Everyone at Stark Academy knew what it meant to land in Section G.
You didn't just end up there. You were dropped. Quietly. Deliberately. Like a problem someone wanted to forget. G wasn't just the lowest class. It was the school's graveyard.
The hallway outside the classroom was dim, washed out by flickering lights. The door to G creaked open slowly, almost reluctantly, as if the school itself was ashamed of what was inside.
The classroom reeked of sweat, ink, and desperation. Broken blinds hung crooked over cracked windows, letting in pale morning light. Desks were scarred with deep scratches—names, threats, numbers—ghosts of students who had come and failed.
Machibito Toro sat upright in the second row, fists clenched under the desk. Seventeen years old and already discarded. But not forgotten. Not by him.
He wasn't staying in Section G. And he wasn't leaving alone.
Around him, the room shifted with a low buzz of noise. Tapping fingers. Shallow breaths. Whispers about how long they had left before the teacher showed. Across the aisle, Mikael muttered something under his breath and glanced at the clock.
Three minutes until homeroom.
Machibito's eyes didn't move from the second hand. His heart was steady. But his thoughts were knives.
At home, his brother's name still ruled every room. Kaito Toro. Perfect scores. Perfect future. Pictures on the wall. Medals polished weekly. Their parents spoke about him like a prophecy come true.
And Machibito? He was the mistake. The afterthought. The one who got sent to Section G.
He remembered the meeting with Principal Kurosawa.
The man had looked at him with that smile. Patient. Professional. But there was something else underneath. Something darker. Something watching.
You want to live up to your brother? the principal had said, slowly folding his hands. Let's see if you can survive what he survived.
There was no explanation. No warning. Just that line, said with too much calm.
Machibito hadn't asked what it meant. He was too busy choking on anger.
The classroom door opened.
Their teacher entered without speaking, dropping a thick stack of reviewer packets onto the front desk with a heavy thud. He didn't look at them. Didn't call roll.
These are your review materials for the upcoming exams, he said flatly. You have three days. Study on your own. Don't expect help. Not in G.
Then he left.
Silence.
Then something cracked. Not a sound. Something sharp in the air.
Murmurs rose like smoke. Chairs scraped back. A few students laughed bitterly. Others just stared at the papers in disbelief. The stack had already started to scatter.
Machibito grabbed one of the packets and flipped through it. Pages of equations, charts, essays. Overwhelming and unfiltered.
Math was the worst of it. The numbers made no sense. No context. No mercy. Just failure waiting to happen.
They were being thrown into deep water with weights around their necks.
Machibito stood slowly, his hand tightening around the packet until it crumpled.
No one looked at him. No one said a word.
As the bell rang, signaling the end of the day, students scattered like loose pages in the wind. Machibito moved slower than most, dragging his steps toward the gate. He hadn't even made it past the bike racks when someone caught his sleeve.
It was Reina, a quiet girl from the back row. Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Come to the old fountain after school. Hiro wants to talk.
She didn't wait for a reply. Just slipped away, blending into the tide of bodies headed for the exit.
Machibito frowned, watching her disappear.
The fountain. That rusted monument in the park across the street. Nothing ever happened there. Not anymore.
He crossed the street, his grip on the crumpled review packet tightening. The sky hung heavy with gray clouds, the wind tugging at his sleeves. The old park loomed ahead, half-dead trees bending in the wind.
Then he saw them.
A cluster of students gathered near the cracked stone fountain, heads bowed, voices low. They weren't loitering. They were waiting.
Hiro stood in the center, arms folded. His eyes flicked to Machibito as he stepped closer.
Everyone went quiet.
Hiro leaned forward. His voice dropped.
We've been talking, he said. There's no way we're passing this fairly. Not in three days. Not with what they gave us.
He held up his own packet, flipping to a dense wall of math problems.
This? It's a setup.
A few nodded. Some swore. Others just looked tired.
Hiro looked around, then locked eyes with Machibito.
We're going to cheat.
No one laughed.
Mikael narrowed his eyes. You serious?
I can get some of the answers, Hiro said. I know someone who has access. Especially math.
Something flickered in Hiro's voice. Too confident. Too prepared. But no one asked. No one dared.
They didn't care where the answers came from. They just wanted out.
Machibito said nothing, but his mind was racing. The weight of the packet in his hand felt heavier than before.
He didn't trust Hiro. Not completely. There was something off about him. Something planned.
But right now, there was no other choice.
They were already at the bottom. And the only way out was to break the rules that put them there.
Machibito looked down at the packet one last time.
He wasn't going to drown.
And if the school thought it could bury him in Section G, it was about to find out what kind of mistake it had made.