The silhouette of Advanced Nurturing High School grew larger as our bus approached. Three distinct towers connected by glass walkways dominated the central structure, surrounded by smaller buildings arranged in perfect symmetry. The entire campus sat isolated on a hill, overlooking forests and fields with no other structures visible for miles.
"Pretty impressive," Shibata said, eyes wide as he pressed closer to the window. "Looks like something from a movie."
I rolled the cherry lollipop to the other side of my mouth. "More like a fortress."
The bus slowed as it reached an ornate gate with the school emblem—a stylized tree with branches forming what looked like a protective dome. Two security guards in crisp uniforms stepped forward as the gate swung open.
"Security seems tight," Shibata observed.
"What did you expect from a government-funded institution that keeps students isolated for three years?" I asked, watching as the guards made notes on tablets as we passed.
The bus followed a winding road through manicured grounds before stopping at a modern glass building. Above the entrance, "PROCESSING CENTER" was displayed in sleek silver lettering.
"All students disembark with all personal belongings," the driver announced. "Follow staff instructions for intake procedures."
Everyone stood, gathering their things. I slung my duffel over my shoulder and waited for the aisle to clear. No point rushing when we were all headed to the same place.
Shibata waited with me. "What do you think 'intake procedures' means?"
"Nothing good," I replied, stepping into the aisle when there was finally space.
Outside, the air felt different—cleaner, but somehow sterile. Staff in blue uniforms directed us toward the glass building, where tables had been set up in rows. Male students were directed to the left side, females to the right.
"ID cards ready," a stern-faced woman called out. "Form two lines at each station."
I spotted the girl from the bus stop joining a line on the right side. She caught my eye briefly before turning away.
Shibata and I ended up in the same line. Ahead of us, a boy with spiky hair was emptying his pockets as a security officer watched.
"I'm Sō Shibata," my companion introduced himself to the boy behind us, extending his hand. "This is Minoru Shirō."
The boy hesitated before accepting the handshake. "Ken Takakura," he said quietly, adjusting his round glasses.
"Nice to meet you, Takakura," Shibata said warmly. "First time away from home too?"
Takakura nodded. "Yes, but I've prepared extensively. Did you know this building's architecture suggests it was designed to optimize surveillance capabilities while maintaining the appearance of transparency? Classic institutional control mechanism."
"Next," called the security officer.
I stepped forward, placing my duffel on the table.
"ID," the officer said without looking up.
I handed over my card. He scanned it, then finally looked at me. "Minoru Shirō. Open your bag."
I unzipped the duffel. Inside were clothes, basic toiletries, a few books, and a small box of lollipops.
The officer methodically went through everything. "Remove all contents from your pockets."
I pulled out my wallet, a crumpled bus ticket, and the lollipop stick.
He opened my wallet, counting the money inside. "28,637 yen."
"That's correct," I said.
"Currency is prohibited on campus. All financial transactions occur through your student ID ." He pulled out the cash, placing it in a clear bag.
I stared at him. Fuck, that's like 300 lollipops down the drain. "That seems excessive."
"Rules are rules, Shirō-kun," he replied, sealing the bag and labeling it. He held up the photograph from my wallet. "Family?"
"Yes."
He examined it closely, then returned it. "Personal photographs are permitted. One moment."
He stepped away to a scanning machine, placing my duffel and its contents inside. After a moment, it beeped, and he removed everything.
"You're clear. Proceed to station two for physical inspection."
I repacked my bag, minus the cash, and moved to the next table. Here, another officer patted me down thoroughly, checked inside my shoes, and even looked behind my ears.
"Open your mouth," he instructed.
I removed the lollipop and complied.
"Tongue up. Now down. Good. You may proceed to station three."
The final station involved a full-body scan and fingerprinting. By the time I finished, Shibata was waiting for me.
"They took my river stone," he said, looking genuinely distressed. "Said it could be used as a weapon."
I mean, no shit.
"Sorry, they took my money too."
"At least we got to keep the important things," Shibata said, touching his pocket where I assumed he kept something else from home. "Did you see that boy? They confiscated half his bag because it contained 'unauthorized research equipment.'"
A staff member approached with a tablet. "Please follow the blue line to the auditorium and sit in your designated section."
Blue lines had been painted on the ground, leading from the processing center to various buildings. We followed ours toward a large structure that could only be the auditorium.
We reached the auditorium, where more staff directed students to different sections. Class A seated in the front rows, B behind them, C next, and D at the back. Simple hierarchy made physical.
Our section was filling up quickly. I spotted the girl from the bus stop already seated, talking animatedly with another blue-haired girl.
"There are two seats," Shibata pointed to a row about halfway through the B section.
As we approached, I noticed the seats were next to a boy with messy taupe-brown hair who was leaning back with his eyes half-closed. Beside him sat a girl with short black hair who seemed to be lecturing him about something.
"Excuse me," Shibata said politely. "Are these seats taken?"
The boy glanced up, his emerald-green eyes appraising us lazily behind unnecessary-looking glasses. "Nope. All yours."
We sat down, me next to the boy and Shibata on my other side.
"I'm Tetsuya Hamaguchi," the boy said, not bothering to sit up straighter. His Kansai accent became more pronounced as he continued. "This charming conversationalist is Sayo Andō."
The girl leaned forward to look past him. "Ignore him. He thinks he's funny." Her amber eyes narrowed at Hamaguchi. "And I was in the middle of telling you why you're wrong."
"You're always telling me why I'm wrong," Hamaguchi said with a dramatic sigh. "For fifteen years, it's been nothing but 'Hamaguchi, you're wrong.'"
"Because you usually are," she shot back.
"I'm Minoru Shirō," I offered. "This is Sō Shibata."
"Nice to meet you both," Shibata added with genuine warmth.
Andō's expression softened when she addressed us. "You two know each other already?"
"We met on the bus," Shibata explained. "Shirō-kun was kind enough to let me sit with him."
Hamaguchi snorted. "Kind, huh? He doesn't look the type."
"Appearances can be deceiving," I said. "You, for instance, wear glasses you don't need."
His eyebrows shot up. "What makes you think I don't need them?"
"No prescription distortion when you move your head. Plus, they're sitting slightly too low on your nose for someone who actually relies on them for vision."
Hamaguchi's lazy smile widened. "Not bad, Shirō-kun. Not bad at all." He removed the glasses, twirling them between his fingers. "They make people underestimate me. Very useful."
"Why would you want to be underestimated?" Andō asked, exasperated. "We're at a school where merit matters."
"Precisely why it's useful," Hamaguchi replied. "Lower expectations mean greater surprise when I actually try."
Before Andō could respond, the lights dimmed, leaving only the stage illuminated. A tall, imposing figure walked to the center.
"Welcome to Advanced Nurturing High School," his voice projected clearly through the auditorium without seeming to rely on the microphone in front of him. "I am Manabu Horikita, Student Council President."
His eyes swept across the audience, cold and assessing. Even from our distance, I could sense his judgment—measuring each student against some invisible standard.
"You have been selected from among the nation's brightest minds for a purpose greater than individual achievement."
Standard propaganda, I thought, letting my attention drift to the audience around me. The lighting made it difficult to see clearly, but shapes and silhouettes were visible enough. In the front rows—Class A—backs were straight, heads tilted upward in rapt attention. Behind them, our Class B section showed more variety in posture but still general attentiveness. Further back, the quality of attention degraded noticeably.
"...unique merit-based system that rewards both individual excellence and collective achievement," Horikita continued, his words becoming background noise.
I noticed Shibata beside me, leaning forward slightly, absorbing every word.
"Your student ID cards will serve as your keys, your currency, and your academic record," Horikita explained, holding up a sleek phone that caught the stage lights. "Treat them as extensions of yourselves."
My gaze drifted to the girl from the bus stop, several rows ahead. Even in the dim light, her posture conveyed intensity—shoulders squared, head perfectly aligned. Someone taking everything very seriously.
"The dormitories are organized by gender and class designation. Males occupy floors two through eight, females floors nine through fifteen."
Hamaguchi leaned slightly toward me, his voice barely audible. "Betting there's some fancy security system keeping the boys out of the girls' floors."
"Obviously," I replied without looking at him. "But every system has its weaknesses."
"After this assembly, you will proceed to your assigned homeroom classrooms where you will receive your official ID and course syllabi," Horikita continued. "Your homeroom teacher will explain the specific expectations for your class."
"Now, I will turn the podium over to our Director, who has a few words of welcome."
An older man approached the microphone. Gray-haired, distinguished, with the confident stride of someone accustomed to power. I tuned out almost immediately, focusing instead on the reactions of those around me.
Shibata remained attentive, but his fingers worried at the edge of his jacket—a nervous tell. Hamaguchi had slipped his glasses back on, his expression deliberately bored though his eyes tracked every movement on stage. Andō's knuckles had whitened slightly where she gripped the armrest.
The Director's speech dragged on—platitudes about potential, responsibility, and the future of Japan. Standard motivational content designed to inspire while revealing nothing of substance.
I let my attention wander to the exits, counting three main doors and what appeared to be two emergency exits on either side of the stage. Standard security cameras positioned at the corners of the ceiling. Two staff members at each main door. Thorough but not excessive.
"...dismiss by class. Class A will exit first, followed by B, C, and D."
The lights came up gradually. On stage, Horikita and the Director stood flanked by what appeared to be faculty members—a diverse group ranging from severe-looking older professors to younger, more approachable types.
One woman caught my eye—light brown hair curled at the bottom and bright purple eyes. She caught me looking and, surprisingly, winked.
We stood, joining the flow of students toward the exit. As we emerged into the hallway, a bright blue line painted on the floor led off to the right.
"Wonder who our homeroom teacher will be," Shibata said, falling into step beside me. "I hope they're not too strict."
"Doesn't matter," I replied, watching a girl with twintails of mixed black and blue hair walking ahead of us. "What matters is whether they're competent."
Hamaguchi and Andō walked slightly ahead, their bickering providing cover for observation. The hallways were immaculate—polished floors, modern lighting, subtle cameras positioned at regular intervals. Nothing ostentatious, yet everything reeked of money and careful planning.
The blue line led us to a classroom marked 1-B. Inside, desks were arranged in neat rows, each with a nameplate.
"Assigned seating," Andō observed, scanning the room. "That's... controlling."
"Makes sense from an administrative perspective," Hamaguchi countered, already locating his desk near the window. "Easier to track attendance."
I found my name on a desk in the third row, center column.
Shibata's desk was two spots away from mine, with an empty desk between us. He waved, still maintaining his friendly demeanor despite everything.
As students settled, I noted the composition of our class. Twenty-five students total—a mix of obvious types and less definable ones. The girl from the bus stop sat near the front, already arranging her supplies. A boy with sea-urchin-like hair scanned the room with calculating eyes. The serious twintails girl sat ramrod straight, checking her watch every thirty seconds.
The door slid open, and the purple-eyed woman from the stage entered.
"Hello, Class 1-B," she announced, her voice cheerful. "I'm Chie Hoshinomiya, your homeroom teacher for the next three years."