April 3, 2103 — 11:03 am Imperial Standard Time
The chamber reserved for the red candidates was not called a hall.
It was a theater.
Tiered seating curved around a circular floor of obsidian-black composite, its surface etched with faint Imperial geometry that pulsed slowly, like a restrained heartbeat.
Above, holographic projectors hovered dormant, their lenses hidden behind mirrored crystal.
No banners.
No slogans.
Only space—designed to make its occupants feel small.
Every seat was filled.
The red candidates sat quietly, wounds freshly sealed, uniforms replaced with regulation black coats bearing no insignia.
The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and ozone.
Ichiro sat near the middle. Akira a row ahead of him.
No one spoke.
Then the lights dimmed.
A single beam illuminated the center of the floor.
Footsteps echoed—measured, unhurried.
A girl stepped into the light.
She was older than them. Not by much—perhaps twenty.
Third year, at least. Her posture alone announced it.
She wore the Falcon uniform differently from the rest.
Tailored.
Precise.
The cut followed her frame without ornament, without excess.
A short dark bob framed her face cleanly, exposing pale, almost luminous eyes that reflected the light rather than absorbed it.
Beautiful, yes—but not softly so.
She looked like something honed.
A princess carved into a blade.
There was no visible weapon on her.
That, somehow, made her more dangerous.
The murmurs died instantly.
She inclined her head—not a bow. An acknowledgment.
"My name is Yumi Ishikawa," she said, voice calm, perfectly modulated.
"Third Year. Student Council Representative."
A pause.
"Primary Track: Imperial Agent."
"Major: Assassination Doctrine."
The weight of that title settled heavily.
Yumi's gaze swept the room—not counting, not measuring. Recognizing.
"You are here," she continued, "because the Falcon has determined that you possess a capacity for decisive violence."
Behind her, the air shimmered. Holograms activated—clean, sharp, white-on-black.
THE FALCON INSTITUTE
A State Academy for Imperial Continuity
"Publicly," Yumi said, "this institution exists to educate, elevate, and honor."
A faint pause—almost imperceptible.
"Privately, it exists to filter, forge, and restrain."
No one laughed.
I. THE RANKING SYSTEM
A new projection formed.
FALCON POINT INDEX (FPI)
"All authority within the Falcon is governed by points," Yumi explained, as if reciting natural law.
"Your rank determines where you live. What you eat. Who teaches you. Who watches you."
Metrics unfolded beside her—columns of data.
"Points are accumulated and lost continuously. They are public. They are comparative."
She raised one finger.
"You will be ranked against your peers at all times."
Another gesture.
PRIMARY METRICS:
•Combat Performance
•Academic & Strategic Evaluation
•Operational Merit
•Discipline & Emotional Control
•Leadership Outcomes
•Instructor Appraisal
"Failure," Yumi added evenly, "is not punished."
She looked directly at the audience.
"It is removed."
II. THE TWO PRIMARY TRACKS
The projection split.
TRACK I: IMPERIAL AGENT PROGRAM
'Blades of the Empire'
"This is the track most of you will enter," Yumi said. "Because most of you were marked red."
A subtle shift rippled through the room.
"This track focuses on execution."
Subcategories appeared.
MAJORS INCLUDE:
•Kenjutsu (Traditional/Classical & Modernized)
•Hand-to-Hand Combat (Urban & Anti-Agent)
•Assassination & Infiltration
•Tactical Suppression
•High-Value Target Elimination
•Psychological Warfare (Applied)
"Graduates become the empire's Samurai Agents," Yumi said.
"Or licensed instruments of violence."
Her eyes flicked—briefly—to Ichiro's section.
TRACK II: IMPERIAL POLITICAL PROGRAM
'Architects of Order'
"This track," she continued, "is marked blue."
A different set of metrics appeared.
MAJORS INCLUDE:
•Imperial Governance & Law
•Clan & Underworld Management
•Economic Warfare
•Media Control & Narrative Strategy
•Crisis Stabilization
•Diplomatic Coercion
"These students rarely kill with their own hands, and not because they aren't able to," Yumi said.
"But they decide who will."
The distinction was clear.
Cruel.
III. WHY RED
A new graphic formed—abstract, shifting.
"Red candidates are not selected for aggression," Yumi emphasized.
"They are selected for follow-through."
Her eyes sharpened.
"You acted when hesitation would have been safer. You continued when stopping would have been easier."
A quiet beat.
"The Empire does not fear violence."
She let that sink in.
"It fears uncontrolled intent."
IV. THE THIRD ROUTE
The room stilled as the projection changed again.
UNOFFICIAL PROGRAM: THE SHOGUNATE TRACK
Yumi's tone changed—not softer, but heavier.
"This path is not offered," she said.
"It is invited."
Conditions appeared.
REQUIREMENTS:
•Exceptional FPI
•Dual-track competency
•Instructor Sponsorship
•Annual Reevaluation
"Students who complete the Shogunate curriculum," Yumi continued,
"are permitted privileges no other graduates receive."
Another pause.
"They may found Imperial-sanctioned clans under their own."
That caused a ripple.
"Political authority. Military command. Legal violence."
Her gaze was steady.
"Very few are invited. Fewer survive."
V. RGANIZATIONS WITHIN THE FALCON
The projection appeared.
INTERNAL ORGANIZATIONS
(Imperial Houses)
"These are not clubs," Yumi said.
"They are power structures."
She listed them without names.
"Some are academic. Some are martial. Some are ideological."
"Membership is selective. Based on rank, specialization, and… usefulness."
Her lips curved faintly.
"They will find you. Or they won't."
A final projection unfolded above the floor.
Its geometry was different from the others—less sterile. Sharper. Almost ceremonial.
...
THE CRYSTAL FALCON
A faint murmur rippled through the chamber.
Yumi let it happen. Then raised one hand, and the sound died.
"Once every year," she said, "the Falcon permits competition."
Her eyes lifted slightly, as if recalling something distant.
"It is formally known as the Crystal Falcon Tournament. Informally, it is where reputations are made permanent."
The projection shifted, displaying layered arenas, simulated cities, fractured terrain, command rooms, and dueling circles.
"This is not sport," Yumi said.
"It is structured conflict."
She gestured again.
"Events are divided into duel engagements and team operations."
New headings appeared.
DUEL CATEGORIES
•Weapon-to-Weapon Engagements
•Unarmed Combat Suppression
•Assassination Scenarios (Timed & Stealth-Based)
•Adaptive Opponent Simulations
"Victory here measures precision," Yumi explained.
"Loss measures survivability."
The display shifted.
TEAM OPERATIONS
•Urban Pacification Simulations
•High-Value Asset Extraction
•Political Crisis Control (Blue-Red Hybrid Events)
•Multi-Squad Command Exercises
"These events reward coordination," she continued.
"Leadership. Sacrifice. Control."
A pause.
"And cruelty, when required."
The words settled heavily.
"Performance in the Crystal Falcon directly affects your Falcon Point Index," Yumi continued.
"A single season can elevate a Talon to a Wing. Or erase a Wing entirely."
She lifted one finger—and the projection responded.
A new display overlaid the arenas.
-FALCON RANK TIERS
•Unranked
Probationary. Watched. Replaceable.
•Talon
Recognized assets.
Permitted real weapons.
Permitted to fail—once.
•Wing
Elite operatives.
Command eligibility.
Instructor sponsorship becomes possible.
•Crest
Strategic assets of the Empire.
Protected, monitored, leveraged.
•Falcon Heir
—The projection did not elaborate.
"Ranks are public," Yumi said calmly.
"Your peers will always know where you stand."
Her gaze sharpened.
"It is also the fastest way to attract instructor sponsorship."
Then—almost casually:
"And the fastest way to draw attention you may not survive."
The projection dimmed slightly.
"There is a requirement," Yumi said.
A new phrase appeared, stark and unavoidable.
-HOUSE AFFILIATION REQUIRED
"The Falcon does not permit independent competitors," she said.
"Participation is only permitted through recognized internal organizations."
She glanced back at the earlier section.
"These organizations are formally referred to as Houses."
Images flickered briefly—emblems, sigils, abstract crests.
"Some Houses are ancient. Some are newly sanctioned. Some exist only because a powerful individual willed them into being."
A faint emphasis:
"House Yamamoto," she said, as an example—nothing more.
"Your House determines who fights beside you. Who claims your victories. Who inherits your enemies."
Her lips curved again, that same faint, knowing expression.
"The Crystal Falcon does not merely reward individuals," Yumi said.
"It rewards structures."
She let the projection fade completely.
Silence returned to the chamber.
CLOSING
"This concludes your orientation," Yumi said.
"What follows is your interview."
She turned—
"Excuse me."
The voice cut through the silence.
Akira Hayashi stood, hand raised.
"When," Akira asked calmly, "does the Falcon begin offering consideration for the Shogunate track?"
Yumi stopped.
She turned slowly.
Her eyes met Akira's—
And widened.
Just slightly.
Recognition flashed—fast enough that only someone watching closely would catch it.
Ichiro saw through it.
Yumi masked it instantly.
"That question," she said evenly, "will be addressed in a later phase."
She inclined her head.
"I wish you all good luck."
Then she left.
The lights brightened.
A new announcement echoed.
"Applicants, proceed to your assigned proctors for interview guidance."
Movement began.
Ichiro watched Akira lower her hand.
She hadn't received an answer.
As they walked, a woman approached them.
She was not a proctor.
Her attire was too formal. Too precise.
"I am Ms. Shiraishi," she said. "Secretary to Headmaster Yamamoto."
Her eyes moved between them.
"Your interviews will be conducted elsewhere."
Ichiro frowned. "Why?"
Shiraishi smiled politely.
"That will be explained shortly."
They were guided away—from the others, from the noise—
Toward a chamber that looked less like an office…
and more like a judgment room.
The doors closed behind them.
Inside he waited. The headmaster himself.
Yamamoto—and three senior arbiters of the Falcon.
One calm.
One watchful.
One smiling far too greedily.
And that was where the Falcon truly began to show its claws.