10/1/28
6:02 AM
Aya Norito was having a moment.
Not a good moment. Not a bad moment. Just a moment—the kind where you're kneeling on your apartment couch with a flashlight clenched between your teeth, staring at your phone screen like it holds the secrets of the universe, trying very hard not to scream.
She'd just sent a message to Everest June.
THE Everest June.
House of June son.
The guy whose face was literally on every screen in the city two minutes ago.
And what had she said?
"Yahhō~! Let's be friends, okay? Don't run away. ♡"
WITH A HEART?!
She'd sent a HEART to the house of June's heir.
"Noooo no no no no—" She flopped backward onto the couch, arms flailing dramatically. "Aya, you baka! Why are you like this?! He's gonna think you're a creep! A stalker! A—a—" (JP: idiot)
DING.
Her phone buzzed.
She shot upright so fast the flashlight flew out of her mouth and shattered on the floor.
"MAJI?!" (JP: seriously?!)
She grabbed her phone with both hands, screen brightness turned up to maximum, and read:
[Everest June: Yes]
She stared.
Blinked.
Read it again.
"...Yes?"
That was it?
Just... yes?
"EHHHHH?!" She threw her hands up. "What does that even mean?! Yes we're friends?! Yes don't run?! Yes you're a weirdo, Aya, please leave me alone?!"
She rolled off the couch onto the floor—which was cold and uncomfortable and covered in the remains of her broken flashlight—and lay there staring at the ceiling.
Her apartment was... well.
Small was generous.
It was a single room with faded green walls, a flickering overhead light that had died sometime last week, a bed shoved against one wall, and a desk/cabinet combo that held literally everything she owned. No bathroom—just the public one down the hall that smelled like industrial cleaner and regret.
The couch she'd been kneeling on was modern and amber-colored and way too nice for this place, which meant it came with the apartment. Everything else? Hers. Which meant: not much.
But she had her mirror.
And her makeup bag.
And her dreams.
She sat up, brushed glass shards off her shirt—jet-black with Lily Loco's name on the front and a curse word on the back—and checked her phone again.
[HOUSEMASTER - OFFICIAL: All Icons: Report to USA: STELLAR HIGH by 8:00 AM]
It was 6:05 now.
Two hours.
She had two hours to:
Shower(public bathroom, pray nobody's in there)
Do her makeup (ESSENTIAL)
Pick an outfit (from the traveling bag she still hadn't unpacked)
Get to Stellar High (which was apparently the size of a small city)
Not die of nervousness
"Yokatta... easy. Totally doable. I'm a professional after all." (JP: thank goodness)
She was absolutely not a professional.
She grabbed her towel—threadbare, pink, covered in faded cartoon characters—and sprinted down the hallway to the public bath.
7:15 AM
Aya sat at her desk, staring into her torso-sized mirror with the intensity of a surgeon about to perform open-heart surgery.
Her reflection stared back:
Smooth, fair skin that glowed even in the terrible lighting. Silky purple hair touched with pink at the tips, still damp from the shower and hanging loose around her shoulders. Crimson eyes that were—and this was the weirdest part about her face—completely, unnervingly calm. Like two pools of still water that never rippled no matter what happened.
Her face was expressive. Always had been. She smiled, she pouted, she gasped, she grinned like an idiot.
But her eyes?
Dead calm.
It used to freak people out when she was younger. Now she just... leaned into it. Made her look mysterious. Dangerous.
Cute AND scary.
Perfect.
She picked up her makeup bag—a battered pink thing covered in stickers—and got to work.
Black lipstick on the lower lip. Light red mascara. Nothing too heavy—she didn't need it, honestly, but it made her feel more... real. Like she was putting on armor before battle.
By 7:20, she was done.
"Kawaii jyan~!" she whispered to her reflection, then immediately felt embarrassed for complimenting herself. (JP: so cute!)
She turned to her traveling bag—still sitting in the corner, half-unpacked, exploding with clothes—and started digging.
Five minutes later, she'd assembled an outfit:
Jet-black T-shirt (another one with her favorite star's name on front, curse word on back—her favorite)
Leggings and a skirt (black to match)
Fairly used black heels (the only nice shoes she owned)
She got dressed with the kind of speed that came from years of getting ready in cramped spaces, then grabbed her expensive perfume—the bottle she'd been saving for months for exactly this moment—and sprayed it like her life depended on it.
The smell was floral and sweet and probably way too strong, but whatever.
Today was important.
She checked her phone: 7:30 AM.
Thirty minutes to get there.
She grabbed her bag, her phone, her confidence (what little she had), and bolted out the door.
7:45 AM
The taxi ride was simultaneously the best and worst fifteen minutes of her life.
Best because: the city was insane. Neon lights everywhere, holographic billboards, buildings so tall they disappeared into the sky, vehicles that looked like they were from the future. She pressed her face against the window like a kid at an aquarium, pointing at every new thing.
"Ne ne, driver-san, what's THAT building?!" (JP: hey hey)
"Corporate headquarters."
"And THAT one?!"
"Also corporate headquarters."
"Sugoi! Everything's so big here!" (JP: amazing!)
Worst because: the meter kept climbing and she was very aware that she'd negotiated a "relatively cheap" ride which meant "still way too expensive for someone with zero income."
But she'd deal with that later.
Future Aya's problem.
When they finally pulled up to the gates of USA: STELLAR HIGH, she forgot how to breathe.
"Maji... sugee..." (JP: seriously... amazing...)
It wasn't a school.
It was a compound.
A massive fence stretched across the horizon—actual horizon, like she couldn't see where it ended. Inside: forests, stadiums, what looked like a theatre, multiple massive buildings, and right in the center—
A mansion.
No.
A castle.
Snow-white walls. Vermillion roof. So big it made her apartment building look like a dollhouse.
"For madness' sake," she whispered. "It's a whole frickin' town!"
She paid the driver (wincing at the number), thanked him way too enthusiastically, and practically skipped toward the entrance.
Security stopped her three times.
Each time, she showed her Icon registration, smiled her brightest smile, and got waved through.
By the time she reached the mansion's entrance—a flight of stairs with an actual red carpet and security personnel standing in formation like this was a movie premiere—she was vibrating with excitement.
"Ufufufu~ I'm sooo gonna brag about this to my friends-to-be!"
She bounced up the stairs, past more security, and through the massive double doors into—
Darkness.
Well. Dim lighting, anyway.
The hall was enormous. Theatre-style seating in crimson that looked softer than her bed, rows and rows of seats stretching back into shadow. The ceiling was so high she couldn't see it. And at the front—
A stage.
Scarlet curtains. Massive screen behind it, currently dark.
The air felt electric. Like the room itself was holding its breath.
There were already people here—scattered throughout the seats, mostly toward the back, all trying to look casual while clearly sizing each other up.
Icons.
Her future... friends? Rivals? Enemies?
All of the above, probably.
Aya didn't hesitate. She skipped down the aisle, weaving through the crowd at the entrance, and made a beeline for the front row.
Because if you're gonna do something, do it big.
She plopped into a seat, grinning, taking it all in—
Then froze.
Oh.
Oh no.
Three seats to her left.
Sitting perfectly still, legs crossed, arms resting on the armrests, black silk robe catching the dim light, long black hair tied in a bun with a few loose strands framing his face—
Everest June.
His golden eyes were already looking at her.
Not staring. Not glaring.
Just... looking.
With something that might've been recognition.
And quiet amusement.
Her brain short-circuited.
Ohmygod ohmygod that's him that's ACTUALLY him I texted him this morning he said YES what does yes mean is he mad does he think I'm weird I'M SO WEIRD—
Then, as if choreographed, all the people sitting near Everest stood up.
In unison.
And started walking toward her.
"Ah." She squeaked. "A-Ara?" (JP: oh my?)
The first to reach her was a guy every teenage girl in the world knew:
Silver Lake.
Midnight blue hair tipped with sky blue. Pitch-black eyes that reflected nothing—like someone had taken the concept of light and told it to leave. Piercings everywhere: ears, eyebrow, nose, lip. He wore all black with so many chains she wondered how he walked without sounding like a wind chime.
He looked her up and down, then grinned.
"A Japanese chick?"
Aya puffed her cheeks out dramatically.
"Ouch! You dun know me?! That's suuuper mean, yo! Ara~ you break cute girl heart like zis?!" (JP: oh my)
Silver scratched his head, still grinning. "Yo, chill, lil' sparkplug. I don't forget faces like that—names just... you know, slip through the cracks. Happens to legends like me."
Then Everest's voice cut in—calm, composed, with just enough edge to sting:
"Silver tends to overlook details that require effort. It's a habit he's proud of."
Silver pointed at him accusingly. "Bro. That's uncalled for." A pause. "And true. But uncalled for."
Aya blinked rapidly, looking between them.
"Ne ne... are you two always like zis?" (JP: hey hey)
Everest leaned close to Silver and whispered something too quiet for her to hear.
Silver's eyebrows shot up.
"Oh—OH. YO!" He turned back to Aya, eyes wide. "You're that girl! Lily Loco's number-one fan! The whole net was obsessed with you! Girl, they literally crowned you Number One Fangirl of the year!"
Aya's grin turned smug.
"Ufufu~ maybe I waaasss~"
Silver clicked his tongue. "Yeah, that tracks. No wonder you ain't into dudes who don't know your idol. If someone didn't know mine?" He made a cutting gesture. "Instant block."
Aya leaned forward, eyes sparkling.
"And who iz your idol, hm? Tell me yo~"
Silver burst into laughter—loud, unrestrained, the kind that made people turn and stare.
"Me. Duh. Ain't nobody out there with my drip."
Aya muttered under her breath in Japanese:
"Baka rappā..." (JP: stupid rapper)
Then Everest stood.
He moved with the kind of fluid grace that made it look effortless, like gravity was optional for him. He stopped directly in front of her and extended his hand.
His expression was polite. Neutral. Perfectly controlled.
"A pleasure meeting you, Fangirl." His voice was smooth, measured. "You're... very good at hiding nerves."
Aya's entire soul glitched.
"H-HA?! I—I'm not nervous! Arigatō though!" (JP: thank you)
She grabbed his hand way too quickly, shaking it with way too much enthusiasm.
"And I'm Aya Norito, NOT Fangirl! A-Y-A, N-O-R-I—"
BUZZZZZZZZZZZ.
The sound cut through the hall like a chainsaw through butter.
Everyone froze.
Every conversation stopped.
Every head turned toward the stage.
The massive screen behind the scarlet curtains lit up—stark white, blinding after the dim lighting.
Then text appeared:
[Greetings...]
The voice that followed made Aya's lungs forget how to work.
It wasn't loud. Wasn't shouting.
But it filled the space. Deep, smooth, everywhere at once. The kind of voice that made you sit up straight without thinking about it.
[I am whatever you make me to be—]
Aya felt the air shift. Felt the room lean forward.
[Please, ladies and gentlemen... have your seats.]
Silver muttered "Damn" under his breath and headed back to his spot.
Everest let go of her hand—she hadn't realized he was still holding it—and returned to his seat three down from hers.
Aya plopped back into her chair, heart hammering.
Oh.
Oh wow.
This is actually happening.
The voice continued:
[And now, from this moment forward, everything you do... everything you are... is valued.]
The screen shifted.
An image appeared:
A figure in shadow. No features visible. Just a silhouette against white light.
[Welcome... to Stellar High.]
The lights in the hall dimmed further.
The screen grew brighter.
And Aya realized, with a mix of terror and excitement, that she had no idea what she'd just walked into.
But she was definitely about to find out.