The sea breeze whipped through Mike's dark hair as he stood on the deck of the ship, his gaze locked on the looming silhouette of the Celestial Academy. From a distance, the ancient structure clung to the mountain like a secret too dangerous to reveal, its spires piercing the cloudy sky above. The Academy—isolated on the snowy peak of the Alps, hidden from the rest of the world—was both sanctuary and prison for the gifted few who attended. And for Mike, it was something else entirely: the place where his true identity lay buried under layers of deception.

Behind him, the rhythmic shuffle of boots against the wooden deck barely registered in his mind until the voice of Lire, the ship's second-in-command, broke through his thoughts.

"You'll have some time to rest before your next mission, Mike. Three days until you're back in the field," Lire said, not bothering to look up from the papers in his hand.

Mike forced a smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Thanks, Lire. I'll need it."

When the ship finally docked, Mike felt the familiar pang of anxiety tighten in his chest. The Academy stood silent, watching their return. The towering gates opened with a creak that echoed through the frozen landscape. It was an imposing sight, but to Mike, it was something far more complex—especially as "Mike" wasn't who he truly was.

As the others dispersed, eager to return to their rooms after days of travel, Mike slipped away, weaving through the shadowy halls of the Academy. He kept his head down, his steps quick, praying no one would stop him. His room on the east wing was small, unremarkable, and perfect for someone trying to avoid attention.

Once inside, Mike wasted no time. He shut the door, bolted it, and pulled the curtains tight against the cold mountain air. His hands trembled slightly as he unclasped his cloak and tossed it aside. The heavy wool hit the ground with a soft thud, but Mike barely noticed. Instead, he moved to the mirror, watching his reflection as he unbuttoned his shirt with methodical precision. One by one, the buttons slipped free until the fabric fell away, revealing not the muscular chest of a young man but something entirely different—bandages, tightly wound, compressing a body that wasn't what it seemed.

Or, rather, she wasn't what she seemed.

Mike—Aira—sighed, pressing her fingers lightly to the bindings that flattened her chest, a constant reminder of the life she had to hide. She stared at her reflection, at the boy everyone believed her to be, and wondered, not for the first time, how much longer she could keep up the charade. The lie had been her shield for years, but it was also her prison.

She had been living as Mike ever since she rejoined the Academy after disappearing for five long years. No one questioned her absence; no one suspected the truth. The story was simple: Mike had lost his grandmother, the last of his family, and spiraled into depression, disappearing from the world. But Aira's truth was far darker. Her grandmother's death had freed her in more ways than one, allowing her to pursue secret training that transformed her into a weapon for the school—one hidden behind the mask of Mike.

Only Estelle, her childhood friend, and the Headmaster knew the truth. But trust was a fragile thing, and Aira had long stopped believing the Headmaster's motives were purely out of concern for her well-being. He had his reasons for keeping her secret—and Aira wasn't naive enough to believe they were entirely benevolent.

Her fingers grazed the edge of the bandages, itching to rip them off and breathe freely again. But she couldn't. Not yet. With a sharp exhale, she turned away from the mirror and sank into the armchair by the window. Outside, the Academy grounds were blanketed in snow, the moonlight casting an eerie glow over the frozen landscape. It was beautiful, but it was also dangerous.

Aira's muscles ached from the mission—too many days without proper rest, too many fights where one mistake could mean death. She had survived, just as she always did, but it never got easier.

"Ugh, why can't I just stop all this?" Aira muttered to herself, frustration boiling beneath her skin. "Why couldn't the Headmaster give me a better disguise, something easier? Plastic surgery would've been easier than this… charade."

The familiar bitterness rose in her throat, a constant companion. She hated the pretense, hated hiding who she was. But most of all, she hated the reminder that no matter how strong she became, she was still at the mercy of those who controlled the Academy.

The floorboards creaked outside her door, and Aira's heart leapt into her throat. She hadn't heard anyone approach. Her hand instinctively moved to the small blade hidden in the folds of her cloak, but the tension melted away when she recognized the voice on the other side of the door.

"Would you keep it down, idiot? I could hear you complaining from the hallway."

Aira's lips twitched into a smile as Estelle's voice filtered through the wood. Her friend didn't knock, didn't ask permission—she didn't need to. The two of them had known each other far too long for that.

"Sorry," Aira called back, her voice lighter now. "It's just… you know how it is."

"I know how it is when you're about to blow your cover. Keep talking to yourself like that and someone's going to figure out that 'Mike' isn't all he seems," Estelle replied with a smirk audible even through the door.

Aira rolled her eyes, relaxing slightly. Estelle was the only one who could make her laugh in a place that seemed determined to drain every ounce of joy from its students.

"Yeah, yeah," Aira muttered, but her tone was warm. "Goodnight, Estelle."

The footsteps faded, and Aira let herself sink deeper into the chair. The room felt emptier without Estelle's banter, but it was also a reminder of how alone she truly was in this. Despite their friendship, Estelle didn't fully understand the weight of what Aira carried—the lies, the secrets, the fear that one day someone would see through the disguise and everything would unravel.

Aira rose from the chair, her body protesting every movement, and moved toward the bed. It was time to sleep, even though her mind still buzzed with the day's events. She dressed for bed, her fingers tracing the edge of her bandages again, wondering how long she could keep this up. A part of her longed for the simplicity of being herself again, of living as Aira without the layers of deception. But she couldn't afford to be careless, not here. Not with the eyes of the Headmaster always watching.

The sheets were cold as she slid beneath them, and Aira shivered, pulling the blankets tighter around her. Her room was small, but it felt like a fortress, a place where she could let her guard down—even if just for a few hours. But sleep didn't come easily. Her thoughts were too loud, her emotions too tangled.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep, but instead, her mind wandered—wandered to Lire.

Lire. The handsome, brooding, and deadly boy who had captured her attention long ago, before she had become Mike. She knew she had no right to feel anything for him—not when she was pretending to be someone else, not when her very existence was a lie. But she couldn't stop the way her thoughts drifted to him, to the way his muscles flexed beneath his uniform, the way his dark hair fell into his eyes when he wasn't paying attention.

Aira's cheeks flushed at the thought, and she buried her face in the pillow, trying to push the image of Lire from her mind. It was wrong. It was dangerous. She couldn't afford to be distracted by something so reckless.

But still, she dreamed of him. She dreamed of his hands on her skin, of his lips on her neck, of a world where she didn't have to hide.

It was a beautiful lie—one she clung to as she drifted off to sleep.

TO BE CONTINUED...