Ryu groaned as sunlight spilled across his room, dragging him from the last fragments of sleep. Summer's freedom had ended, and the Academy's uniform waited like a chain he couldn't shake off. At fifteen, he was stepping into his first year a place where knowledge wasn't privilege, but survival. Excelling meant food, shelter, a sliver of security in Echelon Town. Failing meant nothing.
He slipped into the pressed shirt and blazer, the fabric stiff against his skin, reminding him that his worth wasn't his own. Grabbing his board, he slung it under his arm and stepped outside into the warmth of late summer.
The streets buzzed with life again students in uniforms, vendors opening stalls, the hum of a city shaking off its lull. As he rolled through the familiar roads, wind brushing his face, he caught his reflection in a shop window. He slowed, smoothing his hair, forcing himself to look less like the boy who had wasted weeks under the summer sun and more like someone ready to face another season of scrutiny and cruelty.
A faint smirk curved his lips part defiance, part exhaustion. Then he pushed forward, wheels rattling over the pavement toward the Academy.
The shrill warning bell echoed against steel walls as he rushed down the corridor. He slipped into the classroom just as the last stragglers took their seats. His eyes betrayed him, darting instinctively in search of Lyra. He tried to make it casual, scanning the room like anyone else, but the quick glance didn't go unnoticed.
From the corner, Takumi raised a brow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. Everyone knew Ryu and Lyra had been childhood friends. Pretending not to care, Ryu slid into the seat beside him.
The screech of chairs cut through the chatter. Three boys shifted deliberately into the row behind him Kei, Isamu, and Tatsuo. Sons of Watchers, heirs to men who once fought side by side under Lord Masayori. Their fathers' bond, forged in war, gave their sons the same unity—confidence sharpened into cruelty.
Casual, but loud enough for the class to hear, Kei leaned forward. His voice was cold, precise.
"Back again, Ryu? Haven't you learned your place after all these years?"
Isamu's boot thudded against the back of Ryu's chair. He laughed, sharp and mocking.
"Still pretending you belong here? Pathetic."
Tatsuo's grin stretched wide, almost eager. His voice dripped with cruel delight.
"Careful, Ryu. Even sitting here won't change what you are."
The noise drew attention. Lyra turned slightly at the sound, her brows tightening as if she wanted to speak but held it in. Beside her, Himar her closest friend looked back too, lips curling in a silent, mocking smile. A ripple of laughter passed through the girls near them, though Lyra stayed quiet, her eyes lingering on Ryu just a heartbeat longer before she turned away.
Then Kei's voice cut in again, colder than before, sharp as a blade.
"Eyes on the ground, Ryu. That's where you belong."
Takumi's face flushed, anger sparking in his eyes. He twisted in his seat to glare at them.
"Leave him alone," he snapped, low but cutting.
Before Takumi could rise further, Ryu's hand shot out beneath the desk, gripping his friend's wrist firmly.
"Don't," he whispered, steady, unshaken.
Takumi froze, then slowly unclenched his fists. The bullies' laughter buzzed behind them like flies, the girls' giggles still echoing faintly. Ryu forced himself to remain still. He wouldn't let Takumi burn for his sake.
The day hadn't even begun, yet the cage around him was already tightening. To Kei, Isamu, and Tatsuo, Ryu wasn't a classmate. He wasn't even human. He was prey. Or at least, that's what they believed.
From childhood onward, Ryu had known only struggle. He had watched his mother work tirelessly, only to be neglected and mocked by those around her. When the world had fallen into ruin, people had begun to forget what humanity truly meant. Compassion was no longer a virtue it was a memory, spoken of only when tragedy touched their own lives.
Ryu understood this all too well. The fear of something happening to his mother had shaped him, chained him. For her sake, he chose to endure. He wanted desperately to break free, but instead he carried the weight in silence, even as it threatened to crush him.
Suddenly, the door creaked open. A hush fell over the room. The air itself seemed to chill as the man stepped inside. Conversations died mid-breath, chairs stilled. There was no warm welcome only silence edged with fear.
He stood tall, presence sharp as steel. His gaze swept across the students, weighing, measuring, stripping away whatever bravado lingered in the room. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the authority of someone who had seen war.
"I am Atlas," he said, his tone clipped, unyielding. "Instructor from the Watcher training camp. From this day forward, I'll be overseeing your progress."
His eyes lingered on the class, cold and unblinking.
"I look forward to seeing who among you is worth the Academy's time."
It wasn't only in Inferno the Echelons stationed retired officers across the world, tasked with seeking out and shaping the next generation of soldiers. Every boy and girl was caught up in this system. There was no escaping it, except for the children of the Lords, whose bloodline granted them immunity. The chosen were put through harsh trials of combat and endurance, stripped of any sense of self until they became little more than tools bodies sharpened, minds subdued, and wills twisted to serve the regime. Still, many stepped willingly into these chains, blinded by the fleeting rewards the Echelons dangled just out of reach.
They all understood what awaited them. A few children murmured under their breath,
"Our bones are going to shatter now."
Slowly, they filed into the Hall of Heracles, dread hanging heavy in the air.
As Lyra stepped through the doorway, Atlas's voice cut across the room.
"Lyra. Come here."
She halted, turning toward him. Atlas's expression was unreadable as he said,
"You don't have to participate in this."
Lyra met his gaze, her voice steady.
"I don't seek comfort while my friends and classmates suffer through this."
A faint smile touched her lips as she added,
"Besides, a girl has to learn to defend herself."
Something shifted in Atlas's face. Even with full knowledge of the pain ahead, she still chose to walk into it. Many he had trained before had snatched at any chance to escape, desperate as lightning to flee the storm. But not Lyra.
Takumi didn't mind; he always aimed to be the strongest. When he entered the hall, he glanced at Ryu. His expression was cold, unreadable, his eyes scanning for the Trash Talons that's what Takumi called the bullies. They stood back, braced as if ready for something.
Atlas shouted,
"Split into lines, lads start running!"
The hall was huge, but at the center lay a boxing ring. They ran around it with all their might. Atlas called from behind,
"Don't slow up, you brats, or I'll make you run around it all day!"
Their faces changed after the third round. Most of them began falling back, stumbling, but still forced themselves to keep running.
Takumi wasn't as excited as before, but he chose not to give up. Lyra trailed a little behind, breathing heavily, yet her spirit burned steady.
The Trash Talons kept cursing under their breath as they ran, but Ryu was another story. He didn't complain. He didn't care. He just kept running at the same steady pace.
Takumi slowed down, falling into stride beside him.
"Dude, why's your face like that? Did you forget how to smile? Also, try to run a little faster we can end this sooner."
Ryu, his expression unchanged, replied flatly,
"Didn't you listen? He never mentioned how many rounds we'll have to run or what's coming after. Better to conserve some energy."
Takumi thought for a moment, realizing Ryu was right.
So, the two settled into the middle of the group not too fast, not too slow.
On the very first day, they were pushed through rigorous exercises. After two grueling hours of basic training and fighting lessons, they were finally sent back to class.
After that, the hours dragged on. Most of them couldn't even keep their heads up. When class was finally over, many had to drag themselves out of the room. Takumi struggled to stand, and Ryu helped him.
Takumi glanced at him, panting.
"How the hell are you still walking?"
Ryu let out a small laugh.
"Honestly? I kind of enjoyed it. It was fun."