"Good grief."
The salt-kissed breeze, thick with the scent of tropical blossoms and expensive perfume, caressed Kyouya's face. He lay reclined on a sun-drenched chaise lounge, the rhythmic lapping of cerulean waves against white sand a stark contrast to the sterile silence he was accustomed to. Before him, an infinity pool stretched towards the horizon, mirroring the impossibly clear sky. And surrounding him, like exotic birds drawn to a rare bloom, were them: a constellation of beautiful women, their laughter like wind chimes, their gazes, though varied, often finding their way back to him.
He blinked, a silent, almost imperceptible assessment of his surroundings.
"How did I end up here?"
This level of ostentatious luxury, this effortless idleness – it was utterly alien.
Back in high school, his days had been a symphony of calculated steps, every resource optimized, every interaction analyzed. Personal comfort, let alone opulence, had been an irrelevant variable in his equation for success. The idea of sunbathing while being attended to by a veritable collection of alluring individuals would have been a bizarre fantasy, far removed from the pragmatic reality of his former existence.
Indeed, he had never once accessed even a fraction of this kind of extravagant indulgence during his time there. His life had been a series of controlled environments, each designed for precise outcomes, not leisure. Hence then, Pauper Prince.
Yet, one moment, one ridiculous, utterly illogical moment, had reshaped his entire trajectory. And out of all possible hypothetical scenarios, it merely was a single, insignificant, yet extraordinarily potent "food bait" was all it had taken.
Flashback: A few weeks prior, Classroom 2-D
The air in the classroom had been thick with the usual blend of barely contained apathy and suppressed ambition. Kyouya, as always, was observing, his gaze scanning the minute shifts in posture, the fleeting expressions that betrayed true intentions. His lunch, a perfectly balanced if bland bento, sat untouched on his desk.
That's when Mika, a first-year junior from Class D, had approached him. She was an earnest, slightly clumsy girl, prone to bursts of nervous energy. Today, her hands clutched a brightly colored, homemade cookie—a confectionery monstrosity adorned with glitter and what looked suspiciously like rainbow sprinkles.
"Saionji-senpai!" she'd chirped, her voice a little too loud, drawing a few glances.
"I, uh, I baked these! Would you... would you please try one?"
Kyouya had merely looked at the cookie, then at Mika, calculating.
His internal sensors registered excessive sugar, questionable food coloring, and a high probability of digestive distress. He was about to decline with a polite, dismissive phrase when Ayaka Kurose, seated nearby, let out an exasperated sigh.
"Mika, honestly," Ayaka had muttered, reaching across Kyouya's desk.
Her intention, Kyouya later deduced, was to gently intercept the cookie, perhaps to spare both him and Mika an awkward interaction. But in her characteristic lack of finesse, her hand had accidentally bumped Kyouya's bento box.
The bento lid, precariously balanced, had popped open. And the cookie, released from Mika's sweaty grip by her surprise at Ayaka's sudden movement, had launched. It sailed through the air in a surprisingly perfect arc, landing with a soft plop directly into Kyouya's carefully arranged bowl of plain white rice.
For a moment, silence. Mika gasped. Ayaka froze, her hand still extended. Kyouya simply stared at the shimmering, sugary abomination now nestled in his pristine rice. It looked… grotesque. An unholy union of blandness and saccharine chaos.
"Oh, no!" Mika cried, aghast.
"Saionji-kun, I..." Ayaka began, her rare display of genuine fluster almost comical.
Kyouya, however, wasn't thinking about the ruined lunch.
He was thinking about the school regulations. Food contamination. Intentional or unintentional, it was an offense. He was thinking about the cameras. He was thinking about the absolute, mind-numbingly silly nature of his predicament. A masterpiece of human engineering, undone by a sparkly cookie and an accidental nudge.
The next day, the school's cold, private announcement had come:
Kyouya Saionji, Expelled.
The memory faded, replaced by the warmth of the sun on his face.
Kyouya adjusted his sunglasses, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips.
Expelled.
A pauper, in a sense, stripped of his academic environment and future. But here he was now, a prince, on a private island. And in front of him, a selection of women who, despite the ridiculousness of his father's scheme, held a certain, undeniable allure.
The game, it seemed, had just truly begun.