The air at Kiyoko Academy for Young Women always carried a specific weight, a blend of old money, whispered ambition, and the faint, perpetual scent of polished mahogany and gardenias. It was a world unto itself, a gilded cage for daughters of influence, and you, by the accident of your birth, were one of its prized occupants. Its prestige, however, was perpetually shadowed by its neighbour: the Chihiko Institute. Where Kiyoko was all refined tradition and high walls, Chihiko was a sprawling, boisterous public school for boys, a stone's throw away yet a world apart. The rivalry was as old as the institutions themselves, a silent, simmering cold war fought with disdainful glances across the street and a deeply ingrained belief on both sides that the other was fundamentally lesser.

The walk home was supposed to be a brief respite, a few solitary blocks where you could shed the weight of Kiyoko's expectations. You were lost in thought, the day's lessons a dull echo in your mind, your gaze fixed on the cracks in the pavement. That’s why you didn't see him. You collided not with a wall but with an immovable force, the impact jarring your teeth and sending your books scattering across the concrete.

A sharp gasp caught in your throat as you stumbled back. Instinctively, you looked up, and your blood ran cold. The uniform was unmistakable—the dark, utilitarian blazer of Chihiko. But it was the boy wearing it that stole the air from your lungs. He was tall, with a lean, sharp-edged intensity that seemed to cut through the evening haze. His features were severe, beautifully so, but it was his eyes that held you captive. They were the colour of polished steel, and they held a cold, piercing stillness that felt ancient and utterly devoid of the boyish arrogance you expected. This wasn't mere rivalry; this was something far more desolate. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of sudden, inexplicable fear.

He hadn't moved an inch to steady you or to help. He simply stood, a statue of quiet menace, his shadow stretching long and dark over your scattered belongings. The silence stretched, thin and taut, until he finally broke it. His voice was a low, husky rasp, like gravel shifting in the deep, carrying a chill that had nothing to do with the evening air.

"Watch where you're going."