The academy bell shattered the stillness of morning with a long, echoing chime—
as if announcing something far greater than the start of a new week.
The flag of International Academy waved atop the main spire, catching the newborn sunlight.
From every direction, students streamed toward the Grand Hall, the largest multipurpose auditorium on campus.
Footsteps, whispers, laughter—merging into a single pulse that made the air hum with life.
But among the sea of faces, one remained quiet—Kiryuu Kizaki, standing at the very back line of Class 1-F.
He said nothing, his eyes calmly scanning the hall.
Beside him, Airi kept sneaking glances his way, while a few rows across, Sakura Meiyuu adjusted her digital camera, trying to capture the moment.
And in front of them, Miss Hanabira, composed as always in her official uniform, stood with her class.
Outwardly calm—but every time her gaze brushed across Kiryuu, her heart pulsed with that small, dangerous rhythm she'd been trying to ignore.
---
A mic crackled to life.
Then came the sharp echo of heels on the wooden stage.
From behind the crimson curtain emerged a tall woman—blonde hair cascading like silk, eyes of cold silver-blue, and an aura that made the air itself straighten.
> "Good morning, students of International Academy."
Her voice was smooth yet commanding; within seconds, the hall fell completely silent.
Headmistress Reina Voss — half Japanese, half European — famed for her beauty and for the chill beneath it.
> "Every year, we uphold a tradition—not merely to test intelligence, but to measure the fighting spirit within our students.
This year, that tradition returns.
I present to you—"
She paused, lips curving slightly.
> "—The Festival of Merit."
Spotlights flared behind her, illuminating the academy's emblem and the large text:
> "Festival of Merit: Strength, Mind, and Unity."
Cheers erupted through the hall.
Students from the upper classes — especially Class A and B — roared with confidence, already certain they'd dominate again this year.
Class F? Their applause was hesitant, half-hearted… half-defensive.
---
Headmistress Reina's tone hardened.
> "Every class, from Year One to Year Five, must participate.
It's not about grades or glory. It's about honor."
Her gaze swept the entire hall.
> "The festival will run for one full week, with three major categories—Academic Relay, Arts & Creation, and Physical Combat Arena.
The class with the highest combined score will be crowned Champion Class of the Year and receive full privileges across the academy."
Noise filled the space—boasting, teasing, rising energy.
> "Class A's got this locked again."
"Class F? Don't even bother showing up!"
Mocking laughter rippled.
Airi looked down, jaw tight. Sakura bit her lip.
But Kiryuu—he smiled.
---
Miss Hanabira caught that smile.
She knew it well. It wasn't arrogance.
It was the smile of someone who already knew something everyone else didn't.
As the Headmistress closed her speech with:
> "Prove your class deserves the summit,"
Kiryuu stepped forward—just one step.
Enough to still the back rows.
His voice was low but clear:
> "Let them laugh first."
Airi turned, eyes wide.
> "Because when we win… it'll be our turn."
The words weren't shouted, yet they echoed—quiet thunder rippling through the crowd.
For the first time, Class 1-F students straightened their backs.
Something alive stirred in them—something they hadn't felt since stepping into this academy.
---
From the front, Yuna Gorosei—sitting beside her twin sister, Yuni—arched a brow.
> Yuna: "He's got guts, saying that."
Yuni: "Guts or stupidity… we'll see soon."
Onstage, Headmistress Reina paused mid-turn, her eyes finding Kiryuu from afar.
A faint smile tugged her lips—
but no one could guess its meaning.
---
When the ceremony ended, the Grand Hall roared with energy and tension.
But in the middle of it all, Kiryuu Kizaki stood unmoved—hands in pockets, eyes half-lidded, calm as stone.
From across the hall, Hanabira watched him once more.
> "That boy… isn't just a student."
---
[Class 1-F – Morning]
The atmosphere felt like the aftermath of a small earthquake—
not destruction, but awakening.
Noel Hoshikawa, the class rep, stood at the board, marker in hand, trying to contain the noise.
> "Okay, everyone! Listen up. We need a plan. The festival's mandatory for every class. If we don't do something, we'll lose by default!"
Sakura leaned back on her chair, camera hanging from her neck.
> "We're used to losing anyway."
Airi: "Don't say that."
Sakura: "Just being realistic. We're Class F. People already wrote us off."
Kiryuu sat quietly, spinning his pen between fingers, face unreadable.
Then the door opened.
Miss Hanabira entered—calm steps, sharp eyes.
> "Looks like your motivation hasn't fully woken up yet."
The class turned.
Even when she tried to sound strict, her soft smile melted the tension instantly.
> "The festival isn't about strength—it's about effort.
And I expect none of you to be spectators this time."
She wrote on the board:
> Teamwork = Victory
Silence.
Airi stared at the words, then looked at Kiryuu.
> "You really plan to join?"
"Why not?"
"Because everyone looks down on us."
"All the better."
> "Better?"
"When people put you at the bottom, the only direction left… is up."
The air froze—every word landing like weight.
From the front, Hanabira turned slightly, a knowing smile on her lips.
She recognized that aura—
the calm dominance of someone born from battles, not classrooms.
---
Noel exhaled and nodded.
> "Then we'll try. I don't know if we can win, but this time… we follow Kiryuu."
> Rika: "Wait, even the class rep's following him?"
Elena: "If the guy who crushed Ren-senpai says jump, I'll jump."
Laughter spread—light, genuine.
For once, Class F didn't feel like outcasts. They felt like a team.
Kiryuu shrugged.
> "Do whatever fits your strength. I just don't like losing."
Sakura lowered her camera slowly, eyes fixed on him.
> "You know, Kiryuu, every time you talk like that… I feel like filming you."
"You're weird."
"I'm an artist. I like weird things."
Airi rolled her eyes.
> "Careful, stare too long and you'll fall for him."
Sakura laughed.
"If I do… I won't be the only one."
Hanabira tapped the table with her marker.
> "Enough romance talk. Focus, Class F."
Then, softer: "And Kiryuu… keep that fire till the week ends."
> "I never do things halfway, Sensei."
> "Yes," she murmured. "I know."
---
The class came alive—Airi and Noel mapping out academics, Elena and Rika planning physical drills, Sakura sketching creative themes.
Kiryuu simply leaned back in his chair, half-listening, sunlight catching his face.
> "Let's see how far this world moves once I start pushing."
---
[Class 1-A – Afternoon]
The contrast was total.
Art on the walls, digital boards, a refined air of certainty—
the atmosphere of people born believing they would win.
Yuna Gorosei sat cross-legged on her desk, twirling a pen.
Her twin, Yuni, leaned against the window, hair of soft blue catching the AC breeze.
> Yuni: "You heard?"
Yuna: "About what?"
"The kid from Class F. Kiryuu Kizaki."
Yuna smirked, tossing her pen.
> "Hard not to. Whole hall's buzzing because one 'bottom-tier' dared to challenge the system."
She stood, walked toward Yuni.
> "But more interesting… did you notice the way he spoke?"
"Calm."
"Exactly. Calm, but it unsettled people. Like he knew something we didn't."
> "You think he's a threat?"
"Not yet." Yuna's smile sharpened. "But if he keeps climbing that fast… we'll be the ones in his shadow."
At the back, Shinji Morobe—a cocky 1-A boy—snorted.
> "Why bother? That F-class punk's a one-week wonder."
Yuna's eyes narrowed.
> "You know the difference between a campfire and an ember?"
"Huh?"
"A campfire burns bright and dies fast. An ember… one breath can burn down a forest."
Silence.
Yuni chuckled softly, hand over her lips.
> "You and your metaphors."
"That's why I always win," Yuna said smoothly.
From the corner, Kanzaki Reo, top student and model-athlete, spoke quietly.
> "If he's really that good, I'll find out myself—on the arena floor."
> "Oh?" Yuna's brows rose.
"If he's strong, I'll test him. Simple."
Yuni's voice turned silk.
> "Don't forget, Reo. He doesn't fight with ego. He fights with his mind."
> "Then I'll break his mind first," Reo replied.
Yuna clapped once, amused.
> "I like confidence. But remember—the most dangerous men aren't the strongest.
They're the ones who know when to smile."
The warning hung in the air—light, but edged.
Everyone knew when Yuna said it, it wasn't poetry. It was prophecy.
> Someone from below had shaken the peak.
---
Later, Yuni lingered on the upper balcony, eyes tracing Kiryuu's figure far below, walking from the F building, hands in pockets.
> "He's… different."
Yuna: "You intrigued?"
"I don't know. But if this world's a game—he's not an NPC."
"Then I want to play."
Yuna laughed softly, brushing hair from her shoulder.
> "Then let's give him a stage. Let the academy watch 1-A crush 1-F's dream."
> "Or maybe," Yuni said, "he'll crush ours."
The bell rang—distant and clear.
The twins walked away, leaving the air charged like a battlefield freshly declared.
Below, Kiryuu paused, glancing upward as if he felt their gaze.
A small smile curved his lips.
> "If you want to play… I've been ready since yesterday."
---
[Training Room – Class 1-F]
Quiet.
10:00 AM.
The air was heavy with focus.
Kiryuu stood at the board, marker in hand.
Before him sat Mizuno Airi and Haruna Celeste Takahiro, notebooks open, pens ready—both already looking lost.
> "First question," he said calmly, writing: If X + 5 = 10, what is X?
Airi scribbled, confident.
> "Easy. X = 5."
"You?" he asked Haruna.
"Same. X = 5."
Kiryuu set the marker down.
> "Okay. Now I'll change it."
He wrote: If X + 5 = 10, and X = 5… what does X mean?
Both blinked.
> "It means… the value?"
"Wrong," he said softly. "X isn't the answer.
X is the question."
He circled the X on the board, turned to them.
> "The world's problem isn't ignorance.
It's that people stop asking once they find an answer."
Airi froze.
Haruna bit her pen.
> "In the world I came from, stopping your questions meant death.
Here… memorizing without thinking means success.
That's why this academy's ranking system is a lie."
> "The world you came from?" Haruna asked quietly.
He paused.
> "I mean—the place I studied before. A harder world. Every question could kill if you misread it."
He wrote another:
> If knowledge defines reality, who defines knowledge?
> Airi: "That's not in the syllabus!"
"I know.
If everyone learns the same thing, where do geniuses come from?"
The tension sharpened—but not with fear.
With awe.
Haruna whispered as she wrote:
> "If humans define knowledge… then reality depends on humans."
"Exactly," Kiryuu said. "And if humans are wrong?"
"Then… reality is wrong."
Airi's pen stopped mid-air.
> "Wait—are you saying this world might be wrong?"
"Maybe," he smiled faintly. "And maybe I'm here to fix it."
Both girls stared—not at his words, but at the conviction in his voice.
He wasn't guessing. He knew.
---
Time slipped by.
Five questions became fifty.
He never opened a textbook—every lesson came straight from memory.
> "You're smart, Airi," he said once. "But you learn the wrong way."
"Wrong how?"
"You learn to pass. Not to understand."
Haruna looked up.
> "Then how should we learn?"
"Until you can teach someone else. That's real learning."
Airi smiled faintly.
> "You're strange, but… I like the way you teach."
"Because you like being challenged."
"And if I lose?"
"Then you learn something."
Haruna giggled softly.
> "First time I've actually understood what I'm writing."
> "The world isn't hard because it's complex," Kiryuu said, capping the marker.
"It's hard because people love making simple things look complicated."
Airi scribbled that quote in her notebook like a prayer.
At the door, Hanabira watched unseen, arms folded, a quiet smile forming.
> "That boy's not a student.
He's rewriting how people learn."
---
[Art Studio – Afternoon]
The top floor, walls of glass.
Light flooded the room filled with sketches and sculptures, the smell of paint and paper soft in the air.
In the center: Kiryuu, Sakura, and Noel.
> "Okay," Sakura began, setting her camera down.
"The Arts & Creation category has no theme. We can create anything—as long as it means something."
"Meaning," Kiryuu repeated quietly.
"Yeah, but… I don't even know where to start," Noel admitted.
Kiryuu said nothing.
He walked to a blank canvas, picked up a brush, and began.
No sketch.
No plan.
Just movement—fluid, deliberate.
Within minutes, the shape of a girl appeared beneath a half-dark, half-light sky.
> "You didn't plan that?" Noel asked.
"If I plan, I overthink," Kiryuu replied.
Sakura: "Then how do you know what to draw?"
"I don't," he smiled. "My hand knows."
Sakura stepped closer, studying the strokes.
> "You're weird… but your art feels alive. Like emotion you can't name."
> "I used to want to be a mangaka," Kiryuu said suddenly.
"What—seriously?"
"Yeah. Got bored."
"Bored?!" Noel laughed. "Who are you?"
"Someone who does things until they're perfect. Then I move on.
People stopped trying to understand art.
They see pictures, not meaning."
Noel leaned closer, realizing—the girl on the canvas… looked like Sakura.
> "Uh… you realize that's her, right?"
"Huh?" Sakura blinked. "Wait, that's me?"
"You drew me?"
"Not on purpose. My hand just followed what felt most alive."
Her cheeks flushed.
> "You're dangerous, you know that?"
---
Noel began jotting notes.
> "If Kiryuu handles the painting, I'll write the narrative—our concept."
"Narrative?" Kiryuu asked.
"Yeah. It should tell a story. The spirit of Class F."
> "Agreed," Sakura said. "We'll show them even the 'reject class' can create something with a soul."
Kiryuu cleaned his fingers.
> "Then our piece is called Rebirth."
"Rebirth?"
"Class F's seen as failures. But from failure comes renewal. That's our theme."
Sakura began filming.
Her lens caught his hands moving—the precision, the rhythm.
For a moment, she forgot to breathe.
> "You make art look like meditation," Noel murmured.
"Art is meditation," he said. "Except I'm not seeking peace.
I'm seeking truth."
They exchanged looks—
because when he said "truth," it sounded less like philosophy, and more like destiny.
---
The painting neared completion.
Evening light struck it, setting colors alive—soft red, pale blue, warm gold.
Sakura whispered:
> "Now I get why people fall for artists."
Noel smiled.
"Or for art that looks back at you."
Kiryuu turned, eyes calm, cutting.
> "You don't need to understand me."
"But you want us to understand your art?" Sakura asked.
"Not really."
He wiped his hands.
> "I just want you to *feel