Chapter 1: Why Follow Rules When You Can Have Fun?

"The sun is shining in the sky~

The flowers are smiling at me~

The little bird is talking so carelessly~

Why are you carrying a pack of dynamite on your back~"

On a coastal road, inside a nearly full bus carrying freshmen from a certain school, a loud ringtone—featuring an exaggerated, full-throated singing voice—echoed through the cramped space. The sound was immediately followed by laughter that could rival an airplane jet engine, shattering the bus's otherwise subdued atmosphere.

A brief silence settled over the passengers.

One by one, heads turned toward the source of the noise.

The culprit? A boy wearing reflective sunglasses, seated behind the railing on the right side near the lower door. Like the rest of the students on the bus, he was clad in the school's uniform—a fitted red blazer over a crisp white shirt, a black tie, and dark green trousers paired with polished leather shoes. The uniform bore the emblem of Advanced Nurturing High School.

However, due to his mirrored sunglasses, his full facial features remained obscured.

Still, from his sharp, chiseled facial contours, his perfectly smooth forehead, and meticulously combed-back black hair—styled with the precision of a certain Aizen's signature touch—it was easy to tell. As long as his eyes weren't a total disaster, he could be considered… objectively handsome.

Ignoring the various gazes directed at him, the boy maintained a casual, unconcerned smile. Without a hint of embarrassment, he picked up his phone, glanced at the screen, silenced the ringtone, and spoke in the same exaggerated tone as the song.

"Sorry, it's just my alarm clock."

That did it.

If the ringtone wasn't shocking enough, his explanation left the entire bus momentarily stunned.

In today's world, it wasn't unusual for young people to set their ringtones to reflect their personalities—soft melodies, romantic ballads, elegant instrumentals, energetic beats, even bizarre joke tunes.

But recording your own absurd song and setting it as an alarm? That was on another level.

The boy's name was Kure Ragna.

A 16-year-old from the Kure Clan, recently graduated from junior high, now stepping into high school. He lived in Kyoto.

His father? Just a married man—nothing noteworthy to say about him.

His mother, Kure Yakusha, was the class teacher of Class 2-A at an all-girls college.

His grandfather, Kure Erioh, was a close friend of Katahara Metsudo—the director of Dainippon Bank and the 58th chairman of the Kengan Association.

Logically, after completing his nine years of compulsory education, Ragna should have followed family tradition—become a professional fighter, carved his name into boxing history, and built a legendary career.

But then, fate decided to play a little trick on him.

A small one.

During the summer, Sakayanagi, the chairman of Advanced Nurturing High School, visited the Kure Clan for a "friendly talk" with his dear grandfather. The details of that conversation were unknown.

What mattered was the result—Kure Ragna was unceremoniously thrown into Advanced Nurturing High School.

A so-called "prestigious institution" boasting a 100% employment rate, promising graduates could secure any job they desired.

Which was… hilarious.

Since when did fighters get "assigned" jobs?

But arguing was pointless. This was Grandpa's decision. So, Ragna went along with it.

That said, his reason for attending was very different from the other students.

Most came to chase their dreams, aiming for success and stability in life.

Ragna?

He had zero interest in that.

To him, this was just for fun.

If he had any real reason for coming, it would be to see if he could run into a certain childhood friend.

With that thought, he turned toward the window.

Outside, across the distant sea, the massive artificial island and the long bridge connecting it were slowly coming into view.

That was the location of Advanced Nurturing High School—the academy that claimed 100% employment after graduation.

Ragna couldn't help but smirk at the absurdity of that claim.

100% employment?

Yeah, right.

Not to mention, why were college enrollment rates included in employment statistics?

After all, factory work was employment, and so was "flexible" gig work.

Of course, before he could think too much about it, his attention was drawn to an unfolding argument at the front of the bus.

A girl with light brown short hair spoke in a soft, polite tone.

"Excuse me, would you mind giving up your seat?"

Standing beside her was a hunched-over elderly woman, trembling as she leaned on her cane.

The person she spoke to?

A tall, muscular blond seated comfortably in the priority seat, legs crossed, relaxed as if he owned the bus.

"This is a priority seat, so I think it would be better to let the old lady sit here."

At first, her tone remained gentle.

But the blond boy didn't budge.

"Oh? Pretty girl, you do realize there's no legal obligation to give up my seat, right?"

His voice was deep, magnetic, and annoyingly self-assured.

"Why should I stand just because I'm young? Standing takes energy. Why would I do something so thankless?"

A murmur spread through the bus.

Some passengers prepared for moral condemnation. Others were merely entertained.

From his seat, Kure Ragna smirked.

Now this was interesting.

Unlike the typical light novel protagonist—the energy-saving, emotionless type—he was the complete opposite.

To him, wasting energy was meaningless.

But entertainment? Conflict? Excitement?

That was worth paying attention to.

And it seemed he wasn't the only one enjoying the scene.

Across from him, a plump, curvy girl with shoulder-length hair dyed in a gradient of light purple watched the situation unfold with evident amusement.

The brown-haired girl hesitated but persisted.

"But… wouldn't this be a good social contribution?"

She glanced at the old lady, whose frail form clearly struggled to stand.

The blond boy chuckled.

"Unfortunately, I'm not interested in 'contributing to society.'"

He flicked back his golden bangs before lazily pointing toward the rest of the passengers.

"Besides, why should I give up my seat when everyone else is sitting comfortably? Why not ask them?"

His arrogance was impressive.

But… still amateurish.

Compared to a certain aristocrat named Caesar Gattuso, this guy was child's play.

A true nobleman wouldn't even wait to be asked.

He'd stand the moment the old woman stepped onto the bus, bow deeply, and offer the seat with grace.

Because a real noble respects all women—young or old.

But then again…

Caesar Gattuso wouldn't be caught dead riding a bus.

In the end, the argument didn't escalate.

A woman in her late twenties hesitantly offered her seat instead, breaking the tension.

The brown-haired girl bowed deeply in gratitude.

"Thank you very much!"

And just like that, the drama fizzled out.

Kure Ragna clicked his tongue.

Tch. Boring.

Time passed.

The bus finally crossed the sea bridge, arriving at the academy's massive campus—which covered the entire artificial island.

Cherry blossoms drifted in the wind.

Senior students stood at the gates, distributing campus maps and directing freshmen to the gymnasium for the entrance ceremony.

Kure Ragna took one glance at the map…

…then promptly walked in the opposite direction.

Entrance ceremony?

Yeah. No thanks.