Excel High School stood as a monolith in the Tokyo skyline, a place of stone and legend. Its fame did not stem from academic laurels or sporting triumphs, but from a history that seemed to seep from its very walls—a history that refused to be forgotten.
Nearly a decade ago, a collective of unique individuals had formed a gang known as the Rebels. Their legend had curdled from rumor into heritage, a story passed down through generations of students who dared to dream of reaching the peak of what the Rebels once represented.
***
"Koji, you're still blogging about that scary school?" a voice cracked, slicing through the courtyard's quiet hum. A small group of boys lingered, waiting for their friend.
"Yeah, it's fascinating, isn't it?" Koji murmured, his gaze fixed on the school's towering edifice, its ancient stone walls glowing dully in the morning sun. "I want to see if they ever achieve what the Rebels did before."
"Stop daydreaming! Let's go play football," another boy called, clutching a scuffed leather ball. He grabbed Koji's arm and pulled him along. As Koji stumbled forward, the small toy camera he pretended was a recorder slipped from his grasp. It clattered to the ground, its plastic lens pointing up at the school's main banner.
It read: "Reborn Rebels."
***
"Good morning, students." The microphone's feedback screeched, a raw sound that echoed across the packed auditorium. At the podium stood an old man, his head bald, a mole stark under his left eye. His voice carried the weight of years, but little of authority.
"The new session has begun. I hope everyone will be—"
His words dissolved into the hushed, careless murmurs of the hundreds of students arrayed before him.
"Hey, the G and F classes aren't here."
"They're always on the rooftop. The new members for Class 1-G and 1-F should be arriving today."
"They do whatever they want. Can't the principal control them?"
"Idiot. If anyone tries, the whole school will fall into chaos."
"I wonder what type of students are joining this year."
"Didn't you hear?"
"Hear what?"
"The Rebel… it's going to be reborn."
***
On the rooftop, the air was sharper, thinner, tasting of freedom. A handful of students were scattered across the wide concrete expanse, each occupying their own space with a casual arrogance, like predators lazily marking their territory.
"Looks like everyone's here," a calm voice announced.
A boy with long brown hair tied back and glints of silver piercings climbed atop the rooftop entrance hatch. From this perch, he overlooked the group of second and third years from the infamous Classes F and G.
"Let me introduce myself. I'm Robin Hidako, Vice-Captain of Rebel," he declared, his smile sharp but not entirely insincere. "Our Captain is a little busy, so I came to welcome our new members."
"Boring." A mocking voice cut through the quiet.
From the back, a boy with spiked blonde hair pushed forward, his eyes burning with impatience. "I'm here to fight, not to join some kitty party," he sneered, dropping into a low, practiced stance.
"Very well," Robin replied, his tone devoid of irritation. He leapt down from the hatch, landing with a soft tap on the concrete. "Then why not test yourself against me?"
The challenger surged forward, his movements a raw blend of street brawling and amateur boxing. He threw a heavy, telegraphed hook, putting all his weight into it. This will shut him up, he thought.
Robin didn't move. At the last possible second, his hand snapped up, not to block, but to catch. His fingers closed around the fist, and with a subtle twist of his wrist, he redirected the force entirely. Using the boy's own momentum, Robin lifted him from his feet as if he weighed nothing more than a sack of leaves.
"W-what?!" the boy gasped, disbelief flashing in his eyes a moment before vertigo took over.
Before his face could smash into the unyielding concrete, Robin's other hand shot out, snagging his collar. He held him there, suspended in a humiliating limbo for a single, heart-stopping moment, then leaned in close.
"Fighting isn't about throwing punches," Robin whispered, his voice low and steady, carrying a lesson etched in experience. Then he released him.
The boy landed hard on his knees, shaken and utterly humiliated, his pride far more bruised than his body.
A ripple of sharp intakes of breath moved through the crowd. Some were shocked, others thrilled—but among them, certain eyes gleamed with a colder light. Not fear, but calculation. Anticipation. Rivalries yet to be born.
"Now then," Robin said, brushing his hands together as if dusting off something trivial, "you all should head to your classes. Remember, fourth period—you're expected back here."
His tone was a blend of command and unspoken promise.
"You let him off easy," a girl's voice teased. Leaning against the safety railing, a red-haired woman popped a candy into her mouth. A wooden sword, its surface worn smooth from years of use, hung at her side.
"Why not just crush him? You had the chance."
"I'm not a demon like you, Ki," Robin laughed.
Ki rolled the candy on her tongue, eyes glinting. "Demons get results."
Robin looked past her, toward the horizon where the city's skyline cut through the morning haze. His expression subtly hardened.
"This year, things will get interesting for us third years."
***
A boy was running as if the devil himself were at his heels. He vaulted over the railing of the pedestrian overbridge, his black hair streaming behind him like a banner.
"Fuck, I'm late," he grunted, hitting the ground and sprinting through the school gates without breaking stride. His legs finally stilled only when he reached his destination: Class 1-F.
He took one long, steadying breath before slamming the door open. "Sorry for being late!" he shouted.
The scene inside was one of controlled anarchy. A boy with an orange mohawk practiced swings with a baseball bat near the back. A cool blonde with glasses was engrossed in a manga, his feet propped arrogantly on his desk. By the window, a hard-headed bald boy grunted through pull-ups on the window frame. The teacher, utterly defeated, simply turned a page in his newspaper.
The black-haired boy's entrance froze the room for a second, and all gazes turned to him. He stood tall in the doorway, with a mess of curly, fluffy black hair and a prominent, faded scar cutting across his forehead.
"Hey, how tall is that guy?" someone whispered.
"Dunno, maybe 190cm!"
"Is he in our class?"
"Looks like it."
The boy flashed a wide, infectious grin and shouted again. "Nice to meet you, everyone! I'm Tori Hanema, the strongest person you will ever meet!"
The declaration was met with a wave of laughter, though some simply ignored him, writing him off as another arrogant brat. From the crowd, a boy wearing a bandana emerged. He was a little shorter but carried himself with a confrontational swagger.
"Who do you think you are?" he demanded, locking eyes with Tori.
"The strongest," Tori answered, his smile not faltering.
They stood there, a silent challenge passing between them, until the teacher's weary voice cut through the tension. "Enough, you two. Sit at your desk—or wherever you want. But do not fight. This is a classroom."
The bandana-wearing boy retreated with a glare. As Tori looked for a spot, a voice called out from behind him. It was the bat-swinging mohawk boy.
"Hey, big boy! You are cool. I like you," he said with blunt, unashamed honesty.
"I am not gay," Tori stated, misinterpreting the comment entirely.
"Who said anything about gay?!" the boy shouted back, flustered.
"You're not?" Tori chuckled. "Ah," he sighed, as if a great mystery had been solved.
"Anyway, I'm Kendo Yama, and i challenge you to Fight me!".....