First Day at Seiryoku

The gates of Seiryoku Academy rose high enough to scrape the clouds, carved from pale stone laced with embedded runes. Golden lines of mana pulsed across the arch in circuit-like patterns, humming faintly as they scanned each entrant.

It wasn’t meant to be intimidating.
It was meant to say: Only the gifted belong here.

I tightened my grip on my notebook. The fabric of my new uniform was stiff against my shoulders, still creased from the shop bag. Everyone else stepped through the gate as if they owned it, their mana answering the wards in a shimmer of neon light. A little pulse here, a glow there—tiny flourishes that shouted: I have power.

When I walked through, the arch stayed dead silent.

A hush rippled across the students nearby.

“Hey, isn’t that—”
“Yeah. The Nullborn.”
“No way they let him in here.”

The words slithered into my ears and stayed there. It didn’t matter that I kept my eyes forward. It didn't matter that I told myself I’d gotten used to it. My chest still clenched.

I tried to walk like I belonged. Like the ground didn’t want to spit me back out.

The courtyard stretched wide, its cobblestone paths threaded with glowing mana-lines that pulsed faintly beneath our shoes like veins of light. Crystal-lamps arched overhead, flickering between warm glow and neon buzz as they synced to the city’s power grid.

Students clustered in groups, showing off fresh uniforms and fresh tricks. A boy spun three fireballs lazily between his hands, their light reflecting off the metallic trim of his sleeves, while his friends clapped. A girl sketched an illusion rune midair; it flared into a glittering koi fish that leapt through a hovering ring of projected water, holo-splashes scattering digital droplets.

Everywhere I looked—color, light, noise.
And then me—just…me.

Inside the classroom, it wasn’t any better.

Rune-tech desks hummed as students activated the semi-holographic grids carved into their tops, sigils flickering to life in a dozen colors. The walls buzzed faintly with mana conduits, ward-lamps glowing with a neon edge that painted the room in blue and purple hues.

I slid into my desk, opened my notebook, and flipped to a blank page. My rune didn’t so much as flicker.

“Maybe it’s shy,” someone muttered behind me. Laughter followed.

I ignored it and put pencil to paper. I sketched a chamber. A barrel. The geometry of a trigger. The lines came easy. This was something I understood better than all their sparks and circles.

A low hum vibrated up through the desk. The rune under my arm had been spelled to buzz like a swarm of bees. The vibrations rattled my elbow against the alloy surface.

I didn’t move.

The boy across the aisle smirked, waiting for me to react. The girl next to him covered her mouth to hide a giggle.

I kept drawing. A crystal slot here, vent lines there. Pencil against paper, steady.

The laughter faltered when I didn’t give them what they wanted.

“Enough.” The instructor’s tone snapped the air. His rune-slate glowed faintly in his hand, recording every mana surge in the room. “Save your tricks for duel club. Kuroganezu, pay attention for once.”

A ripple of more laughter at that. I closed my notebook slowly, ignoring the heat creeping up my neck. “Yes, sir.”

When class ended, I was the first one out the door. The whispers followed me anyway.

The cafeteria was worse.

Huge, vaulted ceilings etched with ward-lines pulsed faintly, like arteries feeding light into the room. Long rows of rune-lit tables buzzed with chatter and neon glow. I picked up a tray of curry and rice, the mana-heater under the serving line keeping it piping hot, then made for the farthest corner I could find.

The food wasn’t bad. But the silence pressing down around me made each bite taste like sand.

I was halfway through when the bench across from me rattled and a tray clattered down.

“Yo.”

I blinked. A boy with messy hair and crooked glasses grinned at me like we’d known each other forever. His uniform looked like it had already been modified—extra loops, a patch of solder burns on the sleeve, one cuff glowing faintly from a mana-tool still clipped there.

“You’re the Nullborn, right?” he asked—loudly enough that three tables turned.

I set my fork down. “…Yeah. That’s me.”

He leaned forward, eyes sparkling behind crooked lenses. “So what’s that like? Being the bug in the system?”

The question was blunt enough to knock me off balance. I opened my mouth, closed it again, then muttered, “…Loud.”

The boy exploded with laughter so hard he nearly dropped his chopsticks. “Oh man. That’s perfect. You’re hilarious.” He shoved his glasses up, then immediately let them slip back down his nose. “I’m Renji. Arakawa Renji. Future genius inventor, current supplier of questionable ideas.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Congratulations, I guess?”

Renji grinned wider. “So what’s in the notebook? You were scribbling in it all class. Don’t tell me it’s a diary.”

My stomach tightened. The notebook was still half-hidden under my tray. “It’s nothing.”

“C’mon. Lemme see.” Before I could stop him, he leaned over and caught a glimpse of the half-drawn barrel on the page. His jaw dropped.

“Is that…a gun?”

I braced for mockery. For someone to shout, see, the Nullborn wants toys instead of spells.

Instead, Renji slammed his palms on the table hard enough to rattle the rune-lines embedded in the surface. “That’s brilliant. You can’t cast spells, right? So build a spell-shooter instead! That’s insane—I love it. Oh, you’ve gotta let me help.”

“I never said—”

“Too late.” He jabbed his chopsticks at me like a wand. “We’re partners now. Science demands it.”

I stared at him. This was either the most reckless person I’d ever met, or the first one actually taking me seriously. Maybe both.

Before I could decide, a voice behind me said dryly, “Renji, you’re scaring him.”

A tall boy with neatly combed hair stood there, scarf looped around his neck despite the warm air. He carried a battered notebook tucked under one arm like it was a weapon. His eyes flicked to my sketches, then to me.

“I’m Kenji,” he said evenly. “Kenji Sato. If you’re really building that thing, you’ll need calculations. Otherwise you’ll blow your hand off before midterms.”

Renji waved him down. “Don’t be so negative! He’s got instinct. I’ve got genius. You’ve got…numbers. It’s perfect.”

Kenji sighed. “It’s suicide.” He adjusted his scarf. “Which is why you’ll definitely try it.”

I wasn’t sure whether he was mocking me or agreeing with me. Maybe both.

Before I could ask, another tray slid onto the table. A girl with soft brown hair and wide, careful eyes sat down without looking directly at me. She folded her hands in her lap, voice barely above a whisper.

“…Hana Mizuno.” She glanced at the notebook, then at me. “I…think your idea’s kind of amazing. To try, even without magic.”

Heat prickled at the tips of my ears. Nobody had ever called what I did amazing before.

Renji broke the silence with a clap. “See? That’s it! We’re a team. The Outcasts Club. Patent pending.”

Kenji groaned. Hana giggled quietly behind her hand.

And me?

For the first time since stepping through the academy gates, I didn’t feel completely alone.

The afternoon bell rang, dragging us back to class. The whispers hadn’t gone away. The glares hadn’t softened. I still walked through Seiryoku like a shadow in a city of light.

But when I glanced at the notebook under my arm, I didn’t just see lines on paper anymore.
I saw the beginning of something real.