The bus smelled of burnt rubber, cheap citrus air freshener, and the cold sweat of teenagers.
Seiji Koroizumi stood near the rear door, one hand gripping the swaying strap as the vehicle maneuvered through the streets of Tokyo. His black eyes scanned the surroundings with a calmness unnatural for a fresh high school student.
The suspension on this bus is terrible, Seiji thought, analyzing the vibrations of the floor beneath his feet. But not as bad as the turbulence when dodging anti-sensei missiles at Mach 20.
He offered a small smile, allowing memories of his past life as a giant yellow octopus to drift by for a moment.
Around him, students in maroon blazers whispered to one another, displaying the mix of anxiety and arrogance typical of teenagers freshly released from the cage of junior high. They all felt chosen. They all felt special.
Seiji knew the truth. Koudo Ikusei High School wasn't the academic paradise written in the brochures. It was a filter.
His gaze shifted, scanning the dense crowd. And that was when he saw something that made his eyes widen slightly.
In the row of empty priority seats sat a girl with perfect posture. No headphones, no phone. Just a paperback of French literature open on her lap.
But it wasn't the book that caught Seiji's attention.
It was her hair.
The long black hair that had once been her trademark, the hair she had obsessively maintained as a symbol of her chase after her brother's shadow, was gone.
It was now cut short, an asymmetrical bob that framed her beautiful face with a newfound sharpness. Her slender neck was exposed, giving an impression that was concise, pragmatic, and free.
Horikita Suzune.
As if sensing Seiji's gaze, the girl looked up. Her sharp eyes met Seiji's. There was no surprise there, only calm recognition.
She closed her book slowly. The corner of her lips twitched slightly—very slightly, barely perceptible—forming a curve that could be interpreted as a greeting.
Seiji shifted his position, slipping between the backpacks of other students with movements as fluid as water, until he stood right beside Suzune's seat.
"New hairstyle," Seiji commented quietly, his voice muffled by the roar of the bus engine. "Aerodynamic. I like it."
Suzune snorted softly, though there was no hostility in her voice. "Long hair is inefficient, Koroizumi-kun. Maintenance takes time, it obstructs vision during martial arts practice, and... it's heavy."
"Physically heavy, or emotionally heavy?" Seiji asked playfully.
Suzune stared straight ahead. "Both. You told me, didn't you? That imitating others would only make me a shadow. I decided to stop being a shadow."
Seiji grinned. "Good choice. Manabu-san might be surprised, but I think he'll respect 'this Suzune' more than the 'old Suzune'."
There was a glint of satisfaction in Suzune's eyes at hearing her brother's name mentioned without the fear she used to feel. The girl before him was no longer a fragile little sister. She was a freshly forged sword.
"So," Suzune glanced at the school pin on Seiji's lapel, "you really enrolled here. I had my doubts that someone like you would want to be tied down by a government institution."
"This institution has complete facilities," Seiji joked. "Besides, I hear the point system is interesting. What about you? Still chasing your brother?"
"Not chasing," Suzune corrected firmly. "I came here to prove that my own path can take me to the same heights. Or perhaps, even higher."
"Ambitious. That's my stude—I mean, my friend." Seiji almost slipped into his Sensei mode.
Their conversation was cut short by a rather harsh laugh from behind.
"Oh, look who it is. 'Mr. Know-It-All' and 'Miss Ice Queen' are having a reunion."
Seiji turned. In the narrow aisle, a girl with shoulder-length hair and a cynical, lopsided smile stood leaning against a pole.
Kushida Kikyo.
But this wasn't the Kushida who smiled sweetly with that sickeningly high-pitched voice she used to display in public.
This Kushida stood with relaxed shoulders, her eyes betraying honest boredom. No angel mask. No pretense of wanting to be friends with everyone on the bus.
"Kushida-san," Seiji greeted warmly. "You look... refreshing today."
"Hah? Save your compliments," Kushida rolled her eyes, then moved to stand on Seiji's other side. "I'm just tired of pretending to be nice to everyone. You said it was a waste of energy, right? So I stopped doing it. At least for people who don't matter."
Seiji chuckled. "Efficient."
"Besides," Kushida shot a scornful glare at a group of noisy students in the back, "looking at how stupid the faces are in here, it makes me sick just thinking about smiling at them. I'd rather spit on them."
"Please don't spit on the bus," Suzune said flatly, though her eyes implied vague agreement. "It's unhygienic."
"Tch. You're still as stiff as ever, Horikita," Kushida retorted, but her tone sounded more like banter between colleagues than pure hatred.
Their transformation was remarkable.
Horikita Suzune, who had found her own identity, and Kushida Kikyo, who accepted her dark side as part of her strength. Two girls who, in another timeline, might have fought and killed each other, now stood flanking Seiji with a strange aura of dominance.
The three of them created a small bubble in the middle of the bus. A zone where falsehoods did not apply.
The bus stopped at the next station. An old woman with a hunched back boarded with difficulty. Her legs trembled, struggling to support her frail body weight.
The bus was packed. The only seat "supposedly" available was the priority seat.
However, in that seat sat a young man with blonde hair, a muscular build, and a hand mirror, busy admiring himself.
Koenji Rokusuke.
The atmosphere turned awkward. The other students glanced at each other, feeling guilty but unwilling to give up their own seats.
The old woman stood teetering near Koenji.
"Excuse me..." the woman's voice was faint.
Koenji didn't budge. "Beauty requires concentration, Granny. Do not disturb me."
Seiji observed the reactions of the two girls beside him.
If this were the past, Kushida would have jumped in immediately, put on her angel face, and begged Koenji for the sake of her image. Horikita would have stayed silent, deeming it none of her business since no written rule forced her to act.
But now?
"Wow," Kushida's voice cut sharply through the silence. "Acute narcissism. Hey, Blondie, can't you see the old lady is about to fall?"
Koenji glanced over briefly. "And what does that have to do with me? My existence in this seat is of more value to the world than the temporary comfort of an elderly person."
Kushida clicked her tongue loudly, not bothering to hide her disgust. "You really are trash, aren't you? Honestly, I'm amazed you can live with an ego that big without exploding."
She didn't beg. She insulted. It was a direct attack.
Koenji just laughed. "A little dog barking."
On the other side, Suzune snapped her book shut with a loud tap.
"Your logic is flawed," Suzune said coldly. "If you claim to be of high value, you should possess a greater capacity to endure the discomfort of standing than an old woman. Refusing to give up your seat only proves your physical fragility."
A logic attack from Suzune. A verbal attack from Kushida.
Koenji smiled, amused. "Oh? Two beautiful girls attacking me? Interesting. But the answer remains no."
The atmosphere grew tenser. Another girl looked like she wanted to stand up but was afraid.
Seiji sighed deeply. These kids... their energy was overflowing, but their direction was wrong.
He stepped forward. His movement was so smooth that Koenji only realized his presence when Seiji's shadow covered his mirror.
"Sorry to interrupt your self-worship session," Seiji said with a relaxed smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Koenji looked up. For a split second, the beastly instinct within Koenji—an instinct honed in the Amazon jungle—screamed danger. The young man in front of him looked ordinary, but he smelled... he smelled like death.
"You're blocking my light, Boy," Koenji said, his tone slightly less confident than before.
"Ah, apologies. I was just thinking," Seiji pointed at Koenji's legs. "Your Quadriceps look a bit tense. Sitting too long in that position can cause early-onset varicose veins. For someone who worships physical beauty, isn't that a fatal flaw?"
It was total medical nonsense. But the way Seiji said it—with the absolute authority of a biology teacher—made Koenji blink.
"Varicose veins?" Koenji frowned.
"Blood circulation is impeded," Seiji added, then whispered softly, meant only for Koenji's ears. "Furthermore, a real man doesn't need a chair to prove he stands above others, Koenji-kun."
The sentence struck right at Koenji's ego.
Koenji burst out laughing, then stood up with a dramatic motion. "Hahaha! You're funny! Very funny! Very well, for the sake of preserving the perfection of my beautiful legs, I shall stand. Go ahead, Granny. Enjoy the lingering warmth of my body."
He moved aside. The old woman sat down with a face full of gratitude.
"Thank you, young man," the woman said to Seiji.
"You're welcome," Seiji bowed politely, then returned to his standing position between Suzune and Kushida.
"You manipulated him," Suzune whispered.
"I just gave him a reason that suited his ego," Seiji replied casually.
"You're sly," Kushida muttered, but there was a faint smirk on her face. "I like it."
In the back corner, a pair of dead brown eyes—Ayanokouji Kiyotaka—recorded the event. Resolution without physical conflict. Psychological dominance in 10 seconds. Who is he?
The bus finally stopped at the magnificent school gates. An archway of natural stone welcomed them, like a giant mouth ready to swallow thousands of futures.
The students poured out. The salty sea air mixed with the scent of artificial cherry blossoms.
Seiji, Suzune, and Kushida walked side-by-side toward the bulletin board, creating a triangular formation that subconsciously made other students step aside to make way.
"So," Kushida broke the silence as they walked. She reached into her blazer pocket and pulled out a notification letter. "Where were you guys placed? Don't tell me we're separated. I'm too lazy to build a new 'network' from scratch."
"Based on entrance exam scores, I should be in Class A," Suzune said confidently. She opened her notification letter.
Her steps halted.
Suzune's face paled, then shifted into a confused expression mixed with suppressed anger.
"...Class D," she hissed. "This must be a mistake."
"Class D?" Kushida raised an eyebrow, then looked at her own letter. She laughed, a dry, sharp sound. "Wow, what a coincidence. I'm Class D too. Looks like my delinquent past in junior high was sniffed out by this school."
Both of them turned in unison toward Seiji.
Seiji was holding his notification letter casually, as if it were a supermarket discount flyer.
"What about you, Koroizumi?" Suzune asked, her tone slightly urgent. There was fear in her eyes—fear that she would be alone in "Class D" without the only person she acknowledged as an equal.
Seiji flipped the paper toward them.
Thick black ink printed: 1-D.
Silence for a moment.
Then, Suzune's shoulders slumped. Not out of disappointment, but out of immense relief. The tension in her face melted away. She wasn't alone. She was with this monster.
"Class D..." Suzune murmured, this time in a calmer tone. "If you're there, it means this placement isn't just based on academic grades. There are other criteria we don't know about."
Kushida grinned broadly, and this time her smile looked more genuine—the smile of a predator finding its pack. "Good. Very good. I was afraid I'd be stuck in a boring class. But if you're there, Koroizumi, and you too, Horikita... I guess the next three years won't be too bad."
"Don't get too happy," Seiji said, starting to walk again toward the school building. "In the school hierarchy, D usually stands for Defective. We've been placed in the garbage dump."
Suzune caught up to his stride, her eyes lighting up with determination again. "In that case, we just need to climb. You once told me, 'don't copy your brother, but walk beside him.' If I start from the bottom, the climb will only further prove my ability."
"Good spirit," Seiji praised.
"Hey, wait up!" Kushida jogged to catch up with them. "So, what's the plan?"
Seiji stopped right in front of the entrance to the first-year building. His shadow stretched across the corridor floor.
He remembered Class 3-E.
The End Class. A place where assassination and education blended into a beautiful symphony. He remembered how those outcast students humiliated the elite students of the main building.
History repeats itself. And this time, Seiji held the pen.
He looked at the two girls—his two students in this world.
"The plan is simple," Seiji said, his eyes glinting with amusement yet danger. "We will learn, we will play, and we will teach this elite school a thing or two about the true meaning of the word 'power'."
He opened the door to Class 1-D.
"Let's go in. Class is in session."