Chapter 4: A Babysitter Appears

Yuna's POV

The days blurred into a strange mix of mild disasters and reluctant adaptation. I was slowly, painfully, getting used to life in San Esteban .

The mornings were too early, the uniform was slightly itchy, and the Wi-Fi situation remained tragic. But at least I had stopped getting lost every other period. Small victories. Sometimes.

That didn't mean people weren't still confused about me. My new classmates had already classified me as That One Mysterious Transferee Who Got Mud-Splashed on Day One.

Some had tried to talk to me out of sheer curiosity, but I mostly stuck to nodding, smiling, and praying they wouldn't ask too many questions.

Then, there was Erika Santos.

I wasn't exactly sure when she decided to take me under her wing. One moment, she was just the serious-looking girl with glasses who sat three seats away, and the next, she was sliding into the seat beside me at lunch, inspecting my disaster of a notebook like a scientist examining a new species.

"Your handwriting is terrible," she said, flipping through my half-hearted class notes.

I blinked at her. "Uh… thanks?"

She sighed like I was a lost cause. "Do you even review these?"

"Technically, yes. My brain just chooses to reject the information."

Erika adjusted her glasses like she was already regretting her life choices. "Okay. Starting today, I'll help you study."

Wait. What?

Before I could protest, she took out her own notebook—neat, color-coded, and terrifyingly organized—and placed it in front of me.

"Here. You can copy mine."

I stared at her. "Are you… sure?"

"Yes. Otherwise, you're going to fail, and I refuse to sit back and watch that happen."

"Wow." I blinked. "You have that little faith in me, huh?"

"I have eyes, Yuna."

Fair point.

And just like that, Erika Santos decided I was her problem to fix.

She started keeping an eye on me in a way that was both mildly terrifying and slightly comforting. When I forgot to bring a pen, she wordlessly handed me one. When I looked too sleep-deprived in class, she shoved an extra snack my way. One time, I almost walked into the wrong classroom again, and she physically turned me in the right direction without even looking up from her notes.

Then she started noticing my concerning habits.

Like how I'd sometimes zone out so hard during class that I'd forget entire conversations.

Or how I almost never participated in discussions unless directly called on.

And how I barely ate during lunch, picking at my food like I wasn't even hungry.

"You eat like a bird," she finally said one afternoon, frowning at my barely-touched meal.

"Do you even get full?"

"Oh, yeah," I said, yawning. "My real meal is midnight snacks."

Her frown deepened. "That's not healthy."

"Neither is studying too much," I shot back, gesturing at her aggressively highlighted notes.

She ignored me. "Do you sleep at all?"

"Of course. Just… not during normal human hours."

I could feel the disapproval radiating off of her.

From that moment on, Erika made it her mission to make sure I at least functioned like a regular person.

She'd nag me about eating, randomly quiz me on class topics, and once, when she caught me nearly dozing off, shoved a cold bottle of water into my hands and told me to drink it.

It was… oddly nice.

A little suffocating. But nice.

And for some reason, she never asked too many personal questions. She just helped, even when I didn't ask for it. Even when I wasn't sure I deserved it.

I quickly learned that Erika had the patience of a saint. Or maybe she was just too stubborn to give up on me. Either way, she took her self-appointed role as my babysitter very seriously.

Unfortunately for her, I was not an easy case.

For one, I kept forgetting my classroom.

It wasn't even that big of a school, but my brain just refused to remember which hallway I was supposed to turn at.

Every day, without fail, I'd find myself hesitating in the middle of the corridor, staring at the rows of identical doors like I was in a horror game trying to pick the right one.

One time, Erika caught me standing in front of the wrong classroom, looking mildly confused.

"Yuna," she said, already exhausted. "That's not our class."

"Are you sure? It looks familiar."

"It looks familiar because you keep going to the wrong room every morning."

I blinked. "Oh. That explains the weird looks."

Erika grabbed my sleeve and physically dragged me away before I could embarrass myself further.

Then there was my habit of writing song lyrics instead of actual notes.

I had every intention of paying attention in class—I really did. But the moment the teacher started droning on about something my brain classified as Not Urgent Information, my hand would just… start moving on its own.

One day, Erika leaned over to check my notes and nearly choked.

"Why are you writing a breakup song in Biology?"

I glanced at my notebook, where I had scribbled half a chorus about betrayal and heartbreak instead of anything related to cells.

"Oh. Oops."

"OOPS?" Erika hissed. "This isn't even related to class!"

"In my defense, mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell."

"That's the only thing you wrote down!"

She smacked my arm with her notebook, muttering something about how I was beyond saving.

But the real breaking point for her was when I almost got hit by a tricycle.

I wasn't even being reckless on purpose. I was just in the middle of one of my usual lost-in-thought moments while crossing the road.

One second, I was thinking about what to eat when I got home, and the next, there was a loud honk, some very panicked shouting, and Erika yanking me back onto the sidewalk with more strength than I thought she had.

"ARE YOU TRYING TO DIE?" she shrieked, gripping my wrist like she was debating whether or not to shake me.

I blinked at her. "Huh?"

"The tricycle! You almost walked into it!"

I turned to see the driver glaring at me like I had personally offended him. Oh. That explained the honking.

"My bad," I said sheepishly.

Erika looked like she was going to have an aneurysm. "You—WHY—YOU CAN'T JUST—UGH."

She let out a deep sigh and rubbed her temples like a stressed-out mother.

I patted her shoulder.

"Don't worry. I have the reflexes of a cat."

"You almost DIED."

"Well, then I have the reflexes of a very slow cat."

She smacked my arm again.

Honestly, I had no idea why she was still trying to help me at this point. It was clearly a losing battle. But for some reason, she kept showing up every day, sighing at my life choices and making sure I didn't get myself killed.

Maybe it was out of pity.

Maybe she just liked a challenge.

Either way, I was kind of glad she did.

The next morning 

The announcement for the student gathering came out of nowhere.

One moment, I was trying to take a nap while Erika nagged me about actually listening in class for once, and the next, the entire school was buzzing about some big event.

"They do this every year," Erika explained, flipping through her ever-present notebook like a seasoned war veteran preparing for battle.

"All the clubs and extracurriculars set up booths to recruit new members."

"Oh." I blinked. "So basically, it's just a fancier version of people begging us to join their groups?"

Erika shot me a disapproving look. "That's a very apathetic way to describe it, but yes."

I shrugged. "And we have to go?"

"Yes, because it's mandatory."

"Argh."

She ignored my suffering and started listing off clubs like she was reading from an encyclopedia.

"There's the Science Club, the Student Council, the Dance Team, the Chess Club—"

"Pass, pass, hard pass."

"Will you at least pretend to be interested?"

I flopped dramatically onto my desk. "Not unless they have a club for professionally lying down and avoiding responsibilities."

"There's a Journalism Club."

"No thanks, I prefer my lies to be artistic."

Erika sighed, already regretting her life choices.

By the time the actual event rolled around, the school courtyard was packed with students, colorful banners, and club members aggressively trying to recruit people like they were selling life insurance.

The school's club fair was a chaotic mess of students yelling, colorful banners waving in the humid air, and club officers desperately trying to convince people to sign up.

Erika had dragged me here like a responsible babysitter, but I had no plans of actually joining anything. I was just here to fulfill my mandatory student obligation and maybe score some free snacks from the Home Economics Club.

The real stars of the event were the academic clubs, the sports teams, and the ever-powerful Student Council, who had a massive booth that practically screamed we run this school.

The music club?

Barely a footnote.

Wedged between the Dance Club and the Chess Club, they had the saddest little booth I'd ever seen—faded posters, a tiny speaker playing what sounded like a very off-key cover of a pop song, and exactly two people sitting behind the table, looking half-asleep.

One of them, a guy with messy hair, perked up when someone passed by. "Hey, you wanna join the—"

"No thanks," the student interrupted before he could even finish.

I almost felt bad. Almost.

"Wow," I muttered to Erika. "They look… lively."

She adjusted her glasses. "That's because their club is falling apart. Apparently, half their members graduated last year, and the only people left are some-some and, uh… whatever's left of their instruments."

As if to prove her point, the guy behind the table reached for a guitar, only for one of the strings to snap the moment he touched it.

"Tragic," I commented.

"Very."

With the way things were going, the music club wasn't going to last another year. No performances, no members, and barely any funding.

They weren't the school's pride and joy—they were that club, the one everyone forgot existed until the fair reminded them.

And that was exactly why I wasn't interested.

It had nothing to do with me.

Absolutely nothing.

So why was I still standing here?

To be continued.