"The sun shines bright~ The flowers smile at me~ The birds chirp, chirp, chirp~ Why are you carrying a bag full of explosives~ Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"
Along the coastal highway, a bus nearly packed with new students rumbled along, its interior filled with the quiet anticipation typical of a first day at a new school. That is, until a sudden, obnoxious burst of chaotic singing, accompanied by manic, jet-engine-level cackling, shattered the fragile silence. The sound erupted from the back of the bus, drawing every head in its direction.
The source of the disturbance was a boy seated near the rear exit, leaning comfortably against the metal railing. Like most of the other students, he wore the standard school uniform — a sharp crimson blazer over a crisp white shirt, paired with a black tie, dark green slacks, and polished black shoes. Embroidered just above the pocket on his blazer and pants, in small, golden letters, were the words Advanced Nurturing High School.
However, what truly set this boy apart was the pair of oversized, reflective sunglasses obscuring his face. The kind you might find on a shady online shop for less than twenty bucks, complete with a free shipping guarantee. Because of the shades, his full face remained a mystery, but his sharp jawline, perfectly slicked-back black hair, and high, proud forehead suggested a strikingly handsome face — as long as his eyes weren't a total disaster.
Completely ignoring the bewildered stares around him, the boy casually glanced at his phone, letting the ringtone blare for a few more seconds before finally silencing it. He flashed a wide, unapologetic grin and spoke in a voice as full of chaotic energy as his ringtone.
"Ah, sorry about that. Just my alarm."
He might have left it at that, but the sheer audacity of his choice in alarm tone had already left a deep impression. It's one thing to set a quirky or personalized ringtone, but to record your own absurd, troll-level lyrics and use them as a wake-up call? That was a level of commitment to chaos that the average person simply couldn't match.
Time for a quick introduction.
This young man's name is Wu Yi. Single surname, single given name. Sixteen years old, fresh out of middle school. Stands at 181 centimeters tall, weighing in at 89 kilograms. Hails from the ancient Wu Clan in the Kyoto region, specifically a place known as Wu no Sato.
His father, a live-in son-in-law, didn't leave much of a mark, but his mother, Wu Yaksha, is a second-year A-Class homeroom teacher at the prestigious Ousakura Girls' Academy. His grandfather, Wu Huiryo, is not only a close friend of the infamous Metsudo Kengan, head of the Kengan Association and the man known as the First Generation Metsudo's Fang, but also a legendary figure in his own right.
Under normal circumstances, Wu Yi would have followed in the footsteps of his ancestors, becoming a professional Kengan fighter after completing his compulsory education, carving his name into the brutal history of underground martial arts.
However, fate had other plans.
During the summer before high school, the director of Advanced Nurturing High School, a certain Sakayanagi, paid a personal visit to Wu no Sato. What was said between the director and his grandfather remains a mystery, but the end result was clear — Wu Yi found himself shipped off to this supposedly elite institution, with promises of a 100% graduation and employment rate. A bright future for those who survived its harsh, competitive environment.
He couldn't help but snort at the thought. When did professional fighters start caring about employment rates and job placement? What's next, Kengan fighters with corporate health insurance and pension plans? Unless the principal here is Yujiro Hanma, this whole setup feels like a joke.
Still, his grandfather's word was law. So, here he was, reluctantly playing the role of a normal high school student. His goal? Simple. To have fun.
Unlike the others, who had come to this school to chase their dreams or secure their futures, Wu Yi's only real motivation was to kill time and maybe, just maybe, run into an old childhood friend. The idea brought a small, amused smirk to his lips as he glanced out the bus window. In the distance, the massive artificial island that housed Advanced Nurturing High School came into view, connected to the mainland by a long, sweeping sea bridge.
Ah, yes. The fabled 100% employment rate. As if that meant anything. After all, flipping burgers or tightening screws in a factory technically counted as employment too, right?
As the bus approached the island, the tense, awkward silence from earlier slowly returned, only to be broken by the sound of a minor commotion near the front.