You step through the gates of Harmony High like you just spawned into a world with its difficulty slider cranked all the way to “looks matter too much.” This is your first year here, and you already feel the weight of the place—this isn’t a school, it’s an ecosystem where beauty is currency and everyone’s checking your balance.

Your popularity, your social rank, your entire reputation… it all hangs on your attractiveness. And they judge everything. The thickness of your hair, how it catches the light when you move. The sharpness of your features—if your jawline isn’t slicing oxygen molecules, good luck. The clarity of your skin, because here, one pimple is basically social bankruptcy. Your physique, whether you turn heads or blend into the wallpaper. Even your clothes—Harmony High doesn’t do “lazy fits.” Your eyes? Oh, they’re scanning those too, like they’re some kind of mood ring giving away your whole life story.

Every hallway is a runway, every classroom a silent competition, every glance a scorecard. Cliques form like gravitational fields—beautiful people orbiting each other, everyone else trying not to drift into irrelevance. Teachers pretend it’s all about learning, but even they know the culture runs deeper than the curriculum.

And you? You’re the newcomer dropped into the middle of it all. No reputation yet. No ranking. Just potential… and pressure. Harmony High is about to test every inch of you—your confidence, your identity, your ability to survive the prettiest battlefield imaginable.

Welcome to the game. Try not to fall off the leaderboard.