Day two of elementary school life.

Class 1-1 had already begun forming a clear caste system and factions.

At the front of the classroom, surrounding the two "young kings"—the only boys in the class—the same brutal offering battles and status contests were unfolding as always.

But today, my gaze wasn’t on that noisy scene in the back.

It was fixed on a single girl standing in the center of the classroom with her arms crossed.

The beautiful red-haired girl with a fiery short cut who had picked a fight with me on the very first day.

If I remember right, her name was Hojo Anju.

"...Hmph. Aren’t you all ashamed, behaving so disgracefully and fawning like that? You’re clearly troubling the boys. Have at least a bit of dignity."

With two girls behind her—probably more like hanger-ons drawn to her family’s influence than actual friends—Anju looked down coldly at the girls crowding around the boys.

With her dignified features, sharp eyes, and flawless uniform, she already carried the presence of a fully realized "queen" despite being only six.

From what my mom told me yesterday, her family—the Hojoin family—was one of the most prestigious in the country.

And Anju belonged to one of its branch families.

In this insane world with a 1:15 gender ratio, for prestigious families to maintain their power and bloodline, their highest priority is securing high-quality, well-bred, capable males and proving their value to the main family.

As someone from a branch family, Anju must be carrying the overwhelming expectations and pressure of her lineage—far too heavy for a six-year-old.

'...I see. She acts like a queen, but at the core, it’s just fear of being discarded if she isn’t perfect.'

It reminded me of a junior employee from my previous life who nearly broke under the weight of their parents’ expectations.

Her domineering attitude and forced composure were just the flip side of a subtle loneliness—no one looked beyond the title of "daughter of a Hojoin branch family" to see who she really was.

As I sat by the window, resting my cheek on my hand and thinking this over, our eyes suddenly met.

Her shoulders twitched, and she marched straight toward my desk.

"...What? You’ve been staring at me this whole time. After yesterday, have you finally reflected and decided to greet the boys properly?"

She lifted her chin arrogantly and glared down at me.

But in her arms, she was struggling to hold about ten thick encyclopedias, likely brought from the library.

She was probably asked by the teacher—or volunteered herself to gain points and show her competence.

But for a slender six-year-old girl, it was clearly beyond her capacity.

Her arms were visibly trembling.

"Nope, not at all. Still not interested in guys. More importantly, why are you carrying all that yourself? Just have those two help you."

"T-that’s none of your business! As a member of the Hojo family, I should be able to handle this level of work perfectly on my own! Don’t compare me to someone like you, just lazing around by the window!"

Hitting a nerve, Anju’s face flushed red as she snapped back.

But the strain of her emotions—and her posture—caught up with her.

"Ah…"

She lost her balance, her small body tipping forward.

The stack of books collapsed, and she was about to fall hard onto the floor.

The two girls behind her only screamed instead of helping.

—Just before her face could hit the ground.

"...Whoa. Careful there."

"...Huh?"

When Anju opened her eyes, she wasn’t on the floor.

Her body had stopped midair.

No—a slender arm was wrapped firmly around her waist, while the falling books were held securely against my chest with my other hand.

I’d been snowboarding every winter weekend since I was ten in my previous life, even studying abroad in Canada just for it.

My balance, body control, and reflexes from living 26 years weren’t something to underestimate.

Catching one falling six-year-old? Easy.

"N-Nanase…san?"

Anju stared at my face from up close, stunned.

I placed the stack of books onto my desk and slowly released my hold on her waist, then lightly rested my hand on her fiery red hair.

"Told you. Don’t try to carry something that heavy by yourself."

"I-I am… as a member of the Hojo family… I must do this perfectly…"

Still trying to act strong, Anju spoke, but I patted her head again.

"Yeah, yeah. You’ve got a great family, very impressive. But no matter how capable you are, when you’re about to fall, rely on someone. If you get hurt and scar that pretty face, that wouldn’t be 'perfect,' would it?"

It was the exact same tone I used in my previous life when talking to overworked juniors.

To me, it was just natural.

—Thump.

At that moment, something inside Anju’s chest pounded louder than ever before.

She had always been seen as "a daughter of the Hojoin branch family," forced to be perfect.

Even the people around her would abandon her the moment she faltered.

And yet, this black-haired girl—was the only one who saw Anju herself, helped her without hesitation, and even told her to rely on others.

Anju’s face turned as red as her hair—no, even redder—like she might burst into steam.

"H-hey, are you okay? Did you hit something after all—"

"D-don’t touch me!!"

As I leaned in worriedly, she slapped my hand away and jumped back.

"I can handle things on my own! I just lost my balance for a second! I didn’t ask you to help me!"

"Oh. Well, as long as you’re not hurt."

"Wha—! That calm attitude is what annoys me! Just you wait—I’ll show you next time how perfect I can be!"

With teary eyes, Anju threw out her parting words, grabbed only five of the books—definitely fewer than before—and ran back to her seat.

Watching her retreating figure, I shrugged.

'...Pretty hot-blooded. Well, that’s how six-year-olds are.'

Of course, I had no idea that I had just driven a massive wedge, deep into the heart of a proud young lady from a prestigious family.

And so, following the overly devoted blonde girl, a new flag had been raised—this time, a tsundere red-haired noble girl who couldn’t be honest.

With that, my chaotic elementary school life truly began.