Shiroyama Academy – Shinjuku, Tokyo, Japan
Shiroyama Academy—one of the most prestigious institutions in all of Asia. It was known for producing world-class elites, a place where only the wealthy could tread. For the less fortunate, it was nothing more than a distant dream.
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Class 3A
The classroom was pristine, its arrangement a reflection of the academy's high standards. Students sat in their designated seats, each engaged in various tasks—chatting, studying, or minding their own business. Among them, however, sat Masaru Ryunosuke, the sole outlier in a sea of privilege.
Unlike his well-dressed peers, he was the only one born without wealth or status. An orphan who had clawed his way into Shiroyama Academy through a rare, once-in-four-years scholarship. A feat that should have been commendable—yet all it earned him was scorn.
Discrimination came naturally in an environment where prestige dictated social hierarchy. To the elite students, Masaru was an eyesore—a nobody who had no place among them. He wasn't outright bullied by everyone, but the silent disdain was suffocating. A few simply ignored him, deeming him unworthy of even their contempt.
He had long since grown used to it.
With his gaze fixed on his textbook, he drowned himself in studies. But then—
Whispers erupted.
A disruption in the usual classroom atmosphere. Masaru instinctively looked up, already guessing the reason.
As expected, it was Akane Mizuki—the academy's "Miss Perfect."
The moment she entered, the air around her seemed to shift.
She wasn't just another pretty face. Top of the class, the best female athlete, and easily one of the most admired students in the school. But what made her truly striking was her appearance—platinum-white hair that cascaded behind her, dancing with every step. Her crimson eyes were like deep pools of blood, their sharp gaze cutting through everything in her path.
But for all her perfection, she had another reputation: The Cold-Hearted Princess.
Emotionless. Unapproachable. A walking enigma.
She never smiled, never laughed—never showed anger nor joy. Her presence was suffocating, like standing near a ticking time bomb whose countdown never ended.
Masaru sighed inwardly and returned his focus to his book. The last thing he wanted was unnecessary attention—especially from her.
But fate rarely worked in his favor.
A shadow loomed over him.
His worst fears confirmed.
Her platinum hair swayed as she stood before him, her gaze locking onto him like a predator eyeing its prey.
"Masaru, wasn't it?" Her voice was cold, precise—like a blade slicing through the air. "You managed to score higher than me in the physics test this time. However, don't get any ideas." Her crimson eyes narrowed. "You're nothing more than an insignificant insect."
Masaru sighed again, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Not this again.
This wasn't the first time. Any time he ranked above her in an exam, she would confront him like this. He never understood why. Was she simply that competitive? Or did she enjoy making his life harder? Either way, he wished she'd just leave him alone.
Lifting his gaze from the book, Masaru met her piercing eyes. He was frustrated but masked it well.
"Sure. Whatever," he said flatly. "But if I'm nothing but an insect, don't you think it's beneath you to keep talking to me? Wouldn't people start questioning your sanity?"
A flicker of something passed through her eyes—too brief to decipher.
Then, she huffed. "Hmph. Bugs like you deserve to be squashed."
And just like that, she turned on her heels and walked away.
The class fell silent.
But only for a moment.
BANG!
A fist slammed against Masaru's desk.
Of course. Even a short interaction with Akane was bound to cause problems.
Was she doing this on purpose? Did she want to create trouble for him? If so… then she truly lived up to her Cold-Hearted Princess title.
A hand grabbed his collar, yanking him forward.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" a furious voice spat. "A lowly piece of filth like you dared to talk to Akane?"
Masaru recognized the voice instantly. Gesshoku Engetsu.
One of his worst tormentors.
Over six feet tall, built like an athlete, with an arrogant smirk that made Masaru want to punch him. Unlike Akane, who was respected for her intelligence, Gesshoku's strength lay in sports. Academically average, but when it came to physical ability, he was unmatched.
Masaru clenched his jaw. Not again.
Before anything could escalate further—
A voice cut through the tension like a blade.
One voice.
Yet it was enough to silence the entire class.
It belonged to their homeroom teacher.
Mugen.
A man feared and respected by all.
And at that moment—Masaru exhaled in relief.