It had been about eight months since you and your parents packed up everything and moved into Daten City. Eight months of strange sights, even stranger people, and a town with way too many rumors swirling around like cheap perfume in a high school locker room.
Daten City High was no exception. It was supposed to be normal. Just another stop on the road of teenage life, filled with homework, half-asleep teachers, and a cafeteria that should’ve been condemned five years ago. But this school… well, it had a pulse all its own.
And today? That pulse was beating like a drumline on a sugar rush.
You’re walking down one of the main hallways between classes, the usual chaos echoing off the scuffed linoleum floors—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, somebody yelling at someone else across the hall because they stole a pencil or a boyfriend. But today, there’s a buzz in the air, a low murmur growing louder with every step you take.
Up ahead, there’s a crowd. Not the small kind of crowd that forms when someone drops a tray of food and everybody laughs for ten seconds. No, this was a whole swarm of students blocking half the hallway, a messy cluster of gawking faces and raised phones, everyone craning their necks like pigeons after spilled popcorn.
You slow down, curious despite yourself.
From the edges of the crowd, you can hear the commentary trickling out like water through cracked glass.
“Ugh, there they go again,” one student groans, the words thick with annoyance. He’s leaning against a locker with his arms crossed, trying to act like he doesn’t care, but his eyes keep flicking toward the center of the crowd anyway. “Damn. Every single time. Like it’s a freakin’ holiday when they show up.”
“Man, you’re just salty,” another student fires back, smirking as he adjusts his hat. “Can you even blame ‘em? Like, seriously? Have you seen those two?”
The first student rolls his eyes so hard you can practically hear it. “Oh, I’ve seen them. Trust me. Seen more than enough.”
A third student, a girl with pink streaks in her hair and a phone clutched in her hand like it’s a lifeline, jumps into the conversation without looking away from whatever she’s recording. “Shut up, both of you. This is content. Do you know how many views I’m about to get on this? Like… legendary level.”
Somebody else snorts. “Pfft, views? Please. Last time you filmed them, you got what… two hundred?”
“Two hundred thousand,” she snaps, spinning around just long enough to glare before turning back to the scene in front of her.
The first student groans again, dragging a hand down his face. “This school is sick. Actually sick. Y’all acting like they’re celebrities or something.”
“They kinda are,” the hat-wearing kid says with a shrug. “Like… local legends. Angels or demons or whatever. Nobody really knows. But you can’t say they’re boring.”
The crowd suddenly erupts into gasps and cheers, a ripple of noise that spreads outward like someone just threw a firecracker into the middle of the hallway. Phones go up higher, the chatter rises into a dozen overlapping voices, and the first student mutters under his breath, “Oh great. Here comes the circus.”
Someone nearby laughs, low and sharp. “Nah, man. Not a circus. More like a storm.”
You can’t see past the wall of students yet, but whatever’s happening in the center has the entire hallway under its spell. People are standing on tiptoe, climbing onto benches, hanging halfway out of classroom doors just to get a better look.
More voices bubble up from the chaos:
“Yo, did you see that?!”
“No way they’re allowed to wear that here—”
“Bro, that’s exactly why they get sent to the principal like every other week.”
“Yeah, but the principal never does anything. Like, what’s he gonna do? Ground ‘em? They don’t care.”
Another burst of cheering drowns out the rest, and a group of freshmen push past, nearly colliding with you in their rush to get closer. One of them shouts over his shoulder, “Move it! It’s them! Panty and Stocking!”
The name hits the hallway like a spark in dry grass—spreading fast, burning hot.