AUTHOR NOTE — READ BEFORE YOU INDULGE IN DRUGS
In this fanfic, the MC is a fusion of Madarame Baku and Kiruma Soichi.His full name is Kiruma Madarame Baku.
His personality will be primarily Baku, but with clear traces of Soichi's calmness, composure, and subtle quirks woven into his behaviour.
To clarify the power-set and traits:
The MC is extremely intelligent, inheriting the combined advantages of both Baku and Hal.
No disadvantages are carried over.
No weak heart, no physical frailty from Baku
No amnesia, no existential breakdowns from Hal
He can enter Perfect Mode anytime, but he will only activate it when he wants to humiliate someone by showing that they aren't even worthy of understanding him.
As for the timeline and worldbuilding:
The Usogui world exists fully in this fic.
There is no separate original Baku or Hal — the MC is their fusion from the start.
The story up to the Vincent–Lolo gamble arc has already happened, and the MC is already the leader of Kakerou.
Consider this an AU that stays very faithful to the original story, except for the changes required for the fused-MC concept.
Hope this clears everything up. Enjoy the fic.
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**"When a man learns to love, he must bear the risk of hatred."-Madara Uchiha**
TOKYO METROPOLITAN ADVANCED NURTURING HIGH SCHOOL
Madarame Baku — (pov)
Tokyo Metropolitan Advanced Nurturing High School.
A government-funded institution is celebrated as an academic utopia.
A place boasting 100% college admission, 100% employment, and free tuition fees.
On paper (as I have not experienced it myself yet, so it's only a theoretical value), it was paradise.
Graduate from here, and your path should be secured. That's what the brochures claim.
And yet… contradictions pile up.
Despite the supposed statistics, only twenty to thirty students enter top universities or companies each year, even though the school accepts 160 students per batch. And even that information—160 students—was something I had to extract through effort that felt equivalent to blood and sweat, as it was confidential how many students are enrolled in each year in this school.
Well… where was I? Yeah.
One could argue that many graduates pursue education abroad.
But that is a poorly constructed argument.
Why would Japan invest massive resources to raise elite talent only to hand them over to foreign nations—nations that would undoubtedly leverage such minds for their own advancement?
The numbers don't lie.
The statistics are engineered.
Which means the school is hiding something beneath its polished exterior.
And that isn't the only point of absurdity.
The school sits far from Tokyo's main districts, placed on an artificial island created solely for its operation.
The financial burden to build such a facility would be astronomical—far more than the government even spends on reducing actual crime rates.
Strange. Very strange.
These were the thoughts drifting through the mind of a boy seated quietly on a bus moving at a steady speed.
A boy with pale skin, silver-white hair that shimmered like rippling silk, and crystalline blue eyes that seemed to reflect the very sky.
An almost ethereal beauty—enough to draw shy glances and blushes from nearby girls.
IMAGE (KIMURA MADARAME BAKU)
I exhaled softly, pulling my mind back before I plunged too deep into deductions. At least one person here seemed blissfully unconcerned with these inconsistencies.
"Kaji-chan, meet me after the school ceremony, will you?"i said in carefree tone to tease Kaji, who also enrolled her with me alongside Marco
"Ah—Baku-san!"
Kaji jerked upright from his half-asleep slouch. He and I shared a seat on the bus headed toward the school.
He nodded lazily, rubbing his eyes.
He also had doubts about this school—but unlike me, his personality was too free-spirited to wrestle with anything that didn't immediately inconvenience him. If it didn't trouble him now, he simply didn't care.
Before I could say more, a composed office-lady voice rose from the front of the bus.
"Excuse me, but shouldn't you offer your seat?"
She spoke to a young blond boy polishing his hair in a handheld mirror. He wore the same red uniform as Kaji and me.
A terrible design, truly.
It looked like a failed cross between a bullfighter's jacket and cheap anime cosplay.
I turned my attention to the unfolding scene. Aside from the office lady and blond boy, an elderly woman stood wobbling beside them. Nearby, a brown-haired boy stared blankly ahead—so expressionless he made a wooden log seem lively. Next to him, a black-haired girl with a ribbon glanced at the situation before looking away with mild annoyance.
The elderly woman swayed dangerously—enough that I briefly calculated the odds of her falling over.
The office lady tried to pressure the blond boy to give up his seat. After all, it was designated as a priority seat.
But the blond boy ignored her entirely, continuing to fix his hair. The office lady finally snapped.
"Hey, you! High school boy—can't you see this elderly woman is struggling?"
"That's a remarkably stupid question," the blond boy replied without sparing her a glance.
His physique was impressive for a student—though still inferior to Marco, wherever he currently was. Another bus, perhaps. Or wandering off, as he tended to do.
"Why should I offer my seat? I'm sitting here. There's no reason for me to stand."
"It's a priority seat. Isn't it natural to give it to someone who needs it?"
"Again, a stupid question," he said flatly.
"Priority seats are for those with priority. There are no empty seats left, and I don't wish to stand. I have no legal obligation to move. Am I expected to surrender my seat simply becau—"
I stood up.
Quietly. Effortlessly. Without theatrics.
"You may take my seat, ma'am."
The blond boy froze mid-sentence.
Several students looked over—some blankly, others with faint approval.
None of it mattered.
I simply wished to end this farce before it grew into a pointless moral debate. The quickest solution wasn't to correct either party—it was to remove the conflict entirely.
Was the office lady right?
Not necessarily. If she were truly concerned, she could have offered her own seat instead of projecting societal obligations onto a high school boy.
Was the boy right?
Also no. If convenience was his intention, giving up the seat would've ended things faster. Instead, he clung to principle over practicality.
Logically speaking, with only five minutes left until our stop, giving up one's seat is hardly an ordeal.
If the stop were far, the rational choice would indeed be to remain seated.
The elderly woman sat down with a relieved sigh. She smiled warmly.
"Thank you, young man."
"Not a problem," I said with a relaxed grin before turning to Kaji.
"Kaji-chan… why did you stand up?" I asked, the corner of my mouth lifting slightly.
Several nearby girls blushed.
Girls reacted strangely to sincerity.
Kaji scratched his cheek awkwardly.
"W-Well… how could I sit when the l— ba… Baku-san is already up?"
He only narrowly stopped himself from saying "leader."
I stared at him, quietly debating whether to chop him on the head or strangle him. He hadn't even finished the first syllable before my expression silenced him.
Just then, a cute angelic voice cut through our melodrama.
"Thank you for giving up your seat. It was a kind thing to do," she said, smiling at me.
She was undeniably beautiful—likely one of the incoming freshmen's top beauties. Her voice matched her appearance, sweet and gentle. The conversation she opened with was sincere appreciation… or at least, sounded like it.
But to me, it was fake.
There was no true gentleness or fairness in her tone. She was acting kind, but the emotion behind it was hollow.
'You're quite the liar, aren't you?' I thought.
But I didn't say it aloud.
With her face and that practiced cuteness, she likely wielded immense social influence. The last thing I desired was to be labeled a misogynist—or worse—just because I didn't play along.
So I simply nodded at her with a warm smile, refusing to engage too deeply.
"Well, silly me—I forgot to introduce myself! My name is Kikyo Kushida from Class 1-D. I'm a freshman starting this year. And you're from the same school too, right?" she said, sticking her tongue out in a cute gesture as she glanced at my uniform.
Behind me, Kaji was already suffering 200% damage from adolescent hormones flooding his brain.
"My name is Kiruma Madarame Baku, and I'm from Class 1-B. It's nice to meet you, Kushida-san. You can just call me Baku; I prefer it that way," I said cheerfully, trying to match the excitement of finding a first friend on the eve of the new school year.
Before I could elaborate, Kaji practically jumped forward and offered his hand.
"I'm Kaji Takaomi from Class 1-A! Pleasure to meet you, Kushida-san!"
Kushida smiled brightly as she greeted him, happily collecting new friends before even reaching the school.
"Nice to meet you, too, Baku-san, Kaji-san."
As she spoke, her eye twitched.When she held Kajii's hand for a moment.
Barely for a millisecond—so faint that almost no one would notice.
But to me, it was as clear as day.
Whether it was a muscle reflex or an emotional slip didn't matter. It revealed something beneath her polished exterior.
"You two know each other?" Kushida asked, curiosity shining in her eyes.
She had picked up instantly on the way I called him Kaji-chan — a suffix usually reserved for 'cute things,' most often girls.
Well… they think so.
But girls can be terrifying creatures.
Kaji nodded stiffly.
"Yes. We were enrolled because Baku-san wanted to enjoy his first school life. Since he was homeschooled… so that's why."
He revealed more than anyone asked for.
Typical Kaji.
I smiled at him — a small, polite curve of the lips.
His face paled instantly.
Good.
He remembered exactly what that smile means.
The blond boy to our left chuckled, clearly amused by Kaji's panicked honesty.
He had been in the middle of some self-important monologue before I interrupted him, so perhaps he felt the need to reassert himself.
"Oh? Just a peasant, then."
As the bus approached the school
I kept my back turned toward him, making it clear I had no intention of starting a conversation.
Another student was watching me as well—not out of curiosity. His expression was bland, but I could see signs of regret and intent that cant be perceived, but I can see through. I couldn't quite understand reason.
**Ayanokoji regretted not giving up his seat. If he had, he might have befriended Kushida, his classmate from 1-D. Unlike Kaji, who had hormonal reasons, Ayanokoji simply wanted to live a normal high school life. For that, he needed friends.
Regretting the lost opportunity, he glanced at the girl beside him. She briefly looked back—yet when he felt hope rise, she simply returned to her book.
Before long, the bus arrived at the school. Students and staff disembarked. The three of us stepped out as well—Kushida and Kaji chatting continuously. I smiled and added small comments so I wouldn't seem aloof.
"Well then, Kaji-chan, Kushida-san—I'll head to my classroom first. And Kaji-chan… remember what I told you earlier," I said calmly. Which is to meet me when school is over, and not to reveal what is not necessary just because the girl is cute.
"Yes, I know," Kaji replied seriously.
With that, I left them and headed toward the entrance.
Just as I approached the gate, I noticed the interaction between the same brown-haired boy—expressionless enough to rival a wooden log—and the ribboned girl beside him. They stood facing each other like two characters in a dramatic scene.
The girl flicked her hair in a practiced motion.
The wind caught the loose cherry blossom petals around her.
From a distance, it looked like the final romantic scene of a rom-com—the kind where the main couple resolves their misunderstandings and prepares for a confession.
Hmm… or perhaps a "fireworks festival" type of episode?
I nodded wisely at my own observation.
But no.
This was far from romance.
They weren't lovers clearing misunderstandings—they had unsettled issues between them.
"You were staring at me. Why?" the girl asked.
Though I was still twenty meters away, I heard them with perfect clarity. Not because they were speaking loudly—
—but because my hearing was simply that absurd.
She narrowed her eyes while they spoke—sharp, calculating, the kind of gaze that measures human value like she's scanning a ledger. While the two talked, she slightly glanced at me, her eyes cold and dismissive, before retracting her attention toward the boys in front of her, clearly expecting an answer.
"Sorry, I was just thinking... I mean, you didn't think about giving up your seat to the old woman, did you?"
The brown-haired boy tried to follow the direction of the girl in front of him, but he had to answer her first. After replying, he looked at me for the briefest moment, then turned back again as the girl continued with the same monotone tune of an ice queen— detached, precise, uninterested.
"That's right, I didn't consider to give my seat. Is there anything wrong for you to look me?"
Ayanokoji's tone was as flat as a dead heartbeat—no rise, no drop, just a calm blankness that could kill any emotion trying to exist around him.
"Oh… no, not at all. I didn't intend to give up my seat either. As for that whole moral debate going on… I don't want to get involved. I dislike unnecessary trouble."
The boy delivered his line with the same flavorless tone as before—like someone reading an instruction manual they had memorized years ago. His expression barely shifted; eyes half-lidded, posture loose, breaths measured.
As their exchange lingered in the air, I moved.
My footsteps tapped softly against the pavement—measured, disciplined—almost too quiet for a typical student.
A presence like a whisper: visible, yet elusive unless I chose otherwise.
I passed by them with only a brief, sidelong glance.
A faint breeze, as if acknowledging my existence, brushed past my white hair. Strands lifted gently, like a silk curtain sliding over polished glass.
"You dislike trouble? Then it seems you and I are not on the same page. I simply refrained from joining that farce because engaging in meaningless theatrics would be a waste of time. That is all."
Horikita's tone dripped with cold precision—calm, formal, surgically detached.
Her chin raised slightly: the posture of someone convinced she alone stands on solid ground while everyone else fumbles in mud.
"But isn't that worse than me—someone who simply doesn't want trouble?"
The boy replied, unbothered. His eyes rose a fraction, studying her with quiet curiosity, yet his body retained that effortless stillness.
No tension. No insecurity. No concern.
Two ice sculptures are debating the temperature of the snow.
I inhaled faintly, a quiet chuckle slipping out of me—one soft enough to vanish before reaching them.
Two machines arguing about morality.
How quaint.
I didn't bother slowing. Their words were noise, echoing behind me as I drifted toward the path leading deeper into the school grounds.
"Perhaps I am simply acting according to my own belief," Horikita continued, conviction sharpening her voice. "Unlike you, who avoids trouble. And what about you—the one who gave up his seat? What do you think?"
Her words struck the air like a quiet challenge.
She aimed them at me.
Her tone held no warmth, no expectation—just rigid logic seeking acknowledgment.
A cold attempt to dissect reasoning without offering her own humanity.
But I didn't stop.
"Hey. I'm asking you. White hair—"
Before she could take another step, I turned.
My blue eyes met hers—clear, still, bottomless.
A surface of calm water masking a depth one shouldn't measure.
I examined her in a heartbeat:
Crimson eyes sharpened by pride.
Uniform immaculate, tie aligned to a mathematical degree.
Black stockings, a controlled posture.
A beautiful cage housing someone who believed rigidity equaled righteousness.
A lone wolf wearing rationality like armor.
"It's pointless," I said.
My words were soft but precise—each syllable a scalpel.
Not dismissive—diagnostic.
A verdict.
Then I turned away, continuing my path without waiting for her reaction.
Behind me, the boy seemed to nod quietly, as if confirming a conclusion we both shared.
He understood.
Perhaps he, too, saw that explaining anything to a person who equates stubbornness with logic would indeed be… pointless.
A faint sound—a breath, a step—slipped behind me.
Horikita Suzune's eyes had narrowed; her silent pride bruised, her logic questioned.
Yet she followed.
Determined. Composed.
Walking in the same direction.
As expected of someone who mistakes conviction for clarity.
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