Chapter Three – The International Academy and The System
A week had passed since I arrived in this world.
The sentence felt both impossibly long and frighteningly short. Seven days measured in the slow drip of condensation on the single grimy window, in the emptying of instant noodle cups that piled ever higher, in the frantic, late-night scrolling on a cheap, second-hand tablet.
I had adapted.
The thought was less a triumph and more a grim admission of surrender. Like a prisoner learning the dimensions of his cell, he had learned the rhythms of this small, squalid life.
I stayed in that house.
There had been no other choice. The outside world, glimpsed through the dirty window, hummed with a terrifying, unfamiliar energy. The threat of the academy's notice, now pinned to the wall with a rusty thumbtack as a constant reminder, had acted as both a shackle and a perverse protection. Leaving meant possibly triggering that "judicial apprehension." Staying meant stewing in his own dread, but at least he was stewing anonymously.
And used the internet to search for some things in this world, so I could understand more precisely the differences present in the manga.
The tablet, a chunky, outdated model with a hairline crack running across its corner, had become his portal. Its glow was the only light he trusted in the deepening evenings.
Tap. Tap. Swipe.
He scrolled through news archives, forums filled with the inane chatter of teenagers discussing their emerging powers, dry government bulletins. The search was desperate, a drowning man groping for any solid piece of driftwood that might explain the ocean he was in.
It seemed there weren't many differences, especially since the manga hadn't given much information about the world's history.
The broad strokes were the same: superpowers, heroes, villains, the academy system. But the devil, as they say, was in the details—details the manga had glossed over in favor of the next punch-up.
But on the internet, I managed to find that there was good information about the correct time for the arrival of abilities, which was in the year 1950, when abilities began to appear for most people.
Black-and-white photos flickered on the screen: crowded city streets, people looking up in confusion and awe as the first public displays of inexplicable phenomena occurred. A woman floating a few inches off the ground. A man causing a streetlamp to flicker with a touch. The birth of an era, captured in grainy, uncertain images.
There had been many news stories and rumors about the reason for the appearance of superpowers in most people.
Conspiracy theories about alien radiation. Religious proclamations about the rapture or divine punishment. Scientific papers on sudden, global genetic mutation.
But in the end, the government documented that the reason for this was the existence of an evolutionary factor that developed this gene inside people to the point of reaching the awakening stage.
It was the official story, clean and scientific. An inevitable step in human evolution. It sounded neat. Tidy. Like something you'd print in a textbook to avoid causing a panic.
(Tokito) remembered the information he had obtained from the internet a week ago and began to think about it and compare it to the information he possessed from the manga.
He leaned back on the bed, the springs groaning a familiar, weary complaint.
Sproing. Creak.
In the manga, it was discovered that special abilities are nothing but abilities that were activated when a spiritual field from another dimension reached this world.
That was the canon explanation. Not evolution, but an interdimensional spiritual contamination event. More dramatic. More… manga.
He chewed on the discrepancy. Which was true? Did it even matter? The powers were real regardless of their origin story. The government's version was probably just PR, a way to sand down the terrifying, reality-bending truth into something manageable for the masses.
Before (Tokito) could continue his thoughts, he heard the sound of a car approaching the street in front of the academy's main gate.
The sound cut through his introspection—a low, expensive purr that was utterly foreign to this run-down neighborhood. It wasn't the sputter of an old engine or the rumble of a delivery truck. This was the sound of polished metal, finely tuned machinery, and immense wealth gliding over asphalt.
He was there. Of course he was there. It was reporting day.
He hadn't slept. He'd spent the night staring at the ceiling, listening to the scurrying of something in the walls, before finally putting on the crisp, navy-blue academy tracksuit. It fit his slender frame awkwardly, the material stiff and new, smelling of chemical dye and institutional expectations. It felt like a costume for his own execution.
Now, he stood across the wide, imposing street from the academy's main gate, a small, pale figure dwarfed by the spectacle.
The International Hero Academy – East Tokyo Satellite Campus.
It wasn't a school; it was a fortress. A monolithic complex of sleek, gunmetal-gray buildings and gleaming reflective glass that rose like sharpened teeth against the sky. High walls, topped with what looked like subtle energy-field emitters, surrounded the perimeter. The main gate itself was a massive arch of brushed steel, currently open, leading into a courtyard where other young figures in identical navy blue uniforms milled about, looking variously terrified, arrogant, or numb.
The car stopped.
This car, which looked like the car of a wealthy person.
It was a limousine. Long, black, and sleek as a panther, its surface so perfectly polished it reflected the grim academy buildings in a distorted, ominous funhouse mirror.
A chauffeur, wearing a formal black suit and white gloves, emerged from the driver's side with robotic precision. He moved to the rear passenger door, his posture erect, his movements devoid of any unnecessary flourish.
Click. Whirr.
The door opened with a soft, hydraulic sigh.
A young man with blond hair and blue eyes got out.
The contrast was jarring. Against the backdrop of grim institutional gray and the anxious navy-blue crowd, he was a splash of effortless, privileged color. His hair was the shade of polished wheat, perfectly styled. His eyes were a bright, piercing azure. His version of the academy uniform looked tailor-made, hugging his athletic frame with a flattering cut, the silver piping seeming to shimmer with its own light.
The chauffeur, now standing by the open door, bowed slightly.
"Young master,please proceed."
The young man carried an expression of indifference.
He didn't even look in the direction where (Tokito) was standing, a mere extra in the background of his grand entrance. He went directly inside without even a glance at his own servant, as if the man were a useful piece of furniture that had momentarily moved.
Click. Whirr.
The car door closed itself.
The chauffeur returned to his seat, and the limousine purred away, leaving the blond boy to stride toward the open maw of the academy gate as if he owned the pathway beneath his feet.
(Tokito) stood mesmerized by the fancy car, and at the same time…
A sound echoed in his head.
Not a sound he heard with his ears, but a crisp, digital ping that seemed to originate from the very center of his consciousness. It was clean, artificial, and utterly unexpected.
Ping!
Immediately following the ping, a transparent, semi-opaque screen materialized in the center of his vision, hovering in the air just before his eyes. It had a sleek, dark border and glowing blue text.
Alert – Host has encountered one of the main characters of the story.
– (Kaziyoshi Tsunami) –
Special Ability – Photonic Conversion –
Ability Effect – User can convert parts of his body into light and use surrounding light or absorb light from glowing objects and shape it into forms of energy attacks.
– (Ability Level: Four Stars) –
The words hung in the air, superimposed over the scene of the indifferent blond boy walking away.
(Tokito)'s breath hitched. His heart, which had been pounding a dull, fearful rhythm, suddenly stuttered and then began to hammer against his ribs like a frantic drum solo.
Thumpa-thumpa-THUMP!
"Damn…"
(Tokito) couldn't help but say that.
Of course, no one paid any attention to him because he was speaking in a low voice.
But his eyes, those wide, crimson eyes, were staring fixedly at the screen that had appeared while he was looking at the character (Kaziyoshi), who was going directly inside the gate of the International Academy.
The screen flickered gently, the information displayed with sterile efficiency. It was real. It was tangible. It was… a system.
A wild, uncontrollable hope, hot and dizzying, exploded in his chest. It burned away the numbness, the fear, the despair of the past week in an instant.
He turned, his movements jerky with adrenaline, and went to a place where no one was looking at him—a small, shadowed alcove next to a rusted utility box on the sidewalk.
Shuffle. Scrape.
He leaned against the cold metal, the rough texture biting through the thin fabric of his uniform sleeve, and looked at that screen.
He stared, his gaze devouring the glowing text. His mind raced, connecting fragments of every isekai novel, webtoon, and light novel he'd ever consumed.
"Damn it! This means I possess a cheat! What the hell is this screen?!"
The words were a hissed whisper, torn from him by a torrent of giddy, disbelieving elation.
For a long time, since he transferred to this world, he had wondered if he was the only one among people who transfer to other worlds who didn't get the system he deserved.
The bitterness of that thought had been a constant undertone to his terror. While other protagonists were handed divine artifacts, infinite mana pools, and OP skill trees, he'd been given a pathetic cumulus cloud and a one-way ticket to a glorified gladiator school.
But at this moment, he was burning with excitement.
The screen shimmered, a promise made of light.
He grinned, a wide, manic smile that felt alien on his pale face.
"This is right! With a system… am I afraid of doing anything? I will become invincible, I'm sure of it!"
The fantasies came in a rush. He'd grind experience points. Unlock hidden skill trees for his cloud ability—Thundercloud Generation! Acid Rain Projectile! Cumulonimbus Armor! He'd have stats he could increase: Strength, Agility, Cloud Density. Quests would pop up. Defeat the Minor Thug: Reward +10 Cloud Points. He'd start at the bottom, but with this, he'd climb. He'd survive. He might even thrive!
His dreams were dispelled very quickly.
The hope was a soap bubble, beautiful and iridescent for one glorious second before it popped.
In the next moment, information entered his head regarding the screen in front of him, which revealed the nature of this screen.
It wasn't delivered with another ping. This was a quieter, more insidious download—a sudden, deep understanding that seeped into his consciousness like cold water into dry soil.
The face that had been filled with excitement began to transform.
First, into shock. The manic light in his red eyes dimmed, replaced by blank confusion.
Then into bitterness. His lips, which had been stretched in that wild grin, twisted downward into a grimace.
Then into deep, profound sadness.
A hollow opened up inside his chest, a vacuum where his brief, blazing hope had been.
He said in a voice filled with bitterness, each word dropping like a stone:
"Damn it.This screen… is it only for displaying the abilities of the characters I meet, especially the main characters?"
The question was rhetorical. The downloaded knowledge had already answered it.
The cheat he had obtained did not grant him any kind of superpower.
All it did was make him know the abilities of the people and the main and side characters in the manga.
In addition to knowing the nature of the special ability of each person.
That was all. That was everything. This was what he had obtained from the system.
An encyclopedia. A glorified, in-brain wiki page. A walking, talking spoiler alert with no offensive or defensive capabilities whatsoever.
He couldn't level it up. It wouldn't give him quests. It wouldn't let him allocate stat points to make his clouds less pathetic. It would just… inform him. Oh, look, that guy who's about to vaporize you with laser beams? His ability is called 'Photon Burst.' It's a Five-Star ability. Have a nice death!
Finally, (Tokito Kaito) couldn't bear it anymore and let out a terrifying hissing sound.
It was a raw, strangled noise of pure, concentrated frustration—the sound of a teakettle screaming on the brink of melting. But at the same time, he didn't scream out loud.
He just stood there in the shadow of the utility box, his slight frame trembling, his fists clenched so tightly his short, neat nails dug half-moons into his pale palms.
He looked at the two black screens—the one in his vision and the one on his cheap tablet, now dark and reflecting his own devastated expression—with anger.
A hot, useless anger that had no target except the cruel joke of the universe itself.
"It would have been better if you hadn't appeared if you were going to crush my dreams this quickly."
He addressed the system screen directly, his voice a venomous whisper.
But in the end, (Tokito) sighed.
It was a long, shuddering exhalation that seemed to drain the last of the fight from him. His shoulders slumped, the stiff new uniform suddenly feeling like a leaden weight.
He thought to himself, the internal monologue a feeble attempt at scraping together some consolation from the wreckage.
– At least I wasn't without anything in this world, right?
He tried to grasp at the straw.
At least I will be able to know the abilities of other people in this world by means of the system and think of a way to succeed.
Knowledge was power, wasn't it? That's what they said. Knowing your enemy. If he knew someone's ability, he could… avoid them. Run away more effectively. Maybe find a loophole, a weakness the system description might hint at.
It was a pitiful advantage. The advantage of a mouse who has been given a blueprint of the cat's teeth, just before being pounced upon.
He pushed himself away from the utility box, the metal letting out a soft screech of protest.
Scraaaaape.
The system screen, as if sensing his resigned acceptance, faded from his vision with a soft, almost apologetic fizzle sound.
Fssst.
He was left staring at the academy gate. (Kaziyoshi Tsunami) was long gone, swallowed by the institution. Other students were streaming in now, a river of navy blue flowing toward the steel arch.
He looked down at his own hands. His pale, cloud-making hands.
He took a deep, ragged breath that did nothing to fill the hollow in his chest.
Then, with steps that felt heavier than they had any right to be, (Tokito Kaito) began to walk forward.
He joined the stream, a single, white-haired, red-eyed data point moving inexorably toward the system that had already categorized him, judged him, and found him wanting. The only thing his own system was good for was telling him exactly how much he was outclassed.
The gates loomed larger with every step, casting a long, cold shadow that swallowed him whole.
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End of Chapter.
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Author's Note:
Thank you for reading as(Tokito)'s hopes rise and fall with the cruel efficiency of a system notification. Your companionship makes navigating this grim academy slightly less terrifying. ❤️ :)
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