Some people make an entrance.

  John did not.

  He was simply… there.

  In my previous life, I first noticed him during a moment most students would want to erase from memory.

  It happened during recess.

  Three boys from the back row had surrounded him near the corridor window. They were laughing loudly, the kind of laughter that carried just enough cruelty to attract an audience. A few others gathered nearby, pretending not to watch while watching very closely.

  “Hey, stray dog,” one of them said, wrinkling his nose dramatically. “Stop scratching already. You’re shedding skin everywhere.”

  John, true to the nickname they had given him, was scratching his arm again. Not violently, just absentmindedly, like someone brushing dust off their sleeve.

  Another boy chimed in. “Maybe he has fleas.”

  A small wave of laughter followed.

  Someone barked.

  Actual barking.

  It was childish, stupid, and painfully typical of secondary school behavior.

  I stood a short distance away, leaning against the wall with my arms crossed. In my previous life, I had done the same thing. Watched. Pretended it had nothing to do with me.

  And the truth was, it really did not.

  Social dynamics inside a classroom were like invisible walls. Once a person’s role was established, trying to intervene could make you the next target.

  John’s role had long been decided.

  Stray dog.

  The strange guy who scratched his body constantly.

  The one who laughed at the jokes about himself instead of getting angry.

  The easy target.

  After a few minutes, the crowd lost interest. The boys wandered off, already looking for their next source of entertainment.

  John stretched his arms lazily.

  Then he scratched his neck again.

  Just like that, the moment was over.

  I waited until everyone dispersed before walking toward him.

  “Does it really itch that much?” I asked.

  He turned to look at me.

  His expression was completely calm.

  “Oh, this?” He scratched his shoulder again. “Yeah, sometimes.”

  “You know people think you’re weird.”

  He shrugged.

  “That’s because I am weird.”

  I stared at him for a second.

  “That doesn’t bother you?”

  John leaned against the railing and looked out toward the school field.

  “Nah.”

  He said it so casually that I almost thought he was joking.

  “You just got mocked by half the class,” I said.

  “And?”

  “And you don’t care?”

  He tilted his head.

  “Why should I?”

  That answer caught me slightly off guard.

  In my previous life, I never actually asked him this question. I simply assumed he had thick skin.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  But hearing it directly felt… different.

  John scratched his arm again, thinking.

  “You think too much,” he said.

  “I do.”

  “Yeah, I noticed.”

  He grinned.

  “Look,” he continued, “school has like… what? Two thousand people?”

  “Something like that.”

  “And how many of them matter to you after graduation?”

  I didn’t answer immediately.

  He continued for me.

  “Probably five.”

  He raised five fingers.

  “Maybe ten if you’re lucky.”

  He dropped his hand.

  “So why care what the other one thousand nine hundred ninety think?”

  I blinked.

  It was a strangely mature way of looking at things.

  “But they still make your life uncomfortable now,” I said.

  “Not really.”

  He shrugged again.

  “They bark for a few minutes. Then they go away.”

  He looked at me.

  “You ever seen a real stray dog?”

  “…Yes.”

  “They get barked at by other dogs all the time,” he said. “They still walk wherever they want.”

  He paused.

  “And sometimes they steal the best food.”

  I couldn’t help laughing.

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  “I know.”

  He scratched his neck again.

  “Also,” he added casually, “it really does itch.”

  “You should see a doctor.”

  “Doctors cost money.”

  That statement turned out to be more relevant than I expected.

  Later that day, during lunch break, I ran into him again.

  Inside the school restroom.

  He was washing his hands slowly while staring at the mirror like someone deep in thought.

  When he noticed me, he grinned.

  “Perfect timing.”

  “That sounds dangerous.”

  “I need ten dollars.”

  I stared at him.

  “Ten?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re asking me for money inside a toilet.”

  “That’s because you look rich.”

  “I am not rich.”

  “You look rich compared to me right now.”

  I sighed.

  Rumor said John came from a well to do family. I never verified whether it was true.

  “Why do you need ten dollars?”

  “Lunch.”

  “You don’t have money?”

  “Not today.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “Life rarely makes sense.”

  He held out his hand dramatically.

  “Ten dollars. I’ll return twenty later.”

  “…What?”

  “Interest,” he said proudly.

  “That’s a terrible deal for you.”

  “Exactly.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him.

  “Why would you offer double?”

  He shrugged again.

  “Because I can.”

  In my previous life, I had taken the deal immediately.

  Ten dollars became twenty by the end of the week.

  At that time, I thought it was amusing. Easy profit.

  But standing here now, knowing how his story would end years later, the situation felt very different.

  Money suddenly felt… insignificant.

  I took out my wallet and handed him the ten dollars.

  He examined the bill like it was a rare treasure.

  “Hero,” he declared.

  “You don’t have to return it.”

  John frowned.

  “That ruins the deal.”

  “Consider it a gift.”

  “I don’t like gifts.”

  “Then consider it charity.”

  “That’s worse.”

  I sighed.

  “Fine. Return ten later.”

  “Twenty.”

  “Ten.”

  “Fifteen.”

  “You’re negotiating upward for yourself.”

  “I’m a generous person.”

  “Ten.”

  He thought about it.

  “…Fine.”

  Then he grinned.

  “But I’ll still bring twenty.”

  I shook my head.

  “You’re impossible.”

  “Correct.”

  He pocketed the money.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s eat before the noodles disappear.”

  The cafeteria was crowded as usual.

  But what happened next was something that always fascinated me about John.

  Two girls were sitting at the far table.

  Twin sisters.

  Both of them were widely considered among the prettiest students in our year.

  In my previous life, I would have avoided eye contact and pretended they didn’t exist.

  John, however, walked straight toward them like he had known them his entire life.

  “Ladies,” he said casually as he placed his tray down, “mind if we join?”

  One of the twins blinked.

  The other smiled slightly.

  “Sure.”

  I froze for half a second before sitting down beside him.

  John started eating immediately.

  “So,” he said between bites, “which one of you is the evil twin?”

  The girls burst out laughing.

  “There is no evil twin,” one of them said.

  “That’s exactly what the evil twin would say.”

  More laughter.

  I watched in silent amazement.

  He wasn’t trying to impress them.

  He wasn’t nervous.

  He was just… talking.

  “Are you the famous stray dog?” the other twin asked playfully.

  “Ah,” John said proudly, “my reputation precedes me.”

  “You don’t mind the nickname?”

  “Not at all.”

  He leaned back slightly.

  “Stray dogs survive everything.”

  The girls exchanged amused glances.

  Then they continued chatting with him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  Meanwhile, I sat there quietly observing.

  This time, I wasn’t freezing.

  I was studying.

  After a few minutes, the twins finished their lunch and waved goodbye before leaving.

  John finished his noodles and wiped his mouth.

  “Nice girls,” he said.

  I finally spoke.

  “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Talk to them like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like they’re not terrifying.”

  He stared at me.

  Then he laughed loudly.

  “Terrifying?”

  “They’re beautiful.”

  “So?”

  “So people overthink.”

  He pointed his chopsticks at me.

  “Especially you.”

  I frowned.

  “What’s your thought process when approaching them?”

  He thought about it for a moment.

  “Simple.”

  He raised one finger.

  “Step one: they are human.”

  He raised a second finger.

  “Step two: humans like jokes.”

  He raised a third finger.

  “Step three: if they laugh, you win.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “That’s your entire strategy?”

  “Yep.”

  I stared at him.

  “That’s unbelievably stupid.”

  “And yet,” he said smugly, “it works.”

  I couldn’t argue with that.

  As we stood up to leave the cafeteria, John stretched his arms again and scratched his shoulder.

  “Also,” he added casually, “confidence helps.”

  “You get mocked by half the class.”

  “And?”

  “And you’re still confident.”

  He shrugged.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Then he smiled.

  “Stray dogs don’t ask permission to walk the streets.”

  For a moment, I simply watched him.

  In my previous life, I had never realized how rare someone like him was.

  A person who did not care about hierarchy.

  A person who treated everyone the same.

  A person who lived exactly the way he wanted.

  Even if the world laughed.

  Even if his time in that world would one day end far too early.

  This time, at the very least, I could make sure one thing.

  That during the years he was here…

  He would never lack a friend.