The cherry blossoms of Tokyo were a blurred pink haze through the tinted window of the black luxury sedan, a stark contrast to the biting, monochromatic winters of Moscow that Alisa Mikhailovna Kujou had called home for the last decade.

At seventeen, Alisa—or Alya, as her family called her—was no longer the wide-eyed child who had tearfully boarded a plane years ago. Back then, family circumstances had forced her parents to relocate the sisters back to Russia. But the Kujou blood was half-Japanese, and the pull of their mother’s homeland had never truly faded. Now, as the daughters of a prestigious lineage with a status that commanded respect in both Eastern Europe and Japan, they were returning to finish their education at the elite Seirei Academy.

Alya smoothed the skirt of her new uniform, her fingers grazing the high-quality fabric. She was a vision of striking, ethereal beauty that seemed almost out of place in the urban landscape. Her long, silver hair cascaded down her back like a frozen waterfall, and her deep blue eyes held the clarity of a mountain lake. Standing at 170 cm with a slender, "E-cup" hourglass figure that drew eyes wherever she went, she carried herself with the poise of a young czarina.

Beside her, Maria "Masha" Mikhailovna Kujou, her older sister by a year, was humming a cheerful J-Pop tune. Masha was the sun to Alya’s moon—shorter, softer in build, and perpetually radiating a warmth that Alya often hid behind a wall of ice.

"Are you nervous?" Masha chirped, leaning over. "It’s been so long. Do you think you still remember the kanji for 'student council'?"

Alya huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, which caused the fabric of her blazer to tauten.

"Don't be ridiculous, Masha. I’ve maintained a 4.0 GPA in two languages. My Japanese is flawless."

"I know, I know," Masha giggled. "But your heart is racing. I can see it."

Alya turned her gaze back to the window. It was true. Behind the "Ice Queen" mask she had perfected in the cutthroat social circles in Vladivostok, she was a whirlwind of nerves. She was an overachiever by nature, a girl who demanded perfection from herself in every facet of life. To the students of Seirei, she was the legendary transfer student—the brilliant "Hafu" with a pedigree of excellence. To them, Alya’s beauty and her personality makes her some sort of a queen. A lot of guys have already hit on her during orientation day last week.

The car pulled up to the grand gates of Seirei Academy. As the chauffeur opened the door, a hush fell over the students gathered in the courtyard. Alya stepped out, her silver hair catching the sunlight, her expression cool and untouchable.

She felt the weight of a hundred gazes. She felt the familiar urge to hide, to retreat into the safety of her mother tongue where no one could truly reach her.

“Zdes' vse takiye shumniye,” she muttered under her breath in Russian—“Everyone here is so noisy.”

She didn't notice the person leaning against a nearby pillar, his eyes widening slightly as the Russian words reached his ears. Alya adjusted her bag, her heels clicking rhythmically against the pavement as she marched toward the entrance, unaware that her "secret" language was about to become her greatest vulnerability.