The campus spread out before him in polished perfection. Marble paths crisscrossed between fountains, where koi swam lazily beneath the surface. Towering buildings shimmered with tinted glass. Security drones floated overhead like silent gods.

Rin slowed his steps, letting it all sink in. Every detail screamed wealth. Power. Prestige.

He passed a trio of students unloading designer luggage from a black car, the driver in white gloves. Nearby, a girl held a parasol and laughed like someone who had never known struggle.

Rin rubbed the back of his neck. "This school... it reeks of money."

A few minutes later, after he has wandered enough, he tapped the shoulder of a boy in a blazer with a golden crest. "Excuse me, do you know where-"

The boy turned. One glance at Rin’s Class D badge and he smirked

"Class D? Why are you asking me you trash, go ask someone" He scoffed and walked off without another word

Rin was bewildered at the statement, All he wanted was directions to the orientation but he was met with insult. He followed the kid anyway, making sure he wouldn't get lost.

----

The central dome building towered ahead, its polished glass and engraved stone catching the morning sun like a crown. Students buzzed with energy, funneling through its wide arched doors. Instructors stood in groups at the entrances, calling out directions and pointing students by their class badges.

“If your badge is marked ‘D’, to the left! Class B, to the center! Class A, straight to the reserved lounge!”

Rin found himself among a cluster of Class D students, all equally lost or overwhelmed. As they were being guided toward their section in the lower left quadrant of the stadium, the hum of voices suddenly shifted.

Gasps. Whispers. Then stares.

The crowd’s mood changed like a current.

“Wait—is that them?”

“No way… that’s Kaito Maru and Rem Maru.”

“I heard they’re from the Maru Conglomerate. Billionaire family. He owns tech firms, fashion houses, and even sports franchises.”

“And look at her… Rem is unreal.”

Rin blinked, confused by the sudden focus. He followed everyone’s gaze and saw two students gliding through the archway like royalty entering a court.

The boy—blond hair neat and slightly tousled, sharp jawline, golden eyes like a hawk. His uniform was worn perfectly, every button gleaming. The girl beside him had long black hair tied in a satin ribbon, and she walked like she was born for a camera. Graceful but quiet.

They weren’t speaking loud. But they were magnetic.

Rin didn’t know who they were. Not really. But when his eyes locked onto the boy’s, something in his chest stilled. He couldn’t look away. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t admiration.

It was instinct.

---

Kaito Maru barely registered the noise around him. Students parted like water, whispers trailing behind like perfume.

Rem nudged him gently, still mid-conversation. “Kaito, I asked what you think school life here will be like.”

Kaito’s eyes didn’t move. He wasn’t listening anymore.

A flash. A spark. Something subtle. But enough.

His gaze had landed on a student standing among Class D. A black-haired boy, slim, pale, unmoved by the chaos. The others stared at Kaito like he was a celebrity. But this boy…

He wasn’t impressed. He was curious.

Kaito’s surroundings faded into silence, Rem’s voice blurring into the background.

Rem noticed the distant look in his eye and gave him a light elbow. “Kaito?”

He flinched, like he’d just woken from a trance. “Huh? What?”

“You zoned out. What were you staring at?”

“Nothing,” he replied, too quickly. “Just spaced out.”

Rem followed his previous line of sight. All she saw was the cluster of Class D students settling into place.

“Come on,” she said. “We should take our seats. They’ll start the orientation soon.”

Kaito nodded, brushing a hand through his hair as they walked away.

But even as he followed her to their section, he glanced once more over his shoulder.

Back toward that boy.

---

As every student had settled down in their seats, The ceremony began.

At the center of the massive dome, an elevated platform. A student—clearly a third-year—stepped forward. He wore a navy-blue overcoat over his uniform, marked with golden embroidery unique to student council members.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a confident air and a smile like a news anchor. His name echoed through the mic system:

“Welcome, new students! I am Souma Lucien, President of the Student Council, and third-year representative of Class A.”

Souma’s family name alone stirred quiet murmurs—heir to the Lucien Estates, a dynasty in international law and politics.

Souma raised a hand and the stadium quieted.

“I know how overwhelming today must feel. But let me make one thing clear—Seiryuu Academy isn’t a school. It’s a proving ground. Every friendship, every rivalry, every failure, every triumph… will shape your path.”

He paced slowly across the platform, voice steady and polished.

“Here, we don’t just test your knowledge. We test your will. Your strategy. Your adaptability. Because Seiryuu prepares future leaders—not followers.”

His gaze swept across the students. Calm. Powerful.

“Class A will lead the charge. Class B will compete with pride. Class C will rise when underestimated. And Class D… well, they have the most to prove.”

A few chuckles stirred in the crowd.

Souma didn’t smile.

“But let me tell you a secret.” He leaned forward. “Every year, someone from Class D surprises us. Every year, someone rewrites the script.”

He stepped back and nodded toward the Founder.

A low hum stirred from the far end of the hall — then silence.

The lights dimmed.

Then, a single spotlight fell onto the upper balcony.

There, an older man stood.

Not flashy. Not in uniform. No gold embroidery or polished medals. Just a deep charcoal suit, tailored to sharp perfection. Silver strands streaked through his black hair, slicked back with calm precision. A cane rested against his leg — not for support, but as a symbol. One that commanded attention.

A quiet voice, carried by the stadium speakers, spoke:

“I believe you all have heard of me… but I’ll reintroduce myself anyway.”

He stepped forward slowly, eyes sweeping across the thousands of students seated below.

“My name is Natsuki Renzou. Founder of Seiryuu Academy.”

No cheer followed. No applause. Just silence, reverence — and perhaps unease.

“When I built this school,” he said, voice steady, like iron wrapped in velvet, “I didn’t want another institution where the rich stayed rich and the gifted climbed ladders built by someone else.”

His tone dropped lower — deliberate.

“I wanted war. Competition. Real challenge. And to do that, I let you all in. Not just the elite. Not just the sponsored. But those who had nothing — except potential.”

Some students shifted uncomfortably. Others sat straighter.

“Each of you was chosen for a reason. But that reason won’t protect you here.”

He gripped the cane briefly, tapping it once against the railing.

“At Seiryuu, you are only as strong as your next move. The system is designed to break the weak. So… don’t be weak.”

His gaze paused at the Class D section for just a heartbeat.

Some students shrank under the weight of it. Rin didn’t.

“I’m not here to be your mentor. I’m not your savior. I don’t care who your parents are, or how much money you carry in your bloodstream. If you want to rise, rise. If you fail, make it glorious.”

A thin smile tugged at his lips. Cold. Almost amused.

“Let the year begin. And let the strong rewrite the rules.”

The spotlight vanished.

For a beat, the stadium held its breath — then murmurs spread like wildfire.

Just as students began to settle again, the founder’s voice returned through the speakers:

 “Ah, before I forget…”

A hush fell again.

 “Class D this year has... more variety than expected. Due to the volatile mix, six instructors will be assigned to monitor them closely. That is all.”

Then silence — true silence.

Until the noise erupted.

Rin blinked. Six instructors? What kind of class needed that many?

Even within the Class D section, students turned to each other, whispering.

Some looked confused. Some worried. Others… didn’t seem surprised at all.

Especially the group of boys lounging in the center aisle like they owned the stadium.

Their uniforms were immaculate, their shoes polished, their laughter loud.

> “Six instructors? Please… They’re wasting manpower,” one of them scoffed.

He leaned back in his seat, arms lazily spread across the backrest, as if the whole orientation bored him to death. His smile was sharp and practiced — the kind that never reached the eyes.

Leoric Vantare.

Even his name stirred unease.

Rin didn’t know him yet. But something about the way the other students turned their heads — either in deference or fear — made it obvious.

Leoric wasn’t in Class D. He was in Class C.

Another boy — small, bespectacled, with a notebook half-tucked under one arm — approached Leoric, fumbling with a plastic packet of snacks.

 “H-here. I got the—”

Leoric didn’t even look at him.

“This isn’t what I asked for.”

His voice dropped like a stone.

The boy froze. “I-I’m sorry— I tried to—”

A blur of motion. Then a thud.

Leoric’s polished shoe drove straight into the boy’s stomach.

The sound — a hollow, awful crack of breath knocked loose — echoed louder than it should’ve.

The boy crumpled. On all fours now, arm trembling, one hand clutching his middle as if that would keep the pain from spilling out.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream.

But Rin saw his shoulders shudder.

No one moved.

None of the other students.

Not the six instructors.

Not a single voice of protest.

Rin’s fingers twitched against his thigh.

Didn’t they just give a speech about justice? About rising through strength and fairness?

Another kick. Not hard — almost casual. Like brushing dirt off a boot.

Leoric leaned closer and said something only the boy could hear.

He flinched. Nodded. Still on his hands and knees.

That was when someone finally stood.

A single figure in the sea of silence.

He had no badge of rank, no title. Just a Class D student — tall, tan-skinned, with short-cropped hair and a clenched jaw.

He marched down the aisle and stopped in front of Leoric.

 “That’s enough.”

Just two words. Not shouted. Not begged.

Stated.

Leoric’s brows arched in amusement, then lazily dropped his legs off the chair.

“And who exactly are you to tell me that?”

The other student didn’t answer. He simply crouched, helped the boy up — gently, slowly — and turned away.

Leoric’s eyes narrowed.

“How brave of you and Stupid, too.”

No response.

Just the crunch of footsteps as they walked away.

Rin’s heart beat louder in his chest.

Not from fear.

From disbelief.

This is Class D? This is what I’ve been grouped into? Rin thought.

Some students looked uncomfortable. Some smirked.

But none looked surprised.

Rin didn’t know it yet, but this was only the beginning.

The rules of Seiryuu weren’t written in ink.

They were carved by power.