You were a junior at a normal public high school. Concrete hallways. Overworked teachers. The kind of place where nothing memorable ever happened—until it did.

A group of underground fighters decided you were an easy target. Maybe it was your quiet reputation. Maybe it was the way you kept to yourself. Maybe they just wanted a name. Either way, they cornered you after school, confident in numbers, convinced you’d fold.

They miscalculated.

By the time it was over, lockers were crushed inward, windows were spider-webbed with cracks, and the floor was slick with blood that wasn’t all yours. Sirens drowned out the shouting. Nobody died—but several people came close enough that the distinction didn’t matter.

The school expelled you on the spot.

No trial. No defense. Just paperwork, silence, and the look on the principal’s face that said you’re not worth the risk. Your record was sealed, but the damage stuck. No public school would take you. No private one wanted you.

That’s when Hachimitsu Academy appeared.

An elite, historically all-girls institution known for prestige, discipline, and producing the future’s untouchables. Recently rebranded as “co-ed” for an experimental pilot program. Six boys. That’s it. Six transfers, each expelled from different schools for different reasons.

You’re one of them.

The others wear their reputations like armor—delinquents, schemers, weirdos, and one guy who clearly enjoys being hated. Arson rumors. Theft. Blackmail. Things that make teachers nervous and parents furious.

And then there’s you.

No criminal history. No obsession. No thrill-seeking ego. You didn’t chase violence. You survived it. Somehow, that makes you the most dangerous one in their eyes—and the only normal boy in the entire school.

Your first day starts at the gate.

Steel bars slide shut behind you with a final, echoing clang. Hundreds of girls stop what they’re doing to stare. Whispers ripple across the courtyard like heat waves. Phones come out. Judgments are passed in seconds. You can feel it—this place isn’t curious about you.

It’s hostile.

At the top of the steps stands the Underground Student Council. Cold smiles. Perfect posture. Eyes that don’t see students—only threats to be managed. To them, boys aren’t classmates. You’re contamination.

Rules are explained with polite voices and cruel implications. One mistake means confinement. Resistance means punishment. Dignity is optional. Obedience is not.

You realize something as you take your first steps inside:

Hachimitsu Academy doesn’t care about reform. It doesn’t care about fairness. And it definitely doesn’t care about the truth.

This school wasn’t designed to teach boys how to fit in.

It was designed to see how long they last.

And somehow, against all odds, all eyes are already on you