The Meeting (Part 1)

The walls of the student council office felt like they were closing in on Miyuu—or maybe that was just her brain slowly imploding.

At the front of the room, a massive floating screen displayed an endless highlight reel of her greatest hits. It started with the time she hacked a vending machine and replaced its voice responses with insults. Classic. Then it moved on to the food delivery drone incident, where she rerouted half the city’s orders to random houses. Honestly, she was still a little proud of that one.

And then came her latest arrest. The screen showed her hacking the public transport’s passenger information system and replacing it with an automated voice that blasted offensive memes and curse-filled nursery rhymes. It had shut down half the city’s transit system for hours.

She winced as the footage cut to her escape attempt: hot-wiring a patrol drone, which lasted all of 15 seconds before it crashed into a fountain. The clip froze at the exact moment she was tackled to the ground by a police officer, her face contorted into an ugly frown mid-punch.

K.A.T.O. buzzed in her neural link. A true masterpiece, princess. Solid nine out of ten.

You’re not helping, she shot back.

She sat at the far end of a long black table, slouched low in her chair like she could somehow disappear into it. Across from her, the student council members sat in their formal black uniforms, their expressions varying from mildly irritated to we need to contain this disaster.

It felt less like a meeting and more like a trial, except the jury already had the verdict, and it wasn’t looking great for her.

At the head of the table, perched on a dais, was SOLON. Unlike the holographic projection she’d seen the night before, this was his true form—a biomec. His body was a blend of organic matter and machinery: white feathers and patches of living tissue fused with metal plating. Streams of code scrolled within his yellow eyes.

She had no doubt K.A.T.O. and SOLON were exchanging data streams in the background. Whatever they were saying, she wasn’t invited to the conversation.

Next to SOLON stood the hologram of her father, dressed in his signature lab coat, arms crossed, and wearing the patented disappointed dad face she’d grown way too familiar with lately. It was almost impressive how he could radiate disapproval even in holographic form.

He broke the silence first.
“Miyuu, this isn’t negotiable," he said, his tone sharp. "I thought you understood what your actions mean for the company—for our family. But I was wrong. Do you realize the damage you've caused to Zenith Industries?"

Ah, yes. The family legacy speech. Always a classic. She could almost recite it from memory by now.

"We're drowning in bad press, and Unity First has only gained more leverage because of it." He pressed his fingers to his temple in that exasperated way he always did, like her existence was giving him a migraine.

It wasn’t like she planned on getting caught. The job had been simple: hack the public transport AI, shut it down for a few hours, and pocket an easy payout. It wasn’t just about the cash, either—well, mostly not. The media would’ve shifted their attention away from the Tin Hat Society—her affectionate nickname for Unity First—and their propaganda. A win-win, really. Or at least, it should have been.

But then her holo-field mask glitched (thanks for nothing, prototype tech), and the security systems caught her face. Suddenly, what was supposed to be a smooth operation turned into an impromptu high-stakes game of tag with the city police. A game she had obviously lost.

Her father’s voice dragged her back to the present. “This is your last chance. I can’t protect you anymore. These stunts—these... jobs you keep taking—they’re not just childish pranks, Miyuu. They’re reckless. They’re criminal. And every time you cross that line, you're not just putting Zenith Industries or yourself at risk. You’re jeopardizing the security of the entire country.”

The entire country? Really? Irritation crawled under her skin like an itch she couldn’t scratch. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Dad, I already told you—” she began, but he cut her off.

“No more excuses.” His voice was clipped. “Hacking the public transport system and shutting down entire city blocks was a step too far. Do you understand the scale of what you did? You’re lucky no one got hurt.”

Miyuu bit back the urge to argue. He wasn’t wrong, technically, but hearing it framed as a near-catastrophe felt melodramatic at best. It wasn’t like she’d intended to cause chaos—well, maybe a little chaos. But chaos with good intentions. That should count for something.

Sure, maybe she’d gone a little overboard this time—but dumping her in this school for losers wasn’t the answer.

Her father’s hologram turned toward SOLON, the bio-mec perched like some kind of high-tech parrot, who clicked his metallic beak thoughtfully before speaking.

“Harmonia University is unlike any other institution, Mr. Tsukishima,” SOLON began.

Miyuu tuned out for approximately three seconds, but the words "Gaia-selected" dragged her focus back.

“The University exists to provide a path for the most promising students, chosen by Gaia, our government AI,” SOLON continued.

“Most of the students here were selected for their potential to make an impactful difference in society. My role is to provide them with the tools and knowledge to become the future leaders society needs.”

Miyuu barely stopped herself from gagging. Future leaders? Impactful difference? The only thing this place was leading people toward was an early-onset superiority complex, but SOLON wasn’t done.

“I uphold the academic standards,” he went on, clearly enjoying the sound of his own voice, “but beyond that—behavior, social expectations, rewards, and consequences—those are the student council’s responsibility. They govern life here entirely. The campus operates as a self-contained society led by its own students. The intent is to shape capable leaders by having them actively manage and navigate the challenges of governing a community.”

Her father nodded in solemn agreement. Meanwhile, Miyuu’s brain had already translated the speech into plain Miyuu-language: Congratulations, you’re now a prisoner in a dictatorship run by overachieving nerds. Enjoy your stay!

“Students here also operate under the Lumina System—a point-based structure created to reward positive contributions and penalize missteps,” SOLON added, as though anyone asked.

“The system is hierarchical; the highest-ranked students are the members of the student council, essentially the executive authority within the student body.”

Miyuu crossed her arms and muttered, “So, the inmates run the asylum. Got it.”

Her father’s hologram flickered slightly as he turned to her. “Miyuu, this is your last shot. I know you don’t want to hear this, but you are not above the law, no matter who you are.”

And there it was. The you’ve disappointed me, but I’m still obligated to care look. She hated that look. It hit her somewhere deep in her chest, twisting like a rusty wrench.

“Please, Miyuu—just lay low, follow the rules, and don’t make me regret giving you this chance.”

For a moment, his hologram flickered again, and she could see it—he wasn’t just tired. He was sad. That made the wrench twist harder.

“Fine,” she spat, the word sour on her tongue.

SOLON stepped in seamlessly, as if sensing her father’s faltering. “Your academic path has been customized to your aptitudes. Updates will be sent to your student device regularly. Any refusal to cooperate will result in immediate intervention from the council.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Miyuu muttered, rolling her eyes. “Toe the line, or the student cops come knocking. Got it.”

Her father’s hologram flickered softly as he spoke one last time. “Please, Miyuu... I’m counting on you to make this work. I won’t be able to help you again.” And then, with a nod to the council, he disappeared, leaving only the faint shimmer of a few stray holographic pixels, in his absence.

SOLON’s eyes lingered on her a moment longer, unblinking. It was creepy, but Miyuu had already decided that creepy was SOLON’s baseline setting.

“This experience can be what you make of it, Ms. Tsukishima,” the AI said, his voice calm but pointed. “Succeed here, and you may yet reclaim your life. Fail, and the consequences will be... unfortunate.”

And with that, SOLON spread his mechanical wings in a motion that felt far too dramatic and fluttered through the open window

“Yeah,” she muttered to herself, slumping back into her chair. “No pressure or anything.”