As the bus rolled to a stop, a digitized female voice announced our arrival at Advanced Nurturing High School. The security checkpoint we'd passed had been staffed by men in black suits with earpieces, their eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses despite the morning shade. They'd barely glanced at our bus, merely waving us through with mechanical efficiency.
"We're here!" Ichirou bounded out of his seat like an overgrown puppy, nearly banging his head on the low ceiling. "Come on, Shiro!"
I took my time, slinging my bag over my shoulder and stepping into the aisle. Yumeko glided out beside me, her movements unnaturally graceful. Ichinose waited for us at the front of the bus, that picture-perfect smile still in place.
The moment I stepped off the bus, the manufactured nature of this place hit me. The air smelled wrong—too clean, filtered through some advanced system that stripped it of any natural character. The stone beneath my feet was immaculate, without a single crack or weed. Even the breeze felt scheduled.
"Holy shit," Ichirou breathed, his head tilted back as he took in the campus. "This place is incredible! Look at that gym complex! And is that an Olympic-sized pool? Man, the basketball courts must be amazing!"
While Ichirou gawked at the amenities, I counted surveillance points. Black domes nestled discreetly at corners, masquerading as architectural features. The walkways were arranged in perfect grids with clear sightlines from multiple vantage points. No blind spots. No privacy.
"It is quite impressive," Ichinose agreed, her blue eyes reflecting the gleaming glass of the main building. "The brochures didn't do it justice."
"It lacks soul," I said quietly. "Like a corporate retreat center designed by an algorithm."
A faculty member with a tablet directed us toward the gymnasium for the entrance ceremony. We joined the stream of first-years flowing through the campus, everyone gazing around with varying degrees of awe.
The gymnasium doors were propped open, revealing an interior that could have hosted professional tournaments. The polished hardwood floor gleamed under bright, energy-efficient lighting. Rows of retractable seating lined the walls, currently pushed back to maximize floor space.
What caught my eye immediately were four massive signs suspended from the ceiling: 1-A, 1-B, 1-C, and 1-D. Students were already gathering beneath them in distinct clusters.
"I guess this is where we split up," Ichinose said, nodding toward the 1-B section. Her expression shifted—a flicker of disappointment quickly replaced by her standard optimism. "But we can still hang out outside of class, right?"
"Of course we can still be friends!" Ichirou exclaimed. "Class is just a letter, right? It doesn't actually mean anything."
Ichinose's smile softened. "I hope so. I'll see you all later, then." She turned and walked toward the 1-B gathering, her strawberry-blonde hair swinging gently behind her.
"Let's check out our group," I said, nudging Ichirou toward the 1-C sign.
As we crossed the gym floor, the differences between the sections became impossible to ignore.
Class 1-A stood in neat formation, their posture impeccable, conversations conducted in low, controlled voices. They had the look of people who'd never questioned their place at the top. At their center stood a small, delicate girl with lilac hair and a black beret, leaning lightly on an elegant cane. Despite her diminutive size, she commanded attention like a queen holding court.
Class 1-B—Ichinose's new home—radiated competent friendliness. Students were introducing themselves, exchanging pleasant handshakes, already forming study groups and activity committees. Their energy was bright and collaborative.
Our destination, Class 1-C, was another matter entirely. The energy was chaotic, fractured. A boy with magenta hair leaned against a pillar, surveying the room with bored arrogance. Two students were engaged in a heated argument over something trivial. Another group was laughing too loudly at a joke. They stood in small, defensive clusters rather than as a unified whole.
And Class 1-D... they looked lost. Uncertain. Some stood alone. Others huddled together as if for protection. There was an air of confusion, as if they'd arrived at the wrong venue.
"This is us, huh?" Ichirou scanned our classmates. "Interesting bunch."
Yumeko's eyes glittered with amusement. "Oh yes, very interesting."
A sharp electronic tone cut through the gymnasium, silencing conversations. All eyes turned to the stage, where two figures now stood.
The first was a middle-aged man with distinguished gray at his temples, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit. His posture was relaxed, his expression paternal. He radiated calm authority.
The second was a student—tall, lean, and radiating a cold intensity that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. His uniform was flawless, his posture military-straight.
The older man stepped forward, his smile warm and inviting.
"Welcome to Advanced Nurturing High School. I am Chairman Sakayanagi, and it is my privilege to guide you through what will be the most transformative three years of your lives."
His voice was smooth and practiced, the kind that could sell you anything while making you think it was your idea.
"You have been selected not because of family connections or financial advantage, but because we see in each of you the potential to thrive in a truly merit-based environment."
I snorted under my breath. There it was—the first lie. Every institution claims to be a meritocracy. None of them ever are.
"Our school breaks from outdated educational traditions. Here, your success is determined solely by your demonstrated worth. We have created a fluid system where students can rise and fall based on their abilities and choices."
"The class designations you see above you are provisional. Your placement today reflects our initial assessment of your potential, but it is by no means permanent. Those who excel can advance. Those who fail to meet expectations may fall."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. This was news to most. The recruitment materials had been suspiciously silent on the class system's details.
Chairman Sakayanagi stepped back, his paternal smile never wavering. The student beside him moved forward, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.
"I am Manabu Horikita, Student Council President." His voice was sharp, each word precisely articulated. "The Chairman has explained the opportunity. I will explain the reality."
His cold gray eyes swept across the gathered students. I felt an involuntary shiver run down my spine. This wasn't just a strict upperclassman. This was something else entirely.
"For the duration of your enrollment, contact with the outside world is prohibited. No phone calls. No emails. No family visits. This island is now your entire world."
Shocked whispers erupted, quickly silenced by Horikita's raised hand.
"Academic failure has consequences. Fall below acceptable standards, and you face expulsion. There are no second chances, no appeals. You succeed, or you leave."
Ichirou leaned toward me. "Geez, what's this guy's problem? He looks like he needs to loosen up."
I shook my head slightly, warning him to be quiet.
"Your past achievements are irrelevant. Your family name means nothing. Your previous accolades are forgotten. From this moment, you build your reputation from zero." Horikita's gaze swept the room once more, lingering fractionally longer on the C and D sections.
"Do not disappoint us."
With that final warning, he stepped back. Chairman Sakayanagi returned to the microphone, his warmth a stark contrast to Horikita's frost.
"Your free to head to your classrooms for orientation. Your dormitory assignments will be distributed during orientation. Once again, welcome to Advanced Nurturing High School."
The signs above us began to flash, signaling the end of the ceremony. Students started to move, following teachers who had materialized at the edges of the room.
"That was intense," Ichirou said, stretching his arms above his head. "That president guy needs to chill out."
"On the contrary," Yumeko whispered, her eyes still fixed on Horikita's retreating form. "Now that is a player worth watching. Did you see his eyes? Perfect control. No tells at all." She licked her lips. "Magnificent."
We followed the people out, heading towards the location of class 1-C.
"These boring speeches always kill me," Ichirou complained as we walked. "All this talk about opportunity and consequences. Just tell us where the cafeteria is and when basketball tryouts start, you know?"
I smirked. "You missed the subtext, big guy. That wasn't an orientation speech. It was a warning."
"A declaration of the rules," Yumeko added, humming softly to herself. "Every game needs clear rules to make the stakes worthwhile."
We reached a door marked 1-C. From inside, we could hear chaos—someone laughing loudly, the sound of something hitting a wall, raised voices in what might have been an argument or just overzealous discussion.
"Alright, time to meet the rest of the crew!" Ichirou grinned. "Let's see what kind of weirdos we got stuck with." He reached for the door handle.