Welcome Back, Survivor!

Miyuu scanned her wrist node, opening the door to the Student Council Manor. She looked like she’d crawled through the pits of hell, and she felt like it too. Her body was aching and sagging with exhaustion.

The only thing she wanted right now was to kick off her shoes, bury herself under a mountain of blankets, and forget the VR nightmare she’d just survived.

The mere thought of Frowl sent shivers down her spine. She gave her head a quick shake, like an Etch A Sketch, hoping to erase the image.

Then, without warning, the room exploded into chaos. A chorus of cheers erupted, followed by the blinding flash of a camera.

"Congratulations on surviving your first Reflective Mission!" the Student Council chimed.

Miyuu blinked, her exhaustion momentarily overridden by shock. Streamers in vibrant colours dangled from the ceiling and balloons bobbed lazily around the room. A massive table groaned under the weight of cakes, cookies, and an assortment of desserts that could’ve fuelled an entire bakery. It was overkill.

Miyuu scowled. “If this is some kind of joke, it’s not funny.”

The living room was brightly lit, with the sofa and armchairs arranged around a low table. A drone drifted between the living room and the adjoining kitchen to clear plates or restock snacks.

“No joke,” Haruki said. “We’re genuinely proud of you. And let’s be real—you’ve earned a reward after all that… spectacular dying.” He chuckled.

Miyuu’s eye twitched. Spectacular dying? She didn’t know whether to punch him or curl up and cry into a cupcake. Maybe both.

“Wait. I thought only Kazehaya and Aoyama were watching?” She asked, narrowing her eyes at the room full of smug faces.

Jun, already halfway through a slice of cake, flashed her a bright smile from his perch on the armrest of a chair. “Oh no, we all had front row seats in the control room.”

“Front row?” Her voice cracked, betraying her horror.

“Jun and I were just the on-duty supervisors,” Shion said. “Someone has to monitor in case things go awry. Frowl, as you likely noticed, has a rather unfortunate tendency to get... overzealous with students he finds entertaining.” He rubbed his eye with the back of his palm, looking as tired as always. “It’s our job to ensure no one experiences unhealthy levels of stress.”

Miyuu bit back a laugh, though her expression clearly said Are you kidding me? Unhealthy levels of stress? If that circus of death didn’t qualify, she didn’t want to know what did.

“Besides,” Haruki chimed in, grinning as he waved a freshly snapped holo-photo in the air, “we couldn’t miss such an important milestone. This one’s definitely going in the scrapbook.”

Miyuu slapped a hand over her face, her cheeks burning as heat crawled up her neck. “You’re joking,” she muttered, but she already knew he wasn’t. Haruki never joked about this kind of thing. They definitely had a scrapbook.

Her mind spiralled into a nightmare scenario: Kaito meticulously organizing the photos into chronological order, Jun doodling little hearts and stars in the margins, and Riku scribbling captions like Miyuu’s First Death Spiral. It was beyond humiliating—it was borderline terrifying.

What were they, doting parents cooing over her first steps?

What was next? Commemorative fridge magnets? A ‘Proud SEED of the Month’ award? She shook her head to banish the thought, but the image of her face plastered on a mug with the caption I Survived Frowl was haunting.

And yet, a small, traitorous part of her stirred. Was this what it felt like to belong somewhere? To have people who, for whatever unfathomable reason, cared? Not that she’d ever admit it, even under duress. Nope. Not happening. Not going there.

“First off,” Miyuu began, “I didn’t even complete the mission, so this whole party feels more like rubbing salt in the wound. Second, Frowl is a nightmare that should be erased from existence. And lastly…” Her glare locked onto Shion. “I wouldn’t have been there in the first place if someone hadn’t docked my XP.”

Shion, unbothered by the murderous intent radiating from her, stepped forward. His expression softened, and before she could react, he placed a hand on her head and gave it a few light pats, like she was a stray animal in need of calming.

“The nail that sticks out gets hammered down,” he said calmly, as if that explained anything. “You broke the rules, you did the mission, and now it’s over. No grudges, no hard feelings.” He offered her a slice of cake with a faint smile. “You did well, Tsukishima. Have some cake.”

Miyuu froze. An apology—no, that would’ve been too much to hope for—but forgiveness? That was unexpected. Hesitantly, she accepted the cake, her frown deepening before she took a bite.

The rich, sweet taste nearly brought tears to her eyes. It was almost enough to make her forget she hated everyone in the room. Almost.

This. This was why having taste buds was the single redeeming feature of being human. Sure, other creatures had them too, but none of them had cake—or the sheer emotional capacity to worship it properly.

She sank into the sofa, the tension in her shoulders easing as she savoured another bite. For a brief, fleeting moment, the world didn’t suck.

And then, because the universe hated her, a camera flash shattered the moment.

Miyuu snapped her head up, mid-bite, to see Haruki grinning smugly, holding an instant-print camera like it was Excalibur. The device churred as it spat out another a fresh holo-photo. He waved it around like a trophy.

“Oh, come on!” she groaned, clutching her plate like it was a shield. “Can’t a girl have a moment alone with her dessert?”

Haruki chuckled, tucking the photo into his blazer pocket. “At 40 XP, I’d say you’ve got bigger problems than candid cake shots.”

Her grip on the fork tightened, her eyes narrowing into slits. “And whose fault is that?” she snapped, the promise of vengeance practically vibrating off her.

"Now, now, kitty," Riku drawled, leaning across the table with the kind of casual menace that made her skin prickle. Before she could react, he reached out and gripped her cheeks, forcing eye contact. “Don’t go blaming us for deducting points when you’re the one misbehaving.”

Her cheeks puffed up involuntarily, her words muffled as she muttered, “I have it under control.” Not exactly the intimidating comeback she was aiming for.

Riku sighed dramatically, finally releasing her. Miyuu rubbed her face, trying to salvage what little dignity she had left—not that it was much to begin with.

Instead of retaliating, she jabbed her fork into the last bite of cake with laser focus. Cake first, murder plans later. Priorities.

As the drone zipped over to collect her empty plate, she shot it a withering glare, daring it to come any closer before she’d finished licking it clean. It wisely hovered, waited, and then retreated to the kitchen with her plate.

“We don’t think you do,” Jun said gently. “Which is why we’ve assigned you tasks to complete for XP.”

Her head snapped up so fast she nearly pulled a muscle. “Excuse me?” she said, her fork still clenched like a weapon.

“Don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Jun continued, ignoring her glare, “but there’s an app on your student device with all the XP opportunities. Since you’re clearly not taking the initiative to participate on your own, we’ve gone ahead and added some activities to your schedule.”

Miyuu’s thoughts spun like a malfunctioning drone.

Yeah, she’d seen the stupid app. She just didn’t care. Why bother? As soon as tests started, her XP would shoot up on its own. She might not pay attention in class, but she was still the daughter of a literal mad scientist.

Brainpower wasn’t the issue here; patience was. All she had to do was coast through until she hit 200 XP. That was the magic number—level two. At that point, she wouldn’t be a SEED anymore, and her parole would officially end.

Even if her dad wanted her to stay, he wouldn’t be able to force her. Gaia’s laws didn’t allow coercion beyond what was legally mandated. Once she reaches level two, she’d be out of her father’s reach. At that point, Gaia would see her as rehabilitated, case closed, restrictions lifted. No amount of lecturing or finger-wagging would keep her here.

She wasn’t about to waste her energy doing extra work just to please the student council. No, her plan was simple: stay under the radar just enough to avoid expulsion, cause a few strategic headaches for them along the way, and let the system do the rest. Tests would handle the XP. Easy.

Miyuu pulled her student device from her sling bag and scrolled to her calendar. As her eyes scanned the screen, her grip on the device tightened. She resisted the urge to crush it between her fingers.

The time she usually spent cocooned in her blankets, poking at SOLON’s systems and testing for exploitable weaknesses, was now stolen from her. Wasted. And as if living under the same roof as the student council wasn’t already unbearable, now she’d have to spend even more time with them. Joy.

The student council watched her with a kind of cautious anticipation, like she was a ticking time bomb they had to defuse.

Haruki broke the silence first. “Before you start plotting our untimely demise, let me clarify—this isn’t a punishment.”

Miyuu snorted. “Oh, of course, my mistake. It’s clearly a reward. I should be grateful that you’ve taken time out of your busy lives to make mine miserable. Truly, I’ve never felt so honoured.”

“Look, we’re not exactly thrilled about babysitting someone who’s so determined to self-sabotage, but believe it or not, we’re trying to help you.” Kaito said.

“Sure, because nothing screams ‘we care’ like using someone for free labour!”

“The truth is, you are on thin ice, and at 40 XP, it won’t take much to put you in serious trouble. We’re trying to make sure that doesn’t happen.” Shion said.

Miyuu opened her mouth to retort, but Haruki cut her off with a look that made her spine straighten. “You think we enjoy this?” he said. “If we wanted to get rid of you, we wouldn’t bother with all this effort. The fact that we’re even having this conversation should make that clear to you.”

Riku, who had somehow managed to slither in next to her without her noticing, casually snaked an arm over her shoulder. “Think of it this way: every task you complete is a step closer to freedom. You want out of this program, right? Well, this is how you get there.”

Miyuu shifted slightly to create some space between them.

She didn’t like how reasonable they were starting to sound. Or how the effort of arguing felt like trying to run through wet cement.

“Fine,” she mumbled.

Riku grinned, giving her shoulder a light squeeze before leaning back. “Good girl,” he teased.

Miyuu rolled her eyes. “Call me that again, and I’ll demonstrate the aerodynamic properties of a fork. Specifically, how well it can fly into your face.”

She leaned back as well, sinking into the cushions with a sigh. The day had wrung her out completely—physically, mentally, emotionally. She was spent.

“You know,” through a mouthful of cake, “I think she’s finally warming up to us.” Jun said, his voice garbled by the slice of cake he was inhaling. In that moment, Miyuu finally understood why there was such an absurd amount of cake—it wasn’t for celebrating; it was for Jun. The man turned downright feral around dessert.

“I’m warming up to the idea of pushing you all off a cliff.” Miyuu muttered, too drained to add any real heat to the threat.

“At least you’re warming up,” Jun said brightly, raising his fork like he was toasting her impending homicidal tendencies.

Kaito sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, his expression one of long-suffering patience. “Jun, stop encouraging her.”

“I, for one, think the death threats are kind of cute,” Riku chimed in, smirking over the rim of his teacup.

Between the soft glow of the lights, the hum of the drone, and the sound of Jun licking frosting off his fingers (disgusting), her eyelids began to droop.

She was annoyed—annoyed at them, at herself, at everything—but somehow, she felt... safe.

Safe was a dangerous feeling. Safe made her warm, and warm made her sleepy. And sleepy made her vulnerable, which she could never be. Except, apparently, she could, because the voices around her started to blur together, into a comfortable background lull.

Why did she feel like this? She didn’t trust these people—couldn’t trust them. The idea was absurd. Maybe Frowl had indeed managed to break her brain.

Somewhere in the haze, she felt her head tilt sideways, landing against something firm but not uncomfortable.

“Uh, Riku?” Shion said. “You might want to move.”

“It’s fine,” Riku said.

“You realize she’s drooling on you, right?” Jun added, a chuckle barely restrained.

Riku cringed, his face twisting with disgust. “Oh, come on—ew!”

Miyuu, blissfully unaware of her current indignity, let out a soft moan. Her angry pout had melted away.

“Kind of cute when she’s unconscious,” Jun whispered, earning a series of smirks and knowing glances from the others.

"Let her rest," Haruki said, standing to clear the remnants of their impromptu celebration. His gaze lingered on Miyuu for a moment before he turned toward the kitchen. It was hard to reconcile this crude, chaotic gremlin with the almost ordinary, peaceful girl currently passed out. “She’s had a rough day,” he added, handing a stack of plates to the drone.

“Still not an excuse for the drool,” Riku muttered darkly. Carefully, he shifted, sliding an arm beneath her limp form.

“Alright, kitty,” he murmured, “let’s get you to bed before you completely ruin my jacket.” With an effortless motion, he scooped her up, cradling her as if she weighed nothing. Miyuu stirred slightly, her head lolling against his chest, but she didn’t wake.