The alarm clock blared at 7:30 AM with a sound like a dying insect. Megumi's eyes snapped open with alertness cultivated from a previous life.
He lay still for three seconds, staring at the ceiling. It had been a week since he had moved into this government apartment, and he still woke up expecting to see the corrugated metal of the shed, still braced himself for the morning drip of filthy water on his forehead.
Nothing came.
Megumi sat up. The bed was narrow but comfortable, the sheets clean, the blanket warm. He had slept through the night without waking once. A surprise, but not a unwanted one.
The bathroom was small but functional. Hot water—actual hot water, unlimited and on demand—poured from the tap as he brushed his teeth. He stared at his reflection in the mirror while he scrubbed. The face looking back was pale, sharp-featured, with dark hair that fell across onyx eyes that held too many memories. He looked like a ghost haunting his own body.
Breakfast was another miracle he hadn't learned to accept. Two pieces of toast, golden and crisp, spread with actual butter. An omelette made with real eggs, fluffy and yellow. And coffee—dark, bitter, hot—served in a ceramic mug.
He ate mechanically.
After washing the dishes, Megumi checked his communicator. The slim device sat on the small table by the window, its screen dark. He picked it up, thumb hovering over the interface.
Nothing.
Sunny had messaged every day for the past six days. Brief updates, mostly. "Food is better than syntpaste but not by much." "Studying is exhausting." "Are you eating? Answer me, gloom." Each message had arrived like a lifeline, that Sunny was still alive.
But today, day seven, there was nothing.
Megumi stared at the empty inbox for thirty seconds, his expression unchanged.
He put the communicator down. Speculation was useless. Action was all that mattered.
Today was the first day of school.
---
Three Days Earlier
The agent had arrived at 9:00 AM sharp, a man in a gray suit. He had verified Megumi's identity with a retina scan, confirmed the accommodation paperwork, and led him to a waiting vehicle. A standard government transport, functional and unmarked.
The school had been... unexpected.
Megumi had imagined something like the facilities in the outskirts. Instead, the building had been constructed out of brick and glass, three stories high, with a central courtyard that actually contained living trees. It looked like something from a historical drama, a relic of the time before the Spell, before the world had broken into the Awakened and the desperate.
Inside, the floors were polished linoleum, the walls painted in calming shades of blue and cream. The agent had led him to a classroom on the second floor, empty except for a single desk and a man in a white coat who introduced himself as the invigilator.
The exam had been thorough.
Seven subject packets were placed before him, each sealed with a tamper-proof strip. Mathematics—algebra and geometry that he had taught himself from stolen data chips. Chemistry—basic reactions and compounds, logical and systematic. History—the history of the world before the Spell, the history of the Awakening, the history of the Dream Realm that he had studied obsessively to understand this new reality. Physics—mechanics and thermodynamics that made sense. Social science—human behavior, economics, the structure of the government and the Citadels. English—grammar and composition, which he had learned through old novels scavenged from the Trash Heap.
And General Knowledge.
That packet had been the trap. Questions about current political figures in distant Citadels. Questions about the latest advancements in Memory synthesis. Questions about the geography of the Dream Realme, about the True Names of famous Awakened and their specific deeds and characteristics.
Megumi had stared at those questions for a long moment, his pencil hovering over the paper. He answered what he could, logical deductions based on context, educated guesses, and the considerable general knowledge he had accumulated through obsessive reading. But many questions remained blank, stark white spaces on the page that stared back at him like accusations.
Three hours. His hand had cramped. His neck had stiffened. But he had finished, submitting the papers with the same flat expression.
The results had arrived the following morning via the communicator: 76/100. Passing Grade. Accepted into Secondary Program, Class 2-A.
It hadn't been perfect. But it had been enough.
---
Present Day
The public transport was crowded, a press of bodies and breath and the smell of synthetic fabric and anxiety. Megumi stood near the rear exit, one hand gripping the overhead rail, his school bag slung across his chest. He wore the uniform: black blazer with silver buttons, white shirt, dark trousers. The fabric was stiff, new, slightly itchy against skin that had known only rough cotton and recycled synthetics.
Around him, other students chatted, loud, meaningless conversations about celebrities, about games, about who had beaten which level of which virtual reality simulation. They spoke of weekends and allowances and family vacations. Their voices grated against his consciousness like nails on metal.
Megumi stared out the window, watching the city transform. The government district gave way to commercial zones, then to residential areas where the buildings grew taller but less fortified. The transport swayed around a corner, and an automated voice announced a detour.
"Attention passengers. Gate outbreak detected on Route 7. All traffic redirected via Route 12. Expected delay: fifteen minutes."
The compartment fell silent for a moment. Even the chattering students quieted, a collective breath held in shared anxiety. Gate outbreaks meant Nightmare Creatures. Meant death, somewhere in the city, contained or uncontained. Meant that the thin veneer of safety was exactly that—veneer.
Megumi checked his watch. The detour would make him late. He calculated the remaining distance, the walking time from the final stop to the school. Ten minutes late, at minimum. Perhaps fifteen.
He didn't sigh. He simply adjusted his grip on the rail and waited.
The school loomed before him forty-five minutes later, a structure of brick and glass that seemed to absorb the morning light. Students streamed through the main gates in clusters and pairs, their laughter and conversation creating a wall of sound that Megumi approached like a battle he had no desire to fight.
He was ten minutes late.
The administrative building was located adjacent to the main entrance, a smaller structure of white concrete. Megumi pushed through the doors, his shoes clicking against the polished floor with sounds that seemed too loud. He followed the signs to the Faculty Office, his bag heavy against his hip.
He knocked. Waited. Knocked again.
"Enter," came a voice from within.
The office was spacious, lined with filing cabinets and terminals. A man sat behind the central desk, Caucasian, late forties, with thinning hair. He looked up as Megumi entered, his expression mild but assessing.
"Yes?"
"I'm the new student," Megumi said. His voice was flat, devoid of the nervousness or eagerness that might be expected. "I was directed to report to the assistant teacher. I have my letter of accommodation."
He produced the document, official government paper, stamped and sealed. The man took it, his eyebrows rising slightly as he read.
"Megumi... no family name listed?"
"Just Megumi."
The assistant teacher—Robert, according to the nameplate on his desk nodded slowly. "I see. You're the government placement. From the outskirts, yes?" He didn't wait for an answer, his eyes scanning the paperwork. "Arriving ten minutes late on your first day is not an auspicious beginning."
"There was a Gate outbreak on Route 7," Megumi said. "The transport was diverted."
Robert looked up, his expression shifting from mild irritation to something like understanding. "Ah. Yes. Route 7." He set the papers down. "Very well. Unavoidable circumstances. However, I must advise you to make every effort to arrive punctually in the future. The secondary program is rigorous, and tardiness is not tolerated, regardless of the reason."
He stood, moving with the careful deliberation of a man conscious of his physical limitations. "I'm Assistant Teacher Robert. I handle administrative matters for Class 2-A. Your homeroom teacher is Miss Cammy, who also teaches mathematics. She's... thorough. You'll want to make a good impression."
They walked through corridors that smelled of floor wax and adolescent anxiety. The stairwell to the third floor was crowded with students who parted automatically for the teacher.
Room 3-C was located at the end of the hall, the door open to reveal a classroom in session. A woman's voice drifted out—clear, authoritative, explaining the quadratic formula with the patience of someone who had explained it a hundred times before.
Robert knocked. The voice paused.
"Enter," came the response.
Miss Cammy was in her thirties, with dark hair pulled back in a severe bun and glasses that caught the fluorescent light. She stood by the whiteboard, chalk in hand, her eyes moving from Robert to Megumi with sharp intelligence.
"New student," Robert said, stepping aside. "Megumi. Government placement. Late due to Gate outbreak on the transport routes."
Miss Cammy set down the chalk. She approached, her heels clicking, and took the paperwork from Robert with a quick, efficient motion. She read it in seconds, her eyes scanning faster than Megumi had thought possible.
"Seventy-six percent on the entrance exam," she noted. "Passing, but not exceptional. Strong in sciences and mathematics. Weak in general knowledge." She looked up, meeting Megumi's eyes. "You'll need to catch up on current affairs, Megumi."
"Understood," Megumi said.
"And punctuality is essential. While today's lateness was unavoidable, I expect you to plan accordingly in the future."
"I will."
She studied him for a moment longer, as if searching for something in his expression. Finding nothing, she nodded slightly. "Very well. Let's introduce you."
The classroom was a standard rectangle, rows of desks arranged in pairs, seating roughly forty students. Most seats were filled, though a few remained empty absences, transfers, perhaps something else.
Megumi followed Miss Cammy to the front. Forty pairs of eyes fixed on him with the weight of collective judgment. He stood still, his expression neutral, his hands at his sides.
"Class," Miss Cammy said, her voice carrying without effort. "We have a new student joining us today. Megumi comes to us from the outskirts via government sponsorship. I expect you all to make him feel welcome and to assist him in catching up on our curriculum."
She turned to Megumi. "Please introduce yourself."
The silence stretched. Megumi looked out at the sea of faces—young, mostly well off, mostly naive to the realities that existed beyond their clean streets and fortified buildings.
"Good morning," Megumi said. His voice was quiet, flat, carrying no inflection of enthusiasm or anxiety. "My name is Megumi. Please take care of me."
He stopped speaking.
The silence continued. Miss Cammy waited, her eyebrows rising slightly. The students exchanged glances, some confused, some amused.
Miss Cammy cleared her throat. "Perhaps you'd like to tell us about your previous schooling? Your interests? Hobbies?"
Megumi looked at her. "No."
The word fell into the room like a stone into still water. Several students stifled laughter; others whispered behind their hands. Miss Cammy's lips tightened slightly, but she maintained her composure.
"I see," she said. "Well. Perhaps you'll share more when you're settled. For now..." Her eyes scanned the room, looking for an empty seat. "Take the middle seat on the left, by the window. Next to Miss Han."
(AN: The seat of the protagonist!)
Megumi turned to follow her gesture.
And stopped.
The world narrowed to a single point.
She sat in the third row, by the aisle, her dark hair falling in waves that were well-maintained, conditioned, nothing like the tangled mess Megumi had grown used to in the mirror. Her face was oval, delicate, with features that were unmistakably familiar—the curve of the cheekbone, the shape of the eyes, the particular angle of the jaw.
Rain.
His twin sister. The girl who had been adopted away when they were two, who had grown up in wealth and comfort while he and Sunny had fought for scraps in the outskirts. The girl Sunny had told him not to worry about, who was living happily with a nice family, who didn't know they existed.
She was looking at him.
Her eyes—onyx, like his, like Sunny's—widened slightly as their gazes met. There was recognition there, but not the recognition of shared history. It was the recognition of a mirror, of seeing one's own features reflected unexpectedly in a stranger's face. She tilted her head slightly, confusion creasing her brow.
Megumi looked away.
He walked to his assigned seat, his movements mechanical, his heart rate elevated in a way that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do of the sudden, crushing weight of fate's irony. He sat by the window, the glass cool against his shoulder, and stared straight ahead at the whiteboard where quadratic formulas waited to be solved.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Rain still watching him.
'This is going to be troublesome,' Megumi thought, his fingers tightening around the edge of his desk.
Miss Cammy resumed her lesson, her voice explaining parabolas and vertices. The students returned their attention to the front, the moment of novelty already fading into the routine of the school day.
But Rain continued to glance at him, and Megumi continued to feel the weight of her gaze, like a physical pressure against his skin.
Megumi stared out the window, watching the clouds gather gray and heavy over the city, and wondered what Sunny would say when he found out.