Yuzuki stood silently at the front steps of Chiba Academy Institute, its sleek glass façade towering before him like a monument of unknowable futures. The morning light glinted off steel trim and polished stone, but the sun brought no warmth to the gnawing cold within him. A tremor worked its way through his fingers as he lifted a hand to his chest, as if to hold in the strange, hollow ache that had nestled there since he woke.
It was dread.
He didn't know why.
In fact—he didn't know anything at all.
The only memory he possessed was fragmented and murky, lingering like smoke in a sealed room.
—
A dark chamber. Stark and sterile. The only source of illumination came from a dim, swaying bulb overhead, casting flickering shadows over walls lined with machinery—cold, mechanical things whose purpose he couldn't even begin to guess.
From that darkness stepped a man.
He was handsome, almost unnaturally so, with long blond hair that shimmered like gold thread. His emerald eyes were curved upward in a pleasant smile—but it was a smile that never quite touched the soul. Each step he took was fluid and confident, yet… his presence felt off. Like a mask worn too long.
"Yuzuki," came a soft voice behind the man.
Emerging into the half-light was a second figure—beautiful, ethereal, with long blue hair that melted into violet strands at the ends. Her face bore a stillness that could be mistaken for serenity, but her eyes—dull sapphire and steeped in sorrow. Her presence quieted the room.
She moved to him, took his hand gently.
"Do you remember anything?" the man asked, his voice too casual as he flicked his fingers across several flickering holoscreens that sparked to life around the pod Yuzuki had just emerged from.
Yuzuki shook his head, slow and uncertain. "...Nothing," he muttered, his fingers brushing through his tousled navy-blue hair. He winced. "I remember nothing."
Fu Hua—yes, he somehow knew her name—tightened her hold on his hand. Her expression didn't shift, but her thumb grazed the back of his knuckles in silent reassurance.
"The operation, by all measurable accounts, has succeeded," Otto said, his tone as airy as a man remarking on the weather. His gaze slid to Fu Hua, and for the briefest moment, the mask of charm glinted with something crueler beneath. "And tell me, old friend—does it sting less with repetition? Watching his eyes go blank, time and time again, as if love itself were a page you alone must rewrite endlessly?"
Fu Hua's eyes fluttered closed. She didn't let go. "I don't mind," she whispered, brushing a few stray locks from Yuzuki's face. "In some strange way… I rather enjoy how he falls for me every time it happens."
The words unsettled him, but he didn't pull away. He could only stare—half-lost in confusion, half in awe of her presence.
He chuckled—light, polished, utterly unfazed. "Ah, questions—always the heralds of awakening. I admire your consistency," he mused, fingers waltzing across cascading panels of data. "But I'm afraid time, ever the miser, grants us only fragments. The process was… expedited. No assurances, no elegant symmetry—just the toss of fate's cruel dice. And here we stand, hoping the result is anything but calamity."
"What… what do you mean?" Yuzuki asked, finally finding his voice.
Fu Hua turned toward the man, her voice sharpening. "He'll be safe, right?"
"Truthfully?" he murmured, his smile delicate, laced with the fragrance of irony. "Even I could not have foreseen the shadow he casts across our board. He is a variable unspoken in all my calculations—a ruinous note in a composition I thought I had mastered. And if providence were kind, I would have lived my life never having heard it played."
Fu Hua bowed her head, just slightly. "Then he's in more danger than ever."
There was silence for a moment.
Then: "Be safe," she whispered, so softly it almost didn't reach him. "For me."
Otto exhaled a faint, almost theatrical sigh, as though the gravity of the world were no heavier than a passing breeze. "Oh, he will endure," he said, turning with practiced grace to his console of glowing runes and screens. "For when all the pawns have fallen, and kings lie broken in their sleep, it is often the forgotten piece that decides the game."
—
"HEYYYY!!"
A shrill voice shattered the memory like glass.
Before Yuzuki could even register what was happening, something—or someone—slammed into his side like a missile. He stumbled, caught between reflex and panic, before blinking down at a head of snowy-white hair.
"Whoops!" came a breathless voice.
The girl who had collided with him bounced back a step, completely unfazed. Her white hair, tied in twin ponytails, gleamed under the sun. She wore the standard Chiba Academy uniform, slightly rumpled like she'd just sprinted across campus. Her sky-blue eyes—fierce and untamed—sparkled with unchecked energy. A carefreegrin tugged at her lips.
"You okay, dude?" she asked, peering up at him. "You were standing there like a statue! Thought you were one of those solar-powered greeting bots."
Yuzuki blinked. He had no idea how to respond.
"Ohhh no," she gasped dramatically, pointing at him. "Don't tell me—first-day nerves? Or wait… are you one of those broody loners with a dark backstory? I've seen at least three of you today already. Big competition."
"…Who are you?" he asked quietly.
"Kiana! Kiana Kaslana!" she said proudly, striking a pose with both hands on her hips. "Future Hero of justice! Honorary student enforcer! And occasional late-sleeper."
She grinned, then squinted up at him again.
"…You okay, blue-hair?" she asked, voice suddenly softer. "You kinda look like you saw a ghost."
Yuzuki stared at her for a moment longer. The unease in his chest hadn't left… but it softened, just a little.
Maybe it was her presence. Maybe it was the simplicity of the way she smiled.
"…I'm Yuzuki," he replied. "I think."
She blinked. "You think?"
"Yeah."
Kiana tilted her head, then laughed. "Cool. Mysterious. I like it!"
She threw an arm around his shoulder like they'd known each other for years. "C'mon, Yuzu—let's go be late to homeroom together."
He didn't understand her. Not really.
But for some reason… he followed.
Kiana practically bounced beside him as they made their way through the maze-like halls of Chiba Academy. "Transfer student buddies!" she said with a grin, flashing him a thumbs-up. "We gotta stick together. You and me—we're the new blood."
Yuzuki glanced sideways at her, his silver eyes softening just a little. There was something disarming about her presence—like sunshine after snowfall. Loud, a little reckless, but genuine. His earlier anxiety began to untangle itself, dissolving under her easy laughter.
"You always talk this much?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Only when I'm nervous," she admitted, then winked. "Which means I'm always talking."
He chuckled, not quite sure when it had become so easy to breathe around her.
"You don't seem nervous."
"Fake it till you make it," she replied proudly, gesturing like she was presenting a life philosophy. "Besides, you looked like a kicked puppy when I found you. Someone had to keep the mood up."
Yuzuki smirked. "And here I thought you slammed into me by accident."
"I did! But I like to think it was fate."
They laughed together as the hallway buzzed with life around them. He let himself be guided through the corridors, the polished floor reflecting the bright morning sun that streamed through the high windows. For a fleeting moment, the academy almost felt like it could become a home. A second chance.
Then—he saw him.
The world slowed.
Down the hallway, not far from their classroom, a boy stood in the light. Silver hair framed a calm face, and his eyes—thoseeyes—held something vast. Something terrible.
Yuzuki stopped walking. He didn't even realize his hand had moved to clutch his chest.
He didn't know the name. He didn't know the boy. But his body reacted before his mind could. Like his heart had suddenly remembered something his brain could not.
Terror. Anger. Pity.
A flood of contradiction surged through him—the urge to run clashing against a piercing sadness so intense it nearly buckled his knees. His breath hitched. For a split second, Victor looked up, and their gazes locked.
And in that moment, Yuzuki knew him.
Or had known him.
And hated him.
And mourned him.
And missed him—terribly.