home

search

CHAPTER ONE - WELCOME TO HACHIN ACADEMY

  —

  —

  As expected, my name took its rightful place at the top of the list. Yet, it was not the recognition that stirred the most intriguing reaction, but rather the response from a young girl positioned amidst the crowd. Her lips quivered in shock as she read the names written on the board, a palpable shock emanating from her being.

  “How?”

  Her voice trembled, just managing to escape her throat. It was a question laced with doubt, a plea for understanding amidst the tumult of emotions swirling within her. Her world appeared to spin on its axis in that fleeting moment, and she grappled with the stark reality before her.

  


  Meanwhile, a sense of triumph surged within me as I observed her turmoil. The result of careful preparation and unwavering will had paid off, and the sight of her shattered composure only fuelled my satisfaction. She turned to face me with poise and rage, a powerful mixture of resentment and anger burning in her gaze.

  I met her gaze with a serene smile, a mask concealing the turbulent currents of triumph coursing through my veins. Our quiet exchange at that instant spoke so much—her disbelief and my unspoken declaration of victory intertwined in a silent symphony of rivalry.

  Sure enough, I'd won, exactly like I'd promised. However, beneath the fa?ade of victory hid the indisputable reality—a truth veiled by the shadow of uncertainty and the echoes of an unmet challenge.

  —

  —

  The video essay played loudly as I lay on my side, too lazy to pick up my earpiece from my desk. I was engrossed in a critique of last year’s awful TV show when my 7:30 alarm went off.

  I had woken up an hour earlier, already showered and dressed. After letting the alarm ring for a while, I finally shut it off, stretched, and straightened my uniform before heading to the kitchen.

  With cereal in hand, I resumed watching the video at my desk, the crunch blending with the commentary. After washing my bowl, I checked my room, put on my shoes, and grabbed my bag. With a final glance, I switched off the lights and locked the door.

  As I did, my neighbour’s door swung open. He, too, was dressed and ready for the day. Noticing me, he closed his door first before turning to face me.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Good morning, Ozawa,” I replied neutrally.

  “We've still got some time before morning assembly, so can we talk?”

  It was unusual, but I understood why. The events of the last year had been surprising and unpredictable, with me at the centre of it all. I calculated the risks and benefits of this conversation quickly in my mind. I decided it was worth entertaining what he had to say.

  “Sure,” I replied calmly.

  We stepped into the elevator, the hum filling the silence. The doors opened as soon as we arrived at the ground floor, and we stepped out. As we strolled to the auditorium, I could sense the looks and sideways glances I received.

  “So, what exactly is your deal?” Ozawa asked abruptly.

  I could simply act naive and ask what he meant, but that would only drag things out. I chose a more direct approach.

  “I am just a student who came here like everyone else, hoping to graduate in the top 15,” I offered, though the words rang hollow even to my own ears.

  “First of all, you are not a student like everyone else. No student has been admitted into the school after the entrance years except you, and all of a sudden you topped your class,” Ozawa scoffed.

  “Maybe it was just sheer luck,” I replied.

  “Luck my ass,” he snapped and clenched his fist. “Just know that you are placing a target on your back, Marcus.”

  As he stormed ahead, leaving me trailing in his wake, I couldn't shake the feeling that this conversation was just the beginning of a storm brewing on the horizon.

  —

  —

  Hachin Academy buzzed with energy as students returned from break. With the general assembly being held in the Kurosawa Auditorium and some time on my hands, I decided to stroll slowly there, taking in my surroundings.

  As I entered the auditorium, I noted the segmented seating arrangements. With the presence of the middle and high schools, the entire area was packed. I chose an aisle seat to avoid being sandwiched. The spot beside me stayed empty until the last minute, when Stella, a classmate I’d never spoken to, sat down, engrossed in conversation.

  Out of the 20 people in my class, I only knew about five or so. I was primarily to blame for this, as I didn't come across as social, which made people just not bother with me. Except for one individual who persisted in extending their friendship—a gesture I still found perplexing and undeserved.

  Silence fell as a middle-aged man in a black suit took the stage, holding a small paper.

  “All stand,” he instructed. We rose and greeted him, our director, Furuya Itsuki-sensei, in unison, “Begin the anthem.”

  The orchestra began playing, and we sang the school anthem, composed by Hiroyuki Sawano. Its melody was meticulously crafted. The music continued, culminating in a breathtaking violin solo by Diya Avery—the only person I considered a friend. Her form was exquisite and first-class, on par with some of the world's greats.

  “All sit,” Furuya-sensei commanded, and we did so, breathing collective relief as we returned to our seats. “First, I congratulate and extend a warm welcome to every one of you as we embark upon a new year and semester.”

  My mind began to wander as he launched into the customary welcome-back speech, reminiscing about setbacks and successes.

  “As we are all aware, at this school, we pride ourselves on our academic brilliance and excellence in superior skills and talents in various fields.”

  I noted the shift in his tone as he moved to the crux of his speech.

  “We have had strict rules and protocols that we abide by since the inception of this school, but last year one of these rules was apparently broken when we admitted a student into the 11th grade.” Murmurs spread, and eyes turned to me, including Stella’s brief glance. This type of attention was uncalled for but anticipated.

  “This change is the first of many that the school will make this year to make things more competitive than they already were,” he continued. “To start things off, I would like to announce that we will be launching software in a few months that determines a student's overall rating, which in turn determines their ranking.”

  The idea of this new approach caused curiosity in all of the assembled students, including me.

  I must emphasise this: Your rating and ranking will have a significant impact on you and your class when this is fully implemented,” he warned. “More details will be revealed soon.”

  After this, he delved into recounting the events of last year, a section I deemed less critical. He concluded after roughly twenty minutes.

  “Thank you all for your time. Now, words from your student council president, Haku Hotaka,” the director announced before leaving the stage.

  In his place stood Haku Hotaka, his light brown hair catching the light as he took centre stage. “Good morning, everyone. I am going to make this quick,” he said, hands behind his back. “My tenure is close to its end, and that means a new president will take up the mantle, so I officially declare this election season.”

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  “Class 11, the ball is now in your court.” He declared, his gaze seeming to linger on me—coincidence or something more? That thought hovered there, a faint murmur of doubt, in the recesses of my consciousness.

  “I will wait to see who rises above you all to claim this spot,” he concluded. He thanked everyone one more time and made his way off stage to a round of applause.

  A teacher from one of the final years came on and dismissed everyone. I waited behind as everyone left in droves, not wanting to push through the crowd.

  Some minutes passed, and the hall was practically empty except for a few who stayed back, probably having the same idea as I did. I then stood up, preparing to leave for my class.

  “Marcus,” a familiar voice called. I turned to see Hazel Terrell seated a few rows behind me. Had she been there the entire time?

  “I was hoping to see you in class,” I joked.

  “You got lucky,” she said, locking eyes with me.

  “Oh, really? Then you're saying you can beat me during the next assessment.”

  “I know I can,” she replied, standing up. Before leaving, she paused and turned back.

  “I am declaring war on you, Marcus; be prepared,” she said, then left.

  Someone accustomed to occupying the pinnacle of success often grows complacent, lulled into a false sense of security by the familiarity of their lofty perch. For years, she had reigned supreme, her position at the pinnacle of academic achievement seemingly unassailable.

  This caused her to forget that victory was not guaranteed, nor was her position immune to challenge. Complacency was the enemy, a seductive siren's call tempting one to rest on their laurels and bask in the glow of past achievements.

  In the blink of an eye, the balance of power had shifted, the mantle of superiority passing from her to me with startling swiftness. My triumph in the previous semester's exams had not only toppled her from her pedestal but had also thrust me into the unforgiving glare of the spotlight.

  Hazel's declaration of war was a challenge I could not ignore, a call to arms that I accepted. The battlefield of academia awaited, its terrain fraught with pitfalls and obstacles, but I was undeterred.

  —

  —

  I settled into my usual spot by the window, one row from the back, idly scrolling through my phone. Though my earpiece was in, I kept the volume low, still catching the hum of conversation and laughter around me.

  The noise faded as our lecturer, Nomura Naomi-sensei, entered. This prompted me to put away my device and prepare for the class. She stood behind a podium that was placed in front of the class, placing her materials on top of it.

  “Good morning, everyone,” she said warmly.

  “Good morning, Nomura-sensei,” most of us answered in unison.

  “It is nice seeing you all again. This semester will be busier than most for you all, as you can see you already have the student council election upon you,” she noted.

  A student in the front row raised a hand. “Sensei, a question?”

  “Go on, Ritter,” Nomura-sensei nodded.

  “I am wondering what the exact impact all of this could have on our studies,” he asked, brow furrowed.

  “Don’t worry,” she reassured. “The school is well aware and always reduces the number of classes offered around this time of the year. Your subjects for this semester will be registered at the end of the day—sorry for the delay.”

  Each student had a profile containing personal details and course selections. A timetable was derived from this, but it seemed they had experienced some form of delay at this stage, probably due to the new system that the director mentioned was being implemented.

  “With that being said, today will be a free day for you all,” she announced. Cheers erupted around the room—I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t pleased.

  “Before that, let's discuss the upcoming student council elections.” The board behind her lit up, displaying details on in-class voting and the main event.

  “The election has two parts,” she explained. “The first is the in-class voting, and next is the debate and election event. Each of the three classes of this year is expected to have one candidate that will run for the role of student council president.”

  I leaned forward slightly, intrigued by the competitive aspect of this process. Direct competition between our classes was a thrilling prospect.

  “In-class voting will determine the class nominee,” Nomura-sensei explained. “Anyone can volunteer, campaign, and earn their classmates' votes.”

  A hand rose, and she acknowledged him with a nod, inviting his question. “Yes, Aryan?”

  “Sensei, is this the same for other student council positions?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No. Once a nominee is chosen, they select their council members. But don’t worry about that for now.” Her explanation was concise, leaving no room for confusion.

  “Thank you,” Aryan nodded.

  “If you’re interested in running, meet me this afternoon in my office. The deadline is tomorrow, so act quickly,” she added.

  After a brief pause, she concluded, “That’s all. Enjoy your day.” With that, she gathered her materials and left the class.

  As my classmates' chatter grew louder, signaling their excitement for the free day, I felt restless. Craving some alone time, I sighed, pushed back my chair, and left the classroom.

  I strolled down the hallway, the polished tiles reflecting the bright fluorescent lights overhead. The corridor was relatively empty, the occasional echo of distant footsteps breaking the silence.

  As I passed Class 2, lively chatter spilled into the corridor, signalling they’d finished their briefing. I ignored it and kept walking—until a voice called out.

  “Is that you, Marcus?”

  I turned around and saw an average-height female staring back at me with a lean figure. However, her toned, lengthy legs drew my attention, serving as a silent testament to her commitment to tracking activities.

  “Can I help you?”

  “It's nothing really; I just wanted to get a good look at you,” she said as her eyes darted over me, surprising me with her boldness. “So, I'm assuming you're running in the elections?”

  “I haven’t decided,” I admitted.

  “Well, I want you to run so that I can face you,” she said with confidence oozing from her being.

  “Face me? Why would you want to do that?” Not that I had any issue with that.

  “You seem interesting—a worthy challenge,” she replied, stepping closer, excitement gleaming in her eyes.

  “I see, but that depends on us both winning the in-class voting,” I said. To put it mildly, the idea of getting votes from classmates I barely knew was going to be a challenge.

  She dismissed my concern with a wave. “Don’t worry about me. I have my class locked in—just focus on getting nominated, alright?” Her confidence was undeniable.

  Agreeing with her challenge, I was about to say goodbye when she suddenly slid her hand into mine. Startled, I turned to her.

  “You didn’t even ask my name—so rude,” she teased with a playful pout.

  “Sorry about that,” I simply apologised.

  She giggled. “It's cool; getting things jumbled up is normal. But don’t forget the name of your challenger—Hashimoto Natsumi, Year 11 Class 2. I look forward to a glorious battle.” She exclaimed, her smile turning into a cheeky smirk.

  


  As she sauntered away, leaving me to ponder our peculiar encounter, I couldn't shake the feeling that Hashimoto Natsumi was unlike anyone I had ever met. I was fascinated by the mysterious girl who had come my way because of her fearless and confident demeanour.

  Shaking my head in confusion, I carried on with my journey, resolved to forget about Hashimoto and her challenge for the time being. But as I walked away from Class 2, a strange unease crept over me, a nagging sense of being watched. Nonetheless, I chose to disregard the feeling.

  —

  —

  The cafeteria buzzed with chatter, clinking cutlery, and occasional laughter. After finishing my chicken stew and mashed potatoes, I looked at my phone and saw that it was getting close to midday. I figured Nomura-sensei was at her office now.

  As I mulled over the idea of running for student council president, the voices of my classmates echoed in the back of my mind. Hashimoto's challenge was looming huge, and I strongly felt she would be a very tough opponent but did I have the drive to campaign? The thought lingered as I made my way back to class to gather my belongings.

  Inside, only a few classmates remained—Funai, Kimi, Jaden, Aryan, and Kaiya, sat in a tight circle, engrossed in conversation that did not concern me.

  “So she is really doing it, is she?” Funai's voice floated across the room.

  “Of course she is,” Kimi replied, admiration in her tone.

  Their conversation had now piqued my interest and I listened silently.

  “What about the other classes? Do you think she stands a chance against whoever represents them?” Aryan asked.

  “Well, if I am to guess, Class 2 would most likely have Yuka or Tristin,” Kimi said, her eyes darting around as she considered the possible candidates. “Then Class 3 would most likely be Andre.”

  “But isn’t Andre bad at public speaking?” Jaden asked.

  “Is he? I never knew that,” Kimi admitted, surprised.

  I noticed Hashimoto’s name wasn’t mentioned—was she bluffing about running? As I gathered my things, I hesitated at the door before turning back.

  “Hey guys,” I called out to them to get their attention.

  Kaiya’s energetic voice rang out. “What’s up, Marcus?”

  “I’m thinking of running for student council president. What do you think?” I ventured, bracing myself for their reactions.

  Surprise flashed across their faces. The first person to reply was Aryan, who was sitting next to Kaiya.

  “I don’t think you should,” Aryan said cautiously. “You only just transferred here.”

  He had a point. Nevertheless, the notion was too irresistible to resist. “I get what you are saying,” I admitted. “But it seems fun, even if I don’t win the in-class vote.”

  Kaiya’s eyes lit up. “That’s exactly what I told them! It's not like I want to be student council president or anything, but the speeches, the strategy—it sounds fun! Plus, it could boost my social standing.”

  Funai sighed, shaking her head. “Why are you like this?” She mumbled, clearly mocking Kaiya.

  “You don’t just understand, Takara,” Kaiya teased, laughing.

  “Thanks for the advice, Kaiya,” I said, smiling.

  “I'm happy to assist,” she replied with a grin. “If you need help, ask me, not these downers—ouch!” She winced as Funai playfully nudged her.

  Leaving their chatter behind, I headed for Nomura-sensei’s office. I had made up my mind—I was running. A multitude of variables influenced my decision.

  Nomura-sensei looked up as I entered, greeting me with a smile. Across the room, Hazel looked up from her paperwork, meeting my gaze.

  “Don't tell me you're running too,” Hazel said, sounding almost incredulous.

  “I am. Are you scared or something?” I met her gaze.

  She huffed, then steadied herself. “Has anyone told you you're annoying?”

  “Nope, not once. Just think of it as a challenge.” I shrugged.

  Stepping forward, I approached Nomura-sensei. “So, Marcus, you want to run as well?” She asked, pulling a slip of paper out from behind her desk.

  “I do,” I took the registration form and scanned the details I needed to fill out: my name, age, and class. With a few quick strokes of the pen, I completed the form and handed it back to her.

  “Thank you; the in-class voting takes place on the 21st of this month,” she informed me.

  “So, guess we are facing each other yet again.” Hazel said as I turned to leave. “Marcus Luna, let's see who's better. I officially challenge you,” she proclaimed.

  I accepted her challenge, determination igniting within me. This was more than an election—it was a test of resolve. As Hazel said, let the showdown begin.

Recommended Popular Novels