Chapter Zero: Prologue
Leo – Chicago to New York
In the dim pre-dawn hours of 4:00 AM in a cramped Chicago apartment, Leo Jones orchestrated his escape. His world was fractured—a broken home where his mother sought solace in smoke and his father remained confined behind bars. With only a battered backpack and his phone, Leo gathered a few essential belongings, leaving behind a hastily scribbled note urging his younger brother to care for their mother and sister.
Before melting into the pre-dawn gloom, he pressed a tender kiss to his little sister's forehead and offered a silent farewell to his mother.
Outside, the city slumbered. Beneath a sky tinged with the fading remnants of night, Leo lit a cigarette and with a focused thought, ignited a hidden ability—a jolt of superhuman speed that propelled him from the grimy alleys of Chicago to the vibrant pulse of New York.
Here, every neon sign and distant siren hummed tales of endless possibilities and lurking dangers. His phone vibrated with a new message in the "Blackridge Students" WhatsApp group: Principal Waller had posted twenty-five addresses.
A determined glint sparked in Leo's eyes as he murmured, "45 Mulberry Alley, New York, NY 10013," the cryptic address a beacon of a potential new life. Guided by the digital clue, he arrived at a dusty alleyway adorned with faded graffiti and a dented dumpster—a forgotten corner in the city that never truly sleeps. The walls seemed to whisper urban legends and underworld secrets.
A wry smile touched his lips as he approached a weathered brick wall on his left. Defying the mundane laws of physics, he strode forward with unwavering confidence—and walked straight through, the very fabric of reality yielding to his will.
Naomi – From the Shrine to America
In a tranquil chamber nestled within a traditional shrine, the soft tatami mats provided a silent cushion for Naomi Takahashi's kneeling form. The gentle, ethereal light of early morning filtered through the translucent shoji screens of the sliding wooden doors, imbuing the space with a timeless serenity.
Seven shrine mistresses then entered, moving with quiet grace to form a semicircle facing Naomi. In the center sat an older woman, bearing a striking resemblance to Naomi, her eyes closed in deep meditation—a silent anchor to the ancient spiritual energies of their lineage.
In hushed unison, the women bowed their heads and recited a sacred prayer:
「守護神様,どうか私たちを導き,保護してください」
("Guardian deity, please guide and protect us.")
As the prayer's resonance faded, Naomi rose, offering a respectful bow before kneeling once more. The head shrine mistress, radiating dignity and calm, spoke in measured tones.
"Naomi," she began.
"Yes, Mot… I mean, Mistress," Naomi corrected herself, her voice a blend of reverence and a nascent yearning for a path beyond tradition.
Her mother's eyes, veiled by an unwavering serenity, remained unreadable as she continued, "It has come to our attention that the situation in America has deteriorated beyond acceptable parameters. Therefore, as Chief Guardian of the Shinsei Shrine, I have resolved to dispatch you to America."
A subtle ripple of surprise passed through the assembled mistresses—save for one, whose soft, concerned murmur of "She's not ready…" went almost unheard. The head mistress's gaze flickered imperceptibly toward the dissenting voice, then closed again, dismissing any objection.
"Since this will be your first departure from the shrine, I shall send you with a guardian spirit. Do not fear—he will not intrude upon your privacy; he shall manifest only when you summon him in times of dire need."
Before Naomi could voice her thoughts, her mother rose in a fluid, ritualistic dance. With graceful spins and twirls that echoed ancient practices, she executed five precise hand signs. In a resonant, commanding voice, she declared, "Oh great ninja Gabimaru, I summon thee!"
Instantly, a spectral ninja spirit materialized—a lithe warrior wielding twin gleaming katanas. The spirit bowed deeply before dissolving into the shadows that clung to Naomi.
As her mother returned to her kneeling posture, her voice softened, carrying a blend of finality and underlying hope, "Naomi, I almost forgot: do you accept this task?"
For a fleeting, radiant moment, a secret smile touched Naomi's lips at the promise of uncharted territories, her first venture beyond the shrine's sacred boundaries. Then, her resolve hardening, she replied, "I accept."
The shrine mistresses then joined in a second, delicate prayer:
「願いが叶いますように,心清くあらんことを」
("May your wishes be fulfilled, and your heart remain pure.")
Later, amidst the bustling energy of an airport terminal, Naomi—a backpack slung over her shoulder—boarded a plane emblazoned with the Blackridge insignia, where the eager faces of fellow Japanese students filled the windows.
As she cast a final glance back, she saw her mother one last time: eyes closed, lips curved in a serene smile—an enduring image of duty and sacrifice. With that poignant farewell, Naomi began her journey to America, a land as enigmatic as the destiny that awaited her.
Amara – The Dawn of a New Day
In a spacious room bathed in vibrant purple hues, Amara Evans reclined on her bed, her attention captivated by memories held hostage within her phone. Images of herself alongside a particular boy—with casually tousled hair, a confident smirk, and an athletic build—sent a thrill of anticipation through her.
Each snapshot whispered promises of something more, and as her smile deepened, she murmured softly, "I can't wait to see you," pressing a kiss to the screen as if sealing a secret vow.
"Amara!" Her mother's voice echoed from downstairs, a cheerful summons. "I'm taking you to school now."
With a burst of energy, Amara sprang from her bed and launched into a swift routine: gathering her skateboard, backpack, and a collection of bags that, with a flicker of latent power, teleported themselves to the waiting car below. Before heading out, she slipped on her purple Jordans and made sure her favorite hoodie hung ready on the door—small rituals of comfort and self-expression.
Down the stairs she raced, sliding down the railing with a playful shout of "Bye, Dad!" as she passed him in the living room. Emerging from her modern, well-maintained home, she dashed towards a sleek new Mercedes-Benz G 550 that gleamed under the morning sun.
After stowing her skateboard in the back, she hopped into the front seat, exchanging playful banter with her mother.
"What? Is there something on my face?" Amara teased, touching her cheek.
Her mother, amused by Amara's unusually bright mood, replied with a teasing smile, "I'm just shocked to see you so cheery instead of your usual goth self."
"Don't get used to it," Amara quipped back with a mock-serious expression. "I might get really goth if you don't drive."
With a warm chuckle, her mother started the engine. Then, with a touch of theatrical flair, she raised her hand and unleashed a focused blast of energy at their wrought iron gate. The impact didn't shatter the metal; instead, it birthed a swirling black portal, expanding until it could easily accommodate the car.
Through the shimmering vortex, a picturesque country road unfolded, framed by golden fields under a vast blue sky. As they drove, the majestic campus of Blackridge Academy gradually came into view—a sprawling, secretive domain enclosed by a towering fence of gleaming gold bars. Imposing dormitories, resembling luxurious modern hotels, stood like silent sentinels at the far end of the grounds, while expansive sports fields, grand auditoriums, and the stately main hall hinted at both academic excellence and hidden mysteries.
The drive to the entrance revealed a meticulously maintained infrastructure, a testament to the academy's prestige and power.
Just before reaching the gate, as the car rolled to a gentle stop, Amara's mother turned to her with a playful glint in her eye. In the soft morning light, the air between them seemed to shimmer with unspoken secrets.
"So, darling," her mother began, her tone light and teasing, "are you looking forward to seeing that boy Jordan again today?"
The question, though delivered casually, struck a chord deep within Amara. For a split second, the world around her—the hum of the engine, the gentle rustle of leaves outside—fell away, leaving only the sound of her own heartbeat.
Her cheeks warmed instantly, a blush spreading across her face like the first blush of dawn. She fumbled for a reply, her voice barely above a whisper, "No…"
Yet even as she spoke, the truth of her inner excitement battled with her attempt at nonchalance. Amara's heart fluttered at the mere thought of him—his easy smile, the way his eyes danced when he laughed, and the countless memories of moments that made her pulse quicken.
She tried to bury her genuine anticipation behind a casual denial, but the blush on her cheeks betrayed her true feelings.
Her mother, ever perceptive, raised an amused eyebrow as she studied Amara's reaction. "Oh, my dear, you can't fool me," she chided gently, a warm smile playing on her lips. "It's perfectly alright to be excited about someone who makes your heart race."
Amara's eyes darted away momentarily, a mix of embarrassment and secret delight shimmering in their depths. The conversation, light yet charged with emotion, filled the brief silence that followed, making the space between them feel both intimate and filled with the promise of new beginnings.
In that quiet exchange, as the car idled near the towering gate of Blackridge Academy, Amara's inner world was laid bare for just a fleeting moment. Though she had answered "no," her flushed cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes spoke volumes. It was a rare glimpse into her guarded heart—a heart that, despite its outward defiance, beat fervently for the boy who had captured her secret affections. The car's engine hummed softly in the background, the world outside slowly coming into focus as they neared the entrance. And while her mother's teasing had been gentle, it was enough to ignite a cascade of emotions within Amara—reminding her that, amidst all the chaos of new beginnings and secret powers, the simple thrill of youthful attraction was still a force to be reckoned with.
Thus, even as the vehicle pulled to a stop at the gate, the conversation lingered in the air—a tender, unspoken promise of the day ahead.
As her mother eased the car to a stop, "You don't want me to enter the campus?" she asked gently.
"Yes, I don't," Amara replied breezily as she stepped out and opened the back door.
"Well, I love you, sweety," her mother called with a lighthearted lilt.
"Yeah, that's cool," Amara shot back with a playful smirk.
"Amara!" her mother exclaimed in mock offense.
"I love you too, Mum," Amara said in an embarrassed voice.
Her mother added softly, "Have an amazing time at school! And what about your luggage?"
"It's already been teleported to my dorm—check you out, Mum," she replied, grabbing her skateboard.
With that, Amara rolled toward the main entrance, where a vibrant crowd of students, parents, and teachers had gathered.
"Now to find Jordan," she said to herself with a heart warming smile.
Amid the throng in the sunlit courtyard, Amara's eyes darted from one face to another, each fleeting glimpse a reminder of the familiar smile that had captivated her heart. The images on her phone—the snapshots that had accompanied her on this new beginning—offered a tender reminder of the boy who still lingered in her thoughts, even as she anxiously scanned the crowd. Despite the bustling energy around her, a quiet urgency settled over Amara; she realized that Jordan, the one whose face filled her cherished photos, was still at home, and the absence of his presence gnawed at her anticipation.
Her heart fluttered with a mix of longing and apprehension, as if every beat was a silent plea for his prompt arrival. In that moment, the vibrant noise of the crowd faded into a soft murmur, and she felt the pull of memory and desire converge into a single, urgent need.
Unable to quell the rising tide of worry and hope, Amara slowly reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. Her fingers trembled as she navigated to his contact, the act imbued with both the weight of unspoken emotions and the thrill of possibility. With a deep breath, she pressed the call button. The phone's screen glowed in the gentle light, and for a brief second, the bustling scene around her seemed to pause as she awaited his voice. In that suspended moment, every second felt like an eternity—a silent call not just to a number, but to the heart that was waiting for him. The anticipation was palpable; every whispered thought and every beat of her heart echoed the hope that soon, Jordan would answer, and that his presence would fill the void of his current absence.
And then Jordan answered—but not in the "I'm right behind you" tone she wanted to hear, but instead she heard a tired yawn of someone who'd been asleep for hours. His tone didn't even sound close to an "I missed you, Mara," but instead he was the first to speak by saying, "Wagwan." This seemed to infuriate her almost to the breaking point.
Jordan – From Chaos to the Unknown
In a chaotic, wonderfully disheveled room that perfectly mirrored its occupant, Jordan Carter's morning was a testament to controlled pandemonium. A desk in the corner overflowed with the glowing remnants of a late-night gaming session—a vibrant monitor, an LED-pulsing keyboard and mouse amidst scattered game cases, well-loved comics, a jumble of suitcases and bags.
In the adjacent corner, a queen-sized bed served as the current command center, where a shirtless Jordan lay half-covered by a black blanket, a worn bonnet askew on his head, oblivious to the insistent blare of his alarm. The rhythmic thumps of music from his Galaxy Buds 2 Pro formed a soundproof barrier against the waking world.
Then, a different kind of intrusion: his phone buzzed with an incoming call from "Mara." The music in his earbuds abruptly ceased, replaced by the automated announcement, "Mara is calling." Groggily, Jordan mumbled, "What does she want this early?"
A sleepy "Wagwan" escaped his lips as he fumbled to remove one earbud and answer the call.
"Don't wagwan me! Do you know what time it is?!" Amara's voice crackled with exasperation.
Jordan's eyes snapped open, focusing on the time displayed on his phone. "Yeah, it's like six-thirty, so…?" he mumbled, still half-lost in sleep.
"So? This nigga—oh my days! Jordan, you're supposed to be at school! The gates are closing soon—you're late!" Mara's voice was a sharp jolt of reality.
"WHAT?!" Jordan roared, jolting upright.
"Mara, talk to you later!" he blurted, cutting the call mid-sentence, then his eyes widened in dawning horror. "Wait—I'm still in my boxers?!" Time seemed to warp and bend to Jordan's will.
In a frantic, near-supernatural burst of speed, he launched himself towards the wall, snatching his signature half-red, half-blue hoodie. "Ten!" he muttered. He ripped off his bonnet and wrestled a comb through his tangled brown hair, a strangled "Nine" escaping his lips. With a gravity-defying backflip, he simultaneously pulled on his baggy grey jeans, counting "Eight." A quick dash to the sink for a hasty brushing yielded a muffled "Seven." He landed back on his bed to shove on white socks—"Six!"—before sprinting to his shoe rack, grabbing his beloved Jordan 4 Red Thunders and sliding them on with a decisive "Five!" His skateboard was next, wiped down with a swift "Four!" Then, with practiced efficiency, he crammed essentials into his bag: laptop, Galaxy Tab S9+, Galaxy Buds, his box of spare S Pens, sketchbook, pencil case, his top five comics, and, almost as an afterthought, his toothbrush—"Three!"
Time seemed to accelerate once more as he strapped on his Galaxy Watch 7. "Mum! Pack the rest of my stuff—I'm off to school!" he yelled towards the door, all while sprinting towards the window. "Two!" He leaped out just as his mum's voice, filled with affection and a hint of worry, drifted from his bedroom doorway, "I love you, Jordan, don't hurt yourself and have fun at school!" Landing with a surprised "Wait—I'm still alive!" in the alley outside his apartment, Jordan grabbed his skateboard.
"Hi, I'm Jordan Carter, and I'm not your average teenager," he began, a wry grin spreading across his face as he ollied onto the sidewalk.
"I need to text Mara," he mused, pulling out his phone. "Though I may be late… just know that I ain't." Stopping at a zebra crossing, he unlocked his phone.
"Shockingly enough, I go to the most prestigious school you never knew existed," he narrated with a conspiratorial wink. "And you'll never know it exists—because it's a secret... shhhhh." He paused, then groaned dramatically, "Wait—what's my password again?" He quickly navigated to his WhatsApp chat with Amara, his eyes scanning their recent exchange:
Amara: Yo, Jordan, where are you?! The gates are practically closed!
Jordan: On my way, chill. Where did they say the new entrance is?
Amara: Ugh, typical. It's 45 Mulberry Alley, New York, NY 10013. Hurry up!
Reading the address, Jordan's eyes widened slightly. "45 Mulberry Alley...." A flicker of understanding crossed his face. Grinning, he skated with renewed urgency towards the familiar alleyway, the graffiti-scarred wall now holding a different significance.
Without hesitation, he rode straight through the seemingly solid barrier and emerged on the other side—right at the grand gate of Blackridge Academy with the schools insignia shining brightly in the morning sun, just as Amara stood looking bewildered amidst the bustling crowd.
Taking a deep breath of the crisp morning air, a confident smile settled on Jordan's face as he concluded his impromptu narration, his voice resonating with a sense of destiny and anticipation:
"Welcome to Blackridge Academy."
Thus begins a new day—a convergence of disparate lives drawn together by fate, ancient legacies, and burgeoning powers that defy explanation. Under the watchful eyes of unseen guardians and within walls that pulse with secrets, every heartbeat at Blackridge Academy is beating to set the stage. Here, hidden forces and clandestine organizations stir in the shadows, setting the stage for conflicts that will test loyalties, unearth forgotten mysteries, and force each soul to confront their destiny. As the sun climbs higher and the corridors fill with whispers of both wonder and foreboding, the students awaken—not merely to a school day, but to a call to arms in a battle where the extraordinary is the norm, and every step taken ignites the spark of a revolution that could reshape their world.