The Student Council Manor

There was a certain confidence in the way Haruki carried himself— head held high, shoulders relaxed, steps light but deliberate, as if the very ground beneath him existed solely to support his ego. Of course, even the way he walked was irritating. The tension between him and Miyuu sparked in the air like static.

She wasn’t going to admit it, but under different circumstances, she might’ve called him attractive. Right now, though, all she saw was the smug jerk who is literally carrying her like a misbehaving kitten, lifting her by the back of her coat.

Miyuu twisted in his grasp, teeth gritted. “You ever heard of personal space, you oversized hall monitor?”

“This building,” Haruki said, skilfully ignoring her as he gestured up at the towering Student Council Manor’s entrance, “was originally a guesthouse for the university’s sponsors. Now, it’s where the Student Council lives.”

“Fascinating,” Miyuu deadpanned, rolling her eyes. “And here I was hoping for something humble.”

Haruki glanced down at her, his eyes glinting under the streetlights. “It’s fitting for students of our calibre.”

Miyuu stifled a flare of annoyance, folding her arms tight. “Maybe you are just easily impressed,” she muttered.

“Maybe,” Haruki replied, adjusting his grip like he wasn’t carrying a whole human being. “But I’d say I’ve seen worse.”

With ease, he set Miyuu back on her feet. She immediately swatted at her coat, brushing herself off like she could erase the indignity of being carried. “I’m adding ‘personal porter’ to your résumé,” she muttered, still bristling.

Unbothered, Haruki raised his wrist, scanning his node against the panel beside the door. The lock clicked open, the doors sliding apart to reveal the manor’s interior.

Miyuu stepped inside and immediately hated everything. Polished marble floors gleamed under the soft glow of recessed lighting. Digital frames lined the walls, looping an endless reel of the council’s many accolades: trophy ceremonies, academic achievements, smiling PR-ready faces. It was less a building and more an ego monument.

As they walked, Haruki launched into what was apparently his favourite pastime: talking. He explained the council’s roles, student rankings, and why every member was a precious gift to humanity. Miyuu nodded absently when required, sprinkling in the occasional sarcastic “wow” to make him think she was paying attention.

She wasn’t.

Most of her focus was elsewhere, her attention split between mentally mapping the layout and K.A.T.O.’s input in her ear. Hallways, exits, anything that could double as a hiding spot or an escape route. The building was a maze, but every maze had a way out.

They stopped by an elevator. Haruki pressed the button, and they stepped inside. “Everyone’s asleep now,” he said, “So, you’ll meet the other council members tomorrow.” He paused just long enough to let her imagine how insufferable they’d be. Then came the smirk. “Though I doubt you’ll get along with them.”

The elevator climbed steadily.

Miyuu huffed. “Yeah? Well, maybe they’ll surprise you. I can be charming when I want to.”

Haruki turned slightly, his gaze settling on her face like he was trying to decode her. The intensity of it sent a prickling sensation skittering across her skin. What the hell was he looking at?

The longer he stared, the more irritated she became. Annoyance clawed its way up her spine, but tangled with it was something far worse: self-consciousness.

“What?” she snapped, her brow arching high enough to suggest she was already halfway to throwing hands. “Lose your train of thought, or is this just your ‘impressed’ face?”

“Not impressed,” he said. “Just curious.”

The elevator dinged again, and the doors opened. Haruki stepped out first. She followed, glaring at the back of his head because what else was she supposed to do with the frustration clawing at her insides?

They finally stopped in front of a door with a biometric scanner. Haruki waved his wrist node over it, the panel lighting up before the door slid open.

Her stomach twisted.

Her lavender-patterned sheets—the ones from her room back home—were perfectly smoothed over the bed. Her stuffed animals sat propped on the pillows in their usual positions, arranged just the way she’d left them.

And there, nestled inconspicuously among them, was K.A.T.O.’s stuffed animal form.

To anyone else, he looked like just another plush toy, the kind you’d win at a summer festival if you were lucky enough to beat the rigged games. But to her, K.A.T.O. was a masterpiece of weaponized engineering. A bot she’d painstakingly built herself, piece by piece. Fluffy on the outside, lethal on the inside.

The sight of it didn’t comfort her.

The room wasn’t a sanctuary—it was a hollow replica of one. A soulless facsimile that hit her with the sharp, bittersweet ache of something pretending to be home. It felt wrong, like someone had gutted her safe space and filled it with plastic smiles and empty air.

Haruki either didn’t notice or, more likely, didn’t care. He motioned toward the desk as though the room wasn’t actively trying to strangle her.

“This is your student device,” he said, gesturing to a small black tablet. “It’s integrated with the campus network. You’ll find your schedules, Lumina rankings, school rules—everything you need.”

Miyuu grabbed the device, and a familiar rhythm vibrated through her wrist as it synced with her node. The screen flickered to life, displaying her name and student ID in glowing letters at the top, followed by an overwhelming list of menu options.

“Does it come with a guide on surviving cocky student council members?” She asked, batting her eyes innocently.

Haruki didn’t flinch. Not a twitch, not a blink. No smirk, no snarky comeback. Instead, he took a step forward. Then another.

He didn’t stop until he was so close she could feel the warmth radiating off him, and her breath hitched. Too close. Way too close.

Her cheeks flamed as his eyes locked onto hers. It wasn’t intimidating in the traditional sense—it was worse. Calculated. Controlled. The kind of look that made her stomach flip for all the wrong reasons.

“Are you trying to get in trouble on your first night?” His voice was low, almost conversational, but the weight of the threat was unmistakable. Not loud. Not angry. Just dangerous. “I’ve been patient with you. Keep pushing, and you’ll see a side of me you won’t like.”

And then he smiled.

It wasn’t warm or charming or anything that should technically qualify as a smile. No, this was sharp. Predatory. A subtle flex of power that sent a chill skittering down her spine.

Miyuu had to actively resist the urge to take a step back. Instead, she did the next best thing—whipped her head to the side, breaking eye contact before her face could melt entirely. “Yikes,” she squeaked, her voice embarrassingly high-pitched. Haruki had officially graduated from ‘mildly irritating’ to ‘major walking red flag.’

Desperate for a diversion, she cleared her throat, scrambling for a topic. “This place has some serious surveillance issues. Ever heard of privacy?”

“The surveillance is for student safety,” he said, straightening, the tension dissipating as quickly as it had arrived. “Besides, not every part of the building is monitored.” He tilted his head toward her room’s ceiling. “No cameras here. You’re welcome.”

Miyuu forced a scoff, folding her arms to disguise the relief she felt. “How nice,” she muttered dryly, glancing around the room. “And what? The Dean just watches everyone like some creepy stalker?”

Haruki’s expression softened just a bit. “SOLON’s mostly focused on academics. He doesn’t care about every minor detail of student life. As long as everyone’s safe and healthy, he won’t interfere.”

Miyuu’s lip curled in disgust. “That doesn’t make it any less weird.”

Haruki sighed, as if he’d decided she wasn’t worth the energy of a full argument. “It’s late,” he said, his voice slipping into that calm, authoritative tone that grated on her nerves because it was hard to argue with. “You need a bath.”

Miyuu’s face went nuclear. “What am I? A child?” She snapped, throwing her hands up in exasperation. Sure, she could feel the sweat, dirt, and general grossness of the day sticking to her, but did he really have to say it out loud?

Haruki’s smirk was subtle. It wasn’t smug enough to punch, just smug enough to make her want to. Like he was watching a kitten attempt to intimidate a lion. “I’ll go draw one for you,” he said coolly, already turning away as if the conversation was over because he said it was.

At the door, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder. His gaze lingered, just a second too long, and for a fleeting moment, his expression shifted. Something softened—Pity? Sympathy? Guilt? Whatever it was, it vanished almost instantly. He stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him.

And then she was alone. Well, almost.

She let out a long, frustrated sigh, dragging a hand down her face. This was going to be a nightmare.

Her eyes drifted to K.A.T.O.'s stuffed form slouched against the pillows. She trudged over and gave the fox a poke.

As her wrist chip synced with him—essentially transferring his presence from her wrist node to the plush—K.A.T.O. flickered to life. His oversized ears perked up, his eyes blinked to focus on her. “What’s up, princess? Trouble in paradise?”

“K.A.T.O.,” She whispered, dropping to her knees so they were eye-to-eye. “I need a favour.”

The little fox tilted his head, his tail flicking eagerly. “Say no more, princess.”

He didn’t wait for instructions. His eyes glowing as he connected silently to the school’s network, slipping into the system like a shadow. Miyuu watched, a small, smug smile creeping across her lips. This was why K.A.T.O. was one of a kind. Better than their overhyped security, better than—

His ears flattened, and a sharp red alert flashed across his vision. “Blocked,” he muttered, his tail stiffening. “Something shut me out—fast.”

The smugness vanished from her face. Her fingers curled tightly over the soft fabric of his body, grounding herself as unease clawed up her spine. That shouldn’t have been possible. Not with K.A.T.O.

Nothing should be able to shut K.A.T.O. out. Not when they’ve hacked confidential government systems before.

The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. “This has my father’s fingerprints all over it.” She muttered.

K.A.T.O. tilted his head, his tail flicking once in confusion. “You’re saying Daddy Dearest kitted out the network with some next-level firewall just for little ol’ us?”

Her jaw tightened. “I’m saying he knew I’d end up here.” The words tasted bitter, and the knot in her stomach tightened. “And he planned for it.”

Before she could digest the betrayal—or spiral further into her own rage—her student device buzzed. A hologram flickered to life above the screen, and there it was: a white owl, its unblinking yellow eyes locking onto her like it was analysing her down to the molecular level.

“Ms. Tsukishima,” The owl began.

“Your father was kind enough to update my systems with additional precautions. You and your companion are... quite impressive.”

Miyuu swallowed hard, her pulse pounding against her ribs. She forced a smirk, masking the dread curling in her gut. “Aw, shucks,” she drawled. “We’re not that skilled.”

But her attempt at nonchalance didn’t stop K.A.T.O.’s tail from flicking nervously beside her, the motion quick and agitated. Outplayed. They’d been outplayed, and they both knew it.

The owl’s glowing eyes narrowed slightly—was that amusement? “Welcome to Harmonia University!” It continued. “Your father expects the best from you. I trust you won’t disappoint him.” The faintest pause, then it added with a tilt of its head, “And do try to avoid tampering with my code. It tickles my feathers.”

And just like that, the hologram blinked out, leaving silence in its wake.

Miyuu clenched her jaw, the words looping in her head like a broken audio file stuck on the world’s worst refrain: Your father expects the best from you.

Beside her, K.A.T.O. curled up slightly, his tail brushing against her arm in an apologetic nuzzle. He didn’t say anything, and he didn’t need to.

The quiet fractured by the sharp crackle of her room’s intercom, followed by Haruki’s voice. “Ms. Tsukishima. Your bath’s ready.”

Miyuu groaned, dragging a hand down her face, her fingers catching painfully on one of her tangled pigtails. She winced but didn’t bother untangling it. “This is my life now,” she muttered, mostly to K.A.T.O., who, for once, didn’t have a snarky reply.

She gave him a quick pat on his plush head—not that he needed morale boosting, but she sure did—and shuffled toward the door.

When she opened the door, Haruki stood waiting, his posture relaxed but his expression all business. Like he’d been there for hours, practicing his I’m-so-patient-it-hurts look. Their eyes met, and—just for a second—lingered.

Miyuu’s chest did this stupid little hitch thing she immediately wanted to punch out of herself. Damn him.

“Let’s get you in the bath,” he said, his voice softer than she was ready for. The sharp, cutting edge from earlier had dulled into something almost... gentle? “You’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”

Her brain fired up a snarky response on instinct—locked, loaded, ready to fire—and then promptly crashed. Maybe it was the sheer exhaustion weighing down her limbs. Or maybe it was that stupid softness in his voice, like he actually gave a damn. Either way, she had nothing.

Instead, she defaulted to a theatrical huff, turning her head just enough to hide the heat creeping up her cheeks. “Whatever,” she muttered, brushing past him with a flick of her pigtails. Petty? Yes. Satisfying? Absolutely.