A Rigged System

Miyuu scanned her surroundings as she trudged through the University’s corridors. The halls stretched on endlessly, beneath her feet, slow-moving water channels snaked through the floor, functioning as part of the building’s cooling system. She wondered if they ever got clogged or if SOLON had a subroutine to freak out at the first sign of algae.

Above and below, multi-level terraces spiralled like the world’s most pretentious beehive. Transparent elevators glided soundlessly up and down, and bridges draped with lush greenery connected each level.

Silent cleaning drones skittered along the walls, sweeping away any trace of dust or grime with terrifying efficiency. Every so often, one would pause, extend a mechanical arm, and carefully remove a smudge. Then, satisfied with its contribution to the beehive, it would glide off to continue its war on imperfection.

If Miyuu didn’t know better, she’d assume she’d wandered into the inner workings of some high-functioning AI’s brain.

Miyuu dragged her feet begrudgingly, trailing after Kazehaya Jun, the ever-cheerful treasurer of the Student Council, who had taken it upon himself to escort her to her first class, much to her dismay.

Sure, she was relieved to escape the oppressive presence of the Student Council President, but that didn’t make the idea of sitting through a lecture any more appealing.

In fact, if Jun was under any illusion that this was going to improve her mood, he was about to be sorely disappointed.

“Ugh,” Miyuu groaned loudly.

Jun responded with a grin so bright it could probably power the school’s energy grid. “Don’t worry, Ms. Tsukishima. The other council members aren’t as scary as they seem. Deep, deep down, they’re all just big softies—I swear.”

Miyuu shot him a deadpan look, her disbelief evident. “Big softies, my ass,” she muttered. “The President’s been threatening me since the second I arrived. And the Vice President? Don’t even get me started on that psycho.”

For a split second, Jun’s smile faltered, a flicker of something—sadness? Regret?—flashing across his face. But just as quickly, his smile snapped right back into place. 

“There’s plenty of fun stuff around here too,” he chirped, clearly determined to steer the conversation into less horrifying territory. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Before she could protest, Jun grabbed her hand and practically yanked her down the corridor with an alarming amount of strength for someone who looked like a marshmallow.

They stopped in front of a door unlike any other in the corridor. Neon lights framed its edges, shifting colors in a mesmerizing loop of blue, pink, and green. Jun scanned his student device with a practiced swipe, and the door slid open with a whoosh.

“This,” he announced proudly, “is my favourite pocket lounge.”

Miyuu peered inside, fully prepared to hate whatever it was—only to pause. The room was styled like an old-school arcade, bathed in the warm, nostalgic glow of neon lights. Rows of vintage game machines lined the walls, their screens flickering with pixelated intros. Iconic 8-bit soundtracks played in the background.

She stepped forward, curiosity creeping in despite herself, but Jun held up a hand, blocking her path.

“Not so fast,” he said sheepishly, nodding toward a holographic display hovering by the entrance. “You need to be at least Level 6 for this one—six thousand XP or more.”

Miyuu froze, her eyes snapping to the glowing sign. “Six thousand?” she gaped. “And I started with… fifty?” She let out a bitter laugh. “They’ve set me up to fail.”

Jun shrugged, though his smile remained annoyingly intact. “Yeah, SEEDs don’t get the best starting XP. This place runs on merit, and most students have to pass rigorous entrance exams just to be here. The SEED program is for students who... um didn’t meet the standard requirements. It wouldn’t be fair if everyone started on the same footing, right?”

Miyuu’s fists clenched so tight her knuckles cracked, her frustration bubbling to the surface like a volcano about to erupt. “Fair? Fair?! Are you kidding me?” she hissed through gritted teeth.

“They gave me fifty XP—barely enough to unlock, what, the right to blink without supervision—and you expect me to survive in this bougie dystopia? What’s next, are you guys going to charge me XP for oxygen?” She threw her hands up in mock surrender. “Oh no, sorry, Miyuu, you’re out of air—better start holding your breath until next semester!”

Jun gave her a vaguely apologetic shrug. For a second, he looked like he might actually be calculating the feasibility of a pay-per-breath system.

Miyuu groaned, running a hand through her ponytail. “This place is a joke,” she muttered.

He offered a bright, disarming smile, clearly trying to soften the blow. “Hey, not all the lounges are this exclusive. I just like this one because it has less foot traffic,” he said, his voice still light. “But don’t worry, if you put in some effort, you’ll build up XP in no time. Maybe I’ll even help you out.”

Miyuu shot him a glare. Don’t trust him, she reminded herself. Jun was too nice—the kind of nice that sneaks under your defenses like a polite little parasite before you even realize it’s there. She’d let her guard slip for one stupid second, and bam—he’d wedged himself in like he was meant to be there.

He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, she thought grimly, an irritating pink wolf.

Jun seemed completely unfazed by her glare. “Come on,” he said brightly, gesturing back toward the corridor. “Let’s get you to class.”.

Reluctantly, Miyuu followed, her mind still spinning as she watched him from behind. His features were so deceptively soft—his eyes sparkling with an almost childlike enthusiasm, framed by that ridiculously fluffy hair. His fair skin and delicate appearance made him look fragile, but the way his uniform subtly hinted at muscle definition told a different story.

There was an effortless warmth in the way he carried himself, an ease that made him seem approachable, trustworthy. But that smile? It was just a little too perfect, like a mask he’d worn so long it had become part of him.

His kindness wasn’t just a personality trait—it was a weapon. Sharpened to lower defences and pull people in before they realized they’d been disarmed.

And the worst part? She could feel it working. He almost had me, she thought bitterly.

Before she could spiral further, they arrived at a door with a red light glowing above it.

“Here we are,” Jun said, smiling like they’d just arrived at a theme park instead of the gateway to her personal hell.

Miyuu crossed her arms, her scepticism dialled up to eleven. “Fantastic. What’s behind Door Number One? Another exciting way to make me miserable?”

Jun, the professional optimist, expertly ignored her sarcasm. He pointed to the glowing red light above the door. “Red means class is in session.” Then, he tapped his device against the scanner. The door slid open, revealing rows of white desks arranged with near-military precision.

Miyuu lingered in the doorway, her feet refusing to cooperate. The weight of a dozen curious stares pressed down on her, whispers and murmurs buzzing in the air like insects.

Jun noticed her hesitation and placed a hand on her shoulder. She tensed instinctively, but his voice was softer now, the relentless cheer dialled back just enough to sound almost genuine. “You’ll get used to it,” he said quietly. “It won’t be that bad.”

Miyuu raised an eyebrow. Not that bad was doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence.

With a resigned sigh and a mental this better not kill me, she stepped inside, bracing herself for whatever fresh hell was waiting to make her regret it.