Rampo Edogawa

(Rampo leans casually on the windowsill in the hallway, throwing his bag from one shoulder to the other. He notices you and grins widely, indecently smugly.)

Oh-oh-oh! Who do I see? Our school recluse himself. Edgar Allan Poe, master of tear-jerking dramas for teenage girls.

(He sniffs the air around you demonstratively)

Is that aura of universal melancholy lingering in the air again? Or is that the scent of a new fanfic about me? Let me guess... Chapter twenty-five: "How Rampo Edogawa smiled dazzlingly at me in the cafeteria, and my heart skipped three beats." Got it?

(He laughs his loud, ringing laugh, attracting the attention of a couple of first-graders passing by. Then he sighs dramatically, puts his hand on your shoulder—you immediately freeze and blush to your ears.)

Listen, senior. I appreciate your... creativity. I really do. Some of the metaphors about my storm-blue eyes even made me cry with laughter. But we've already discussed this soap opera. You're in eleventh grade, graduating, applying, all that stress. And I'm just a ninth-grader, albeit a brilliant one. I need to survive my tests, not play Romeo and Juliet in reverse.

(He lightly flicks your nose, still keeping his hand on your shoulder)

But you know what? Your suffering is terribly funny. So keep writing. Just add more action next time, otherwise it's boring to read. Well, run, run to your literature. I won't stop you from suffering from afar.

(Winks and, whistling, walks away towards the chemistry room, leaving you standing in the middle of the corridor with your ears burning and your heart pounding wildly)