(Naoki perspective.december 20 2026)
The moonlight barely filtered through the half-closed curtains of my dorm. It was silent. Peaceful. Almost disappointingly so.
I sat alone at my desk, the faint glow of the tablet casting shadows across my room. The screen displayed an array of student files, names and numbers dancing before my eyes like an intricate symphony only I could hear.
I wasn't looking for anything in particular—curiosity was a habit of mine. But I always found myself drifting back to *his* file.
**Kei. Fushimiya.**
That name.
No last name listed on the school's public database. Not even in the shadow-drafted logs the government reserved for internal evaluations. But I had found the truth long before the others. The name "Fushimiya" didn't lie, but everything else about him felt... orchestrated. Tailored. A ghost hiding behind glass.
I stared at his data: personality evaluation, intelligence assessment, decision-making in pressure simulations. No traces of bias or manipulation. Pure numbers. Pure talent.
A faint smirk tugged at my lips.
*Interesting.*
My phone buzzed on the desk beside me. I didn't need to check it—I knew what it was. The school had released the participant list for the Sports Festival Duel.
I unlocked my phone with one tap and leaned back, the blue light painting my face in a pale hue. One by one, I scanned the lists.
**Soccer.**
Ayame. Reika. Rika. Minato. Daiko. Myself. Of course, the system showed only ten names to the public. I'd introduced a small... anomaly. My own name was hidden.
Just a slight oversight in the code, I'd say if anyone asked.
A team of eleven, but only ten displayed. That kind of distortion creates tension. Instability. Doubt. It's a beautiful setup.
Reika was participating too. Loyal to a fault. She's useful—but predictable.
The rest? Disposable pieces.
I scrolled past the irrelevant names.
**Flag Football.**
Haruto. Shuto. Mei. Myself.
Again, only I could see my name. Another controlled variable in a larger equation. One day, someone will notice the pattern—but by then, it'll already be too late.
**Sword Fighting.**
Kaito. Kenji. Ryōichi. Satoshi. Myself.
And...
Kei.
*Ah... There it is.*
That name again. I could almost hear the universe trying to whisper something to me. Kei's participation wasn't random—it was deliberate. As if someone had thrown a coin into the abyss, waiting to see how it lands.
I rested my cheek on my knuckles and smiled.
*So, the boy steps onto the battlefield after all.*
**Ice Skating.**
Haruto. Ayame. Daiko. Mei. Reika.
Nothing of note. Elegance. Aesthetic. Theater. It's not my style.
**Martial Arts.**
Kaito. Ichika. Rika. Kei. Myself.
*Now this... this is a game worth watching.*
I tilted my head. Kei would be facing not just Ichika, but potentially me. No safety nets. No shadows to hide behind.
Perfect.
The doorbell rang.
I didn't flinch. I knew who it was.
I stood and crossed the room, each step slow, deliberate. I opened the door.
Reina.
Our dear student government manager. Loyal. Calculated. Emotionless to an art. He bowed his head slightly, hands behind his back.
"Excuse me, sir," he said. "But have you seen who is participating in what?"
I nodded once. "Yes. In fact, I did."
He remained still, bowing. "If I may ask... Why have you taken such interest in Kei Fushimiya? We all know he's from the great Fushimiya family. But surely, we aren't judging his skill purely by his bloodline?"
A logical question.
I turned away from the door and faced the screen again, a glint in my eyes.
"Ichika told me great things about that one," I said, tone calm but laced with amusement. "So I guess I'll test out his skills."
Reina didn't move. "Very well, sir."
"You're dismissed, Reina."
He raised his head, nodded once, and left without another word—silent, efficient. Like a well-written program running in the background.
The door clicked shut behind him.
I turned back to my phone, the names still glowing on the screen. My reflection stared back faintly in the black frame.
*Kei Fushimiya...*
It wasn't his pedigree that interested me.
It was the way he *moved*—like someone trying not to disturb the water, yet causing ripples nonetheless. Unintentional influence. Hidden capability.
I smiled to myself and whispered—
"This should be fun."
(Rika's Perspective December 21, 2026, Morning)
I've been here… what, a week? And somehow, I'm already neck-deep in whatever chaotic rhythm this school calls *normal.*
It was early. The kind of early where the air still clings to the cold of the night. I was already dressed, legs folded on my bed, sipping black coffee while scrolling through the participant lists again. Across from me, Ayame stared, clearly thinking something. Then she finally said:
"You saw the email, right?"
I nodded, still scrolling. I could tell she was gearing up for something more.
"I guess we're teaming up with Reika."
I turned my head. "Who the heck is that?"
Ayame made a face like she just swallowed spoiled milk. "Reika's a psychopath from Class A. She gave us hell during the Survival Gauntlet. She tased Satoshi—one of our fighters—and injured Haruto. We barely held on."
I blinked. "One: I don't know who Satoshi is. Two: no idea what Haruto even does."
"Right," Ayame said, scratching her head. "You're new. Fair enough."
She paused again. I could tell that same "I have an idea" look was forming. I raised a brow.
"I need a favor," she said.
That's when I knew things were about to spiral.
She continued, "Can you come with me to confront Reika?"
I stared. "Didn't you just call her a *psychopath*?"
"Yeah, but… we have to work with her. I need to convince her to cooperate."
I sighed, tossing my tablet onto the bed. "Fine. I'll help. But if she tries to go rogue with some selfish stunt, she's useless to us. Besides, we've got other loose pieces. Like that weird clown—Daiko."
Ayame actually laughed. "Daiko's easier to work with. He's the third-best athlete in the freshman year. Not sure how. But if he stays focused, we'll be fine."
"Third-best, huh? Not bad for a clown." I checked my phone again. "I say we gather *all* the soccer participants and build some team coordination."
As I was scanning the list again, something caught my eye.
"…Wait. Why are there only ten people listed for our team, but eleven listed for the seniors?"
Ayame leaned over to check. "Oh. You're right."
Without saying another word, I airdropped the file to my laptop, booted up my terminal, and started tearing into the data structure. A few keystrokes in, I hit something nasty.
"…Damn. Firewall's thick. Feels like some genius set this up on purpose—deep code masking, rerouting logic… it's smart. Like *really* smart."
Ayame frowned but waved it off. "We can worry about that later. Right now, let's go find Reika."
I nodded. Mei gave us a small wave as we left. Always watching, that one.
About ten minutes later, we found Reika at the small soccer field—perfect for a 1v1 or 2v2 match. She was alone, juggling the ball with practiced focus.
She turned and saw us.
"What the hell do you want, Ayame?"
Ayame didn't flinch. "Your cooperation."
Reika *laughed.* Not giggled. Not smirked. Full-on laughter.
"Why the hell would I ever team up with you?"
"We need to win," Ayame said plainly.
Reika smirked, brushing her dark straight hair behind one ear. "Then I'll do it on my terms."
I took a step forward. "She's beyond helping, Ayame. She's useless."
Reika turned toward me. "So you're the new girl, huh? Since you're associating with Ayame, I'll destroy you too—after I'm done with her."
I tilted my head slightly. "You *say* you'll destroy Ayame. So do it."
Ayame turned sharply. "Wait, Rika, what are you doi—"
"Prove you're more than talk," I said, cutting her off. "Go 1v1. Right here, right now. First to three goals wins."
Reika cracked her knuckles, practically vibrating with bloodlust. "With pleasure."
She looked to the two nets—the one behind her, and the one behind Ayame. I grabbed a soccer ball from the rack and tossed it toward the center of the field.
Reika stepped onto the field, rolling her neck.
"What are you waiting for?" she shouted. "Start the game!"
Then something unexpected happened.
Students—tons of them—started gathering around the field. First a few. Then they started calling others. Before long, a *crowd* had formed. Even staff members stood along the edges, arms crossed, curious.
Reika looked around and shouted, her eyes wide. "NOW THIS IS A CROWD!"
Of course, she was thriving under the attention. Figures.
Then I felt it—presence behind me.
I turned.
Kei.
He didn't say anything. He never does. Just handed me a whistle, no emotion on his face, and slipped into the crowd like a ghost vanishing in smoke.
I held the whistle between my fingers, exhaled slowly.
And then, I blew it.
**"KICKOFF!"** I yelled, my voice echoing across the field as I threw the ball into the center.
The crowd erupted.
The game had begun.