haired boy. Her voice sounds polite but slightly strained. "Can you please close the window? The wind is so breezy. We have AC here. No need to open the window."
The magenta-haired boy does not move a single muscle. He keeps his eyes focused on the passing scenery outside.
A middle-aged man sitting in the row directly behind the boy leans forward, resting his heavy hands on the top of the plastic seat.
"Yes," the older man agrees, his tone thick with adult authority. "Can you close the window, young man?"
The boy finally moves.
He turns his head slowly, looking at the girl beside him with a dead, unblinking stare. Then, he shifts his gaze past her shoulder, locking eyes with the middle-aged man behind him. A faint, mocking smirk ghosts across his lips.
He looks back toward the front of the bus.
"I don't take orders from anyone," the magenta-haired boy states, his voice carrying a dark, amused edge. "Get lost."
The bus goes completely silent.
The middle-aged man's face instantly flushes dark red. His thick eyebrows crash together in sudden fury. He grips the back of the seat so hard his knuckles turn white.
"What did you say?" the man growls, his voice rising in volume. He starts to stand up, his broad shoulders tensing for a physical confrontation.
A woman sitting next to the angry man immediately grabs his arm. She tugs hard on his sleeve and pulls him back down into his seat.