VOLUME #1 - EPISODE 5
[NARRATOR: Some people walk into a room and the temperature drops. Not because they're cruel. Not because they're cold. But because they've spent so long building walls around themselves that the walls started following them everywhere they go. Cartoon Headayami is one of those people. Student Council President. Thirty-seven new regulations in a single day. A uniform so disciplined it could file its own paperwork. Eyes that shimmer with the quiet disappointment of someone who expected the world to be orderly and never quite forgave it for refusing. Jeremy High has survived caffeinated principals and wooden swords and shoe campfires. But order — real, suffocating, iron-fisted order — is something else entirely. And somewhere underneath all that precision and cold authority is a child who once hid under a table counting his breaths and promising to do better. Pay attention to this one. The serious ones always have the loudest silences.]
The Temperature Drop
Jeremy High was a battlefield — not of fists or fury, but of personalities. There were the loud ones, the weird ones, the overconfident ones, and then there was Riyura Shiko, the reigning monarch of accidental chaos. Life was unpredictable, loud, and filled with questionable cafeteria pudding.
But today... the weather changed.
It wasn't raining. It wasn't cloudy. The sun was still shining. And yet somehow, everyone felt the temperature drop exactly 5.6 degrees when the front gate creaked open.
Walking through it was Cartoon Headayami, the Student Council President — a name so ridiculous it should've been impossible to take seriously. And yet… everyone did. He had the kind of presence that made clocks tick quieter. Even the school's pigeons avoided eye contact.
He was tall, sharp, and moved like his spine never stiffened. His hair was perfectly parted. His uniform had the gravitational pull of discipline itself. And those eyes—cold, exact, and glimmering with disappointment toward humanity in general.
"Jeremy High," he said, stepping into the hall. "Order. Precision. No nonsense tolerated."
The hallway went silent. Even the vending machine stopped whirring. Somewhere, a plastic bottle refused to fall out of the slot just to avoid making noise.
Riyura, caught mid-bite of his sandwich, froze like a criminal caught on camera. Shoehead whispered from behind a locker, "He's like a statue… if statues were cursed to nag for eternity."
"Shh!" hissed another student. "He can hear your video game."
The Over-the-Top Seriousness Begins
Within the first day of his presidency, Headayami issued thirty-seven new regulations. Among them: Rule #8: "Improper pencil grip shall result in immediate handwriting remediation detention." Rule #19: "Casual laughter is prohibited within ten meters of the faculty corridor."
Rule #24: "All lunch periods will include a mandatory healthy rule search."
By the end of the week, students had started forming an underground "Freedom Club" where they could laugh, breathe, and occasionally mispronounce words without fear of citation.
Headayami didn't see himself as cruel—he saw himself as necessary. A lone crusader against the chaos that threatened to consume the school.
Riyura, however, saw him as comedy gold.
He started secretly recording Headayami's stoic morning speeches: "Good morning, students. May your productivity be efficient, and your chewing habits consistent."
In the video, Headayami's left eyebrow twitched. Then his right eyelid fluttered mid-sentence. The footage went viral overnight under the title: "Robot President.exe Malfunctioning (Try Turning Him Off and On Again)".
Riyura's phone buzzed non-stop that week with likes, memes, and gifs. Someone even made an 8-bit remix of Headayami saying "Discipline is destiny."
Operation: Silence the Cafeteria
It all came crashing down during lunch hour. Headayami's latest decree: "Effective immediately, silent eating hours will commence. Conversation during chewing is prohibited."
No one knew what he meant by "chewing", but they were pretty sure it wasn't fun. The cafeteria transformed into a monastery of fear. Forks clinked nervously. Students chewed as quietly as possible. Then… it happened.
Riyura's tray tipped. His spaghetti slipped. It landed, gloriously, across Headayami's pristine uniform. Gasps echoed. A single noodle clung to the president's glasses like a desperate cry for help. Headayami didn't flinch. Not a twitch. Not a blink. His voice was eerily calm: "…You have violated the sacred code of orderly dining."
Riyura froze. "Sir, with all due respect, it was an accident—"
THWACK! Another student slipped on the same spaghetti trail. The sauce sprayed. The silence shattered. Within seconds, the room descended into full-blown chaos — a red, sauce-soaked battlefield.
Shoehead shouted from the back, "The spaghetti has declared independence!"
Headayami stood in the center of it all, drenched from tie to shoes, a solemn statue amidst the carnage. He did not move. He did not speak. Only one thought seemed to pass through his head: Perhaps this is what they call despair.
Even Riyura, who had laughed through nearly every absurd moment of his life, felt something tighten in his heart.
Because for a split second, beneath all that seriousness, he saw something else in Headayami's eyes—pain.
The Flashback: The Kid Under the Table
Later that evening, Riyura found Headayami sitting alone on the rooftop. The city glowed below them, the orange dusk fading into blue. Headayami's shoulders were stiff, his gaze locked on nothing.
Riyura hesitated, then sat down beside him. "…You okay, Prez?" No answer. Just a faint exhale. Then, like a broken film reel, the world around him seemed to dim. A flashback unfolded—long, drawn out, heavy.
A younger Headayami sat trembling beneath a wooden table. The house was dim. The air thick. His parents' voices rang sharp and cold: "Can't you do anything right?!" "Your grades are shameful! You're a disgrace to this family!" "Your name is a curse, Cartoon! A joke!"
Slaps echoed. Papers crumpled. The child flinched at every sound, shrinking smaller, smaller, until all that remained was a whisper: "I'm sorry… I'll do better. I promise…"
He hid beneath that table for hours, counting his breaths, holding back tears. That became his world — a place where silence meant survival.
The flashback lingered on the image of him standing alone in an empty classroom, clutching his stomach, whispering his grades to himself, terrified that even his thoughts were too loud.
Back to the Rooftop
Headayami's voice trembled as he spoke. "I thought… if I controlled everything, maybe I wouldn't be hurt again. Maybe… I could be perfect enough to be loved."
Riyura didn't say anything at first. The wind carried the distant noise of students laughing below.
Finally, he said softly, "You don't have to be perfect for people to care. You're allowed to mess up. You're allowed to breathe."
Headayami blinked, as if those words were something he hadn't heard in years. His shoulders dropped, the tension melting just slightly. "I hated who I became. This mask… I made it to protect myself, but it just trapped me."
Riyura smirked. "Then maybe it's time to break it."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, Headayami chuckled — a tiny, awkward sound, like someone trying to remember how to laugh.
Riyura's grin widened. "See? Progress. Next step: laughing intentionally." Headayami rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth curved up. For the first time, his smile wasn't forced.
Comedic Recovery Arc: The Serious Student Tries to Chill
The next day, Headayami decided to "experiment with casual relaxation." Unfortunately, he approached it like a science project. He entered class, holding a notebook titled "Fun Protocols – Phase 1".
"Good morning," he began. "Today, I will attempt humor." Everyone froze. He looked at his notes. "Knock, knock." No one responded. "…You are supposed to say 'Who's there?'" he prompted, monotone.
"Who's there?" said a trembling student. "Correct response rate: satisfactory," he said, flipping a page. "Chicken." A pause. "…Chicken who?" He blinked. "...Chicken. Riyura and the chicken crossed the road."
Riyura facepalmed so hard it echoed. "He's glitching again!" By lunchtime, Headayami had also tried: telling a "funny story" about efficient stapler use, attempting to wink (it looked like a facial malfunction), and
joining a spontaneous dance circle… by announcing, "Observe: rhythmic movement simulation."
Every attempt ended in glorious failure. But strangely, the students didn't fear him anymore. They laughed with him, not at him. Even Shoehead admitted, "He's like a malfunctioning Bear now. Still serious, but kind of stupid."
Assembly of Accidents
Later that week, Headayami hosted an assembly to "address the student body with warmth." Unfortunately, he still hadn't mastered walking on freshly polished floors.
As he took his first confident step toward the microphone, a banana peel (left behind by Riyura, of course) met destiny.
Time slowed. The peel spun. His foot slipped. The crowd gasped. Headayami soared through the air like a tragic swan of discipline— —and landed flat on his back with the mic squealing feedback.
Silence. Then… laughter. Pure, unrestrained, thunderous laughter.
Headayami blinked up at the ceiling, spaghetti-day flashbacks flashing through his mind. Then, slowly, he started laughing too. A small, awkward laugh, but real.
When he stood up again, he said simply, "I… suppose perfection can wait until tomorrow." The hall erupted again. Students clapped. Some cheered. Even the janitor smiled.
Closing Scene: Three Idiots on a Roof
As the sun dipped below the city skyline, Riyura, Shoehead, and Headayami stood on the school roof.
Shoehead grinned. "Never thought I'd see the day the Prez laughed." Headayami adjusted his glasses, still smudged from the banana incident. "Don't mistake progress for chaos." Riyura smirked. "Nah, I think chaos is just what you needed."
Headayami looked at the sunset — warm, imperfect, real. "I suppose… even order needs a little disorder to feel alive." The three of them stood in silence. Then Riyura elbowed him. "Hey, Prez. Wanna join our after-school club?"
Headayami frowned. "Which one?" "The unofficial one. We call it: 'The Society for Laughing at Everything, Especially Ourselves.'" A long pause. Then a small smile. "...I'll allow it. But only if the minutes are properly recorded."
The Ending Sequence (In Your Imagination)
Cue the ending theme — half dramatic, half goofy. Headayami awkwardly joins Riyura's dance as the credits roll, still maintaining the expression of a person pretending it's "student council-approved recreational activity."
[NARRATOR-RIYURA: Riyura Shiko here. This week a teenager who issued thirty-seven regulations on his first day accidentally discovered that laughter doesn't need to be scheduled in a notebook. Cartoon Headayami came in like an iron wall with perfect hair and left standing on a rooftop admitting that even order needs a little disorder to feel alive. That's the thing about people who build the most rigid walls. They're usually the ones who got hurt the worst when there were no walls at all. I didn't break him. The spaghetti broke him. I just sat beside him on the roof afterward and told him he was allowed to breathe. Sometimes that's all anyone needs to hear. He's going to record the minutes of our unofficial club in a proper binder. I already know this. I am fully prepared for this. Stay tuned, dear readers. The Society for Laughing at Everything, Especially Ourselves, is officially open for membership and Headayami has already drafted the constitution.]
TO BE CONTINUED...