POV: Sakura Aoyama
The notice appeared overnight.
It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't urgent. It didn't need to be.
Printed neatly and posted on every classroom door, every corridor board, every digital screen near the entrances, the announcement was identical in tone to every other notice the academy issued.
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SCHOOL ASSEMBLY – ALL STUDENTS REQUIRED
Location: Main Auditorium
Time: 8:20 AM SHARP
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Nothing else.
No reason given.
That alone made it suspicious.
Sakura read it in silence, her reflection faintly visible in the glass panel covering the notice. Her expression didn't change. Long black hair tied low, uniform pristine, posture composed. To anyone watching, she looked unaffected.
Inside, something tightened.
Assemblies at Kurotsuki Academy were rare. When they happened, it was never without purpose.
The morning routine continued regardless.
Students arrived in clusters, conversations quieter than usual.
There was an edge to the air—anticipation sharpened by uncertainty. Sakura felt eyes on her more than ever now, not openly hostile, not friendly either.
Assessing.
Calculating.
She moved through the halls with steady steps, neither speeding up nor slowing down. She passed teachers standing outside classrooms, their expressions neutral, their gazes flicking briefly toward her before sliding away.
She noticed who did not look at her at all.
That was new.
Homeroom was cut short.
Ms. Hanazawa entered, glanced at the clock, and gave a single nod. "Take only what you need. Bags remain here."
Chairs scraped softly as students stood.
They filed out in orderly lines, shoes echoing faintly against stone floors.
Sakura walked near the back, her awareness stretching outward, cataloguing movement, posture, distance.
Ren was somewhere ahead.
She didn't need to see him to know that.
The main auditorium loomed large, its doors thrown open wide. Inside, rows of seats curved around a raised stage, banners hanging high above bearing the academy crest.
Faculty members stood along the sides, positioned carefully, spaced evenly.
Control made visible.
Students filled the seats in silence.
Sakura took a place near the center—far enough from the edges to avoid easy escape, far enough from the front to avoid direct scrutiny.
She sat, folded her hands loosely in her lap, and waited.
The murmur of the crowd faded as the lights dimmed slightly.
Footsteps sounded on the stage.
The principal stepped forward.
Shigenobu Kurotsuki was taller than Sakura had expected.
Thin, straight-backed despite his age, silver hair slicked back neatly, rimless glasses perched low on his nose. His face was calm, unreadable, his presence unhurried.
He looked like a man who had never raised his voice in his life—and never needed to.
"Good morning," he said.
His voice was even, carrying effortlessly through the hall.
No one replied.
"That will be all right," he continued mildly. "I don't require a response."
A few students shifted.
"I won't keep you long. Assemblies disrupt routine, and routine is important."
Sakura felt the words settle over the room like a net.
"We are approaching an important academic period," the principal went on. "Midterms. Club selections. External evaluations."
He paused, letting the list hang.
"Kurotsuki Academy prides itself on excellence. Not only academically, but socially."
The word carried weight.
"Recently," he continued, "there have been… adjustments."
A subtle emphasis.
Sakura's fingers tightened briefly in her lap.
"Change," Principal Kurotsuki said, "is not inherently negative. However, disorder is."
His gaze swept the hall slowly.
Not random.
Deliberate.
When his eyes passed over Sakura, they did not linger.
That was worse.
"We expect our students to understand boundaries," he said calmly. "And to respect the systems that allow this academy to function."
A pause.
"Those who do will find their time here… smooth."
Another pause.
"Those who do not may find it uncomfortable."
The message was delivered.
No names spoken.
No accusations made.
That was how Kurotsuki Academy worked.
"Classes will resume immediately after," the principal concluded. "Thank you for your attention."
He stepped back.
Applause did not follow.
The lights brightened.
Students stood in silence, filing out row by row.
Sakura rose with them, her expression unchanged.
Inside, she understood something clearly.
This was not about Miho.
This was about her.
The rest of the day unfolded under a heavier sky.
Teachers were more formal. Instructions were repeated twice. Rules that had once been flexible were suddenly enforced with precision.
Mr. Sato confiscated two phones in mathematics.
Ms. Takahashi reassigned seating in literature, placing Sakura closer to the aisle, where she could be seen more easily.
Mr. Moriyama's lecture on authority was shorter than usual, his tone sharper, his gaze more guarded.
Ren was quieter.
He didn't speak at all during class.
He didn't look at Sakura either.
That absence was intentional.
It told her more than words would have.
At lunch, Sakura returned to the rooftop.
This time, Ren was already there.
He didn't turn when she stepped outside.
"You heard it too," he said.
"The assembly," Sakura replied.
"Yes."
She leaned against the railing opposite him.
"That wasn't a warning. That was a classification."
Ren glanced at her, violet eyes unreadable. "You're learning faster than I expected."
She frowned slightly. "You talk like this is an experiment."
He smiled faintly. "It is."
"For you," she said.
"For the school," he corrected.
They stood in silence for a moment, wind tugging at their uniforms.
"You don't control them," Sakura said quietly.
Ren didn't deny it. "No."
"But you're not powerless either."
"No."
She looked at him then. "So where does that leave me?"
Ren's gaze held hers for a beat too long.
"In the middle," he said. "Where pressure is highest."
She exhaled slowly. "You're enjoying this."
"Yes," he admitted without hesitation.
That honesty unsettled her more than denial would have.
Cleaning duty was different that afternoon.
Sakura wasn't alone.
Two other students joined her—both silent, careful, avoiding eye contact. They worked methodically, treating the task like a negotiation rather than a punishment.
No one spoke.
That, too, was a shift.
When they finished, one of them finally murmured, "You should be careful."
Sakura met her gaze. "About what?"
The girl swallowed. "About being visible."
Sakura nodded once.
After school, she didn't leave immediately.
She walked the long way around campus, past the gym, past the club rooms where recruitment posters fluttered in the windows.
Voices drifted out—enthusiasm, ambition, competition.
Normal life.
She stopped when she saw the principal again.
Shigenobu Kurotsuki stood near the administrative wing, speaking quietly with Ms. Hanazawa. They noticed Sakura at the same time.
Ms. Hanazawa stiffened.
The principal turned.
Their eyes met.
This time, his gaze lingered.
Not hostile.
Not warm.
Interested.
"Good afternoon, Aoyama Sakura," he said.
Her breath caught for half a second.
"Good afternoon, sir," she replied, bowing politely.
He nodded. "I trust you are settling in."
"Yes."
"That is good," he said mildly. "Kurotsuki
Academy values students who adapt."
The emphasis was unmistakable.
"I will remember that," Sakura said.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"I'm sure you will."
He turned back to his conversation, dismissing her without another word.
Sakura walked away, pulse steady, mind racing.
She had just been acknowledged.
That was not protection.
That was attention.
POV: Ren Kurotsuki
The principal had noticed her.
That changed things.
Ren leaned against the window in an empty corridor, violet eyes following Sakura's retreating figure until she disappeared around a corner.
The system rarely acknowledged individuals directly.
When it did, it meant a decision was forming.
He didn't like that.
Not because it endangered Sakura.
But because it reduced unpredictability.
And unpredictability was where his interest lived.
She was no longer just a variable among students.
She had entered the institution's awareness.
Ren smiled faintly.
Good.
That meant the game had moved to the next level.
.