A lunch tray struck the table, followed by the screech of metal legs scraping against the floor

Lunchtime arrived with the sharp ring of the bell, and the hallway leading straight to the cafeteria erupted into motion. Classroom doors slid open one after another, releasing a flood of students into the corridor. Laughter bounced off the walls, shoes squeaked against the polished floor, and the air quickly filled with overlapping voices.

        Groups formed and reformed on the move, friends chatting about morning classes, clubs, and rumors that had already spread faster than wildfire. Somewhere down the hall, a student shouted about today's menu, and the faint, mouthwatering scent of curry and fried food drifted in from the cafeteria, urging everyone forward.

        "You know what we should be doing right now?" Kakeru asked in a hushed voice, leaning closer as if the fate of the world depended on it, while the two of them made their way toward the cafeteria.

        "Hm…" Mikado responded absentmindedly, half-listening as his friend continued to ramble.

        "We should check out that exchange student."     

        Mikado's foot stopped and he turn to his side to face his friend with a tired look.

        "Shut up about the exchange student. I just want to get to the cafeteria and grab my lunch already."

        Coming to school early was really starting to take its toll on him—especially when it was Mikado we were talking about, the very subject of the rumor and someone who had never been known as a diligent student to begin with.

        The two of them came to a halt in the middle of the hallway, slipping into a low, irritated argument—exchange students versus the far more urgent priority of lunch. That was when two female students approached from the opposite direction.

        The moment they noticed Mikado and his companion, both girls sharply changed course, taking exaggerated steps to avoid them—as if stepping around filth left on the road.

        "Hey… aren't those two the failures?"

        "I can't believe they still have the nerve to show their faces at school every day. If it were me, I'd die of shame..."

        "The lowest of the low."

        "For real."

        The whispers refused to remain whispers. Each remark bled into the next, a barbed chain of criticism snapping at their backs as the girls passed, their laughter dripping with contempt, chilling the hallway despite the sunlight pouring in.

        Second Shibuya is a walled city located within Tokyo, an artificial metropolis built for a singular purpose: to hone and educate mages from all over Japan. From grade school to university, it serves as a complete academic pipeline for magical education.

        Founded alongside, and serving as the headquarters of, the Japan Magic Association, Second Shibuya stands as both the heart of the nation's magical authority and its most unforgiving proving ground. Its name was derived from one of Tokyo's former wards, chosen as a commemoration of the original Shibuya, which was destroyed during a catastrophic magical outbreak.

        Within Second Shibuya stands seven magic high schools, institutions established to identify, educate, and refine future mages during their formative teenage years.

        Mikado attended one of those seven, the Second High. As a student of Class F, branded as failure, the lowest rung in the rigid hierarchy of magic. To the Association, to the faculty, and to the students who accepted those judgments without question, Class F existed as proof of inadequacy.

        What none of them knew, what they were never meant to know, was that these so-called failures were not empty vessels or wasted potential. Each of them carried a story shaped not by weakness, but by decisions made far beyond their reach..

        "The world is really unfair," Kakeru muttered, his voice edged with a bitterness far removed from his usual carefree tone.

        "…" Mikado remained silent.

        "And this Class F—we…" By we, he meant himself and Mikado. "We're the perfect example that those in power will always prevail."

        Kakeru shrugged, then paused, before letting out a dry laugh. "Ain't I right?"

        Mikado didn't answer. He only sighed inwardly, the familiar weight settling in his chest as Kakeru's words echoed thoughts he tried his best to ignore.   

        "—Let's go already. The cafeteria'll be packed if we don't hurry," Mikado said, deliberately brushing past the topic.

        He turned and started down the hallway, his pace steady, almost too deliberate, leaving Kakeru a few steps behind.

        "Hey—wait up," Kakeru called out, breaking into a quick jog to close the distance.

        By the time the two of them reached the cafeteria, most of the tables were already occupied. Trays clattered, voices overlapped, and the room buzzed with lunchtime energy, but none of it was meant for them.

        As they walked past the rows of students, scorned looks followed in their wake. Some gazes were open and undisguised, others quick and fleeting, as if merely being seen with them might invite trouble. The message was clear enough: they weren't welcome at anyone's table.

        They continued on in silence, weaving through the crowded aisles, until, after what felt like far too long, a group of seniors finally stood up, gathering their trays and leaving behind an empty table.

        Only then did the two quietly take their seats, the vacant space feeling less like a blessing and more like a reminder of where they stood.

        However, the two did not eat in silence. In fact, their mood was no different from any ordinary day. No matter how much scorn rained down on them, they were already used to it.

        They had long since come to terms with the reality that there was no point in dwelling on it. Nothing would change, no matter how much they resented it, so they ate, talked, and carried on as they always did.

        Mikado wasted no time. The moment he sat down, he dug in, shoveling food into his mouth as if trying to fill an emptiness that had been gnawing at him since morning. Rice disappeared in quick mouthfuls, his chopsticks moving on pure instinct. Taste didn't matter, only volume.

        Across from him, Kakeru was the complete opposite. He ate slowly, almost leisurely, pausing between bites as if the cafeteria were a café and not a battlefield.

        "I'm telling you, it was rigged," Kakeru said, stabbing a piece of karaage with unnecessary force. "Thirty pulls. Thirty. Not a single SSR. The banner said ‘rate up’—rate up my ass."

        Mikado gave a noncommittal grunt, already halfway through his tray.

        "And the worst part?" Kakeru continued, clearly warming up. "I felt it this time. You know that feeling? Like the next pull's going to be it. Gold glow, dramatic pause—then boom. Another useless dupe. I don't even use the character."

        Mikado swallowed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and glanced at Kakeru’s tray.

        "Can I have your pickles?" he asked.

        Kakeru blinked. "Huh? Oh—yeah, sure." He slid them over, then immediately went back to ranting. "That's it, though. I'm done. Totally done. I'm uninstalling."

        Mikado nodded, already eating the pickles.

        "—after the next banner," Kakeru added quietly.

        Mikado was nearing the end of his lunch when his gaze drifted, unfocused at first, then stopped. His chopsticks froze midway to his mouth, suspended as if he'd forgotten what he was about to do.

        "Mikado, by the way, I bought a new game the other day—"

        "—Hey," Mikado cut in, interrupting without warning. "Didn't you say you wanted to see that exchange student?"

        "I did," Kakeru answered, blinking at the sudden shift.

        "Well," Mikado said quietly, nudging his chin, "look behind you."

        She had clearly just arrived—likely called aside moments earlier by cafeteria staff, briefed on the basics for a new student. And the moment she stepped inside, the cafeteria changed.

        It wasn't loud. There was no dramatic announcement, no sudden silence like in movies, but something shifted. Conversations lost their rhythm. Laughter trailed off half a second too early. Even the clatter of trays seemed to dull, as if the room itself had taken a careful breath.

        She was an exchange student from Europe, taller than most, her posture naturally straight, movements unhurried. Sunlight spilling through the high windows brushed against her pale hair, giving it a soft sheen, like it had been carefully painted rather than grown. Her features were delicate yet striking, the kind that didn't demand attention, but claimed it anyway.

        Her uniform sat slightly differently on her frame, subtly altered to fit her build. It marked her as an outsider at a glance, foreign, unfamiliar, and somehow distant. A few students whispered her name, still unsure of its pronunciation, passing it along like a secret they didn't want to get wrong.

        So that's her… Mikado thought

        She held her lunch tray with both hands, eyes quietly scanning the room, not anxious, not confident either, just observant. There was a faint hesitation in her step, the kind that made her seem real rather than untouchable.

        Then it happened.

        A chair slid back.

        "Um—over here, if you want."

        Another followed. Then another. Smiles appeared too quickly, a little stiff, a little eager. Space opened for her as if the cafeteria itself had decided she belonged somewhere in the center rather than the edges.

        She blinked, surprised, then smiled.

        It wasn't wide or dazzling, just gentle. But it landed like a spell.

        "Thank you," she said, her accent light, unmistakably European, wrapping the simple words in something warm and unfamiliar.

        Kakeru leaned closer, lowering his voice until it was barely more than breath.

        "……Mikado."

        "What."

        "That's her."

        "I know."

        "No, I mean—that's really her."

        Kakeru swallowed, then whispered again, faster this time.

        "Dude, she's way too pretty. Like, 'main-heroine-from-a-different-genre' pretty."

        "You're staring," Mikado muttered.

        "I'm observing," Kakeru corrected. "There's a difference."

        The girl laughed softly at something someone said. It wasn't loud, but it carried—light, almost melodic.

        Kakeru flinched like he'd been hit.

        "—Oh no."

        "What now?"

        "She even sounds unfair."

        Mikado finally glanced at him.

        Kakeru continued, barely containing himself. "You see how everyone just moved? Chairs, trays, personal space—bam. Instant VIP treatment. She didn't even ask."

        "She didn't need to," Mikado said flatly.

        "That accent though," Kakeru whispered, eyes wide. "Did you hear it? That's definitely European. Probably the kind that makes simple words sound expensive."

        "She said 'thank you,'" Mikado replied.

        "Yeah," Kakeru nodded seriously. "And somehow it felt like a blessing."

        Mikado exhaled through his nose.

        Kakeru leaned in one last time, voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur.

        "Calling it now—she's either incredibly nice… or she's about to become the center of every rumor, crush, and unnecessary drama in this school."

        He paused, then added quietly,

        "Man… imagine transferring in and the world just opens for you."

        "—Oh…" Kakeru's voice faltered. His eyes lifted, fixing on something past the empty seats across from them. "Is it just me, or is she… coming this way?"

        Mikado looked up as well. From the other side of the table, the exchange student was weaving through the gaps between seats, her steps unhurried but purposeful.

        "…No," he said quietly, a trace of confusion creasing his expression. "She's coming here."

        Before either of them could say more, she stopped directly in front of their table. She balanced her tray with both hands, posture polite, almost formal.

        "—Can I sit with you?”

        Her smile was gentle, disarming, and the words were simple, but they landed with surprising weight, squarely on Mikado.

        "S-sure. Why not—please, do." Kakeru blurted out, a little too fast, pushing his chair back as if to make space that was already there.

        A soft giggle slipped from the girl's lips, clearly amused by his frantic hospitality.

        Mikado said nothing. He simply watched her, noticed the way her eyes curved when she smiled, how her gaze lingered on him for half a second longer than necessary before drifting away.

        "Well then, thank you," the exchange student said, her smile gentle and unforced.

        She had barely begun to lower her tray when a voice cut in from behind, loud, smooth, and dripping with arrogance.

        "Isabella, you're new here, so you don't know this yet," the boy said. "But these two?"

        He stepped closer, a smirk tugging at his lips as he casually brushed his hair back, as though it had been sculpted by the heavens themselves.

        "They're the failures." He even stretched his arm out, finger jutting toward Mikado and Kakeru as if pointing at stains on a painting, ugly blemishes ruining what he clearly thought was his masterpiece.

        "You shouldn't associate with these two," the boy continued, a crooked grin splitting his face. “They're the lowest of the low."

        Laughter followed instantly. His pack echoed him in perfect harmony, hands stuffed into pockets, arms crossed in lazy confidence, one boy twirling a lock of hair around his finger as if this were all just casual entertainment.

        The exchange student, Isabella, blinked once. Then twice.

        "Excuse me," she said, tilting her head slightly, genuine confusion in her eyes. "But who are you again?"

        "—Urk!"

        The boy recoiled half a step, clearly unprepared for the sheer weight of the question, or the effortless way Isabella had delivered it. Dismissive.

        "—Hahaha!” Kakeru burst out, unable to hold it in. “Man, that's some fancy vocabulary coming from a level-two mage."

        The grin vanished.

        "What—what did you say?" the boy snapped. He glanced back at his friends, silently checking if they were on the same page. Reassured, he rolled up his sleeves. "You wanna go?"

        The air shifted.

        "I can beat you without using magic," the guy added.

        Then—

        Clatter.

        A lunch tray struck the table, followed by the screech of metal legs scraping against the floor.

        Mikado stood up.

        He turned, not to the boys, but to Isabella.

        "You're free to use the table," Mikado said calmly. "We're already finished with our lunch."

        He picked up his tray without looking at them, then glanced at Kakeru. That was all the prompting he needed.

        As they turned to leave, one of the boys stepped into Kakeru’s path for a brief second, shoulder brushing his, before moving aside with a smug click of the tongue.

        The group of boys exchanged smug looks, shoulders loosening, grins slowly creeping back—

        As the two walked away, it was as if they believed they had won a battle, never realizing the opponent had chosen not to fight.

…

        Tch! Amidst it all, a tongue clicked in disbelief.