"I can do this," I muttered, peering up at the tall, albeit rundown, school building.

Tucked deep behind the numerous spray painted and vandalized walls were beady eyes—delinquents surveying the entrance, ready to ambush any and every enemy that came into sight.

Swallowing hard to settle my rapidly beating heart, I used the hand which hadn't been hurt on the train this morning to tighten my bag straps over my shoulder. Casting my head low, I hastened into the school grounds and toward the front doors.

I ignored making eye contact as I entered the building. It was always the best course of action, considering Akelius Academy was renowned for possessing a staggering seventy-one percent delinquent population. The only way I was able to survive the two years I'd been enrolled was because I made sure to keep out of everyone's way. By constantly looking down, zigzagging around all students, normal or not, and keeping my mouth shut, I could keep my sanity here.

Fights, vandalism, theft, drugs... The list was endless. For someone like me—a completely normal girl whose only reason for attending was because of my dad's job—my death was practically assured.

To my unfortunate luck, the morning bell had rung around five minutes ago, signalling the start of class, meaning all normal students were stowed in their rooms by now. Only few remained wandering, and they weren't exactly the most comforting presences.

Scarred faces, battered knuckles and nailed bats—boys of all kind were huddled smack dab in the middle of the hall, tensions high.

There were loud popping noises, crunches of broken bones. Yelps and groans. Bodies dropping like flies. A sea of blood pooling onto the linoleum.

Things had escalated quickly. And even for me, shielded by the nearby wall, I grew nauseous simply by hearing the sounds.

It was brutal. And illegal, most definitely.

I could barely stop the buckling of my knees. I shouldn't have come. Again. Even if Mom and Dad would've grounded me for "overreacting," anything was better than coming to this school.

Without waiting to listen to further pummelling and yells, I dashed through the opposing hall. Fortunately for me, the pathway was empty, and I arrived at my shoe locker in seconds.

I spun my combo, threw in my outdoor shoes and squeezed into my indoor ones. I made sure to tune out any and all the atrocities going on around me. Truthfully, I was grateful that my locker was on the least attended part of school. Last year, I was in the middle of these notorious brawls, and with me terrified of ever getting involved in the fray, avoided it like the plague. I kept my shoes in my bag and exchanged them accordingly.

I admit, this school had me too scared for my own good. The only thing credible about it was the teachers, but since the majority of the students barely showed up for class, they served no real purpose. 

Akelius was a joke here in Japan, and for regular students like me, it was the definition of hell.

Why oh why did I let Dad drag me to such a rotten place?

Slamming my locker closed, I whipped my head left and right. After ensuring no delinquent was in the vicinity, I sprinted to my homeroom class located on the second floor.

"Simple sentence structures require the proper use of quotations as well as comas and periods. Today we will explore the importance of dialogue in fiction..."

Peeking my head through the window of the classroom, I scanned the seats. The few students I acknowledged to be fairly well-behaved were jotting down notes to what Ms. Osaka was teaching.

Although trying to be discreet about it, as I opened the door to the back of the room, a loud squeak erupted, making me wince. All heads snapped to me. I flinched, especially when Ms. Osaka halted mid-speech to address me also.

"Miss Reina Kikuchi, do you realize what time it is?"

My breath caught in my throat. The leering gazes of my classmates made me all the more nervous.

"S-sorry," I sputtered, using my unhurt hand to adjust my rattled appearance. "My bus was late, and—"

"I didn't ask for excuses." Lowering a board marker from her ray of sight, she clicked her tongue. "Take your seat. We're on page sixty."

"Y-yes, ma'am."

I scrambled to my chair, dropping my gaze so I wouldn't have to look any of my classmates in the eye. With an exaggerated sigh, Ms. Osaka continued her lesson. Considering the staff members were incapable of handling the delinquent population, most were especially strict with those they could order around—the regular students. Ms. Osaka would surely record my tardy for arriving late. It sucked how unfair the treatment was, seeing as she turned a blind eye to the students who regularly skipped, but that was the reality here.

"Why aren't you jotting down notes, Miss Kikuchi?"

See. She was already coming after me.

Ms. Osaka hovered above my desk, sharp scowl successfully intimidating me. Feeling all of my classmates stares yet again, my cheeks burned.

"O-oh, uh..."

"'Oh, uh' is not an answer. I was convinced since you arrived late I wouldn't have to worry about you slacking off. And yet you haven't even taken out your books."

"U-um... I—"

"Jot down the notes I've written on the board. Now."

Shakily, I reached for my bag. A shriek flew from my mouth. Cursing, I latched onto my throbbing arm, tears welling in my eyes. Oh gosh, my wrist!

My inability to hide my agony caused Ms. Osaka to reel away in panic.

"Oh—oh, dear. Are you okay?"

I bit my lip, begging for the pain to seize. Great, I'd made a fool of myself.

"Y-yes," I choked out.

"Don't lie. Go see the nurse."

I shook my head. "N-nope. I'm good."

"No, you're not."

"I-It'll get better."

"Miss Kikuchi, you must!"

She gingerly seized my left shoulder, attempting to pull me to my feet. Her vice grip, however, sent me yelping.

"Ouch!"

She lurched back, slack-jawed. "A-ah, I apologize!"

Tears streamed down my cheeks. My shoulder, too?

"I-I'm so sorry, dear!" Doused in immense guilt, she outstretched another hand. "I'll just—"

I shooed it off.

"I-I'm fine," I whimpered through my clenched teeth.

"No, you will go!"

She raced up to her desk, scribbling down something faster than her fingers were used to moving. All the while the whispers that started up around us grew louder.

"She's going to the infirmary?"

"Poor girl. She's not going to make it."

"I'd rather die than head there!"

"You'd die anyways if you went!"