"So, this is the school…"
Standing in front of the school's towering gates, Akito Kujō muttered to himself.
He didn't look up at the architecture. That would require neck strain. Instead, he kept his gaze at a precise 15-degree downward angle—the optimum position to avoid eye contact while still spotting potential obstacles. To anyone else, the gates of Seishin High represented a golden future. To Akito, they looked like the entrance to a high-security prison for overachievers.
The spring breeze carried the faint scent of cherry blossoms, petals drifting lazily across the stone pathway. Beyond the gates, pristine white buildings gleamed in the morning sun. He thought that this school was ten times bigger than his previous one, and the uniforms were so finely designed. This was truly a school for VIPs.
Akito moved aside as he was in the middle of the path, murmuring to himself. This place looks like a movie set… better be careful not to fall into the spotlight.
Seishin High was well-funded by powerful private organizations, its board filled with elite families whose children studied there. It had every academic stream, a staggering array of clubs, and more sports than Akito even knew existed.
And then, there was Akito Kujō.
A typical, average schoolboy with barely passing grades, extreme laziness, and no physical talent worth mentioning. His looks were nothing special, his dead-fish eyes hardly inspiring praise, and his plain black hair was neither long nor short enough to be memorable.
He had a habit of not looking people in the eye while talking, which often backfired when speaking to girls, especially in public spaces. But he eventually had to force himself out of it, simply because it made going to the convenience store alone too difficult. To survive social situations, he developed a unique coping mechanism: he treated his life like a story he was writing. By viewing the world through a 3rd-person lens, like a camera in a video game, he could detach from his anxiety.
Even in his old class, only a handful of students with exceptional memory probably remembered his name. His involvement in school life was so minimal that if he disappeared one day, the world would hardly notice.
Strangely, Akito liked it that way. Fewer interactions meant fewer complications. Fewer people, fewer problems, he thought. This mindset, however, always worried his mother.
So how on earth had he managed to enter Seishin High?
It all began a month ago…
The Kujō household was nothing extravagant, just a modest two-story home in a quiet neighborhood. The wooden floors creaked in protest with every step, and the faint aroma of miso soup drifted from the kitchen, mingling with the scent of detergent that lingered from laundry day.
"Wake up! Akito, it's already 10 a.m.!" Keiko Kujō's voice thundered from below, cutting through the lazy Sunday morning air.
Upstairs, Akito lay sprawled across his bed, his blanket tangled around his legs like a boa constrictor. His room was a battlefield of crumpled worksheets, manga volumes stacked haphazardly, and a gaming console blinking silently in the corner. A lone ceiling fan whirred lazily overhead, more asleep than he was.
He cracked open one dead-looking eye. Not this on a Sunday morning. Why is she always ruining my holidays?
"Geez! If he slacks like this, he'll never keep up in high school," his mother muttered downstairs. The clinking of dishes echoed through the thin walls as she marched to the mailbox. Moments later, the thud of letters hitting the kitchen table followed.
"Why can't my mom let me sleep peacefully on Sundays? Even my final exams just ended…" Akito groaned, checking his phone before burying his head back under the pillow.
"If you don't come down right now, you might as well forget your breakfast!" Keiko warned, punctuating the threat with a sharp bang on the sink.
Akito groaned again. And there it is. The final warning. He yawned, dragged himself out of bed, and stretched like a half-dead zombie.
He shuffled toward the kitchen, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, and peeked at the pile of mail on the table. "Whad arr dezz…" he mumbled through the foam.
"Brush your teeth first and then talk!" his mother snapped, not even looking up.
Scowling, Akito turned and stomped away, muttering something incomprehensible. The kitchen itself was neat in a lived-in way—a refrigerator covered with sticky notes and magnets, a rice cooker humming softly, sunlight filtering through a lace curtain.
Keiko began sorting through the letters, stacking bills to one side and tossing flyers aside. Then one envelope caught her eye. She paused, opened it, and frowned.
"Dear Akito Kujō, this letter is an invitation from Seishin High School…"
She blinked twice. "Probably a prank. But… it's too detailed to be fake."
Her eyes darted to her phone, and she quickly searched the school name.
From the kitchen doorway, Akito peeked in, toothbrush still in hand. He froze instantly. His mother's face now radiated an ominous aura, like she had just unlocked her final form.
Akito's mind ran wild. Okay, think… what sins did I commit? Did I forget to take out the trash? Did I break a plate? No… this is worse. Way worse…
"Akito, come here for a second," she called out sweetly. Too sweet.
Akito gulped, resigned to his fate. With all the energy of a condemned man walking to the gallows, he shuffled forward.
Instead of punishment, however, she handed him the letter.
The rest of the house seemed to grow silent around him as he read the words. His hands trembled slightly. There's no way this was meant for me. God must've accidentally sent this to the wrong address…
"What the hell did you do?" his mother asked.
"That's what I wanna know," Akito said. "There is no way in hell it is for me."
His mother dialed the phone number printed at the bottom. After several rings, a voice finally answered.
"Hello, this is Seishin High School. How may I help you?"
Both Akito and his mother nearly dropped dead on the spot.
Keiko recovered first. "Yes, hello. I'm Keiko Kujō, mother of Akito Kujō. We received a letter from your school, but… I think there's been a mistake."
The woman on the line asked for the code in the letter. After Keiko recited it, she replied, "Yes, Akito Kujō has been accepted under a special recommendation from a higher official."
"Eh... higher official? Who might that be?" Keiko replied.
"In the records, it only mentions a higher official. It is not disclosed who recommended him, nor for what reason."
"Is that even possible? It is not a mistake, right?"
"It is certainly not. There is a reserved seat for Akito Kujō unless you want to cancel it."
"No... no, we will think about it," Keiko replied quickly.
If any other high school student were in this situation, their reaction would be joyful, excited, or they'd simply celebrate. But Akito wasn't exactly normal.
Akito slumped into a chair, pale as a ghost. No one in school would recommend me unless it's doomsday… and my grades? Forget it.
His mother pressed again, but the answer didn't change.
And so, fast-forward to the present: Akito Kujō stood at the gates of Seishin High, two questions haunting him.
Who the hell recommended me into this school… and why? Also… what's the passing score here?
He took a quick look around and it became obvious he really was out of place. Everyone around looked incredibly elegant. He became highly self-conscious, but he calmed himself by instantly switching to his 3rd-person perspective, viewing the buzzing courtyard like an opening cutscene.
As he stepped further onto campus, a strong gust of wind swept past, scattering petals and voices around him. He was instantly swallowed by the crowd, students buzzing with energy.
Suddenly, the crowd parted, forming a clear pathway.
Curious, Akito peeked over shoulders. A girl walked gracefully through the center, unbothered by the hundreds of eyes on her.
Her beauty was delicate, porcelain-like, her presence commanding. Silken white hair cascaded to her waist, catching the light like moonlit strands. Crystal-blue eyes, framed by pale lashes, gleamed like gemstones—clear and radiant, yet distant, as if guarding another world.
But while everyone else stared at her beauty, Akito's dead-fish eyes picked up something else. Her posture was unnaturally stiff, he noticed. Her eyes were cold. After living a life as a complete loner for 15 years, Akito could spot defensive maneuvers from a mile away. He assumed it was just her arrogance reflecting in her eyes and didn't give it a second thought.
Gasps, whispers, and murmurs rippled through the students around her:
"Is that her?" "She's even prettier in person!" "Yeah, she is the one!"
Akito's jaw slackened. Must be coming from a wealthy family.
But her identity was revealed soon enough.
A nerdy-looking boy suddenly popped up beside Akito, eyes sparkling with excitement. "That's the goddess of this school—first-year student Ayane Amamiya!"
"Wait, who are you? You're not even in the main cast," Akito muttered, looking at him with pure confusion.
The boy ignored him entirely, as if he existed only to provide exposition. "She's the eldest daughter of the Amamiya family. Her father, Takayuki Amamiya, is a board member at this school and recently made the world's top 100 richest list last month—"
Akito's eyes widened. Wait… wasn't that the same news playing the day my letter came?
The boy rambled on, listing Ayane's accomplishments: perfect grades, elite sports, martial arts training, piano recitals, countless awards. A flawless prodigy destined to follow in her father's footsteps.
Akito pinched the bridge of his nose. She's my age? Better stay away. These types of people always tend to bring problems with them.
The boy kept chattering, completely ignoring Akito's protests.
"Anyway…" Akito sighed, squeezing through the crowd. "Doesn't seem like he'll stop anytime soon. I should get going."
He finally broke free, found a quiet corner, and muttered to himself:
"This year will be a pain..."