They say the first day of school sets the tone for the whole year.
If that's true, mine started with an alarm I didn't set, Tyler calling me five times, and me running around my room with toast in my mouth like I was starring in an anime. Minus the toast. Who even eats toast in a hurry? Psychopaths, probably.
"Jay, if you're not out in five minutes, I'm breaking the door down," Tyler yelled from the hallway.
"Wouldn't be the first door you've broken," I muttered, buttoning my shirt. I skipped the tie. Normal kids don't wear ties on day one, right?
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror—messy hair, relaxed shirt, the faintest smirk tugging at my lips.
Don't stand out. Be normal. No charming the teachers. No unintentional fan clubs.
I exhaled. Easy.
Tyler and Amaya were already at the breakfast table. Tyler was inhaling cereal like it was a sport, while Amaya quietly sipped tea and flipped through her planner like it was a ritual.
"You took forever," Tyler said, mouth full. "What, were you choosing which watch matched your socks?"
"You know I don't wear socks," I said smoothly. "They make me look too rich."
Amaya gave me a gentle side-eye. "Jay, you are rich."
"Not today," I grinned, grabbing a banana and heading for the door. "Today, I'm just another confused kid trying not to get lost on the first day."
The gates of St. Ivy High looked shinier than usual. Or maybe it was just the sun, mocking us for being awake this early.
Students swarmed the entrance—some nervously clinging to maps, others confidently laughing like they already owned the place. Uniforms were loosely enforced. Bags came in all shapes. And the energy?
Pure chaos.
Tyler immediately ran off toward the soccer field. He called it "marking his territory."
Amaya stuck close to me, eyes scanning the crowd like she was running facial recognition software.
Then the bell rang. Loud. Long. Final.
"Let's survive this," I muttered.
We made our way to Class 1-A—the beginning of our academic chaos.
Room 1-A
The room had that new-class smell. Desks lined up perfectly, sunlight pouring in from the big windows, and a chalkboard that already had something unreasonably profound written on it: "This year will not be like the last."
Yeah, no pressure.
Mr. Brooks stood at the front, leaning against the desk with a mug that read "Don't Talk to Me Unless You're Coffee." His sunglasses were still on.
"Welcome to Class 1-A," he said in a voice that was both bored and oddly smooth, like he'd once been in a jazz band and never let it go. "I'm Mr. Brooks. I teach English and manage chaos. Take a seat. Preferably without breaking anything."
We walked in.
Heads turned. I caught it—just the faint shift of eyes, some whispers.
I smiled back. Not too much. Friendly. Normal.
My seat was last near window in my right there is a girl
She was already sitting next to my assigned seat. Cold expression, arms folded, eyes like polished steel. Not staring. Not ignoring either. Just... watching.
I sat down, nodded politely.
She didn't blink.
Okay. Cool.
A few more students filed in:
A tall guy with pristine glasses who looked at me like we were already rivals.
A pink-haired girl humming to herself while sketching in her notebook.
A guy who loudly introduced himself to the desk and declared he was "ready for the drama of youth."
Mr. Brooks took a long sip of coffee. "Before we begin, let's get introductions out of the way. I want name, one thing about you, and your biggest fear. Go."
The room froze.
Noah stood up immediately. "Noah Carter. Drama is my destiny. I fear mediocrity."
Tyler burst into applause.
I leaned back in my seat. Yup. This year's already going to be stupid.
"Next," Mr. Brooks said, not even pretending to be impressed by Noah's performance. He was already scribbling something in a notebook. Probably a list of who would be the first to cause a fire drill.
The classroom shuffled awkwardly.
One by one, they stood up.
A girl with sleek black hair, blazer perfectly ironed, stood like she was about to deliver a TED Talk.
"I'm Emma. I like planning. I don't like wasting time. And I fear failure."
She sat down before anyone could react.
Okay then. Intense.
Then came a boy with dark brown curls and glasses that looked a little too perfect.
"Miles. Top of my class last year. I plan to keep it that way. I fear… being second."
He looked at me. Like, right at me.
Great. I've known him for six seconds and apparently, we're already in an academic duel to the death.
Then there was a girl with short pink hair who looked like she barely remembered she was in a classroom.
"I'm… Luna, I think. I draw stuff. I'm afraid of public speaking."
She sat down. Immediately started sketching. Probably drew ten versions of the Grim Reaper just from having to say her name out loud.
Another student stood up—tall, bleached streak in his bangs, practically glowing with "main character" energy.
"Call me Noah," he said, even though he already introduced himself five minutes ago. "I live for the stage. My fear? Living a boring life."
Tyler whispered, "Is he auditioning for a Netflix teen drama?"
I nodded. "Season two."
Then it's Amaya.
She stood, tucked her hair behind her ear, and said softly, "Amaya Nicole. I like baking."
I saw someone two rows over melt slightly. Understandable.
Then came the whispers.
Not the dramatic kind. The quiet, fluttery kind that sneak around the room like a breeze. I didn't even need to hear them clearly—I could feel them.
"Is that… Jay Markov?"
"He's even hotter in person."
"No way that hair is real. That's a shampoo commercial."
"He smiled at me. I think I'm in love."
Okay. That last one had to be a joke. I hoped.
Amaya scooted just a tiny bit closer. Tyler smirked.
"Alright, charm machine," he whispered. "Your turn."
I stood up slowly.
Everyone turned. Some leaned in. One girl near the back literally gasped. This was ridiculous.
"Hey. I'm Jay," I said simply. "I like quiet mornings, things that smell like vanilla, and soccer... when I'm not playing against Tyler."
Tyler fist-pumped.
"I guess my biggest fear is… people expecting me to be someone I'm not."
A pause. Then a few quiet "aww" s.
One girl near the front mouthed, "He's deep." Another whispered, "I bet he plays guitar."
I sat down quickly before they started a fan club.
The girl beside me—cool expression, silver ear cuff, sharp eyes—finally stood. No nervous fidgeting. No "umm." Just cool, quiet confidence.
"Yuki," she said. "I like silence. I fear wasting time."
And that was it. She sat back down.
Didn't even glance my way.
Interesting.
Mr. Brooks looked mildly impressed. Or maybe just surprised we finished without setting off the fire alarm.
"Alright. That's everyone," he said, clapping once. "Now that I know your names—and your insecurities—let's get started."
The class buzzed as people relaxed into their seats. Conversations picked up. Some students already started leaning into each other, whispering, laughing.
Except Yuki. Still staring ahead. Like she was waiting for something.
"Why do I feel like half the class already wants to marry you?" Amaya murmured beside me, poking my side gently.
"Don't worry," I whispered back. "I'm loyal to cafeteria food and my freedom."
Tyler leaned in. "Five bucks says we get invited to three clubs by lunch."
I shook my head, smiling.
So far? High school wasn't terrifying.
Yet.
Meanwhile: Somewhere on the Girls' Side of the Room...
"He's cute," Sofia whispered.
"He knows it," Emma whispered back.
Yuki didn't say anything. She just tapped her pen against her notebook and kept glancing toward me like I was a suspicious puzzle piece.
Emma narrowed her eyes. "He's hiding something."
Sofia grinned. "Or he's just hot. That's legal too."
From the back, Luna slowly flipped a sketchpad closed. She didn't say a word—but she'd drawn all of us already.
Chapter 1.5 – Flashback: The Crown I Didn't Wear
The classroom buzzed with whispers behind me, but my brain had already checked out. I wasn't thinking about Mr. Brooks' lecture, or the girl sketching in the back, or the guy next to me who looked like he was plotting a takeover of the entire class.
I was thinking about that morning.
The one with the ridiculous banners, the awkward speeches, and the moment my life here officially began.
—
Flashback – Earlier That Morning
"Welcome to St. Ivy High School for Excellence," said the man on stage, voice deep and overly rehearsed. "Where the leaders of tomorrow are shaped today!"
He gestured dramatically, and a banner behind him unfurled with a mechanical whirr: "DREAM. LEAD. EXCEL."
Tyler leaned over to me from his seat. "Bet he practiced that in the mirror twenty times."
"He needs to fire whoever wrote that slogan," I muttered back.
"Or at least whoever picked that font. That's Comic Sans."
We both snorted. Amaya gave us a look—the gentle kind that says you're embarrassing yourselves but I'm still going to stand near you anyway.
We were seated among rows and rows of fresh uniforms, neat blazers, polished shoes, and expressions ranging from nervous to cocky. I recognized no one, and they sure didn't know me.
Except, they were glancing.
Some subtly. Some... not so subtly.
One group of girls, seated near the right wing of the auditorium, were already whispering with that look—the one I've seen more times than I can count. The "who is he?" look. I pretended not to notice.
"He's hot. Like, unfairly hot."
"I swear he blinked in slow motion. Like a drama character!"
"I'm going to scream if he ends up in my class—"
"Shhh! He's looking this way!"
No, I wasn't. Not really. Just enough to catch the murmurs without giving them what they wanted.
It's always like this. First the whispers. Then the theories. Then the expectations.
...And then the distance.
Because sooner or later, someone finds out who I am.
My name. My family. The throne I never asked to sit on.
But not here. Not yet.
A new speaker stepped up—someone younger, maybe a senior. She wore the student council sash and held a clipboard like it was a weapon. Her posture screamed "overachiever," and her voice was sharp and precise.
"First-years, welcome. I'm your student council vice president, and I will be overseeing the orientation ceremony. You'll find your assigned classrooms on the notice boards outside. Please check them after the assembly, and don't be late for homeroom."
"Bet she alphabetized her childhood," Tyler whispered.
"She seems nice," Amaya said, still scribbling notes.
"Scary nice," I added.
"Hot nice," Tyler offered.
Amaya lightly elbowed him. "Can you not?"
"Can you stop blushing, is the better question—"
And then I tuned them out again.
Because for a moment, as I sat in that auditorium surrounded by polished glass and student council speeches, I forgot about the legacy, the expectations, the hidden bodyguards I was sure were disguised as janitors.
For just a second, I felt like a normal student.
And that was enough.
—
Back to Present – Homeroom, Just Before Lunch
A crumpled piece of paper hit the on my head.
"Earth to Jay," Tyler whispered, leaning toward me. "We're planning lunch missions. You in?"
I blinked. "Sorry. Zoned out."
Amaya tilted her head. "You were smiling just now. Something good?"
"Yeah," I said softly, eyes drifting toward the window. "Just... remembering the entrance ceremony."
Tyler snorted. "You mean that giant PowerPoint session?"
"Hey," I said, grinning. "It had fireworks. Emotionally."
Mr. Brooks, standing at the front with his signature coffee mug, let out a long sigh. "If any of you start clapping for imaginary fireworks, I'm leaving."
The class chuckled, and the tension broke.
Lunch was coming. The first real break in our new lives.
And if the entrance ceremony was the calm before the chaos, then… yeah. I was ready to step into it.
"Alright," Brooks said, tossing the chalk aside like he was done with life, "class rep nominations tomorrow, don't start a coup until then."
The bell rang.
Tyler jumped out of his seat like it owed him food. "LUNCH TIME, BABY."
Brooks didn't look up from his coffee. "Don't cause property damage."
"I make no promises!" Tyler called, already dragging me and Amaya out by the wrists.
I grabbed my bag, stretched, and looked around.
And just like that… I wasn't invisible anymore.
Not in this class.
Not in this school.
And somehow, I had a feeling the chaos was just getting started.
We spilled into the hallway with the rest of Class 1-A, the corridor instantly filling with the sound of a hundred students trying to pretend they weren't sprinting toward food.
Tyler turned to us. "Alright. Mission plan. I'm heading to the courtyard to show off. You two—join me later?"
"You mean 'accidentally juggle a soccer ball until people start clapping'?" I smirked.
He winked. "Exactly."
And just like that, he vanished into the crowd like a sports-themed tornado.
That left me and Amaya.
We stood awkwardly at the edge of the cafeteria entrance.
"Which station are we going to?" I asked.
She tilted her head toward the budget line. "That one."
"Figured," I said. "Lead the way."
We joined the back of the queue. It was long, winding, and already noisy with first-years trying to figure out how to order without looking like total newbies. I caught pieces of conversation from nearby tables.
"…he's definitely rich, did you see his watch?"
"…I heard he transferred from a school overseas."
"…okay but who wears their tie like that and gets away with it?"
Yep. The whispers were still following me. I resisted the urge to glance behind.
"People are talking about you already," Amaya said softly, handing me a tray.
"I noticed," I muttered. "I'm trying to pretend I didn't."
We finally got our food—cheap curry rice and a juice box—and slid into an empty table by the window. For a minute, it was peaceful. The kind of peaceful that feels like a trap.
Then—
BOOM.
A soccer ball slammed into the window beside us, and we both jumped.
Tyler waved from the courtyard outside. "I meant to do that!"
The glass was fine. Barely. A few students clapped. Some even gathered to watch. Tyler kept juggling the ball like it was an audition for the national team, spinning it on his finger, doing trick shots. A small crowd of girls was already filming.
"Should we tell him he's creating a public spectacle?" Amaya asked.
"He knows," I said, sipping my juice. "He's aiming for it."
Behind us, the cafeteria doors opened again—and a new wave of students spilled in. This time, I saw her.
Emma Sinclair.
Confident Walk. Blazer perfectly pressed. Clipboard in one hand. She marched straight to the VIP corner, looked around, wrinkled her nose, and sat by herself like she owned the entire table.
A few seats away: Yuki Dawson. Cold expression. Earbuds in. She took one look at the curry options, shook her head, and pulled a protein bar from her pocket. Sat down in a completely empty table and stared out the window like she was in a noir movie.
I watched them for a beat longer than I meant to.
"...You, okay?" Amaya asked.
"Yeah," I blinked. "Just... taking in the characters."
She smiled faintly. "You're one to talk."
Then—
"HEY!" A voice rang out.
I turned just in time to see a boy dramatically leap over a chair, trip, land face-first, and pop back up like it was part of the act.
Noah Carter.
"I'm fine!" he said. "It was a stage dive. The stage just wasn't ready."
He grabbed a soda and joined two completely random students at their table, already narrating his fall like it was the climax of a movie.
A girl sitting a few tables away—sketchpad in hand, oversized hoodie up—just kept drawing. Didn't react at all. She looked up once to glance at me, then looked back down.
Luna Bennett. Mysterious. Silent. Maybe drawing us all into a manga as we spoke.
And then I felt it.
A presence. The kind you don't see but you feel. The cafeteria temperature didn't drop, but it felt like it did.
Yuki was looking at me.
Just for a second. Sharp, observant, unreadable. Then she looked away.
"She's intense," I muttered.
"Which one?" Amaya asked, following my line of sight.
"...Yeah."
Before she could press me, a loud voice broke through the cafeteria like a siren.
Sofia Hart. Dressed like she owned ten social media accounts and ran gossip for all of them.
"New tea!" she called, waving her phone. "Apparently Mr. Brooks used to be in a band called 'Existential Crisis'!"
Half the cafeteria turned to listen. Even I choked a little.
"Where does she get this stuff?" I asked.
"She runs the class group chat already," Amaya sighed. "It's terrifying."
More laughter. More chaos. More whispers.
And in the middle of it all—I realized something.
For once... I didn't hate it.
Sure, it was a circus. But it was my circus now.
Tyler doing backflips, Amaya saving me a seat, Sofia yelling headlines, Noah causing scenes, Emma ruling from her clipboard throne, Yuki watching from the shadows...
It was loud. Messy. Human.
Exactly what I wanted.
Even if it was mayhem.