Not the Hero Harmonia Deserves, But the One It’s Stuck With

Miyuu woke up to the sound of her alarm blaring like it was personally offended she hadn’t already leapt out of bed to save the world. Again. She groaned, rolling over, only to accidentally knock K.A.T.O. in his stuffed animal form off the nightstand.

“Hey! Watch it!” K.A.T.O. yelped, his voice muffled by the floor.

“Sorry.” Miyuu muttered, sitting up to smack the alarm clock into silence. She squinted toward the doorway where Haruki stood, arms crossed, in full you-better-not-go-back-to-sleep mode.

“I’m awake, I’m awake.” She grumbled.

“Uh-huh.” Haruki said, his eyebrow lifting in that are-you-sure-about-that way before he disappeared down the hall.

After dragging herself into her uniform, she gave herself a quick once-over in the mirror. Black blazer, neatly pressed. New skirt that didn’t have a single frayed thread (yet). She twirled half-heartedly, watching the fabric swish, and sighed. She kind of missed her old uniform.

When she reached the kitchen, five student council members were seated around the table, engaging in aggressively polite small talk over breakfast.

Miyuu strolled in with a big smile. “Good morning!” she chirped, sliding into a seat and immediately grabbing a bowl.

She poured herself a generous helping of chocolate banana cereal—an actual luxury item. “This is really good!” she squeaked through a mouthful, earning a couple of amused glances. Kaito looked like he might start lecturing her about table manners, but then he thought better of it. Probably because she was eating like she hadn’t seen food in a week.

Outside the manor, Yuzuki and Natsuki were waiting for her. The sight of the two of them standing side by side was still bizarre, like seeing a cat and dog politely sharing a chew toy.

A terrorist attack was apparently the ultimate friendship forge. Not that it stopped them from bickering every chance they got.

“You’re late.” Yuzuki huffed, arms crossed.

Miyuu shrugged. “You’re early.”

“Don’t tell me you overslept again?” Natsuki said, biting back a grin.

And just like that, the three of them started walking to class, the teasing and complaints flowing as naturally as if they’d been friends for years.

By the time Miyuu reached her usual desk at the back of the classroom, the familiar buzz of chatter filled the room. People whispered—of course, they did. That will never change.

She wasn’t just Miyuu Tsukishima anymore. She was that girl. The one who, depending on who you asked, either saved the city or almost destroyed it. Mixed reviews on that one.

She adjusted her blazer, still stiff with that new-uniform smell. Her gaze flicked to the windows, where sunlight filtered through, casting patterns on the desks. Harmonia was still standing. Somehow, she was still standing too.

Miyuu’s thoughts drifted back to the infirmary. Florabelle, had practically exploded the moment she saw Miyuu wheeled in again. She threw her wings up, muttering something about “repeat offenders” and “why do I even bother?”

After she’d passed out post-bomb detonation, they’d rushed her to the infirmary—again. The poking, prodding, and endless scans by Florabelle had been as familiar as they were irritating. Florabelle had sighed and muttered as she worked, something about “overexertion” and “humans never knowing their limits.”

But what really threw her off was her father.

He’d been there, pale and shaking, the very picture of someone who wasn’t supposed to look fragile but suddenly did. She wasn’t prepared for the way he’d broken down when he saw her, the tears streaking down his face—this man who rarely showed emotion unless it was frustration or sarcasm.

And then there was her. Crying into his shoulder like she was five years old again. The reality of the moment hit her harder than any explosion ever could.

“You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to.” He’d said, his voice cracking in a way that almost broke her. “You’ve done enough, Miyuu. More than enough.”

The idea of leaving had been tempting for a split second. But the thought of walking away from Harmonia, of leaving everything behind—the people, the chaos, the friends she hadn’t even realized she had—it didn’t sit right.

“I’m staying,” she’d said, her voice steadier than she thought it would be. Her resolve had surprised even her.

Her father had nodded, pulling her into another tight hug. He didn’t argue. He didn’t have to.

That had been the end of that. No debates, no second-guessing. Just a quiet understanding between them that she wasn’t going anywhere.

Returning to school should have felt normal. It didn’t. Nothing about the last few weeks had been normal, so why start now?

For starters, SOLON, in all its all-knowing AI wisdom, had decided to shower her with a frankly ridiculous amount of Lumina XP. “For your outstanding contributions to the safety of Harmonia City.” The notification had chirped, complete with a sparkling owl animation and a digital plaque that popped up on her student device.

Miyuu stared at it, deadpan. “I’m officially overpowered.”

The XP total was so over the top it might as well have been a practical joke. It wasn’t. SOLON didn’t joke. At least, not on purpose. The number was so absurdly high that even with her legendary knack for deductions—like hacking into the cafeteria system to swap the lunch menu, rigging the cleaning bots to follow Shion around, or, okay, technically blowing up a few surveillance bots (accidentally, on purpose)—she couldn’t see herself burning through it all. Not in this lifetime, anyway.

But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try. If anyone could find creative ways to chip away at an impossibly high total, it was her. It was a challenge now. Could she annoy SOLON enough to regret promoting her? Only time would tell.

Natsuki plopped into the seat next to her, dragging Miyuu out of her thoughts. She was grinning like they hadn’t just survived a near-apocalypse.

“Ready for another day of academic torture?” Natsuki asked, far too cheerful for Miyuu’s current energy level.

“Not even a little.” Miyuu replied.

“Hey, at least we're not SEEDs anymore.” Natsuki teased, poking her lightly in the ribs.

Miyuu snorted.

Her daily life hadn’t changed much since her official promotion out of SEED status. The student council hadn’t adjusted her schedule or started treating her any differently. They still expected her to show up for class, participate in community service, and not hack the vending machines for free snacks (okay, that one wasn’t officially on the list, but she knew they were watching).

The only noticeable change was her new uniform. And, of course, the fact that breaking the rules now wouldn’t land her in one of Gaia’s infamous correctional facilities. She briefly wondered if Gaia’s prisons would even be able to hold her with her newfound power. Probably not, but she didn’t exactly feel like finding out.

After class, Miyuu found herself in the student council office—a place she frequented far too often for someone who technically wasn’t an official member. After everything that had happened, the council was drowning in paperwork and press interviews. Naturally, Miyuu felt it was her duty to make their lives even harder by annoying them every chance she got.

Haruki looked up from his desk. “Next time you decide to dismantle a terrorist plot, could you give us a heads-up first?”

“No promises.” Miyuu said with a grin, plopping herself into the nearest empty chair and kicking her legs up onto the table.

“At least you’re consistent.” Kaito chimed in, barely glancing up from the report he was drafting for the police.

Miyuu’s thoughts drifted briefly to Dr. Chiba. After his grand plan had spectacularly imploded, he’d been dragged into a VR holding cell with Frowl until the authorities came to collect him. Honestly, if there was a fate worse than prison, it was being stuck in VR with Frowl. The AI had a unique gift for psychological torment, which it wielded with cheerful malice.

“Poetic justice,” Miyuu had muttered when Frowl sent her a highlight reel of Dr. Chiba flailing around in virtual despair. She may or may not have saved it for later viewing.

Unity First hadn’t fared much better. With their main funding severed and their operatives scattered, the organization had disbanded almost overnight. Harmonia City was still dealing with the fallout, but the immediate threat had been neutralized. For now.

Her reverie was interrupted by a spritz of cold water to the face. She sputtered, glaring at Riku, who stood armed with a spray bottle usually reserved for watering the plants.

“Feet off the table, kitty,” Riku scolded.

“Seriously?” Miyuu swiped at her damp face. “I’m not a cat.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Riku shot back.

Miyuu grudgingly dropped her feet to the floor.

Across the room, Shion lounged in his usual corner, flipping through a book that looked older than the school itself. He didn’t even glance up when Miyuu walked in—typical.

And then there was Jun, bless him. He’d spent the last several days buried under a mountain of spreadsheets and pie charts, diligently calculating the repair costs for all the damage caused by the virus infested bots, and apparently his own rampage. His workspace was covered in spreadsheets and pie charts, each more depressing than the last.

Despite the chaos, it felt... normal.

“Anyway,” Haruki said, leaning back in his chair with an air of exaggerated exasperation. “Good job not dying. But if you pull a stunt like that again, I’m charging you for my therapy bills.”

“Fair,” Miyuu said with a smirk, grabbing a stray donut from Jun’s untouched plate. As far as she was concerned, this was thier version of normal. And she wouldn’t trade it for anything.

By the end of the day, Miyuu found herself on the rooftop of the manor, the city skyline stretching out before her. The wind tugged at her hair, carrying the faint sounds of students laughing and chatting below. Harmonia City wasn’t perfect—it was messy and chaotic. But it was home.

K.A.T.O.’s voice broke the silence. His hologram floating next to her shoulder. “Reflecting on your heroics, are we?”

“More like trying to figure out how I’m going to survive the next history quiz.” Miyuu muttered, crossing her arms against the breeze.

He chuckled. “If saving an entire city doesn’t get you a pass on exams, then academia is officially hopeless.”

“Guess I’ll just have to keep trying.” She replied, smirking as her gaze stayed locked on the horizon.

The wind picked up, rustling the leaves in the nearby garden. Her student device pinged, the soft chime cutting through the quiet. She unlocked it without much thought, expecting another pointless notification from SOLON. Instead, a holographic crown floated above the screen.

You have been invited to join The Crown.

Miyuu snorted, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. She didn’t know what her answer would be yet, but one thing was certain—this was going to be fun. And if it wasn’t, well, she’d make it fun. Chaos had a way of following her, after all.