SEEDs Among Seeds

Miyuu double-checked the map on her student device for what felt like the hundredth time. She was certain this was the right park. Frustrated, she scanned her device against the silver terminal once again, only to be greeted by the same cold, robotic voice. "Insufficient XP. Access denied."

Her fingers twitched, itching to rip the terminal out of the ground and hurl it into the stratosphere.

Instead, she glared at the floating greenhouse overhead—the literal high-and-mighty community garden where she was supposed to earn XP. But apparently, even dirt and weeds were too exclusive for a SEED like her.

Her jaw clenched so tight she half-expected her molars to shatter. At the rate this place was stressing her out, she’d need dentures before the semester was over. She forced herself to take a breath. In. Out. Calm.

Technically, she could hack the terminal without triggering SOLON’s alarms. It wouldn’t even take much effort. But pulling off something that flashy with student council members inside? Yeah, probably not her smartest move. Not that she was scared—definitely not—it was strategic caution. Totally different.

Should've known the great Tsukishima Miyuu would end up barred at the gates of paradise. K.A.T.O. snickered in her head.

Just as Miyuu was about to turn on her heel and storm off, a glass orb descended from the greenhouse. It hovered a few inches off the ground before settling with a thud. The door slid open, and there stood Riku.

“You’re late, kitty,” he said, shaking his head in disapproval.

Miyuu opened her mouth to snap back, but her retort faltered as her brain short-circuited for half a second. He wasn’t wearing the full student council uniform—no blazer, no tie—just the white shirt with the top button undone and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Somehow, the lack of formality made him look more… approachable.

Her eyes flicked to the faint definition of his forearms, and she immediately scowled, embarrassed at herself for noticing. Riku Takamoro did not deserve to be this genetically blessed.

“So, you just let me stand out here, looking like an idiot?” She snapped, crossing her arms.

“Technically, I should make you stand out here for the rest of the day, but I’m feeling generous today.” He smirked.

“Oh, thank you, my lord and saviour. You are but a benevolent god,” She clasped her hands together in a dramatic prayer.

Riku raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed but not rising to the bait. Without a word, he pulled out his student device and scanned it against the door panel. The floor beneath them vibrated as the orb carried them into the sky.

When the door slid open once more, she was greeted with the earthy scent of damp soil.

Sunlight streamed through the dome, scattering geometric patterns across rows of herbs, vegetables, fruit trees, and flowering plants. It wasn’t a “garden” so much as an airborne farm—bigger than she’d expected.

The dome’s made of polymerized solar glass. Shields against harmful UV radiation while maximizing light absorption. Oh, and the anti-gravity stabilizers keep it at the precise height for optimal photosynthesis. K.A.T.O explained through their neural link.

Thanks, Science Weekly. She shot back, but her focus quickly shifted to the people.

Volunteers—both SEEDs and regular students—were scattered across the plots, tending to the plants. Their heads turned as she stepped in, and an awkward silence fell over the greenhouse. Whispers followed, hushed but not hushed enough.

Miyuu froze. The universal “new kid walking into the cafeteria” energy hit her like a slap. She caught fragments of the usual murmurs.

“It’s the student council’s new pet.”

“She makes me sick.”

“She should be embarrassed of herself.”

When suddenly, she heard this aggravating, grating voice.

“Why is she here?” it sneered loudly.

Miyuu groaned out loud, resisting the urge to bang her head against the nearest planter. She didn’t even need to check to confirm the source—Yuzuki Chiba.

Yuzuki’s comment hit like a match to dry tinder. The whispers exploded into full-blown chatter. Nobody even bothered to keep their voices down anymore.

Without thinking, Miyuu spun on her heel, fully prepared to retreat and pretend this never happened. Unfortunately, her exit strategy slammed—quite literally—into Riku’s chest.

He was unfazed by the impact, but she stumbled back, glaring up at him as if this was his fault. Which, to be fair, it kind of was.

He calmly looked down at her.

She offered him a nervous smile, silently pleading for him to just let her retreat with her dignity intact.

No such luck.

He placed his hands firmly on her shoulders, turned her back around, and locked her in place.

“Kitty,” he said, his voice low enough for only her to hear, “you can’t run every time someone hurts your feelings.”

“My feelings are fine.” She snapped. “It’s her safety you should be worried about.”

Riku didn’t reply. He simply stepped forward, his voice slicing through the greenhouse like a whip.

“Enough!”

One word.

That was all it took. The greenhouse went completely silent.

“Everyone, back to work!” He ordered.

The volunteers scrambled back to their stations. Even Yuzuki, rolled her eyes but bent over to poke at the soil.

Satisfied, Riku turned back to Miyuu. “Take the workstation by the eastern planter,” he said, pointing.

Her eyes followed the direction of his finger. As soon as she spotted Jun, he waved at her, flapping his arms with such enthusiasm she was half surprised he didn’t lift off. His toothy grin shone even brighter against the streak of dirt smeared across his cheek.

“Jun will show you what to do.”

Miyuu sighed in defeat and dragged her feet across the greenhouse.

When she reached the workstation, she found Natsuki standing nervously under a wide-brimmed sunhat. The hat cast a soft shadow over her face, but didn’t hide her timid smile. She held out a pair of banana-yellow gardening gloves.

“Um, here,” She said softly as she extended the gloves toward Miyuu.

Miyuu sighed again —longer this time— and accepted the gloves with a nod. She tugged the gloves on, flexing her fingers.

Crouching over the planting bed, she watched as Jun knelt beside her, demonstrating with practiced ease.

“You scoop the soil gently,” he said, digging a neat hole in the soil. “Then, you take the seedling, hold it by the base, and lower it in carefully. Make sure the roots have plenty of space to spread out.”

Miyuu huffed, mimicking his movements. Her hole was decidedly less neat, but she shoved the seedling in anyways.

Jun’s eye twitched. “You’re suffocating the roots,” he said, reaching over to adjust her work. “It’s like tucking a baby into bed. Gentle, Tsukishima. Gentle.”

“I’m not exactly the dirt whisperer, Kazehaya,” she muttered. “Why are we even doing this? Isn’t this their job?” She jabbed a thumb at a clumsy creature waddling nearby.

It was a Pollen Keeper. The biomec bumbled along, its stubby legs barely keeping it upright as it tended to the plants. It had soft, bear-like fur, one oversized eye and a single flower sprouting from its back.

Jun straightened up. “The garden supplies ingredients for the school kitchens,” he explained. “Fresh produce, organic, and it cuts down on costs. Plus, if the zombie apocalypse happens, you’ll be glad you know how to plant apple trees.”

Miyuu snorted, leaning back on her heels. “Pretty sure this violates some kind of labour law.”

“The outside world’s rules don’t apply here. I can violate as many laws as I want.” Jun replied, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm.

Miyuu squinted at him, an unwelcome image formed in her mind: Jun, hunched over a desk, cackling as he counted pennies, yen signs spinning maniacally in his eyes. She shivered involuntarily. “Slave driver,” she muttered.

Jun, predictably, ignored her. “Natsuki, can you go grab some more seedlings?” he called over his shoulder.

Natsuki, who had been quietly arranging tools nearby, nodded so fast she looked like she might sprain something. “Of course,” she squeaked, scampering off toward the storage area like her life depended on it. Knowing the student council, it probably did.

Jun crouched back down, digging his fingers back into the soil. “You know,” he began, “Seeds are a lot like SEEDs. With the right care and environment, even the smallest seed can grow into something amazing. But if you don’t nurture it properly, it won’t grow at all.”

Jun’s so-called wisdom made a vein pulse on Miyuu’s forehead. Annoying. So annoying. She held back the urge to point out that they were already surrounded by fertilizer, and she didn’t need his philosophical crap added to the mix.

“Why are you so good at this, anyway?” she asked, mostly to derail wherever he was going with that and not because she cared about the answer.

Jun didn’t look up from patting down the soil around his seedlings. “I grew up poor,” he said matter-of-factly.

“You learn a lot of survival skills when money isn’t a guarantee—how to stretch every yen, fix things instead of replacing them, grow your own food.” He glanced at her with a small smile. “I don’t want other people to go through the same thing if I can help it.”

Suddenly, a lot of things clicked into place—like why Jun was such an insufferable miser and so obnoxiously frugal with her allowance. He wasn’t being a control freak for the sake of it. He was trying to teach her how to survive without money. Ugh. Gross.

But her mind snagged on the idea of being “poor” in a world with Gaia. It didn’t compute. How could someone grow up poor when Gaia’s entire existence revolved around ensuring no one did?

The only explanation Miyuu could come up with was a gaping oversight: Jun didn’t have present parents. A child with no one to advocate for them, to report their suffering, could probably slip under Gaia’s radar for a while.

The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth. People depended too much on Gaia, blindly trusting that the system would catch every fall, fix every problem. It was easier to turn away and shrug off responsibility because ‘Gaia’s got it covered’.

She didn’t like thinking about cracks in the system because cracks meant unpredictability. And unpredictability made her uneasy.

She glanced back at Jun. He was a walking contradiction. Someone who had both survived the system’s failure and benefited from its grooming.

Before she could figure out how to respond to that without accidentally saying something nice, a Pollen Keeper tripped over nothing and executed what could only be described as a flawless somersault into a patch of marigolds. It flailed dramatically for a moment, then shook itself off as if to say, I meant to do that.

“Adorable,” Miyuu deadpanned.

Jun chuckled.

But the distraction didn’t last long. Something felt... off. Natsuki had been gone too long. Far too long for just grabbing a few seedlings.

She frowned, pushing herself up. “I’m going to check on Suzuki,” she announced, not waiting for Jun’s predictable “stay out of trouble” reply before heading toward the storage area.

Her eyes swept the greenhouse as she walked, scanning for mint-green hair or signs of awkward fumbling. Instead, she spotted a scene that made her irritation spike. Yuzuki Chiba was doing what she apparently considered her life’s work: being an absolute menace.

Yuzuki had Natsuki cornered near the storage doorway, her hands planted on her hips. She was blocking Natsuki’s way entirely. Meanwhile, Natsuki looked seconds away from either bursting into tears or disintegrating into dust.

“Oh, hell no,” Miyuu muttered under her breath.

Her eyes darted to where Riku was standing, being completely useless. He was leaning casually against a planter, surrounded by a group of girls who looked like they’d combust if he so much as breathed in their direction. Miyuu felt her eye twitch.

She clenched her fists, the mental image of decking Yuzuki in the face popped into her head. It was vivid, satisfying, and unfortunately not an option. Apparently, physical assault privileges only unlocked at level 100.

There were other ways to deal with people like Yuzuki. Creative ways.

She tapped into her neural link. K.A.T.O.?

Yes, princess? He replied.

Sprinkler systems are low priority, correct? She asked.

Correct. Why? What’s rattling in that delightfully devious brain of yours?

That Yuzuki could use a little... cooling off.

There was a brief pause. On it, K.A.T.O. replied.

She gave K.A.T.O a few seconds to work his magic. Then, she took a few steps forward, just enough to make sure her voice would carry.

“Chiba, you’re looking a little parched!” she called.

Yuzuki whipped around, her irritation visible even from a distance.

“Excuse me?” She snapped.

Suddenly, the sprinkler nearest Yuzuki sputtered to life. Normally, those things were calibrated to water plants with a gentle mist. But K.A.T.O., clearly cranked up the pressure. A jet of icy water blasted out, hitting Yuzuki square in the chest with the force of a fire hose.

Yuzuki shrieked as the torrent soaked her from head to toe. Her uniform clung to her like shrink wrap, and her fiery red hair was now a sad, soggy curtain plastered to her face. She stood there, dripping and stunned, looking like a drowned cat who had just lost a very one-sided argument with a bathtub.

Miyuu bit the inside of her cheek so hard it hurt, trying to keep a straight face. But the corners of her mouth still twitched.

Anything else, or shall we call it a day? K.A.T.O. asked.

That’ll do, she replied.

Right on cue, Riku strolled over, one eyebrow arched in an 'I know exactly who's to blame way'. 

“What happened here?” he asked casually. The words were technically addressed to the group, but the pointed look he shot Miyuu screamed lecture of doom pending.

Miyuu shrugged. “Faulty sprinkler system, I guess.”