The Meeting (Part 2)

Haruki stretched back in his chair, his movements languid, almost feline. Alright, let’s cut to the important stuff. You already know me and Kaito, right?”

Miyuu’s gaze flicked to Kaito for half a second too long, meeting his icy eyes before she snapped her focus away. Heat crept up her cheeks, it was unwelcome and irritating. The memory of his earlier scolding—and that damn slap—still stung, more so her pride than anything else. “Unfortunately.”

She hated to admit it, even to herself, but Kaito scared her a little. Not in a physical sense—he didn’t seem like the type to actually hurt her—but there was something about his presence that put her on edge. Like he was always three steps ahead.

Haruki, noticed the tension between them and looked entirely too pleased with himself. “Now, let’s meet the rest of the gang, shall we?” he said, gesturing toward a blonde lounging across his seat like it was his throne.

“That charming guy over there is Takomoro Riku, our strategist,” Haruki continued.

Riku didn’t just glance at her—he scanned her, his eyes dragging up and down with lazy amusement. A grin spread across his face—broad, condescending, and punchable. “Don’t worry, kitty,” he purred affectionately. “If you behave, your time here won’t be that bad.”

Miyuu bristled. Kitty? Was he serious? The urge to lunge across the room and slap that smug grin off his face was almost overwhelming. But common sense told her that wouldn’t end well. “Touch me, and I’ll kill you,” she threatened.

Riku chuckled softly. “Now, now,” he murmured, voice silky, “mind your manners, little kitty.”

He’s lucky murder is frowned upon, she thought, clenching her fists to keep her from attacking.

Haruki, gestured towards her next victim—or rather, council member.

“This is Aoyama Shion, our librarian,” Haruki said.

Shion yawned, loud and unapologetic, like he’d been forced to show up against his will—which, considering his slouch, might actually have been the case. He didn’t even attempt to hide it—just tipped his head back and let the yawn stretch out for a good five seconds.

The dishevelled boy with tousled purple hair was slouched so low in his chair it looked like gravity might win any second and send him sliding onto the floor.

He blinked at her once, slowly, like he was calculating the bare minimum effort required to acknowledge her existence. Then he returned to his slouch, sinking even deeper into his chair as if the act of being introduced had sapped him of his remaining will to live. He didn’t say a word, which, in fairness, was probably the most respectful interaction she’d had so far.

Miyuu couldn’t decide whether she was relieved or insulted. Probably both.

Haruki, clicked his tongue and teasingly scolded, “Come on, Shion, at least try to make a good impression.”

Shion’s cybernetic eye shifted slightly, it was a near-perfect replica of his natural one, the violet iris almost indistinguishable from the real deal. Almost. Without K.A.T.O.’s constant background commentary, Miyuu might not have even noticed it.

Augmented human, K.A.T.O. buzzed. That eye’s cutting-edge tech. Way beyond standard issue. Fancy.

Shion sighed, like he’d been asked to work overtime on his day off. “I supervise SEED study sessions,” He muttered, his tone matching his posture: lazy, unbothered, and just a little patronizing.

He gave her a slow, dismissive once-over. “And judging by the look of things, you’re going to need them.”

Miyuu rolled her eyes. “I bet you’re a hit at parties.”

Next, Haruki gestured to a shorter boy with pastel-pink hair. He was seated with perfect posture and an easy smile. “This is Kazehaya Jun, our treasurer. He handles the council’s budget and the entire school’s economy.”

Jun’s smile was so warm and sincere it felt like physical assault. Miyuu half-expected to hear angels harmonizing in the background, with golden light shining down from a divine spotlight. Making eye contact with Jun felt like staring directly into the sun.

“Managing the accounts is my official job,” Jun explained, his voice chipper. “That means I’ll also be overseeing your allowance and help you track your Lumina XP.” He added a playful shrug, still smiling like he hadn’t a single care in the world.

“Hit XP milestones, and you’ll unlock access to all kinds of upgrades—better tech, high-end lounges, maybe even the gourmet snacks everyone’s always raving about.” Jun’s continued.

Miyuu frowned. “Snacks? You need XP to eat well around here?”

“Of course,” Jun replied, like that wasn’t completely horrifying. “The better the XP, the better the perks. Want a top-tier entertainment module or advanced tech for your room? XP. Want that imported chocolate everyone’s obsessed with? XP.”

Miyuu blinked, trying to process his words while ignoring the creeping sense of doom in her chest. “No, seriously—what happened to money?”

Jun chuckled, like she’d just told the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “Lumina XP isn’t something you spend; instead, it builds up and opens doors for you. Think of it as levelling up. Hit enough XP, and suddenly you’ll have access to new perks.”

Great, she thought. I’m living in a gacha game.

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably. Something wasn’t adding up—or rather, it was adding up too well. She mentally nudged K.A.T.O., her thoughts firing off. Check my bank accounts. Quickly.

K.A.T.O. didn’t even pause before responding, his voice buzzed gleefully in her mind. Denied. Your dad’s frozen all your accounts.

Her eyes widened in horror. Even my MeTube subscription?!

Yup, K.A.T.O. confirmed, not even pretending to hide his amusement. Welcome to peasantry. Enjoy the ads.

Her hands clenched reflexively, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting outwardly.

Before Miyuu could fire off the curse that was burning a hole in her brain, Haruki cut in smoothly. “Now that we’ve dispensed with the pleasantries, let’s get down to business.”

The abrupt shift from semi-friendly banter to deadly serious bureaucracy set her on edge. 

“You’re starting at Level 1, with fifty Lumina XP,” Haruki said, reading off his tablet.

“That’s the baseline for all SEEDs,” he continued. “The Lumina System tracks everything you do here. Every choice you make will either help you grow—or drag you down.”

Miyuu tapped her fingers against her arm, the rhythm more for her own sanity than anything else. She slouched back in her chair, crossing her legs and tilting her chin just enough to make it clear she wasn’t buying whatever motivational speech he was about to try.

Haruki let the silence stretch long enough to be annoying before continuing. “Most students’ XP is adjusted automatically through SOLON’s AI,” he said, his gaze flicking to her with a calculated calm. “But…given your talent for… creative problem-solving, we’ll be keeping a close watch on your XP manually.”

She snorted loudly. “Translation: you don’t trust me.”

“Not even a little,” Haruki replied without missing a beat. The corner of his mouth twitched like he was enjoying this way too much.

“And what’s in it for me if I gain XP?” she shot back, crossing her arms.

“As Jun mentioned before, privileges,” he said, leaning back in his chair like he was about to pitch her the world’s worst pyramid scheme. “More than just access to luxury vending machines or a larger dorm room. XP unlocks high-tech lounges, entertainment modules, VIP events—even leadership roles. Accumulate enough XP, and you could practically run a section of the campus.”

Miyuu raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “And if I lose XP?”

She already knew the answer would be bad, but watching Haruki frame it like a perfectly reasonable consequence might at least be entertaining.

“Ah, that’s where things get... uncomfortable.” Haruki said, lowering his voice to a tone that set off every fight-or-flight instinct Miyuu had. She suddenly felt like a small, cornered rabbit, and Haruki was the hunting dog who enjoyed the chase just a little too much.

“Lose points, and the school starts tightening its grip.” He ticked off his fingers one by one. “First, your privileges vanish. Lounges? Gone. Social media? Locked. Entertainment modules? Disabled. Even certain areas of the campus will be off-limits. You’ll be down to essentials.”

Miyuu’s lip curled, but she bit her tongue. He wasn’t done yet, and something told her it was about to get worse.

“And,” he said, with that deliberate pause people use when they really want to watch you squirm, “every time your XP drops by ten points, you’ll be scheduled for a ‘Reflective Mission’ in the VR chamber.”

Haruki’s eyes gleamed like he was just getting to the fun part. “They’re simulations designed to...help you think about your behaviour.”

“What does that even mean?” Miyuu asked.

Haruki smirked, leaning back in his chair. It was obvious that he was thoroughly enjoying this. “It means the VR missions are tailored to teach you a lesson. Some of them can be... intense. They’re not designed to scar, of course, but let’s just say they aren’t pleasant either.”

“Of course,” Miyuu muttered. Wouldn’t want to ‘scar’ someone while you’re literally messing with their head.

“Some might be more… tedious,” Haruki added. “If you’re lucky, you might end up in something mundane. Like a cleaning simulator.”

Miyuu blinked. “For real?”

“Absolutely,” Haruki replied. “Imagine hours of scrubbing digital floors, polishing virtual windows, or—if you’re really unlucky—filing endless stacks of fake paperwork.”

“A few hours of virtual chores work wonders for attitude adjustment. Builds discipline. And trust me,” he added, as if he’d personally witnessed this nonsense, “most students straighten out after one or two sessions.”

She narrowed her eyes, trying to gauge if he was actually serious or just messing with her. “You’re telling me you’d throw someone into VR... to clean?”

“Oh, definitely,” Haruki said with a casual shrug. “Everything’s automated these days, so it’s good to be reminded of what hard work feels like.” he added, grinning in a way that made her want to slap him.

Miyuu leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Right. Because nothing says character development like scrubbing digital toilets.”

Haruki only shrugged, his grin widening as if he was genuinely looking forward to assigning her a session. “You’d be surprised.”

“And who decides if I get a ‘reflect on your life’ mission or a floor-scrubbing sim?” Miyuu asked, keeping her voice steady, even though her pulse ticked faster.

Haruki didn’t bother replying himself, instead he flicked his gaze toward Kaito like he was handing off an unpleasant task.

“That would be us,” Kaito said flatly. “We make sure the experience fits the behaviour. Behave, and you’ll be fine. Step out of line…” He let the words hang in the air, the unspoken words settling over her like a noose.

Miyuu raised an eyebrow, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking rattled. “So, if I tick off the wrong person, I get the nightmare version?”

“Exactly,” Haruki cut in, his tone dripping with mock civility. “Context is everything, Ms. Tsukishima. Lose XP, and you face the consequences. But how severe they are? That’s entirely up to us.”

She forced a laugh, the sound brittle in her ears. Her pulse hammered hard in her chest, but she kept her expression neutral. “Got it. Play nice, or it’s straight into virtual boot camp.”

“Exactly,” Haruki said, flashing a satisfied smile. “As your XP drops, so does your freedom. Lose enough points, and you’re left with nothing but the basics, fighting just to stay afloat.”

Miyuu locked her jaw to keep her nerves from showing. “Sounds like a blast,” she muttered.

“I knew you’d see it that way,” Haruki replied, nodding as though she’d just agreed to sign up for a fun extracurricular activity.

“Oh, and one more thing—don’t even think about running.” His eyes locked onto hers in a way that made her skin crawl. This wasn’t a warning. It was a threat.

“The system will alert us anyway,” Riku chimed in with a cheery lilt, practically glowing with delight at the prospect. “And trust me—we’ll bring you back quickly to face the music.”

Miyuu’s scowl deepened. “And you—the student council—get to decide all this?”

“Exactly,” Haruki said, spreading his arms in a sweeping gesture. “SOLON may handle the academics, but everything else? That’s all us. We’re the judge, jury, and executioner.”

“And as of now,” he added, leaning forward just enough for his voice to snake under her skin, “your fate is in our hands.”

Princess, you are so, so screwed. K.A.T.O snickered through their link.