Nagazora City was renowned for its striking beauty. The architecture was a breathtaking fusion of the traditional Japanese elements—like wooden houses and meticulously landscaped yards—and the innovations of the modern era such as automobiles, internet connectivity, and other hallmarks of a self-sufficient society. It was a perfect blend, at least on the surface.

However, the inhabitants of Nagazora were a mixed lot. While it wouldn't be fair to label all of them as unpleasant, many could be quite difficult, displaying attitudes that were less than gentle, depending on one's perspective.

A lone teenage boy meandered through the city streets late at night, the bustling crowds of the daytime now replaced by sparse groups of friends and families, some leisurely walking their dogs, others engaged in quiet conversation or simply enjoying a serene walk.

Dressed in a simple white t-shirt paired with black pants, he strolled with a nonchalant swagger, his hands buried in his pockets.

He observed the scattered people with a faint interest, taking in their various activities at a leisurely pace.

Gradually slowing, his steps eventually halted at the fringe of a park, brilliantly illuminated by numerous lights strung around its trees and festive lamps that adorned the pathways.

The teenager took a moment to survey the park patrons, each absorbed in their own activities, and heaved a sigh, "What am I even doing here..."

It puzzled him how he had aimlessly wandered into the park. Though picturesque, he was supposed to be at his studio.

"Hmm..."

Lyon, now sixteen and an orphan, had spent his life in Nagazora. Locals prided themselves on their natural beauty, an attribute they preferred to keep unaltered—a trait Lyon could respect. Why change your natural appearance?

This raised a question in his mind: If self-respect for one's natural traits was valued, why couldn't they extend the same courtesy to him?

Throughout most of his life, Lyon had been ostracized by many for his distinctive white hair and vibrant blue eyes.

"He must've been abandoned by their parents. Must be a western thing."

"His white hair and blue eyes do make him look exotic, but he does not look like a true Japanese."

"Dirty. Look at him, dirt all around him. This is why no parents would want to adopt him."

Why should such unique features, deviating from the norm, provoke disdain? Growing up, he felt the sting of their scornful glances, which were as cutting as any spoken insult.

For Lyon, words were easy to dismiss, but the overt disdain in their stares was unmistakably clear. It was evident they did not welcome his presence.

With a click of his tongue, he settled down on the grassy ground, resting his arms on his knees. Whispering to himself, he mused, "They must be jealous. I won't hide or cower just because of their petty words."

Every day, Lyon experienced growth, both physically and mentally, which naturally hardened his exterior. He largely ignored the comments directed at him, recognizing that everyone has their breaking point. Thankfully, or perhaps regrettably, he had not yet reached his.

Yet, as his tough exterior solidified, his self-assurance also expanded. He found himself musing...

He smirked quietly to himself, "I'm handsome. Very handsome, but... I don't even have friends."

He sighed, acknowledging the irony of his self-praise quickly giving way to self-deprecation.

"Maybe, just maybe, I'm a psycho. Is that even the right term to use for myself? Heh... I don't even know."

Considering his distinctive appearance, some might unfairly label him a 'psycho,' reminiscent of another white-haired character from a different series.

"I bet he's managing just fine with his colorful predicaments. Now... where did I put it..."

Fumbling in his pocket, Lyon extracted a crumpled piece of paper, unfolding it so hastily that it nearly tore apart due to its fragility.

"Hmm... I can't make heads or tails of what I'm reading here, but these do seem to be words."

What Lyon was trying to decipher was an acceptance letter from Chiba Academy. Wait a minute, he was accepted into the school?

His face hovered mere inches from the paper as he read it over again, his mouth agape, "Hold up, how did I even get accepted? Ohh, don't tell me..."

A few weeks earlier, Chiba Academy had launched a registration initiative, attracting numerous affluent families eager to secure a spot for their children at this prestigious institution.

At the time, Lyon was simply handling his usual affairs and, on a whim, dropped his identification form—which he typically carried in case of job opportunities—into the registration box.

He hadn't thought much of it then and continued his part-time jobs, capitalizing on his exotic looks.

He was genuinely surprised to find himself accepted as a student.

Clenching the paper tightly, he exhaled deeply, "I was just looking for a job, not to become a character like I'm in an anime... Oh darn, this really does feel like the start of some anime plot."

No, he'd had enough. It was time to head back to his studio.

"Screw this." He stood up, crumpled the letter aggressively, and shoved it back into his pocket. "I'm just going to go home, sleep, and pretend this letter never existed. No way, not happening."

Lyon was about to run out of the park when suddenly, he noticed a family nearby observing him and quietly discussing his predicament.

A child pointed to where Lyon had been standing and asked, "Mommy, do you think that man is crazy for shouting like that?"

The mother, standing next to the child, corrected gently, "Adam, I don't think he's an old man. Please don't call him that."

The child, puzzled, replied innocently, "But Mommy, he has white hair. Don't all old men have white hair? And he's shouting so loudly. Doesn't he realize people are trying to enjoy some peace and quiet here?"

The father, who was busy setting up a picnic blanket, stumbled upon hearing this, while the mother remained silent.

How could a child speak so eloquently, perhaps even better than some adults?

Lyon halted his sprint and turned to look at the child, noticing a resemblance to his younger self in the boy with black hair.

He smiled and said, "You know, kiddo, you remind me a little of myself. Speaking without thinking about how it might affect others' feelings."

The boy's mother stepped forward, attempting to make amends, "I'm sorry... like you mentioned, he doesn't quite understand what he's saying."

Just as the boy was about to respond, his mother quickly covered his mouth with her hand, but Lyon dismissed it, "Never mind, the kid will understand when he's older. Just... don't be too hard on him, alright?"

Lyon then resumed his run, leaving the scene behind. The father, who had overheard the exchange, remarked, "That boy, he must have had a tough upbringing."

The mother, still holding her hand over her son's mouth, added, "Indeed... This will be a valuable lesson for Adam, won't it?"

The father nodded, watching Lyon's retreating figure. Somehow, he sensed that Lyon would play a significant role in the future. He couldn't tell if it was for the better or worse.

---

"I'm home~"

Lyon announced to no one in particular as he stepped into his studio apartment. It was slightly cluttered yet maintained a sense of cleanliness, with all his essential tools neatly arranged.

The furniture was basic.

A bed? Essential.

A futon? Handy for emergencies.

Tissues? Primarily for cleaning his mouth, nothing else. Really.

Television? It was modest, good enough for catching up on the news.

Laptop? Nearly kaput. Turns out, first-person shooter games were inadequate for tempering his frustration.

One might wonder how he managed to furnish this space. The explanation was not straightforward.

He didn't fully understand himself. Perhaps there was a backstory...

About a year ago, a drunken individual had stumbled upon him late at night, handing him a black card before meandering off.

Lyon attempted to return the card, only to find the man later, passed out in a trash can, surrounded by his own sick. It was revolting.

Confused about the card's purpose but driven by a survival instinct, Lyon decided.

"Screw it, I'll just use this card and hope for some divine luck."

With that, he used the card to secure a modest studio and all the essentials he needed.

He considered splurging, but memories of gamblers lamenting their losses after failing to hit the jackpot cautioned him against extravagance.

Unsure of the card's limits and significance, he minimized his spending to avoid drawing attention.

Miraculously, he hadn't been caught. The original owner must have been affluent, indifferent to the fact that Lyon was using the card for his basic needs.

He shrugged to no one in particular, "Oh well, finders keepers, right? It's not like he's affiliated with any major company around here... or maybe I just jinxed myself."

Shaking his head at his own thoughts, he tossed his shoes aside, quickly stripped down, and hopped into the shower.

Afterwards, he slipped into his bed clad in comfortable pajamas and topped with a fluffy hat—an outfit he found cozy but preferred to keep private.

As he lay in bed, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, the words of the acceptance letter replayed in his mind:

"Dear Lyon,

I am pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Chiba Academy for the upcoming academic year. On behalf of the admissions committee, I congratulate you on your acceptance to our prestigious institution, known for its wealth of resources and commitment to excellence in education.

Your application was notably impressive among many strong candidates, and we are eager to see the contributions you will make to our academic community. At Chiba Academy, we are dedicated to providing our students with exceptional opportunities for learning and development, and we believe you will be a significant addition."

And so on. Blah, blah.

That application he'd inadvertently submitted was just a CV of his. To think it qualified him for admission!

Maybe he shouldn't have taken any part-time jobs and spent lavishly with the card. He should have become a NEET. Then he wouldn't have encountered all of this. A simple piece of paper managed to give him so much stress.

He sighed, still staring blankly at the ceiling, "I don't see how I can dodge this one... I have a hunch that trying anything rash might just make things worse."

He rolled over to his side, gazing out the window where the moon provided a soft, natural glow.

His eyelids began to droop as fatigue set in, "I'll just sleep on it and figure things out later..."

Just as sleep was about to claim him, a sudden thought jolted his mind awake.

'What if they tracked me down through the transactions I've made with that card over the past year? Did they link me to the card theft?'

His eyes snapped open as the realization struck.

"Oh..."

Could the bizarre twist of his using the stolen card be the actual reason he was admitted to such a prestigious school?

"..."

Son of a bit—

---

Three days later, Lyon found himself standing nervously in front of Chiba Academy, sweat beading on his forehead.

"I don't want to be here, but I have no choice. I can't have the police showing up at my door with a friendly 'Hello there, son.' No way," he muttered to himself.

Initially, he had planned to bypass this entire ordeal and simply move on with his life, but the past three days had left his mind in disarray.

During that time, he hadn't touched his card once. Despite the temptation to splurge on school supplies, he resisted, fearing it might be a trap set by the academy. Was he unknowingly playing into their hands, a pawn on their chessboard controlled by unseen players?

He shook his head, trying to dismiss the paranoia. "Stop it, Lyon. I'm too young to be worrying about this kind of stuff."

True, but a contingency plan would have been wise—a strategy for 'just in case.'

Instead, he arrived at school dressed simply in a white formal shirt, black pants, and, unusually for him, sunglasses.

Why? For the first time, he felt insecure about his striking blue eyes, though he couldn't pinpoint the reason.

Having grown up among adults, he was comfortable with their level of discourse, but his peers? That was a different story entirely.

He sighed inwardly. So much for acting tough.

As he approached the entrance, both new and returning students eyed him suspiciously.

Their whispers reached his ears, sharp and cutting.

"What's he doing here? Why is a hooligan coming to this school?"

"Is he really a student? Looks like Chiba Academy is scraping the barrel now."

"He might be good-looking, but his foreign appearance just screams trouble."

'Haah... these kids sure don't hold back, do they? Well, no point in letting their comments get to me. I'm just here to check out the school and its facilities, nothing serious, right?'

That's what he told himself as he confidently walked toward the school entrance. The building wasn't luxurious, but it was well-maintained.

Inside, Lyon couldn't help but notice, 'I'm taller than most here. No wonder they see me differently. My height alone probably makes me look like a troublemaker.'

He knew it was a biased assumption, but he couldn't ignore the stares. Naive he might be, but he wasn't oblivious to how others perceived him.

With another sigh, he began searching for his classroom but then realized a crucial oversight.

He patted his pockets, irritation mounting. "Great, just my luck. I forgot the acceptance letter. How am I supposed to find my timetable or classroom now?"

Despite his frustration, Lyon approached a nearby student who looked up at him timidly.

"Um, may I help you, sir? Are you perhaps a parent saying goodbye to their child?"

"..."

Lyon was momentarily speechless.

"I'm not a parent. I'm a student here, and I'm lost."

The student looked startled. "You're a student? Oh, you must be new. Didn't you bring your acceptance letter? It has all the info you—Ah, you must've forgotten it. Just go straight and then left; there's a big board with all the names and details."

Lyon nodded silently and followed the directions.

The student muttered as Lyon hurried away, "I wanted to mention that he smelled. He probably forgot to shower."

Indeed, Lyon had skipped his shower in his nervousness.

Soon, Lyon was standing before a large board in the hallway, his white hair almost gleaming in the dim corridor as he scanned for his name. The hallway was unusually quiet, making him ponder the efficiency of the school system.

"It's really quiet here; they must be well-organized, knowing exactly where to be and what to do ahead of time. It's like they all have an internal compass guiding them—something I missed growing up without parents. But hey, I'm supposed to be the resilient one, not getting caught up envying others," he mused to himself.

He found his name on the board. "There it is. Class 1-A? They even have maps, nice. Now, to find the room..."

Navigating through the unfamiliar halls was like deciphering a complex maze, but with the map in hand, Lyon gradually figured out the route.

A few minutes later, he arrived at his classroom and paused at the door, a rehearsed introduction in mind. He reminded himself, "Just stay confident, nothing can go wrong. These kids haven't walked in my shoes; they haven't faced the storms I've weathered."

With a touch of melancholy, he thought, "Maybe I'll find a friend my age here."

He knocked and slid the door open, revealing curious faces and a teacher who turned to greet the newcomer.

The classroom atmosphere was calm, not hostile. Good.

The teacher, a middle-aged man dressed in an expensive suit, addressed him with a blend of surprise and politeness, "My, oh my, a latecomer. You might be the last student to arrive. Oh, how about you introduce yourself to the others?"

Lyon adjusted his sunglasses to shield his eyes, introducing himself with a carefree smirk, "Yo! I'm Lyon, no last name as I'm an orphan. Nice to meet you all!"

The classroom fell silent, the students' expressions shifting from curiosity to shock, and the teacher looked as if he was about to lose grip on his composure.

Lyon, sensing the shift, tilted his head, puzzled, "What's wrong, did I say something off?"

That day, without fully grasping it, Lyon's attempt to bridge the gap only widened the divide with his affluent classmates, much like casting a stone across a pond and watching it sink without a trace.

Gosh darn it.

End of Chapter

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A/N: Hello, everyone, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. The next chapter will focus on Mei's perspective and will be released in a few days. See you all around, ciao~