Glancing at the boy at his side, Makoto's brows furrow. "Eh?"

Makoto won't lie--he doesn't care much for pleasantries. And usually that doesn't pose a problem, given his reputation around these parts means people stay away. Who wants to be friends with a guy who fights, steals, and swindles? And does all this to adults, no less?

Even now there's a band-aid over the corner of his brow from a self-done stitching job and a number of bruises on his face; Makoto would've figured this could turn anyone off from speaking to him on the first day, but it seems he forgot to factor in the concept of transfer students. More than that, he forgot to consider the additional fact that transfer students wouldn't have even heard the stories about him.

So Makoto frowns, gaze shifting from the kid back to the front of the class. He doesn't care about when their adviser comes in, but his naïvete begs him to pray this means Aramiya will assume he's not all that interested in talking to him.

Still, he grunts a, "Makoto." Because nobody calls him Majima, and quite frankly no-one needs the distinction, anyway.