Taro was unsure if he should feel relieved or be disappointed. He had imagined his debut to be a complete nightmare. How he would stand in front of the class, misspell his name in English letters or accidentally write it in Kanji, or how he couldn’t get a single word out and would pass wind resulting in everyone laughing at him.

But reality was a lot different. He told the teacher his name but the teacher mumbled in a disinterested tone, clearly engrossed in his battle with the milk frother: “Yeah, well, okay, sit down somewhere.”

Huh?

…

What the …?!

He couldn’t believe it. Shouldn’t he have been punished? Like getting embarrassed in front of his own class, as it always seemed to happen with new students?

Instead, he was left alone. No one asked questions and no one noticed him.

A Hispanic-looking boy with a ponytail to his right had put a cake almanac over his head and was snoring peacefully.

To his left, a lightly freckled boy was passing the time with an embroidery frame, smiling to himself as if deep in thought.

Ivan had disappeared after delivering him to the class teacher, but came back shortly afterwards with two other students, of which one was now immersed in tarot cards, taking notes now and then.

The world outside the window still lay in a dim twilight. Wistfully, Taro thought of the bottle the pale Ivan had stolen from him. If only he had opened and smelled it, he would have known that there was no alcohol in its content. Taro thought there had to be something like sugar water inside. A joke his father had made.

Anyway, Taro hardly knew his father. Goro Yamada - his full name - belonged to the species of businessmen who loved their work so much they never came home.

When Taro was a first-grader and his two sisters were in middle school, his father was at least at home on Sundays. Back then he would take them out to see a movie, the zoo, or just to watch baseball games.

Unfortunately, three years ago, he had taken his sleeping bag with him to the office and since then he had only come home when he needed to skin himself. Skinning, meaning he exchanged his suit - with which he had almost become inseparable - for a fresh one.

Taro didn’t even know if his father had noticed anything about the whole exchange year thing. He had never told him because he was never at home. But when he finally sat on packed suitcases and said goodbye to his beloved electric toilet, he discovered a farewell letter on the kitchen table, which gave him courage, and the little bottle with the rainbow water inside.

He gave a long sigh. Now the bottle was gone. The only smidgen and proof of affection he had received from his father in recent years was now kept by Ivan the Terrible, and had probably already been washed down the drain.

Again he took out his smartphone and looked at the photo of the two idols. Immediately, a comforting warmth spread through his insides. That helped him get through the morning.

When the bell rang for lunch break, the truant class finally began to stir. The chairs were moved. Even the most tired students stretched themselves profoundly and made their way to the dining hall. Taro, who had spent the last hours learning new English vocabulary, stood up.

A student in the row in front of him turned around. “Well? How do you like our school so far?”

Taro was startled for a brief moment. He didn’t expect to be addressed by anyone at all that day.

“F… Fine, thank you,” he said cautiously.

The boy reached out his hand. He was of average height, average weight, and had average eyes and hair. At the instant Taro shook his hand, he already forgot what the other boy looked like.

“My name is Peter. Peter Placeholder.”

“Yamada desu. Uh, I mean, my name is Taro. Nice to meet you.” He released his hand and bowed slightly in a courteous manner.

The other boy, Taro had forgotten his name again, gave him a friendly smile. “Everything must be so confusing for you. Well fear not, you can ask me whatever you want to know,” he said in a jokingly triumphant tone.

Taro nodded and breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, a normal conversational partner! “The truant class - what is it exactly?”

Peter Placeholder clapped his hands and began to explain bluntly. The question seemed to have thrown off a switch inside him, because the answer came as if rehearsed. “The truant class is a place where a student can spend the morning when he is not in the mood for class.”

Taro nodded his head, more in surprise than in understanding.

The boy - Peter, or something like that, as names seemed to give Taro a hard time - continued his monologue. “At our school there are almost only multimillionaires, except for the few scholarship holders who are invited every year for the purpose of intercultural studies. Rich parents, however, are very idiosyncratic and like to interfere everywhere. The teachers have therefore decided that one should not take the risk of being sued by the parents. Therefore, it is up to each pupil to decide whether or not to go to class. Those who don’t want to go to regular classes just come here, or they’ll be escorted, if Ivan catches them playing hooky.”

Taro’s head started spinning because of the long explanation. When the boy had finished, he had already forgotten the beginning.

His aggressively average appearance made it difficult for Taro to concentrate on what he was saying.

“But why the heck am I talking about that unimportant truant class! I’m sure you want to know a lot more.”

Taro felt as if he were in tutorial mode of a video game. Three choices appeared before his inner eye. Behind each was probably just as lengthy an explanation as the previous one. He decided to ask the boy about the school’s club system.

“Building a club,” he began, “depends on the budget of the respective group of students. Anyone is free to start a club as long as he has two other members with him and can afford the monthly rent of one of the many log cabins in the school forest. Therefore, there are many clubs at our school, which deal with a wide variety of things. Maybe you’ll discover your fondness for beekeeping here? How about Viking-style boat building? Or the screaming men choir?”

Taro covered his ears. The boy talked and talked. Unfortunately, he was too kind to bring himself to interrupt Peter.

When he finally stopped talking about stunt kite duels, ice hockey and bicycle road racing, Taro finally remembered what he wanted to ask him: “Where can I find Ivan in the afternoon?”

The boy smiled nicely. “You can usually find Ivan in the big log cabin by the lake. Today, he should be running Russian Friday. Over there, at the Spa Club.”

For the fourth time that day, Taro squeaked in surprise. “Ivan is in the … Super Club?”

The image of Ivan in his mind began to change. The creepy, somewhat taciturn boy suddenly became the image of a cool superhero who kept law and order at the school. Taro’s heartbeat accelerated. “Ivan is a superhero, how nice …”

Taro’s average conversational partner blew a raspberry and waved him off. “No, not Super Club! It’s called---”

“PETER!! Heel, now!” A tall, broad-shouldered student stood at the doorway and interrupted their talk. He had put his hands on his hips and his tapped his foot impatiently.

Peter clapped his hands again and nodded slightly. His average eyes looked at Taro with regret. “Sorry, I have to go.”

“PETER!! Hurry! You said you’d help me build up this damn BOLLY shelf!” The troublemaker’s eyes were bloodshot and a vein was sticking out at his temple.

He came towards them. With each step the boy took, the ground beneath them seemed to shake. As he grabbed Peter by the collar, his breath was loud and raspy.

Taro instantly forgot what he wanted to ask.

The obviously stressed intruder dragged Peter with him, who only waved goodbye with a friendly smile and said: “Spa Club. Not Super Club.” In a few seconds the two of them rushed past the first row of tables and left the classroom.

Taro shrugged and packed his dictionary. By the time he left the class, he had no recollection of whom he had been talking to. He only remembered vaguely that Ivan was a superhero who could be found in the big log cabin by the lake after school.

He smiled. “If Ivan’s a superhero, he can’t be a bad person! I’m sure he’ll give me back my bottle if I ask him nicely!”