'People who place their hopes on you… they are the ones who break the hardest when you fall. And strangers, the ones who never knew your name, will be the ones who bite their lips in envy when you rise. That's the way life spins—like a thread twisted the same for everyone. But not for me. I am not everyone. I am nobody…'
The boy's thoughts echoed as he rested his chin against the palm of his hand, eyes wandering out the window. Outside, the sky stretched far and pale, clouds drifting like torn pieces of cotton across the endless blue. The sun hung lazily, its golden light spilling down on the city below. Trees lined the road, their green leaves swaying softly as the wind brushed through, carrying the faint smell of asphalt mixed with blooming flowers. Students laughed in the distance, their voices carried faintly by the breeze, but all of it seemed far away—like another world he could never reach.
His white hair fluttered with every gust, strands catching the sunlight like silver threads. His eyes, pale and cold as untouched snow, stared blankly through the glass, betraying neither warmth nor sorrow. The school uniform he wore was neat yet unremarkable—a black blazer trimmed with faint silver lines, a crisp white shirt buttoned to the collar, and a red tie hanging loosely as if he had no will to tighten it. His trousers matched the blazer, pressed clean, though his posture gave the sense of someone who didn't care for appearances.
He sat at the very back, by the window—the seat most students wanted for daydreaming or sneaking glances outside during class. Yet for him, it wasn't escape. It was simply the only place where the world could pass by, and he could quietly pretend he wasn't part of it.
"Alright then, students! It's time to show your first-term exam results."
The teacher's voice boomed across the classroom. His tired eyes were hidden behind thin glasses, his black hair slightly messy as if he hadn't bothered to comb it properly that morning. His gray suit was wrinkled at the shoulders, but the way he held himself—straight-backed and stern—showed that he still carried authority. In his hand was a small black remote, and behind him stretched a huge blackboard, its surface filled with faded chalk marks from previous lessons. Beside it stood an even larger monitor, glowing faintly with the words:
"Class 10—I, Results."
A ripple went through the room. Some students whispered nervously, their voices trembling, while others leaned excitedly toward their friends, smiles hidden behind their hands. But at the very back, the boy sat quietly, his pale eyes locked on the monitor, unmoving, just waiting for the inevitable.
The teacher lifted the remote slowly, pointed it at the screen, and pressed. The monitor flickered, then shifted into a long list of names, rows of numbers stretching across it. The room grew silent, every student holding their breath.
The teacher's voice broke the silence.
"And as always, just like last year, Miss Kasika Noharu has topped with an excellent 100 out of 100."
A collective gasp ran through the class. Heads turned almost in unison toward the middle row.
"Miss Kasika, please stand up."
From her seat, Kasika Noharu rose. Her black hair fell in smooth waves down her back, catching the classroom light with a faint, glossy shine. Her skin was pale and clear, untouched by any blemish. She wore the same uniform as everyone else, yet on her, it seemed tailored—her red tie neatly knotted, her blazer pressed perfectly in place. Her posture was straight, composed, with a calm elegance that made it impossible not to look at her. When her eyes lifted, dark yet gentle, it was as though they carried both warmth and distance at the same time.
"Please, everyone, clap for her."
The teacher's words pulled the class back. Applause filled the room, some genuine, some forced, but all directed at the girl who seemed untouchable.
At the back, the boy's gaze lingered on her.
'People who stand out the most always carry the heaviest hopes. Popular, admired, flawless in every way—that's what everyone sees as the image of a perfect student. An idol for the whole class.'
His eyes drifted back to the glowing monitor. His name appeared in dull white letters:
"Shotou Motoru — 50/100."
He exhaled silently, leaning against the desk.
'I don't want any kind of attention… I just want to be a shadow. A background character, an NPC, living quietly through my final year of school.'
As he was sinking deeper into his thoughts, a voice suddenly came from behind.
"She's cool, isn't she?"
Shotou didn't turn around. His eyes stayed on the screen, and he gave no reply, as if the words hadn't reached him at all.
"Hey! I'm talking to you!" the voice came again, this time louder, almost playful.
Shotou let out a small sigh, finally turning his head. "Yes?"
Behind him stood a boy. His hair was a deep crimson red, slightly messy but catching the light, his red eyes with the same shine . His skin was fair, his face sharp yet carrying a friendly glow that matched his wide smile. His uniform looked spotless and crisp, the faint smell of new fabric still clinging to it.
Shotou studied him quietly for a moment before speaking. "Who are you?"
The boy grinned and pointed at himself. "I'm Futaba Hatari. And you are?"
"…Shotou Motoru," he replied after a pause, his voice low, almost reluctant.
"Ohh, I see. Nice to meet you!" Futaba said with a cheerful voice.
"Yeah…" Shotou muttered, turning his gaze back to the front again.
But Futaba didn't stop. "So what I was saying—Miss Kasika is so cool, isn't she? She's always top in studies. And you know what? She's the vice president of the Mysteries Club!"
Shotou blinked slowly, his tone barely above a whisper. "…Oh?"
Futaba nodded eagerly. "Yes! The Mysteries Club is one of those clubs that's even popular outside of school! But the president of the Mysteries Club… that person is still a mystery. Nobody knows who it is."
"You know a lot for a new student…" Shotou said, his voice carrying a faint trace of suspicion.
"Huh?" Futaba tilted his head. Then his eyes widened slightly. "Wait… how did you know I'm new?"
Shotou leaned back in his chair, expression still unreadable. "Your name wasn't on the results list. And I haven't seen you before. Isn't it obvious?"
Futaba blinked, then let out a small laugh. "Hmm… that's true. But that doesn't matter. I got sixty-three in my entrance exam, so I'm good!"
Before Shotou could reply, the bell rang, filling the room with a loud echo. The teacher clapped his hands once and spoke.
"Alright, everyone, thank you for your hard work. Eternal High is proud to have students like you. See you all tomorrow."
Chairs screeched against the floor as the class came alive. Students began packing their bags, voices rising in chatter. Behind Shotou, Futaba stood and started packing too.
"Well, I'm going to join one of the clubs, so I'll head to the office." He glanced at Shotou, waiting for a response.
Shotou said nothing, quietly slipping his books into his bag.
Futaba tilted his head and asked, "Which club are you in?"
Shotou slung the strap of his bag over his shoulder. "…None."
And with that, he walked out.
"Okay… then see you tomorrow!" Futaba called, waving a hand with that same unshaken smile.
Shotou didn't turn back. The hallway was crowded with students spilling out of classrooms, chatting, laughing, some walking hand in hand. Their footsteps filled the air, their voices overlapping into a constant buzz. But Shotou walked through it all without so much as a glance, like a shadow moving between the noise.
He passed the basketball court, where players ran across the polished floor, the sound of the ball echoing loudly. Each of them wore a small badge on their chest, a basketball logo stitched neatly in red.
Further ahead, the art club members sat near the windows, sketching and painting with focused expressions. Their uniforms also carried badges—this time with a brush dipped in color, marking their pride as artists.
Shotou kept walking. The light grew dimmer as he reached a hallway rarely used. The chatter of students faded until the only sound left was his own footsteps echoing against the walls.
At the very end, he stopped in front of a brown door. A wooden sign hung on it, saying:
No entry without permission.
He stared at it in silence, the faint air of dust and quiet surrounding him.
'Everyone has a secret. Secrets that can lead to countless outcomes… And I also have one. One that I must keep safe at all costs.'
He pressed his hand against the wooden door and pushed it open. The hinges creaked faintly, and the air inside was cooler, heavier.
The room was arranged like a meeting hall. At the very center stood a long, polished table, dark oak shining under the dim glow of the overhead chandelier. On each side of the table were four smaller desks, perfectly lined, and at the far end, raised slightly above the others, was a single high-backed chair—the head seat, carved with intricate designs that gave it an air of quiet authority. The walls were decorated with velvet curtains and framed maps of the city, some marked with pins and red strings. A faint scent of old paper and candle wax lingered in the air, mixing with the silence of the place.
Three chairs on each side of the long table were already occupied, leaving only two empty. Beside the head chair stood a figure—a girl. And on every chair, girls sat, each wearing a black hoodie with the hood pulled over their heads, shadows hiding their faces. But every one of them bore the same badge pinned on their chest: a silver moon with a glowing halo resting above it.
The moment Shotou stepped in, the atmosphere shifted. The sound of chairs scraping echoed as everyone rose to their feet in unison. Shotou paused at the doorway, his white eyes sweeping across the room. The silence was thick. Then, with calm steps, he walked forward and lowered himself into the head chair.
The girl standing beside him leaned slightly closer. Around her waist was a band with bold letters that read: Vice President. Her voice was soft yet playful as she spoke.
"Good evening~, Mister Shotou."
His gaze slid toward her, unamused. "How many times must I tell you not to call me by my name in here… Kasika."
She chuckled lightly, her lips curving. "Hehe, my bad… Mr. Nobody." With a swift motion, she pulled back her hood. Her black hair slipped free, falling like a dark curtain around her shoulders, while her deep eyes fixed on Shotou with a knowing glint.
Shotou exhaled quietly, resting his chin against his palm, his expression unreadable. "Sit."
The command fell from his lips like a stone into water, and immediately, everyone obeyed, lowering themselves back into their seats. The quiet returned.
"Star 0-1," Shotou spoke, his tone steady, almost detached.
From the top right chair, one of the hooded girl rose. Her voice was respectful, clear, cutting through the silence.
"Yes, Mr. Nobody. We have a case."
Shotou's pale eyes sharpened. The air around him shifted faintly as his posture straightened just a little. His voice, low and almost like a whisper, carried a subtle weight.
"…Oh."