Everyone at Stark Academy knew what it meant to land in Section G.
You didn't walk into G. You fell into it — quietly, shamefully — like dust swept into a forgotten corner of the school.
The further down the alphabet your section was, the less seriously you were taken — by teachers, classmates, even yourself. And G? G was the bottom. A place so low that even speaking its name felt dangerous, as if acknowledging it might drag you down too.
No one chose Section G. You were sent there — judged by cold numbers and behavior reports before you even set foot inside the building. Section G students were the leftovers. The forgotten. The ones the system had already decided weren't worth saving.
Seventeen-year-old Machibito Toro sat stiffly at his desk, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on him.
But for him, this wasn't the end.
It was just the beginning.
The classroom buzzed under flickering fluorescent lights. The desks were covered in deep scratches, names of students long gone carved into the wood. The windows jammed halfway open, leaking in stale air that smelled of sweat and permanent marker. Machibito sat rigid in the second row, his gaze fixed on the clock. Across the room, Mikael tapped his foot impatiently, every second stretching out longer than the last.
Three minutes until homeroom.
Machibito tightened his fists beneath the desk.
He wasn't staying in Section G.
And he wasn't leaving alone.
He thought about his older brother, Kaito — the golden child who had graduated from Class S with perfect honors and a full scholarship to university.
At home, Kaito's trophies and certificates lined the walls like shrines.
Machibito's report cards, when they came at all, were quietly stuffed into drawers and forgotten.
This was supposed to be his year. His chance to prove he was more than just "the second Toro kid."
More than a mistake.
The door creaked open. Their homeroom teacher shuffled in, a thick stack of papers clutched in his arms. His face was worn and disinterested. Without so much as a glance at them, he dropped the papers onto the desk with a dull thud.
"These are your reviewers for the upcoming exams," he said, voice flat and cold. "You'll be tested in three days. Study on your own. There's no point teaching you. You're in the lowest section, after all."
Silence fell over the room.
For a moment, no one moved. The words hovered in the air, heavy and final.
Then, like ice cracking under pressure, the classroom erupted into murmurs — curses whispered under breath, chairs scraping against the floor.
Machibito sat frozen as the stack of papers scattered across his desk. Around him, his classmates gathered their things with numb movements, some moving quickly, others moving like it physically hurt to stand.
Slowly, he rose to his feet. He crumpled the reviewer papers in his hand without even realizing it. His legs felt heavy as he walked to the door, the stares of his classmates trailing after him — hollow and hopeless.
The hallway outside buzzed under the same tired fluorescent lights. The air smelled of cleaning spray and old textbooks. Machibito shoved the crumpled papers under his arm and kept walking, his steps echoing against the empty walls.
Anger built inside him, thick and burning.
They hadn't even been given a chance.
They were already written off.
He gritted his teeth, his knuckles whitening around the papers.
Three days.
No teachers.
No expectations.
They hadn't been given a chance to survive.
They had been left to sink.
But Machibito wasn't planning on drowning.
As he made his way toward home, the streets around the school looked strangely alive.
Near the park, he noticed a crowd.
It wasn't just random students loitering.
It was his classmates — a tight circle gathered near the cracked old fountain, voices low and urgent.
Machibito slowed.
Before he could slip past, a voice called out.
"Toro! Over here!"
It was Hiro Sakura — the class president. Always calm, always composed.
And yet there was something sharp in his eyes now. Something restless.
Machibito hesitated, then tucked the papers tighter under his arm and walked toward them.
The group quieted as he approached, tension thick in the air.
This wasn't sadness.
It was something harder.
A reckless kind of determination.
Hiro stepped forward, lowering his voice so only the circle could hear.
"We've been thinking," he said. "There's no way we can pass this exam fairly. Not in three days."
He scanned their faces, then met Machibito's eyes directly.
"We're going to cheat."