The plane's engines roared in my ears as we touched down in Japan, a country that felt like a world away from everything I'd ever known. I'm Halil Bozkurt, eighteen years old, a Turkish kid with a name that means "friend" and "gray wolf." Fitting, maybe, since I've always been a lone wolf, running from the shadows of my past. Japan and Turkiye share a bond, though—one forged in sacrifice. Back in 1890, when the Ottoman frigate Ertuğrul sank off Japan's coast, the locals saved sixty-two of our sailors, nursing them despite their own hardships. A century later, in 1985, Turkiye repaid that debt, airlifting 215 Japanese citizens out of war-torn Tehran when no one else would. That history tugged at me when I saw the ad for Kuoh Academy. A scholarship, a fresh start, a chance to leave my grief behind. But as I stepped off the plane, I couldn't shake the feeling that sorrow was still trailing me.
Narita Airport buzzed with life—announcements in Japanese, the shuffle of feet, the hum of a world I didn't yet understand. I adjusted the straps of my worn backpack, my only luggage, and scanned the crowd. No one was waiting for me. At eighteen, I didn't need a guardian to board an international flight, but standing alone in a foreign country hit harder than I expected. Two years ago, I'd walked away from school, from everything, after losing Risa. Her smile, her freckles, her final words—they haunted me. But I'd passed the high school entrance exams, earned a scholarship, and now I was here, a second-year student at Kuoh High School. A new chapter. A new me. Or so I hoped.
The drive to Kuoh Town was a blur of neon lights and cherry blossoms, the taxi weaving through streets that felt like they belonged in an anime. When we pulled up to the school, my jaw dropped.
"Wow," I muttered, stepping out.
This wasn't a high school—it was a city. A sprawling campus with a sleek, modern main building that gleamed like glass, flanked by an older structure that looked like it belonged in a museum. A jogging track circled a massive sports field, and I'd read online about an Olympic-sized swimming pool. The place screamed money, ambition, and something else—something I couldn't quite name.
"These guys don't mess around with education," I said to myself, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. But as I took my first steps toward the entrance, a knot tightened in my gut. The school had just gone co-ed, and the stats were wild: 85% girls, 15% boys. A lone wolf like me, walking into that? Trouble was practically guaranteed.
I wasn't the same scrawny kid from two years ago. The endless push-ups, squats and runs had transformed my body, making me 1.8 or 1.85 metres tall with broad shoulders, a chiselled abdominal muscle and short, dark black hair, cut into a wavy biker-buzzcut. I wouldn't say I was the most attractive person around (I'm pretty sure I'm not actually ugly, though), but I've been told I've got a certain very badass charisma about me. Still, as I crossed the campus, I felt eyes on me. Girls in crisp uniforms whispered, their voices a soft hum.
"Who's that?"
"He's not Japanese, is he?"
"Look at that body…"
"Bet he's older than he looks. Very manly!"
I kept my gaze forward, pretending I didn't hear. My Japanese was shaky at best, pieced together from late-night anime binges. I could manage a few phrases: Arigatou (thanks), Sugoi (great), Wakatta (understood), Yamero (stop). Enough to survive, maybe. But introducing myself? That was a gamble.
I took a deep breath, practicing in my head: Hajimemashite! Ore wa Halil Bozkurt. Yoroshiku onegai shimasu! It was clunky, my accent probably atrocious, but it'd have to do. I needed to find the principal's office, and I wasn't about to wander this maze alone.
The campus was a labyrinth of cherry trees and polished stone paths, students weaving through like a living current. I spotted a girl nearby, her hair a striking shade of silver-white, like fresh snow under moonlight. She was adjusting her bag, her movements graceful but unhurried. Perfect. Someone who didn't look like they'd eat me alive for asking directions.
"Excuse me!" I called, switching to English since my Japanese wasn't ready for complex questions. "Can you tell me where the principal's office is?"
She turned, and I caught my breath. Her eyes were a soft hazel, warm and curious, and her smile was so genuine it threw me off. Japanese etiquette kicked in—she bowed slightly before answering. "Of course! I can take you there if you'd like."
"Arigatou," I said, hoping my accent didn't butcher the word. "I'd appreciate that. This place is… huge."
She laughed, a sound like wind chimes. "It can be overwhelming. I'm Hanakai Momo, by the way. Nice to meet you."
"Halil Bozkurt," I replied, offering a small nod. "You can call me Halil or Bozkurt, whatever's easier."
"Momo's fine for me," she said, her smile widening. "Let's go, Bozkurt-kun."
Bozkurt-kun. The honorific felt strange, but it made me grin. "Lead the way, Momo-san."
As we walked, I couldn't help but notice the campus's details—the way the sunlight glinted off the modern building's windows, the faint scent of cherry blossoms, the chatter of students in a language I barely understood. Momo pointed out landmarks: the gym, the library, a courtyard where girls were practicing archery. My mind sketched a mental map. I'd learned long ago not to rely on others forever—you had to stand on your own eventually.
But Momo was easy to talk to. "You're not from here, are you?" she asked, glancing at me sideways.
"Nope. Turkish. Came here on a scholarship." I kept it short, not ready to spill my life story.
"That's amazing! Kuoh's picky about scholarships. You must be really talented, Bozkurt-kun."
I shrugged, a little embarrassed. "Just stubborn, mostly."
She giggled, and I noticed her hair again—snow-white, almost glowing in the sunlight. The girls here were something else. I'd seen every hair color imaginable in the crowd: pink, blue, green, like an anime come to life. Momo stood out, though, not just for her looks but for her warmth. For a moment, I felt a pang—Risa's smile flashed in my mind, and I pushed it down. Not now.
We reached a polished wooden door with a brass plaque: Principal's Office. "Here we are," Momo said. "You good from here?"
"Thanks, Momo-san. I'd have been lost without you."
She waved it off. "No problem. See you around, Bozkurt-kun!" With a final smile, she turned and disappeared into the crowd.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself. Time to meet the principal.
Knock knock.
"Come in!" a voice called from inside, smooth and commanding.
I pushed the door open and froze. The woman behind the desk was… unreal. Light brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a face that could stop traffic. Her figure was perfect—curves that seemed almost too ideal, accentuated by a tailored suit that didn't hide her, well, assets. Her eyes, a deep violet, sparkled with warmth and something sharper, like she could see right through me. For a split second, my brain short-circuited.
Get it together, Halil. She's your principal, not a model.
I shook my head, trying to focus. "Hello, ma'am," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "I'm Halil Bozkurt, the new scholarship student from Turkey. I thought I should introduce myself."
She rose from her chair, moving with a grace that was almost predatory, and placed a hand on my shoulder. Her touch was warm, but it sent a shiver down my spine. "You don't need to be so nervous, Halil," she said, her voice like velvet. "Most male students react this way when they first meet me."
My face burned. Great. First day, and I'm already blushing like an idiot. "I, uh, didn't expect someone so… young," I managed. Young? She's gorgeous, you moron. I mentally kicked myself. "I mean, young and, uh, professional."
She laughed, a sound that was both disarming and dangerous. "Thank you for the compliment. You're quite charming yourself." Her eyes twinkled, and I swear she was reading my mind. "Let me introduce myself. I'm the Director of Kuoh Academy, Venelana Gremory. It's nice to meet you, Halil Bozkurt-san."