The University of Tomorrow (Part 2)

Miyuu's eyes drifted over the President, taking in the perfectly coiffed light brown hair, and those sharp green eyes that looked like they were running her through a diagnostic program.

He was handsome—irritatingly so—especially next to her own bedraggled reflection in the glass walls. Torn, blood-stained clothes? Check. Damp pigtails plastered to her neck like soggy noodles? Double check. Dark circles under her eyes so pronounced they could apply for their own passport? Triple check. She looked like the personification of regret.

A flicker of insecurity twisted somewhere in her gut, but she shoved it down fast, locking it away where it wouldn’t show. She wasn't about to let some pretty boy rattle her.

“Welcome to Harmonia University,” he said. “I’m Genji Haruki, the student council president. It’s nice to meet you.”

Miyuu tilted her head and forced a brittle smile. “Fantastic.” she said, arms folding across her chest in a defensive snap. “Didn’t exactly ask to be here, though.”

“No one asks to be here under these circumstances, Tsukishima.” Haruki didn’t even bother looking up, his attention locked on the Zenith Industries tablet in his hands. She would’ve rolled her eyes if her face hadn’t already been doing so much heavy lifting in the sarcasm department.

“You’ve been placed under the supervision of the student council for your probationary period,” he continued. “During this time, you’ll be assessed on your ability to adapt to society.”

Miyuu rocked back on her heels, crossing her arms tighter across her chest. “Adapt to society? What is this? You going to teach me how to sip tea without slurping?”

That earned her a reaction—a subtle twitch of his lips. Not quite a smile, but close enough to make her blood pressure spike.

“Call it what you like,” he said, finally lifting his gaze to meet hers. “It doesn’t change the fact that you’re here. Play by the rules, and you’ll find it’s not so bad. Resist, and you’ll find that the University bites back.”

“Oh no,” Miyuu gasped. “Not the terrifying wrath of academia. What are you going to do? Take away recess?”

Haruki didn’t even blink. “We don’t need to go into the details right now,” he said, letting her sarcasm slide off him like water on a duck’s back.

“You’ve been assigned to the S.E.E.D. program. It stands for Second Chance Education and Development—a rehabilitation track for students who… show potential but have struggled. Students like you.”

Miyuu rolled her eyes. “Oh, goodie.”

“SEEDs are monitored closely—by us, the student council,” he continued. “We oversee everything: academic progress, behaviour, social integration. Basically, your life is ours to manage. Play nice, you earn privileges. Act out, and things get… unpleasant.”

“Yeah?” Miyuu snapped. “How about we start with you managing to get lost?”

Before she could blink, Haruki stepped forward, closing the distance between them in a predator-like motion. His fingers tipped her chin up, and the warmth of his touch made her skin prickle—definitely not in a good way. Her gaze was forced to meet his, and she found herself staring into the eyes of a serpent. Cold. Calculating. Confident.

“If your points reach zero,” he said, “you’ll be expelled.”

She yanked her chin away, stepping back like she’d been burned.

“Expelled” Miyuu repeated. “Big deal. I get kicked out, you wash your hands of me, everybody wins.”

“For a SEED,” Haruki said, “it means prison.”

Her stomach twisted, but she kept her face blank. No way was she letting him see her sweat.

“Nothing like a bit of looming incarceration to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside,” she said dryly.

Prison.

She knew exactly what it meant. They’d strip away her identity, mark her with a barcode, and integrate her into the prison's neural system. 

From there, the AI would do what it did best: monitor her every thought. It wouldn’t just watch for signs of instability, or anything deemed “dangerous”—it would archive her existence down to the tiniest electrical spike in her brain.

A single flash of anger? She’d be flagged. Too many flags? Execution. No trial. No appeal.

Survival wouldn’t be any kinder. She’d spend the rest of her days in isolation. Locked in a white padded cell. Her thoughts, her memories, her entire being would be scanned, filed, and buried in some digital graveyard that no one would ever visit.

The system wouldn't care who she is. It wouldn’t give her special treatment just because her bloodline happened to include its creators. No mercy. No leniency. No escape.

She gave a hollow laugh, though it felt like a stone lodged in her throat. “Am I supposed to be scared?”

“Whether it scares you or not is irrelevant, Tsukishima.” Haruki said. “The point is, failure isn’t an option. You either take this seriously, or you end up in prison. That’s the deal. Simple as that.”

Simple? Sure. Like swallowing glass was simple.

She hated how calm he was, how in control, like he’d already predicted every move she might make and had countermeasures ready to deploy. It made her want to kick him in the shin just to see if he’d flinch—or better yet, stumble. But for once, she knew better. This wasn’t a fight she could win with her fists.

“Fine,” she snapped, throwing her hands up in the universal gesture for whatever. “Behave, follow the rules, don’t cause trouble, or I get deleted. Loud and clear.”

Haruki nodded slowly, like he was confirming a transaction. “Good. Then we can proceed.”

Miyuu narrowed her eyes, tilting her head just enough to look unimpressed. “Should I applaud now, or do we save that for the post-lecture Q&A?”

“You’re free to applaud whenever you’d like,” he replied, deadpan.

She stared at him, debating whether to slow clap or flip him off.

Did he even know who he was talking to? Child prodigy. Genius hacker. If their roles were reversed, she’d at least show someone like her a little respect. Maybe even fear her a bit.

But no. Haruki just stood there, calm, composed, and completely unfazed.

And the worst part? She couldn’t stop herself from noticing how smooth his voice was, or how the dim lighting caught the sharp angles of his jaw. It wasn’t fair. Someone that irritating shouldn’t also be attractive.

It made her want to punch him and kiss him at the same time, which was a horrifying realization she planned to shove into the deepest, darkest corners of her mind, never to be addressed again.

Before Miyuu could say anything else, Haruki tapped his tablet again. “You’ll start by moving into the student council’s manor,” he said, while glancing at the screen. “It’s... unusual. Normally you’d stay in the dorms. But apparently, the Dean thinks this is the best course of action.”

Miyuu frowned, arms crossing tighter. “What, some old guy with a clipboard?”

Haruki’s gaze lifted, his expression an expertly crafted blend of annoyance and boredom. “The Dean is not a ‘guy.’ The Dean is an AI. SOLON. He’s not just the head of the university—he is the network. Every system here runs through him.”

Miyuu barely blinked. “Oh, an all-seeing AI overlord? How original.” She sighed. “Honestly, not impressed. I’ve already got one of those.”

At that moment, K.A.T.O. popped into view—a hologram projecting from the node embedded in her wrist.

The small fox-like AI shimmered to life, his oversized ears twitching playfully. His digital fur glimmered under the room’s low light. He flashed a grin, tail flicking as he announced, “Did someone say AI overlord? Present and reporting for duty!”

Miyuu smirked, giving K.A.T.O.’s glowing ears a quick, affectionate scratch. "See? I’ve already got my own."

K.A.T.O. leaned into the touch. "Why settle for some outdated campus system when you’ve got me? Portable, adorable, and smarter than whatever digital filing cabinet you’ve got running this place.”

Genji’s eyes lingered on K.A.T.O., assessing whether the AI was more threat or annoyance. “Your AI companion… interesting,” he said. He shifted his attention back to Miyuu. “But the Dean isn’t just a pet program. He oversees all academic and operational systems on campus.”

Miyuu shrugged, nonchalantly. She wasn’t about to correct him—K.A.T.O. was far more than a "pet program." Nearly on par with the government AI itself, he had been linked to her wrist node since birth, a gift from her father. Nothing says ‘I love you’ more than permanently planting experimental tech into your kid’s nervous system.

“Great. Now I’ve got two nosy AIs watching my every move. Living the dream,” Miyuu muttered, folding her arms and rolling her eyes for what felt like the thousandth time since meeting Haruki.

K.A.T.O.’s hologram spun gracefully in place, his tail curling, before his eyes fixed on Haruki. “Don’t worry, pretty boy,” he said with a toothy grin. “I’m sure your little dean is first-class. Probably excellent at making sure the cafeteria’s gluten-free brownies don’t mix with the regular ones. Riveting work.”

Miyuu tilted her head, adding a jab of her own. “Oh, I bet he gets off on Micromanaging everyone’s lives. Making sure no one double-parks their hoverboards or chews gum too loudly in the library. Truly, the stuff of legends.”

Haruki finally turned his full attention to her, his expression flat but somehow managing to convey are you done yet? 

“Micromanaging? Hardly. SOLON doesn’t care about the details. If the student council enforced a rule banning mismatched socks, he wouldn’t notice or care—as long as everyone is alive, and learning. Turning you into a well-behaved pup is our job, not SOLON’s.”

Miyuu blinked, her smirk faltering for half a second before she recovered. Haruki’s words sunk in. As long as no one died or set the campus on fire, the student council could pretty much play God.

K.A.T.O. let out a snort. “So, basically, SOLON’s just a lunch lady with a syllabus. Noted.”

Haruki’s gaze flicked to K.A.T.O., unimpressed. “If by ‘lunch lady,’ you mean the backbone of an interconnected academic ecosystem, sure.”

He took a step forward, just enough to tower over Miyuu without being outright threatening. “Here’s a free lesson, Tsukishima,” he said. “Play by the rules. Or don’t. Either way, I’ll be watching.”

“Trust me,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “I don’t care who’s watching. I’m not here to play nice.”

K.A.T.O. gave a playful hum, his ears twitching in delight. “And here I thought you two were going to be besties.”

“Your father has already arranged everything,” Haruki said, smoothly changing the subject. “Your belongings were transported while you were... otherwise occupied with the police.”

Miyuu’s fists clenched at her sides, the anger rising hot and fast. “That damn old man,” she muttered bitterly. He just couldn’t help himself, could he? He was always meddling with her life.

The thought of living under the same roof as Haruki —and the rest of the stupidly perfect student council—made her blood boil. She was going to be surrounded by people like him. People who thought they could fix her, shape her into whatever version of herself they deemed acceptable.

They probably scheduled breathing exercises between study sessions and protein shakes, debated Nietzsche over sparkling water, and spent their evenings polishing their halos. The idea of them trying “reform” her—like some lump of uncooperative clay—was enough to make her want to throw a wrench into their perfect, shiny lives.

But there was no way out. Not yet.

“You’re here now, Tsukishima. Make it count.” Haruki said.

“Oh, don’t worry.” She flashed a tight smile. “I’m going to make this very interesting for you.”

“I'll be looking forward to it,” he said, sounding more amused than concerned.

K.A.T.O.’s hologram bounced on his paws, clearly enjoying the tension. “Ooh, this is going to be fun. I can already tell.”

Miyuu gave K.A.T.O. a light flick on the nose, smirking despite herself.

What a spectacularly stupid mess she’d landed herself in this time.

Still, she’d been in worse, right? Probably. Maybe. Actually, no. This one was definitely top-tier.