“Huh?” Mirai blinked, shaking off his thoughts. “I think our class is frying my brain cells,” he said with a sheepish grin.

“Well, don’t scare me like that,” Takara replied, her tone light but edged with concern.

Then she smiled, reassuring. “Don’t worry — I’ll help you with the classwork. You’ve got this.”

Mirai managed a small smile, though the weight of that strange message still lingered in his chest.

As they walked through the sun-lit corridor, ripples of light danced along the biotech walls. Yet the ominous words echoed in his mind.

Ahead, the glossy red wall of Class 4-3 came into view.

Mirai slowed, his gaze catching a familiar classmate up the hallway — shoulders hunched, movements stiff. 

Beside him walked an unfamiliar boy with his arm draped over the classmate’s shoulder in a way that looked friendly but felt anything but.

Something was off. The classmate’s averted eyes and tense posture spoke louder than words.

“So, where you heading, buddy?” the stranger asked, his tone dripping with mock cheer.

“Just leave me alone,” the classmate muttered. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not that big of a deal, huh?” The bully laughed sharply. “Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous. As your new friend, I say we take a little detour. Come on~it’ll be fun. Promise.”

The bully’s grip tightened as he steered the boy toward a smooth wall panel. With a soft hiss, it slid open, revealing a narrower corridor bathed in diffused sunlight.

Mirai stopped. His instincts flared — this wasn’t innocent. He watched them vanish, the door sealing behind them.

“Guess this isn’t on the class tour,” he muttered. Placing his hand on the glowing outline, he triggered the scanner. The panel hissed open.

Inside, the air turned colder, heavier. Dim light stretched the shadows long across the corridor.

“I just want to study—” the classmate began, voice trembling.

A sharp smack cut him off. The sound cracked through the confined hall. The bully yanked him forward by the collar.

“Shut up, shitter,” he hissed. “You lied and now think you can lose money matches and not pay. Thought you could cheat me and my team?”

“I didn’t think I’d lose,” the boy stammered. “I only wanted to see if I could keep up. If I couldn’t… what’s the point of even trying?”

The bully sneered. “Push yourself? You can’t even phantom-step. Be serious.” He leaned closer, voice low and venomous.

“I’m closer to Zephia than you’ll ever be to me. We spent years building our name and you made us look like clowns.”

“I-I was going to pay,” the boy whispered. “If I’d won, I could’ve paid you back.”

The bully’s voice rose. “You lied about your skill, tanked our rank, cost me teammates and sponsors!”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Thanks.” The bully yanked him closer. “Now you think im gonna walk away fulfilled, trash like you should be-”

“Hey.”

The calm voice cut through the tension.

The bully turned. A snowy-haired boy leaned against the wall, hands in pockets, smirk faint but sharp.

“Mirai?” the bully snapped, irritation flaring.

Mirai’s eyes swept over the trembling student, then back. “Yo,” he said lazily. “You’re really doing this right now?”

“This doesn’t concern you at all,” the bully growled.

Mirai shrugged. “So this is about you making a bad call and now throwing a tantrum? Top-tier entertainment.”

The bully stepped closer. “He wasted my time, trashed our rep! You know what it takes to build a team?”

Mirai’s eyes narrowed, the grin never leaving his face. “You’re asking me if I know what it takes to build a team? Buddy… I help define it.”

He leaned casually against the wall, tone smooth as ever. “Sounds like you gave him a chance and it didn’t work out. Happens. Sucks to suck.”

“You don’t know anything about me or my team!”

“Maybe not,” Mirai said, grin widening, “but from here you don’t look worth the effort.”

The jab landed. The bully’s jaw tightened, pride stinging.

Mirai’s tone softened, mock-sympathetic. “Tell you what. You wanna save your team? Play us. Beat Sephoric — imagine the fame. I’ll stay out of this mess. But if you lose…”

He leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming. “…Start searching for a new game. Maybe a new career, too.”

The bully hesitated, thrown off. Before he could reply, footsteps echoed behind them.

Takara appeared, breath quickened from running. Her eyes swept the scene — bully, Mirai, trembling classmate. She moved closer, silent but ready.

“They beat Zephia and Cosmic at the last major…” the bully thought bitterly. “If I lose again — my career’s done. Wait…”

Mirai’s voice snapped him out of it.

“Well?” he asked, tone maddeningly calm. “Take your time. Hell, if your team’s as slow as you, I’ll call our moves mid-match — just to keep things fair.”

The bully’s face flushed with anger. “Fine. How about Sephoric gives my guild a shoutout instead? You do that, this kid doesn’t exist, and we forget all this ever happened. Deal?”

Takara’s eyes narrowed, her expression turning razor-sharp. “You're a dog.” she spat, voice like ice. “Delusional. Shout out your household troubles instead? As if we’d ever give someone like you a shoutout.”

The hallway froze. Even Mirai blinked. The insult cut deep — and came from somewhere far beneath the surface.

Before anyone could speak, a new voice sliced through the air.

“Miss Koizumi.”

Low, controlled, cold.

Footsteps echoed — measured, deliberate. A tall man approached through shifting light, hands tucked into his pockets. His gaze alone silenced the air.

“If this is how your parents raised you,” he said, tone dripping disdain, “Then I truly fear for the future leadership of their company — and of Freya itself.”

They hadn’t even heard him approach.

Takara stiffened. “Mr. 00…” she muttered.

“You know the rules,” he continued. “Verbal or physical altercations are zero-tolerance offenses. Expulsion is not off the table.”

Her heart skipped. “I—I humbly apologize, sir,” she said, bowing, voice steady but urgent. “Please understand, I didn’t act without reason.”

She straightened, meeting his gaze. “Sir, do you remember when that book fell during class? He threw it.” She pointed at the bully. He froze, sweat beading down his face.

Mr. 00 didn’t blink. “The gentleman here is capable of reporting an issue if he has one,” he said evenly. “If he cannot, that is his burden. I am not here to babysit — I am here to create talent. If he cannot rise, then perhaps he does not belong here at all.”

Takara’s voice sharpened. “But you can’t create talent in an environment that destroys people’s minds. Look at him.” She gestured at the trembling boy. “Does he look fine to you?”

Mr. 00’s tone didn’t waver. “If he cannot advocate for himself, that is reality, Miss Koizumi. Life offers no guarantee of fairness. It cannot be helped.”

Her fists clenched. His indifference scraped against an old wound.

Then the memory returned — the screech of tires, the blinding horn, the helpless moment in the street. Pain. Fear. The world collapsing around her.

Her voice trembled, but the fury broke through. “Is this how you ‘create talent’?” she snapped, stepping forward. “By crushing anyone who doesn’t fit your perfect mold? Maybe someone should shove you in front of a truck—then you’d know what humanity looks like.”

The hallway went still.

Mr. 00’s expression hardly changed, but a flicker passed through his eyes.

“Miss Koizumi,” he said finally, tone sharp as glass. “Go home. I’ll let you off with a warning. Be grateful I’m not calling your parents. Perhaps they should review how you’re representing them.”

His gaze swept the group. “Return to class. Now. Or security will handle it.”

Takara’s heart hammered. She’d never defied authority like that before, yet she felt no regret — only heat and the sting of tears.

As she turned away, her vision blurred. The tears fell, catching the light like tiny shards of crystal. Each step echoed down the corridor until the silence swallowed her completely.

The hallway stood empty again, the air still heavy with everything unspoken.