Avengers Academy: I Fell for Cap, and Then Iron Man Joined the Fray?! - A Mysterious Transfer Student and a Shaken Daily Life

The morning homeroom hadn't started yet, and the classroom was filled with the usual buzz of chatter. Steve Rogers sat at his desk, replaying yesterday's events in his mind. The sunset he'd seen from the rooftop garden. And that stirring in his chest. (A transfer student, huh.) Why did he feel so restless? It was just a new student arriving. That was all. And yet, deep in his chest, something churned. "Hey, class president, pulling faces already this early in the morning?" Tony's voice came from the seat next to him. Chocolate-brown eyes watched Steve with amusement. As always, a few screwdrivers peeked out from his chest pocket, and his hair, tousled from sleep, bounced energetically today as well. "I-I wasn't making any weird faces." "Yeah, you were. Brows all furrowed, eyes looking at who-knows-what." Tony laughed, twirling a finger in the air. (Somehow, he sees right through everything.) Steve let out a small sigh. They'd known each other for two years. He couldn't lie to Tony. Just then, the classroom door opened. A little earlier than usual, their homeroom teacher, Mr. Phil Coulson, made his entrance. "Good morning, everyone. Take your seats." The classroom buzz fell silent. Mr. Coulson was 43, a history teacher whose trademarks were his meticulously groomed hair and a suit always buttoned up perfectly. Usually, he never lost his gentle smile, but today his expression was slightly solemn. "As some of you may already know, we have a new classmate joining us starting today. A transfer student from Russia." The entire classroom buzzed at once. "It really was true!" "From Russia? That's so far away." "I wonder what she's like." Steve's heart thumped again. (She's coming. It's really happening.) A tension he couldn't even explain to himself raced down his spine. Beneath his desk, he unconsciously clenched his fist. "Please, come in." Mr. Coulson called out toward the hallway. The door slowly opened. —In that instant. The atmosphere in the classroom changed. What appeared was a girl with hair like blazing crimson. Her long, straight hair reached down to her waist, tied together in a single low ponytail. Peeking through the gaps in her bangs were eyes of deep, cold emerald green. On her doll-like, perfectly sculpted features floated a small smile that betrayed no emotion. Her uniform skirt fell below the knee, exactly as regulations required. The buttons of her blouse were fastened all the way to the top. And yet, somehow, she looked more refined than anyone else. As if a painting had stepped right out of its frame. "I'm Natasha Romanoff." Her voice was quiet, yet crystal clear. "I've come from Moscow, Russia. I'm still not very confident in my English, but I'll study hard. It's a pleasure to meet you all." She said this, then slowly looked around the classroom. Those emerald green eyes caught Steve—or so he felt. Just for an instant. But her gaze was definitely directed straight at him. *Thump.* Deep in his chest, a strange sound rang out. (W-What is this—) His heart began to pound like a warning bell. His palms grew clammy with sweat, and his face felt hot. "Alright, Natasha. Your seat will be—" Mr. Coulson scanned the classroom, searching for an empty seat. "The seat next to Steve is open. Rogers, please show her the ropes. You're the class president, after all." —What? Steve's thoughts stopped for a moment. (Next to me?!) She was walking toward him. No good. This is bad. Why am I so nervous? She's just a classmate. As class president, I have to greet her properly— Steve tried to stand up energetically. In that instant. *BANG!!* His knee slammed hard against the underside of the desk. Textbooks and notebooks cascaded to the floor, and his pencil case rolled away with a loud clatter. "Ah—... I-I'm sorry!" He hurried to pick everything up, but he grabbed a textbook upside down, snagged a notebook on the edge of the desk, and dropped it again. Giggles could be heard from all around the classroom. "Class president, that's not like you!" "Even Steve gets flustered sometimes, huh." Steve's face turned bright red all at once. His mind went completely blank. He had no idea what to do or how to fix this. (My dignity as class president—is crumbling audibly.) "Are you alright?" Before he knew it, Natasha was standing right beside him. From her crimson hair wafted a faint, flower-like fragrance. She crouched down and picked up the fallen textbook. Her long fingers traced the cover of the history book. "You're reading an interesting book, Steve Rogers." She said his name. Just that made his chest tighten. "Uh, um... well..." The words wouldn't come. He just stood there, frozen, still holding the textbook upside down. "Bwahaha! The textbook's upside down, class president! You okay, man?!" Tony, in the next seat over, burst out laughing, clutching his stomach. "Tony!!" "This is priceless. Mr. Serious-Walking-Textbook, love at first sight with the transfer student?" "I-It's not love at first sight!!" Steve shouted, but his voice cracked in a way that surprised even himself. (No. Absolutely not. This is just—I was just a little surprised—) He desperately lined up excuses in his mind. But he knew, himself. This was the first time he'd ever felt this way. Until now, he'd never felt like this looking at anyone. (Is this—) What Tony called "fuel for school life"? He didn't know. But there was one thing he was sure of. A single girl named Natasha Romanoff had sent a great ripple through Steve's perfect everyday life. —After school. Homeroom ended, and Mr. Coulson called Steve over. "Rogers, sorry to ask, but could you show Natasha around the school? She probably doesn't know her way around yet." "Y-Yes! As class president, I'd be happy to!" (Calm down, Steve. It's just a school tour. Just act like your usual self.) Chanting this in his mind, Steve began walking down the hallway alongside Natasha. "These are the first-year classrooms. Second-year is on our floor, and third-year is upstairs." He explained in as calm a voice as he could manage. The "Upside-Down Textbook Incident" kept replaying in his head, but he desperately ignored it. Natasha listened quietly to Steve's explanation the entire time. Occasionally, she narrowed her emerald green eyes, wearing an expression as if she were thinking about something. The two of them passed through the hallway and entered the adjacent cylindrical building—the library, "Archive Tower." Boasting a collection of 38,000 books, this library was the place Steve spent the most time after school. The air wrapped in silence. The smell of old paper. The afternoon light streaming in from the high ceiling. "What an incredible collection." For the first time, Natasha spoke with a hint of admiration in her voice. "Yeah. I come here a lot too. I like reading books." "I know." —What? Steve stopped in his tracks. "'Strategic Analysis of the Allied Forces in World War II,' 'The 20th Century Through Military History,' 'The American Revolution—Ideals and Reality.' And, 'Introduction to the Philosophy of Justice.'" Natasha listed off the titles of the books Steve always borrowed, one after another, matter-of-factly. "H-How do you know that...?" Natasha's lips softened just a little. "The reading room on the third floor is soundproofed, so it's very quiet, isn't it? I know you always sit in the window seat. You seem to study a lot." (What does this mean?) She was supposed to have just transferred here today. And yet, she spoke as if she'd known Steve's habits for a long time. "Now, where to next?" Before Steve could say anything, Natasha was already walking toward the library exit. —First floor of the main building, the main entrance. The bronze busts of the two founders silently watched over visitors. Howard Fortis and Abraham Rogers. In 1952, veterans entrusted their dreams to create this academy. "These busts are of the school's founders. The school culture, which values justice and discipline, comes from their ideals." As Steve explained, Natasha gazed up intently at the bronze faces. Her profile, for some reason, looked terribly lonely. "Steve Rogers." Still staring at the busts, she quietly asked a question. "Do you think any lie is permissible for the sake of justice?" Steve's heart skipped a beat. (Lies? For the sake of justice?) Why would she ask something like that? But something embedded in that question pierced deep into Steve's heart. As if she herself was desperately seeking that answer—. "...No. No matter the reason, lies corrupt justice." Steve said it clearly. "Even if it's to protect someone, the moment you tell a lie in the name of justice, it's no longer justice. If you do something wrong, you apologize for it directly. That's what it means to uphold what's right." This was Steve's conviction. A belief he held as dear as the shield-shaped backpack he'd inherited from his grandfather. (This is my justice.) Natasha's eyes widened slightly. Then, she smiled softly. But that smile was different from the perfect one she'd shown in the classroom. A little lonely. A little warm. "...You're a strong person." (Huh?) Steve felt anxious—had his words hurt her? "Oh, um... that was just a general statement..." He hurriedly tried to rephrase, but the words wouldn't come. —The rooftop garden, "Sky Terrace." At the end of the school tour, Steve guided Natasha to his most treasured place. The Manhattan skyline was dyed in orange sunset. The windows of the skyscrapers glittered, and the faint sound of car horns could be heard in the distance. Wind rustled the planter garden, and the tomato leaves made a dry, rustling sound. "It's beautiful..." For the first time, Natasha spoke in a truly honest voice. She sat down on the edge of the bench and gazed intently at the Manhattan scenery. The wind swayed her crimson hair, and the sunset made it shine as if ablaze. Steve stood frozen, a step away. (No good. The words won't come again.) He couldn't even sit down next to her. Her profile was too beautiful—and felt too distant. (What is she thinking about, this person?) "...You're a strong person." Natasha said it once more. Was it directed at someone else, or was she telling it to herself? Steve couldn't tell. But—he felt as if her voice had trembled, just a little. (Strong? Me?) No. He wasn't strong at all. After all, he couldn't even talk properly in front of a single transfer student. Even so—at this moment, Steve realized something for the first time in his life. School Regulation Article 17: "Prohibition of Confessions of Love." He had thought romance was something that should be excluded from the academy. He had thought it was a disruption of discipline. But, now. If this feeling deep in his chest was "love"— (Among the things forbidden by school rules, there might be something I absolutely want to protect.) That—was terrifying. Inside himself, who had loved rules and lived by rules, something more important than rules was trying to be born. (No good. I'll be expelled. If I lose my scholarship, I won't be able to stay at the academy.) His head understood. He understood, and yet—. The sunset sank. The sky changed from purple to deep navy, and the first star began to shine. "...Shall we head back?" Natasha stood up and brushed off the dust. "Y-Yeah..." Steve began walking, watching her figure from behind. (She's hiding something.) He didn't know what it was. But those words in the library. That question in front of the busts. Those weren't the words of an ordinary transfer student. —Boys' Dormitory "Eagle Dome," 3rd floor, Room 308. After finishing the school tour, Steve headed straight for Tony's room. When he knocked, a lazy "Yeah" came back in reply. The moment he opened the door, a mountain of tools and equipment leaped into view. Monitors lined the walls,

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Episode 2

Name: Avengers Academy: I Fell for Cap, and Then Iron Man Joined the Fray?!
Author: Novelia

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