First year

"No way he actually confessed! Honestly, who would like a closed-off, nihilistic boy like him?" Mei-Ling scoffed, brushing off her skirt and adjusting her blazer.

Her hands twisted the green ties around her neatly styled twin buns as she spoke.

The sign above their classroom door read _Kol-Nic Dialects – First-Year Section_, and Mei-Ling barely glanced at it as she turned toward Elara.

"Are you okay?" Mei-Ling asked, her voice softening. "You should've called me," she added, her voice growing hoarse with emotion as she reached out to hold Elara's trembling hand.

_It's alright. I need to know how to protect myself,_ Elara thought, though she said nothing aloud.

"I'd rather not talk about him right now. Don't we have that mandatory assembly in three hours? The one for all first-years?" Anna said. Her tone was dismissive, but exhaustion clung to her words.

"Marquis is a good guy," Elara said abruptly, her voice cutting through the tension. Mei-Ling and Anna froze mid-step, their expressions a mix of shock and confusion.

Elara's voice steadied, though tears threatened to spill. "He acts strange, I know. But... I don't think he means it. He's just a boy—a boy seeking validation."

The hallway seemed to quiet around them, the noise of students fading into a distant hum. Mei-Ling hesitated, as if about to interrupt, but Elara continued.

"We all have our flaws, our moments of weakness. You judging him—you're hypocrites!" Her voice cracked as tears spilled freely. "He tried his best."

Anna instinctively reached out, her hand trembling. Before it could touch Elara, another hand appeared—a larger, calloused one that moved with careful precision.

"A woman shouldn't cry," a calm voice said.

Startled, they looked up to see Ryuji stepping forward.

His practiced fingers brushed a strand of Elara's blond hair back into place, his movements fluid and composed.

"Ryuji?" Mei-Ling exclaimed, her voice rising in disbelief.

"When did you come back?" Anna stammered, wide-eyed.

Elara stood frozen, her tears halted by his sudden presence. His hair, tied neatly into a ponytail, caught the light from the academy's tall windows. He wore the standard brown blazer of the academy uniform, the badge—a large sleeping cat sprawled before a disproportionately small tree—depicting a cat lazily licking its paw.

Ryuji smiled faintly and brushed off their questions with a casual wave. "Ah, it's nothing," he said, voice calm but unreadable.

"You didn't answer the question," Mei-Ling pressed, her brows knitting together.

"Where's Kai? And Marquis?" Ryuji asked instead, his tone sharper as he glanced down the hall.

Without waiting for a response, he strode past them, his steps quick and purposeful. The katana at his side gleamed faintly, its sheath worn with age.

The three girls watched in silence as his figure disappeared into the crowd.

"What happened to him?" Mei-Ling murmured, her voice tinged with unease.

"Didn't he just come back from the city?" Anna asked, equally uncertain.

Mei-Ling nodded, her gaze still fixed on the hallway. "Yeah… his city. Constantly filled with battle." Her voice softened, sadness flickering in her green eyes as the bustle of the academy resumed around them.

Ryuji walked casually. _Mei-Ling looked pretty,_ he thought—but the moment the thought surfaced, it slipped from his mind.

It had been a few days since the first day of school. He was the latest first-year, arriving a full week and a half after classes began.

A crowd loomed ahead, but he kept walking.

Mei-Ling, from a distance, glanced back occasionally, seeing his figure blur.

"Ryuji," a voice called out—firm yet composed.

A teacher approached, dressed in a white tailored suit that contrasted sharply with his rugged appearance. His stark white hair was tinged faintly with blue. Through thin-framed glasses, his sharp gaze locked on Ryuji. A jagged stitched scar ran from his left eyebrow to his right cheek, mirrored by smaller stitch lines crisscrossing his hands like battle-worn maps.

"Your father didn't provide a formal reason for your absence," the teacher said, tone even but laced with expectation. "Could you please escort me to the dean's office?"

Ryuji barely looked at him. "No," he replied curtly. "If you give me a moment, I'm looking for someone."

The teacher arched a brow. "And who might that be?" he asked, then added, "Ah, forgive me—I should introduce myself. They call me Dr. Stitched. I'm stationed at the health center. Psychiatrist, med lab, counseling—you name it."

Ryuji's patience was thinning. "It's two people. Marquis and Kai—short for Kaelan," he said, irritation sharpening his voice.

"Interesting," Dr. Stitched mused, but before he could say more, Ryuji moved.

In a blur, Ryuji drew his katana. The polished blade flashed under the light as he aimed for the teacher's head with lethal precision.

The strike never landed.

Dr. Stitched sidestepped effortlessly, as if anticipating the attack. His voice remained calm, even curious. "Why did you strike me?"

Ryuji didn't lower his blade. He smiled faintly, coldness in his eyes. "I've realized killing tends to solve a lot of problems."

Before he could strike again, Dr. Stitched's hand shot forward. In one swift motion, he disarmed Ryuji, gripping the katana's hilt with steady hands.

"You came late," Dr. Stitched said, inspecting the weapon briefly before looking back at him. "You've missed quite a bit. But there's an assembly soon—outside the academy, near the river. All first-years are required to attend. You'll find Kai and Marquis there, wherever they might be."

He sheathed the confiscated sword with ease, his expression unreadable.

Ryuji's eyes followed him, silence thick in the air.

—

"Mr. Ryuji Takashiro—or am I required to say Takashiro first?" the dean began, her tone steeped in authority.

She stood tall, her dark, tanned skin catching the glow of the office lights. Her presence exuded power and command.

Her robe-like garment shimmered with gold accents, delicate embroidery contrasting with the force she embodied.

Behind Ryuji, Dr. Stitched held his shoulder firmly, preventing any sudden movement.

Story Skill: _Seer_

Attachment Skill: _Unmasked Face_

_Description_: The ability to know—through consent or, if the subject is weaker, without it—slight fears or insecurities that may lead to other events.

The dean's sharp gaze settled on Ryuji. He met it with a faint, knowing smile.

"Yes," Ryuji said smoothly, his voice laced with casual defiance.

"You are," he repeated, this time more gravely.

"Well, I'm not going to do that," the dean replied calmly. "I'm Opeyemi. Add 'Dean' to that, alright?" she said, sighing as she reached for the cluttered surface of her desk. A sleek, ultra-thin monitor gleamed before her, edges sharp as her presence.

"You are a student here, not a heir," Opeyemi stated. "The moment you step onto this floor, your title is stripped. Understood?"

Ryuji stayed silent, unreadable.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said, unfazed. She turned to her keyboard, the clatter of keys filling the room like static.

"Could you stop?" Ryuji snapped. "Do you know who my father is?"

"He is—" he began, but Opeyemi cut him off, her tone like a blade.

"Oh, we're all well aware of your father," she said, calm and deliberate. "But we're not here to talk about him. We're here to talk about _you_. So why not start building your own reputation? Like he did. With school."

Ryuji paused. Her words hit something raw. He glanced at Dr. Stitched, who remained stoic.

Then, without warning, Ryuji spoke.

"Could you bring one more person here? To make it three," he said, voice cool and calculated.

Without waiting, he struck. His leg thrust forward with surprising force. The dean stumbled, caught off guard. Ryuji twisted, trying to break Dr. Stitched's hold and counter.

But Dr. Stitched moved like lightning. His fist connected with Ryuji's abdomen, precise and brutal. Ryuji collapsed, limp.

Dean Opeyemi steadied herself, adjusting her robe. "That's nine million draws for that stunt," she muttered, sighing deeply. Her anger faded into calm resolve.

"Take him to the med-lab," she instructed, brushing a strand of gold-threaded hair from her face. "He stays there until the assembly begins."

Dr. Stitched nodded, now supporting rather than restraining Ryuji. As they exited, Opeyemi's sharp eyes followed them until the door clicked shut behind them.