Chapter 1: A Monday Too Familiar with Silence

Monday arrived, wrapped in a silence that felt far too familiar.

Kiryu was dreaming.

The snow of Antarctica stretched as far as the eye could see—white, lifeless. The wind pierced through bone and flesh, carrying with it the faint sound of cracking ice, creaking softly, as if something beneath it was breathing.

He stood alone.

Before him, a massive sheet of ice began to裂 from within. A pale light glowed through its fractures, and then something moved. Slowly. Heavily.

The dragon.

Its towering body was formed of bone, steel, and ancient ice. Its wings spread wide, blotting out the sky. From the hollow of its skull, a cold light stared at Kiryu—not with rage, but as if it were trying to convey something.

Its voice reached him.

Not as words.

More like a resonance that struck his consciousness directly.

Kiryu did not understand.

He stepped back. The ice beneath his feet collapsed.

He fell.

—

The alarm clock blared.

Kiryu jolted awake. His breathing was heavy, cold sweat clinging to his back. The tactical watch on his wrist displayed 05:30.

He sat at the edge of the bed for a moment, staring blankly at the silent apartment wall.

That dream again.

Never exactly the same—but always ending the same way.

He stood, prepared himself, and left the apartment on time. No breakfast. No radio. Only a routine that had long since fused itself into his body.

At 06:00, Kiryu arrived at the bus stop.

The armored bus arrived without a sound, its doors opening automatically. He boarded and sat alone inside the sterile cabin.

The vehicle glided smoothly along its magnetic lane. Tokyo’s lights reflected faintly against the darkened windows, like a world moving on without caring who sat inside it.

Kiryu remained still, his back straight, his eyes heavy.

The tactical watch on his wrist lit up.

A pale blue hologram formed.

“Welcome to Horizon Gakuen.”

A female voice spoke—clear and neutral. Not warm. Not cold. A voice designed to be trusted.

“Horizon Gakuen is an Elite Combat Academy,” it continued.
“Established to ensure humanity’s survival in the post–Ground Wave era.”

A three-dimensional model of the academy complex rotated slowly—a colossal vertical structure rising from the Tokyo Bay area.

“In the modern world,” the AI said,
“threats can no longer be predicted by conventional patterns. Monsters evolve. Technology turns against its creators. The battlefield no longer has a fixed frontline.”

Statistical graphics appeared—casualty curves, survival rates, operational efficiency.

“For this reason, Horizon Gakuen does not aim to create heroes,” the voice stated flatly.
“This academy exists to produce soldiers capable of surviving, adapting, and executing orders without hesitation.”

Kiryu stared at the numbers without expression.

“Each student is a strategic asset,” the female voice continued.
“Sacrifices during the training process have been calculated as acceptable operational risk.”

Risk.

The word echoed inside Kiryu’s mind.

“The primary motivation of Horizon Gakuen is simple,” the AI concluded.
“If war cannot be stopped, then humanity must learn to endure it longer.”

The bus began to slow.

“Kiryu Masuda,” the voice called his name.
“Your status: Field Instructor. Your role is to transfer real combat experience to elite students.”

The hologram remained active, as if waiting for a response.

Kiryu opened his mouth.

He yawned.

Long. Completely unapologetic.

The hologram flickered for a fraction of a second.

The bus stopped.

“Orientation complete,” the AI said. “Welcome—”

“That’s rude.”

The voice came from outside.

The bus door opened.

A woman stood there. Her red hair was tied neatly, blazing vividly. Her golden-yellow eyes stared at Kiryu sharply, filled with judgment. In her hand was a katana with a simple black scabbard.

“This is Horizon Gakuen,” she said coldly.
“This isn’t a place for sleeping.”

Kiryu stood up slowly.

Only then did he notice it.

There was something about that katana.

Not technology.
Not an artificial energy mechanism.

Magic.

Thin, controlled—yet undeniably real.

Kiryu glanced at the weapon briefly, then shifted his gaze to its owner.

“…In that case,” he said flatly,
“I hope this place can wake everyone up.”

The woman frowned.

“Wait. What do you mean by that?” she snapped.
“Do you even know who you’re talking to?”

Kiryu didn’t answer.

He glanced at his watch. 06:58.

“…Damn,” he muttered. “I need to go.”

He stepped past her.

“H-Hey! At least apologize first—!”

Kiryu was already walking away.

He arrived at the principal’s office right on time. The principal greeted him with a tired smile.

“Welcome, Kiryu-kun.”

Kiryu simply stood there in silence.

“Cold as ever,” the principal murmured, then turned around.
“Come on. I’ll take you to your class.”

They walked down the corridor until they stopped in front of a classroom door.

“This is the class you’ll be teaching,” he said. “Class 9F.”

Kiryu gave a small nod.

“Yeah. I know.”

The principal turned, surprised.

“How did—”

“—I know which class I’m teaching,” Kiryu cut in flatly. “9F, right?”

The door opened.

Inside the classroom were only two female students.

One of them immediately stood up.

“Wait,” she said sharply. “Isn’t he the rude guy from earlier?”

Kiryu remained silent.

“Calm down, Akane Fujimoto,” the principal said.
“The man in front of you is your new teacher.”

“What?” Akane stared at Kiryu in disbelief. “Him… a teacher?”

The principal cleared his throat and turned to the other student.

“And this is Milena Weiss. From a family of international diplomats.”

The silver-haired girl didn’t react. Her headphones were still on. Her gaze empty.

“I apologize,” the principal said quietly. “This class is… difficult to manage.”

“That’s fine,” Kiryu replied flatly.
“Let them enjoy their youth.”

Akane caught the sarcasm—but held her tongue.

Kiryu stepped to the front of the classroom.

“Alright,” he said quietly.
“Class begins. Show me what you can do.”

No response.

Only the sound of cicadas drifting in from outside the window.

Kiryu exhaled softly.

He turned and walked out of the classroom.

“M-Mr. Kiryu?” The principal hurried after him. “Where are you going?”

Kiryu leaned in and whispered briefly.

The principal’s expression changed.

“…Are you sure you want to do that?” he asked quietly.

Kiryu smiled faintly.

“It’s time they know,” he said.
“This isn’t an ordinary school.”

And behind the stillness of Horizon Gakuen, something began to move.