The summer sun pressed down like a weight. Heat shimmered off the pavement as I walked, shoulders slouched beneath my schoolbag. Monday morning in Tokyo just another blur of crowded crosswalks and neon signs.
Office workers brushed past me, phones glued to their ears. Street promoters in glittery jackets shoved flyers into tired hands. Upcoming idols in pastel uniforms bowed and smiled nervously, their voices cracking against the city noise as they begged strangers for attention.
"Please support us!"
It had been five years since the Silver Stars vanished. Five years since their name had been whispered like a legend. Now no one remembered. No one cared.
I turned into a side street quiet, too quiet for Tokyo. My footsteps echoed. My throat felt dry. I'm so tired, I muttered.
That was when the van rolled up beside me. A sleek black vehicle, its engine low and smooth. It matched my pace before stopping.
The tinted window slid down. A familiar voice, calm and heavy, slipped into the street.
"When are you going to come home?"
I froze. Not with fear. Not with emotion. Just frozen an expressionless mask I had worn for years. The Yakusogi family was still trying to pull me back. After what happened… after she disappeared.
No one remembered her anymore. No one but me.
The voice tried again, strained, bitter.
"You don't call us. You don't ask for anything. But don't worry. We'll still help."
A hand tossed a letter onto the ground. Its wax seal was stamped with the logo of a school. The school she had gone to before she vanished.
The voice lingered in my ears:
"Do you even think what you're looking for is real?"
I didn't answer. I only bent down, picked up the letter, and walked away. Back to my empty apartment. Back to silence.
That night, I opened the envelope. Inside was an application to the written exam of the biggest academy in Tokyo. Kōsei Gakuen—the school of idols, stars, and leaders. The place she disappeared into.
Strange, wasn't it? A place like that didn't just send letters. They did background checks. They chose their candidates with precision. So how did I get one?
Still, I couldn't ignore it. The only thing that mattered was the faint hope inside me. Maybe this would lead me to her. Maybe.
The next morning, I boarded the train and arrived at the school gates. A man in a suit stood waiting. He called my name as if he'd been expecting me. Without explanation, he handed me a phone, a briefcase, and a uniform marked with the school badge.
Everything had already been prepared.
Soon I found myself inside a vast exam hall filled with hundreds of students. The air buzzed with tension.
A whisper of pencils scratching. The shuffle of papers. Faces locked in desperation. Noble heirs sat beside street-born dreamers. Idols' siblings, prodigies, and ordinary mistakes all clashing in silence.
It wasn't an exam. It was a purge.
The invigilators walked the aisles like predators. A glance up, a tap of the pencil too loud immediate expulsion. I watched students crumble, their papers untouched, their courage erased. Some stood up and walked out before writing a word.
I finished quietly, passed my sheet forward, and received a key card. My room: 102.
Inside was a boy named Tanjiro Ishugu. A talkative type, restless, always searching for attention. He welcomed me too quickly, testing me with words, laughter, and questions. I gave him nothing but silence. That silence seemed to irritate him, though not for long. He had seen many like me before.
Later, he guided me through the halls, playing the role of tour guide. But then a figure appeared.
Anna Nojima, the school prefect. A pop idol who usually hid her face under makeup. Even so, I recognized her instantly. She stared at me, eyes sharp, suspicion heavy in the air.
Tanjiro whispered nervously, "She's the school prefect."
But I already understood: her interest in me wasn't casual. The schoolmaster, Yamamoto Dōjō, wanted to know how someone like me received a letter meant only for the chosen.
This place was a labyrinth of secrets.
A month passed. I was moved to my own room in Zone 7, Class 1-E.
On my first day, I entered to find celebrities' children, rising idols, and students from powerful families filling the seats. I felt out of place, but I didn't care enough to say it aloud.
The teacher, Irutu Takobi, barely introduced me before vanishing from the room. Minutes stretched into silence.
That was when Matujitru, the class bully, rose from his seat. He slammed his desk and marched over, glaring down at me.
"How did you get here?!"
I said nothing. Just stared at him with an empty face.
He snapped, hurling a sponge at me. I dodged easily. Humans were simple to read the twitch of a wrist, the shift of weight before a strike. Predictable.
But the sponge struck another instead.
Gojo Ishiguro. A yellow-haired boy sitting nearby. Chalk dust smeared across his cheek.
The class froze.
Anna shot up, ready to speak, but Gojo raised a hand first. He bowed, smiling faintly.
"My fault. I was in the way. Sorry."
Even Matujitru faltered. The class buzzed with whispers.
That's when I saw it. Gojo understood the truth of this place. Every moment was a performance. Even an apology could be used as a mask.
And I realized something else. In this game of masks and lies… I had found my first pawn.
The door opened again. A tall woman entered, fair-skinned, strict. Lady Gaga, our instructor. She wrote three letters across the board:
EGD Test.
At the same time, she announced a transfer student.
The girl stepped inside, her smile carefully shy. Her name: Lana Marie Ishiguro.
Tanjiro shot up in disbelief.
"Don't you know her?! That's Lana Marie the top idol of the trending group Thick Girls!"
The class gasped. Whispers spread like fire.
But I watched her closely. The twitch of her fingers, the calculated pauses in her speech, the tilt of her head. A performance polished until it became a lie.
Lies so practiced they begin to replace the truth.
This school wasn't just an academy. It was a stage. And every actor here was willing to lose themselves in their roles.
The very next day, the EGD test began.
Lady Gaga led us out into the woods. Her voice was sharp, commanding, as she explained the rules. Survival. No technology. No comforts. We were to endure the wilderness with only what we carried, our teamwork and cunning tested at every step.
The class split into three groups.
My group: Lana Marie. Gojo Ishiguro. Myself.
The second: Tanjiro, Anna Nojima, and the bully, Matujitru.
The third: the so-called elite student heir to half of Tokyo's estates and his chosen allies.
The air was heavy with rivalry.
The test had only just begun, but I could already see it.
This wasn't survival.
It was war.]