The bus doors opened and I stepped into a nightmare.
Not my nightmare, to be clear. I'd read the welcome packet. Cover to cover. Twice. Because when someone hands you a contract for three years of your life, you don't just skim the bullet points and hope for the best.
Apparently, I was the only person on this island who understood that basic concept.
"Wait, they're taking our phones?!"
A girl somewhere ahead of me sounded like she'd just been told her puppy was being held for ransom. The raw betrayal in her voice was almost impressive.
"Section four, subsection B," I muttered to nobody in particular. "Clear as day."
The security checkpoint stretched across the entire entrance plaza like a customs station at an international airport. Grey plastic bins lined long tables. Guards in pristine black uniforms stood at attention, their faces blank as mannequins. Students shuffled forward in disorganized clumps, their confusion mounting with each step.
Belle had somehow materialized beside me again. I was starting to suspect she had teleportation abilities.
"Oh my," she said, watching a red-faced boy argue with a guard about his laptop. "This is quite thorough, isn't it?"
"It's in the packet."
"Is it?" Her purple eyes blinked innocently. "I must have missed that part."
You didn't miss anything. You just wanted to see everyone else's reactions.
I filed that observation away for later.
The line moved faster than I expected. Say what you want about authoritarian efficiency, but these guards knew how to process human cattle. Within minutes, I was standing in front of a checkpoint station manned by a guy who looked like he'd been carved from granite and then taught to frown.
"Bag," he said.
I handed it over.
"Phone."
I produced my cheap burner from my pocket. The guard examined it like it might explode.
"Gaming device."
My beloved portable console joined the pile. Three years of saved data, gone. I'd known this was coming. I'd accepted it. That didn't make it hurt any less.
Goodbye, old friend. You served me well during those long nights when sleep wouldn't come and the walls felt too close.
"Proceed."
That was it. No explanation. No receipt. No promise of return. Just a gesture toward the next checkpoint and a complete dismissal of my existence.
I grabbed my now-pathetically-light bag and kept moving.
Behind me, I heard Charles Leone's voice rise to an indignant squeak.
"This is an outrage! I demand to speak with whoever is in charge of this operation! Do you have any idea who my father is?"
Nobody cares, Charles. Nobody has ever cared.
The path from the security station led through a covered walkway toward a building so massive it looked like it had eaten several smaller gymnasiums and was still hungry. Students flowed toward it like water finding a drain, their conversations a low murmur of shock and complaint.
I spotted Belle ahead, already surrounded by two girls I didn't recognize. Her laugh carried across the distance, bright and welcoming.
Networking already. Of course.
The gymnasium interior swallowed us whole.
I'm not easily impressed by architecture. Buildings are just fancy boxes where people do things. But this place was something else entirely. The ceiling soared high enough to give you vertigo if you stared too long. Banners hung from the rafters, each one bearing a letter: A, B, C, D, E.
The A banner was front and center, positioned beneath a bank of windows that made it glow like something from a renaissance painting.
The E banner was shoved in the back corner near the bleachers, half-hidden in shadow.
Message received.
I started walking toward my designated section. The E crowd was already gathering, a scattered collection of students who all shared one common trait: they looked like they'd rather be anywhere else.
My eyes found Belle again. She'd migrated to the E section with her new entourage, and I took the opportunity to conduct a proper threat assessment.
The first girl was a knockout.
Not in the subtle way. In the "traffic accident waiting to happen" way. Long blonde hair that cascaded past her shoulders in perfect waves. A uniform that had clearly been tailored by someone who understood the assignment. The skirt was regulation length, technically, but the way it hugged her hips suggested it had been engineered by scientists who specialized in maximum visual impact.
Her figure was the kind that made artists weep and accountants forget about spreadsheets. Curves that the uniform was fighting a losing battle to contain. And her face had this bored, slightly predatory expression. Like a cat watching a mouse and deciding whether it was worth the effort to pounce.
Definitely my kind of trouble.
I was already imagining exactly how much trouble when Belle noticed my approach.
"Xavier!" She waved enthusiastically. "Come meet my new friends!"
The blonde turned to look at me. Her grey eyes did a slow scan from my shoes to my face, lingering nowhere in particular but somehow cataloging everything.
"This is Cheon Hae-Won," Belle continued, gesturing to the blonde. "Isn't she gorgeous?"
Cheon raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "At least you have taste, Belle. Most of the boys here have been staring at my chest like they've never seen breasts before."
"Have they?" I asked.
A pause. Then a small smile tugged at Cheon's lips. "Probably not ones like these, sweetie."
I like her already.
"And this," Belle swept her arm toward the other girl, "is Naomi Love!"
If Cheon was trouble, Naomi was a whole crime spree.
She was a full-on gyaru queen, the kind you'd see on magazine covers or in music videos. Her hair was a jet-black waterfall that fell past her thighs. Her skin glowed with a golden tan that must have required serious maintenance. Gold jewelry glittered at her ears, her wrists, her throat. Everything about her screamed expensive.
Her uniform had been modified within an inch of its life. Shorter skirt. Tighter shirt. The kind of alterations that technically didn't violate any specific rule but definitely violated the spirit of every rule.
She looked at me like a shark sizing up a potential meal.
"Xavier Valentine," I offered.
"Cute name." Naomi's voice was honey over broken glass. "You look broke, though."
"I am," I admitted.
"Hmm." She lost interest immediately and turned back to Belle. "Anyway, as I was saying, did you see the price list for the cafeteria? I wonder what points are..."
I drifted away from their conversation. Financial discussions made my head hurt, and I had more important matters to attend to.
Specifically, finding a wall to lean against.
The back of the gymnasium was sparsely populated. Most students had gravitated toward the front, eager to see whatever spectacle the administration had planned. A few stragglers lingered near the bleachers, but there was a prime spot against the wall that looked perfect for napping while standing.
I made my way over.
Two guys had already claimed the adjacent territory.
The first one looked like he wanted to murder everyone in the room. And possibly the room itself. He was tall, maybe six-two. Short blonde hair. Pale blue eyes that radiated hostility.
His posture was coiled. Tense. Like a spring that had been compressed too long and was just waiting for an excuse to release.
Note to self: do not make sudden movements around this one.
I immediately decided to call him Sunshine. It felt right.
The second guy was basically a human mountain. He had to be six-three at minimum, with shoulders broad enough to block out the sun. A massive afro crowned his head, adding another few inches to his already imposing silhouette.
But his expression was the complete opposite of Sunshine's. Where the blonde radiated murder, this guy radiated something almost like... warmth? His eyes were bright with curiosity, and when he noticed me approaching, his face split into a grin.
"Hey! New face!" He raised a hand in greeting.
I gave him nothing back.
"Strong silent type, huh?" He nodded sagely. "That's cool. That's cool. I'm Abdul. Abdul Johnson. What's your name, brother?"
"Xavier."
"Xavier!" He said it like he was tasting the word. "That's a solid name."
Sunshine made a noise that might have been a scoff or might have been the sound of his soul dying.
"Tch. Stop talking to every random extra who wanders by."
His voice was low and gravelly, like he'd been gargling gravel as a vocal exercise. The hostility was almost refreshing in its honesty.
Abdul waved off the complaint. "Don't mind Sunshine over here. He's been grumpy since we got off the bus."
I blinked. "You call him Sunshine too?"
"Nah, his name's Lukas. I call him Sunshine because it's funny and he can't do anything about it."
Lukas, which was apparently his actual name, turned his glare toward Abdul. "I can do plenty about it."
"See? That's why I like you, man. You got fire." Abdul crossed his arms and nodded appreciatively.
I leaned against the wall and let their bickering wash over me.
Two weirdos having a territorial dispute was actually the most normal thing I'd encountered all day.
The gymnasium continued to fill. Students milled about in their designated sections, conversations rising and falling like waves. I spotted Charles Leone near the front of the E section, already attempting to ingratiate himself with a group of girls who were clearly trying to figure out how to escape without being rude.
Some things never change.
A commotion near the entrance drew my attention. A guy with spiky bleached blonde hair and a single red contact lens was striking dramatic poses while a shorter, glasses-wearing boy followed behind him like a nervous attendant.
"Fear not, mortals!" the blonde announced to nobody in particular. "The Crimson Shadow has arrived to grace this institution with his presence!"
Several people nearby edged away from him.
"Beppo, please lower your voice," the shorter boy pleaded. "People are staring."
"Let them stare, Nolan! Let them witness the advent of their salvation!"
What the hell.
The lights dimmed.
A hush fell over the gymnasium, conversations dying mid-sentence as all attention snapped toward the stage at the far end. A figure emerged from the shadows behind the podium, and even from this distance, I could feel the weight of his presence.
Headmaster Akira Amano.
I'd seen his photo in the welcome materials. It hadn't done him justice. The man looked like he'd been assembled from spare parts of various authority figures throughout history. The build of a retired general. The suit of a corporate executioner. The eyes of someone who'd seen everything and been disappointed by most of it.
He stepped up to the microphone with the casual confidence of a man who owned everything he could see.
"Welcome," he said, "to Athelgard Nurturing Academy. You have been selected from among thousands of applicants. You represent the future of this nation. The leaders. The innovators. The architects of tomorrow."
Here we go.
I tuned out almost immediately.
"Excellence."
"Merit."
"Potential."
"Dedication."
It was corporate-speak dressed up in academic robes, carefully crafted to sound inspiring while communicating absolutely nothing of substance.
My mind wandered.
What's the food situation here? The packet mentioned a cafeteria, but it was vague on the quality. Is there a nap room? There should be a nap room. Every institution of higher learning should have designated nap areas. It's basic human decency.
"...your class assignments have been determined through a rigorous evaluation process..."
I wonder if they have good pillows in the dorms. Pillow quality is severely underrated as a factor in academic success. I read a study once.
That gyaru girl, Naomi. She called me broke like it was an insult. Which it was. But still. Rude. I bet she'd be impressed if I wasn't broke. Not that I care about impressing her. But I'd like the option.
"... Every class here represents... potential yet to be realized."
The Headmaster's speech continued for another ten minutes. I retained approximately none of it. Something about rules. Something about the importance of cooperation and individual achievement, which seemed contradictory but whatever.
Finally, it ended.
"You are now going to your designated classrooms. Enjoy today. Tomorrow, your real journey begins."