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Akira held his breath, forcing back the tears that pricked at the corners of his eyes. His grandparents weren't cruel—he knew that much. But their indifference to emotions, no matter how plainly displayed, was a wall he could never break through. That detachment, that cold stoicism, was something he despised.

"May I leave now?" he asked, his voice carefully measured, polite to a fault.

His grandfather nodded once, curt and final. "Of course. It is late."

Rising slowly, Akira turned toward the sliding doors. The hallway beyond was shrouded in darkness, a yawning void that seemed to beckon him. Yet as he stepped through, the suffocating stillness gave way to the cool embrace of the cherry blossom grove. The night air bit at his skin, sharp and crisp, and he tipped his head back to catch sight of a shooting star streaking across the velvet sky.

The tears he'd fought earlier welled anew, but this time he let them fall, hot trails cutting through the chill on his cheeks.

He wandered deeper into the grove, his footsteps muffled by the soft earth. Sleep could wait. This grove—this hauntingly beautiful place—held both his fondest and his darkest memories. Leaving it behind would be like leaving behind a piece of himself.

He found a familiar tree, its branches stretched wide like a comforting embrace. Settling beneath it, Akira drew his knees to his chest, letting the quiet envelop him. The moon hung low, its pale light spilling over the blossoms, and the air was thick with their sweet, cloying scent.

"Not tired?" a voice murmured from behind the tree.

Akira startled, twisting to see his uncle Takashi emerging from the shadows. Clad in simple black robes, his long, messy hair falling beside his veiled face, Takashi looked every bit the mystery he always was.

"Not really," Akira admitted softly.

Takashi slid down beside him, his movements unhurried. "Worried about tomorrow?"

Akira nodded, hugging his knees tighter. "That...and..."

"You'll miss us? And the estate?"

Another nod, this one more hesitant. "Yes..."

Takashi, second youngest, was reserved and distant from the rest of the family, yet, Akira always found himself lingering near him. Despite his aloof nature, he had never turned Akira away, even when his solitude was invaded by the boy's quiet company.

"It will be fine," Takashi said simply, his tone steady. "Just don't get into trouble."

Before Akira could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps shattered the stillness, accompanied by the faint jingle of jewelry.

"Trouble? Oh, darling, I expected you'd only miss your collection of yaoi manga and books," teased a flamboyant voice.

Akira didn't need to turn to know who it was. His uncle Akimitsu strode into view, his black-and-blonde hair gleaming under the moonlight, his grey eyes dancing with mischief. Rings adorned his fingers, and bangles clinked softly with every gesture. Akimitsu, the third youngest child of the clan leader. Also he didn't wear sandals and socks.

Put those grippers away...

"I mean," Akira said quietly, already embarrassed, "I can just read online..."

Akimitsu grinned, crouching beside them with a dramatic flourish. "True, but nothing beats the charm of physical books, don't you think? Especially the ones I brought you."

Despite himself, Akira smiled faintly. He had always admired Akimitsu's unflinching confidence, his refusal to hide who he was. But the sting of knowing about Jia Yuxi, the lover Akimitsu had lost, made the moment bittersweet.

Takashi, however, was less amused. Even through the veil, his glare was palpable. "You don't have to remind him of the other burden he carries."

Akira stiffened at the mention. His inability to come out to his parents and grandparents was a secret known only to a select few—these two uncles, his aunt Hanako, his little sisters, and a handful of cousins.

"I am not reminding him!" Akimitsu retorted. "I simply want him to cherish the stories I shared."

"I won't forget them," Akira assured softly, grateful for the distraction.

Takashi sighed, the tension between the brothers crackling in the air. "Focus on tomorrow, Akira. And remember, we're here for you."

Before Akira could respond, Takashi tilted his head, his tone blunt. "Although...aren't most of those books gay erotica?"

The words hit like a thunderclap. Akira's face burned as he sputtered, his composure shattered. "I think I should go," he mumbled, scrambling to his feet.

Akimitsu's laughter echoed through the grove, loud and carefree. "Hey! There's no shame in reading those. We were all teenagers once!"

But Akira didn't wait to hear more. He dashed away, the cold air stinging his overheated face. The grove blurred around him, the cherry blossoms melting into pink smudges as he fled.

When he finally reached his aunt's house, the quiet wrapped around him like a blanket. Slipping inside, he moved silently through the darkened room, careful not to wake anyone.

In his spot, he curled beneath the blanket, pulling it up to his chin. The warmth should have been comforting, but his cheeks still burned with residual embarrassment.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, willing his heart to steady. The faint scent of blossoms lingered in his mind as sleep finally claimed him.

_●°•°•°●_

Sunlight poured through the shoji screens, painting delicate patterns on Akira's face. He stirred, his lashes fluttering open as he blinked against the morning light. Around him, the gentle rise and fall of his cousins' and sisters' breathing filled the room. His gaze landed on Izumi, his long hair braided into thin strands tied with little pink bows. A soft chuckle escaped his lips at the sight—a brief reprieve from the day a head.

He reached for his phone, the screen flashing 07:02. Time was slipping away, though part of him wished it would stretch just a little longer. With a quiet sigh, he slipped out of the room, careful not to disturb anyone, and stepped into the brisk morning air.

The chill of March clung to his skin as he crossed the garden path to his quarters. The sakura trees swayed gently in the breeze, their blossoms not yet in full bloom, mirroring the sense of something unfinished in his heart. This was no ordinary day; as the heir to the clan, expectations loomed heavy over him. As they usually do.

His room was simple but dignified, befitting his status as part of the head family. A low-rise bed sat in the corner, flanked by two bookshelves. One was filled with academic texts, carefully arranged by priority. The other one however, had shelves crammed with brightly colored spines of (yaoi)manga and novels—a secret indulgence that spoke of simpler times.

He reached for one of his cherished books, Scum Villain Self-Saving System, running his fingers over its worn cover. A wistful smile tugged at his lips. "One hundred and eighty-one years, and still no season two," he murmured. The book was nostalgia, a link to a younger, freer version of himself.

The shower was warm but did little to thaw the chill of anxiety in his chest. Drying his hair was always a trial, its length cascading well past his hips, a visible marker of his status—disciples didn't have to grow out their hair. In the mirror, his reflection stared back, solemn and composed.

The act of brushing and drying his hair stirred memories he had tried to bury. Muichiro.

He could still feel Muichiro's fingers weaving through his hair, steady and sure, though his hands were far from delicate. "You know, if I didn't have to fight off every auntie in the clan, I'd chop this mop off and toss it in a river," Muichiro had once joked, untangling Akira's hair. "But you know... You've got the 'hair of heirs' look down. You'd break half the elders' hearts if you cut it. Maybe even mine."

Another time, as Muichiro worked his fingers through the endless strands, he'd sighed dramatically, "You're lucky I'm nice. This is the kind of hair they write tragic poetry about. 'Oh, to be a single strand of Akira's silken hair!'" He'd laughed until tears welled in his eyes. "Bet you twenty yen that'll be a line in some clan disciple's love letter one day."

Akira's lips twitched, a faint smile threatening to break through the melancholy.

Carefully, he began to braid his hair, each twist of the strands deliberate, almost reverent. Muichiro's words echoed in his mind: "Your hair's like a story, you know? Long, complicated, and impossible to ignore. Don't let anyone mess with it—except me, obviously."

When he finished, the braid rested neatly on his shoulder, elegant and well-kept. It wasn't perfect, not like Muichiro's, but it was his. A piece of himself he cherished, just as much as the memories it carried.

"You'd still find a way to tease me about it," Akira murmured, his reflection softening in the mirror. "Wouldn't you, Muichiro?"

With a final breath to steady himself, Akira stepped outside, ready to face a day that felt heavier than the air around him. The sakura branches swayed in the wind, a reminder of fleeting moments and the weight of memories that linger long after they're gone.

Akira's phone vibrated in his pocket, breaking the stillness of his thoughts. The screen lit up with his mother's name. He answered, her familiar voice carrying warmth even through the faint crackle of the call.

"Akira, breakfast is ready. Come to the quarters before it gets cold."

"Coming," he replied softly, slipping his phone into his pocket.

Ahyumi Fujisawa was a simple woman by her own description, though Akira thought otherwise. Born into the prestigious Ashikaga clan, she lacked a kanji spirit, an anomaly in their world. Yet, what she lacked in spiritual prowess, she made up for in quiet strength and kindness. Her smile could soften even the sternest of hearts, and to Akira, she was a constant source of peace in the often rigid and demanding atmosphere of their clan.

Her greatest talent lay in the Biwa, the traditional instrument she played with unmatched grace. As a child, Akira would sit by her side, utterly enchanted by the delicate melodies she wove. Those moments had been a refuge, where he could just be a boy spending time with his mother and her music. He'd once asked to learn the Biwa, but his grandmother had insisted he focus on the Koto instead, as befitting his role in the family.

Still, his mother had indulged him in secret. On quiet afternoons, she would guide his small hands on the strings, her patient voice teaching him techniques while gently reminding him to keep the lessons between them. He never became as skilled as her, but the act itself was a bond they shared.

As he finished breakfast, she hovered nearby, insisting on packing treats for him.

"Take this box of matcha cookies," she said, slipping it into his bag. "You'll need something to snack on at SSE. I don't want you going hungry."

"I'll be fine, Mom," Akira assured her, though he didn't bother resisting. Her gentle fussing was something he'd come to cherish.

"You should go see Nanako before the car arrives," his father, Hiroshi Fujisawa, remarked as he stepped into the room. His voice, deep and steady, carried an air of authority even in casual conversation.

Nanako was the youngest Fujisawa grandchild, barely a year old, and a bright spot in Akira's life. He adored her giggles, the way her tiny fingers reached for him, the way she clung to his arm when he carried her.

Akira had always had a soft spot for children. When Tendo was born, Akira was just eight years old. Tendo's mother had passed during childbirth, leaving the family in mourning, particularly Akira's uncle Daichi. While the adults grieved, Akira had taken it upon himself to keep Tendo smiling, carrying the baby around the estate and making silly faces until the laughter bubbled up again.

Then there was Himawari, a perpetually cranky toddler who seemed determined to test everyone's patience. Her parents often needed a break, and Akira never hesitated to step in, distracting her with stories or games until her mood lifted.

But those days felt like they belonged to a different life. His younger cousins were growing up, no longer clinging to him with the same dependency. It left him with a bittersweet ache, a sense that time was slipping by faster than he could grasp.

He glanced at his reflection in the polished surface of a cabinet as he left the dining area. I'm only eighteen, he thought, a wry smile tugging at his lips. Why do I feel like an old man sometimes?

Walking through the estate, now in his modern clothes, felt jarringly out of place. The gravel path crunched under his shoes. Stone lanterns lined the pathway, their surfaces worn smooth by time. Cherry blossoms swayed in the breeze, petals drifting lazily to the ground.

And there, waiting for him at the gate, was the self-driving car—a sleek vehicle that looked absurdly foreign against the backdrop of centuries-old architecture.

Akira turned back for one last look. His cousins had gathered by the wooden porch, waving enthusiastically, their laughter ringing out as Himawari and Tendo began arguing over something silly.

He raised a hand in a final farewell, the image of them etched in his mind as he stepped into the car. As the doors closed with a soft hiss, Akira leaned back in his seat.

As the car rolled away from the estate, Akira kept his gaze fixed out the window, watching the landscape shift with every passing moment. The gravel road, bordered by carefully pruned hedges, stretched ahead like a thread unraveling from his home. The estate's tiled roofs and wooden eaves lingered in the distance, slowly giving way to clusters of modest houses and narrow streets.

It was a gradual change at first, almost imperceptible. The quiet countryside unfolded into small suburban pockets, dotted with utility poles and convenience stores. Here and there, Akira caught glimpses of life moving at a more hurried pace—commuters on bicycles, delivery trucks rumbling by, shopkeepers sweeping their storefronts. It wasn't unfamiliar, but it still felt worlds apart from the measured serenity of the Fujisawa estate.

The car merged onto the highway, and Akira leaned back in his seat, his fingers tapping absently on the armrest. The gentle hum of the engine filled the silence, but his thoughts were louder. Would Nanako take her first steps before he returned? Would Himawari pout the same way, or would she grow past it?

A pang of guilt settled in his chest. He'd always wanted to see more of the world, but leaving this part of it behind didn't feel like freedom—it felt like abandonment.

The scenery outside began to change more noticeably now. The highway lifted above the city, curving through the air like a bridge to another realm. Akira straightened, his eyes widening as the horizon opened up.

Tall buildings emerged from the distance, their gleaming surfaces catching the sunlight like mirrors. They reached upward as though competing to touch the sky, their sheer height almost dizzying. The closer the car drew, the more Akira felt his breath hitch. These weren't the stately, grounded structures of home; these buildings seemed alive with motion, their glass faces reflecting a world that never seemed to pause.

Banners and lights adorned the sides of the buildings, scrolling with endless messages and images. Roads intertwined below, threading the city together like a sprawling labyrinth. The sheer scale of it all made Akira feel small, and for a moment, he was struck by a sense of wonder.

But the wonder was quickly tempered by apprehension. This wasn't home—it was somewhere entirely new, a place that demanded you adapt or get swept aside. The people here weren't tending gardens or playing biwa; they were rushing forward, their gazes sharp and determined.

Akira exhaled slowly, trying to ground himself. This is where I need to be, he told himself, though the thought wavered under the weight of his doubts. He wasn't just leaving behind his family—he was leaving the comfort of certainty.

As the car descended into the city streets, the full force of the new world pressed in around him. The sound of engines, faint music wafting from open doors, and the murmur of countless voices filled the air. Signs blinked and scrolled above storefronts, their messages unfamiliar yet bright.

He shifted in his seat, his fingers tightening into a fist. You've never done this before, but you'll figure it out. It was what he told himself, but his chest still felt heavy. What if he didn't fit in? What if this place, so vibrant and alive, had no room for someone like him?

The car pulled to a stop at a sleek building adorned with smooth panels of glass and metal. Akira hesitated before stepping out, letting his thoughts settle.

This is just the start, he reminded himself. You've left home before, and you've always come back stronger. This time will be no different.

This was SSE's main building, a gleaming tower of glass and steel that seemed to pierce the sky. Akira stepped out, the air buzzing with the hum of activity. Before he could fully take in his surroundings, an android glided toward him, its polished frame reflecting the sunlight.

"Please scan your Clan Pass," it said, its tone even and mechanical.

Akira reached into his pocket, pulling out the slim, decorative card adorned with red cord tassels. He held it up to the android's scanning panel. "Here you go."

The android's eyes flickered, processing. "Welcome, Akira Fujisawa. You are assigned to group 1A. Your belongings will be delivered to your room. Please proceed to the 1A section."

"Thank you," Akira replied, watching as the android smoothly lifted his bags, including the case for his katana, and wheeled them away. He adjusted his grip on his phone and took a deep breath, his nerves flaring. This is it.

Making his way toward the 1A section, Akira scanned the growing crowd of students. Conversations hummed in multiple languages, and the mix of modern clothing among the traditional hairstyles caught him off guard.

"Akira," a familiar voice called out. He turned to see Zhao Zhan, standing tall and composed as always. Zhan gave a courteous nod, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Zhan," Akira replied, offering a small nod of his own. "Didn't expect to see so many familiar faces."

Zhan's lips twitched into a faint smile. "It's a rare occasion, isn't it? Gathering like this. Everyone from so many clans and sects in one place."

Akira's eyes scanned the crowd again and landed on a familiar figure. "Sanji," he called, walking over.

Sanji turned, his face lighting up with a grin. "You made it! I thought you'd be too good for this, Akira." He stepped forward and clapped Akira on the shoulder.

"Yeah, I missed you too," Akira said, his lips curving into a soft smile. His gaze flickered across the room. "It's strange, though. Seeing everyone in modern clothes... and their hair down. It's—different."

Sanji chuckled, gesturing toward two men in sleek, casual outfits. "Tell me about it. Look at Chen Zixin and Xian over there. Barely recognized them without the robes."

Akira couldn't help but laugh under his breath, though the unease lingered. Everything felt unfamiliar, as if the world he'd always known was slipping away piece by piece.

Zhan joined them, overhearing their conversation. "You'll adjust. It's just another stage of training."

Before Akira could respond, an android approached the group, its voice cutting smoothly through the noise. "Please scan the QR code on my interface to be assigned your tech student partners and dorm rooms."

Akira took out his phone, scanning the glowing code displayed on the android's chest. Sanji and Zhan followed suit, their faces illuminated briefly by the blue light of their screens.

As Akira's phone chimed with a notification, the hall's lights suddenly dimmed. A murmur rippled through the crowd, but it quickly gave way to silence as two towering holograms flickered into view.

One image was instantly recognizable—Li Yang, his aunt. She wore a flowing hanfu of yellow and red, the red emblazoned with the Fujisawa clan's flower-and-eye insignia, the yellow adorned with the Li sect's symbol. Her presence commanded the room, every movement deliberate and precise.

Beside her stood Damon, clad in a sleek tech suit and armor that radiated authority. His voice boomed as he began to speak, his tone firm yet welcoming.

Li Yang began to speak, her voice clear and authoritative. "Welcome, students, to Spirit Security Elite Academy. I am Li Yang, General of the Cultural Division. Here, you will learn not only to harness the traditional arts and spiritual practices of your heritage but also to integrate these skills into our modern world."

Damon continued, his tone equally commanding. "And I am Damon, General of the Tech Division. At SSE, you will be trained to master advanced technology and cybernetic enhancements. Together, we will forge a new path, one that blends ancient wisdom with cutting-edge innovation."

Li Yang smiled warmly. "At SSE, you will train to combat the Yin creatures that threaten our world. These creatures are born from the imbalance of negative energies, and it is our duty to restore harmony. But this task cannot be accomplished by one discipline alone."

Damon nodded. "That's why each of you will be paired with a student from the opposite field-one cultural student and one tech student. This partnership will teach you to work together, to complement each other's strengths and cover each other's weaknesses. Unity is our greatest weapon against the Yin."

The holographic images shifted slightly, as if to emphasize their points. "You will face many challenges here," Li Yang continued. "But remember, you are not alone. Support each other, learn from each other, and grow together. The bonds you form here will be crucial in the battles to come."

Damon added, "This is more than just training. This is about creating a future where tradition and technology coexist, where we harness the best of both worlds to protect what we hold dear. Your journey begins now, and it will not be easy. But with determination and cooperation, you will succeed."

Just like the wise words of Hana Montana, he thought.

The holograms flickered and then disappeared, leaving the students in thoughtful silence. Akira felt the excitement and apprehension building up inside. The responsibility was immense, but so was the opportunity.

Sanji nudged him. "Well, looks like we're in for quite the adventure."

As the speech ended, a notification sounds echoed through the hall, drawing everyone's attention. Akira checked his phone and saw a new message. It was a notification about his pairing. The name displayed was 'Jia Huan' and his dorm room was listed as Room 69. Along with the notification was his room pass.

Sanji looked at his phone and shared his information with Akira. "I'm paired with someone named Marcus. My room is 109."

"Looks like we're getting our assignments," Zhao said, glancing at his own phone. "I'm with someone named Justin. Room 112."

With his pairing details in hand, Akira made his way to their respective rooms. The grand hall gradually emptied as students dispersed, each heading towards their new living quarters.

Akira navigated the corridors of SSE, following the signs leading him to Room 69. The academy's hallways stretched before him, walls made of translucent materials that glowed softly, illuminated by a light source embedded within their seamless panels. Silver bands ran along the floors, guiding students through the maze-like pathways, pulsing softly as they outlined each direction. Smooth, metallic doors lined the walls, sliding open and closed with the quietest hiss, allowing only a momentary glimpse into the rooms beyond.

Suspended overhead, ceiling panels alternated between displays and muted colors, adjusting to the academy's various zones and subtly shifting as Akira moved through them. The air felt cool and clean, but nothing like home. Occasionally, small service droids glided by, their spherical forms whirring gently as they delivered supplies or carried maintenance tools, navigating around students. They were quite cute.

At last, he reached Room 69. With a deep breath, Akira slid his room pass through the slim electronic lock, which emitted a soft chime as the door clicked open. The space was small, but Akira didn't expect much. Two low beds against the walls on opposite sides, both framed by built-in shelves displaying a muted array of lights, casting a warm glow. The walls were a smooth, matte silver, free of any sharp edges, as if the entire room had been carved from a single piece of material.

Two connected desk sat beneath a wide screen embedded in the wall, displaying his class schedule and academy updates, which shifted gently as he approached. The floor was a sleek, dark surface that felt firm under his footsteps as he entered. Above, a slender strip of lighting mimicked the natural daylight outside, adapting subtly to the changing time, casting a soft, welcoming glow over everything.

There are no windows...

An android came in setting his belongings down and he took a moment to familiarize himself with his new environment.

Akira took a deep breath and looked around. So this is it he thought. He unpacked his things and arranged his space, preparing for the challenges and opportunities that awaited him.

As he carefully set his katana on a stand above his bed, the door to his room slid open. He turned to see who had entered and his breath caught in his throat. Standing in the doorway was his new partner and his assigned roommate. For a moment, time seemed to slow.

Huan was strikingly beautiful. His jet-black hair was soft and tousled, framing his face in an effortlessly charming way. His brown eyes were warm and inviting, and his skin had a radiant glow. Akira found himself mesmerized, struck by what could only be described as love at first sight.

Huan's sweet smile broke the spell, and he greeted Akira with a friendly, "Hi there."

Akira blinked, snapping back to reality. He realized he had been staring and felt a flush of embarrassment. "Oh, hi," he managed, forcing a smile and trying to steady his nerves. "I'm Fujisawa Akira."

Huan's smile widened, a touch of amusement in his eyes. "Nice to meet you, Akira. I'm Jia Huan. Looks like we're roommates."

Akira nodded, trying to compose himself. "Yeah, it looks like it. I hope we get along well."

"I'm sure we will," Huan said with an easy confidence. He stepped further into the room, glancing around. "Your katana looks impressive. Do you practice martial arts?"

Akira was relieved to have a topic to focus on. "Yes, I do. It's a tradition in my family. How about you? What are you interested in?" Now that he thought about it, it was a stupid question to ask.

Huan's eyes lit up. "I'm into mostly robotics and coding, obviously since I am a tech student, and I've studied a bit of traditional arts. I'm looking forward to work with you."

"Me too..." Akira replied softly.

"Well I am gonna set up my side of the room," he said and started working, placing his bag on the floor.

Akira went back to his katana, cussing himself for being so awkward.

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Yes, I made the room no. 69, I am just a silly little teen girl... :>