"S-Suiren Academy?" Akame stammered, her voice barely rising above a whisper. Her fingers clenched the hem of her skirt, knuckles paling with disbelief. "You mean the Suiren Academy?"
The name alone was enough to make her heart stutter. The institution where legacies were born, heirs were sharpened into weapons, and power was polished like glass. A place so elite that its gates only opened for old money and older bloodlines.
Across the mahogany desk, Mrs. Kamado's lips curled into a knowing smile. The dean, a woman in her early fifties with a severe bun and sharp spectacles that magnified her shrewd gaze, slid an envelope across the lacquered surface toward her.
"Indeed, Miss Yanai," she said, enunciating every syllable like she was delivering scripture. "The Academy's chairman has taken an interest in you."
Akame stared at the envelope as if it might bite her. Gold trim. Wax seal. The elegant crest of Suiren—two phoenixes circling a lotus—emblazoned on the front.
Mrs. Kamado leaned back with the poise of someone who knew the weight of the moment. "Your academic record is nothing short of exceptional. Highest marks across all fields, a consistent top rank, national competition wins... They were particularly impressed by your work in quantum calculus and classical literature."
"I—I don't understand," Akame murmured, blinking rapidly. "Why would they care about that? I mean… I'm not—" She hesitated. "I don't come from a notable family. I'm not even—"
"—wealthy?" The dean filled in the blank without flinching. "Exactly. That is the point."
Akame blinked in confusion as Mrs. Kamado tapped a neatly manicured nail on the envelope. "They want to make an example of you. A brilliant one. A demonstration to the public that Suiren Academy is not solely a cradle for the privileged but a beacon for excellence."
The dean's tone dropped to something silkier. More dangerous.
"And you, Miss Yanai, are their prized exception."
Akame's heart thundered. Her throat felt dry. "But… Crimson Academy. I'm already on track to be class valedictorian. The finals are next month. I can't just leave."
Mrs. Kamado's smile thinned. "And you'd rather stay here… than accept an invitation personally backed by the Great Mister Kimura himself?"
The name hit her like a bell toll. Mister Kimura.
Kento Kimura's father. The man behind nearly half of Asia's economic infrastructure. The man whose word could buy out entire universities—or bury them. The name alone could open doors that others spent lifetimes trying to even glimpse.
Akame swallowed hard. Her mind raced with questions she didn't know how to ask.
Mrs. Kamado folded her hands atop the desk. "This is not merely an invitation, Miss Yanai. It's a summons. Declining would be… unwise."
Akame stepped out of Mrs. Kamado's office in a daze, her polished shoes clicking against the marbled floor as if they belonged to someone else. The envelope trembled in her hand—still sealed, still impossibly heavy.
Suiren Academy.
The name echoed in her head like a curse and a promise all at once.
She blinked against the sunlight spilling through the corridor windows. The world outside continued like nothing had changed, students laughing, hurrying to their next class, the scent of cherry blossoms wafting in through the open panes. But for Akame, everything had tilted.
And there, leaning against the pillar just outside the office, was Ayame.
Her best friend since primary school. Wavy hair tied in a messy ponytail, uniform untucked as always, earbuds dangling around her neck. When Ayame spotted Akame, her expression shifted from boredom to instant concern.
"You okay? You look like you just got scouted by the Illuminati," she said, straightening.
Akame's lip twitched. "Close."
She held up the envelope.
Ayame squinted at the seal—and gasped. "Wait... is that— Is that what I think it is?"
"Suiren," Akame confirmed in a breath.
Ayame's jaw dropped. "Holy—Akame! That's... that's huge! Like—insane! You're gonna be studying with literal heirs and prodigies! That's like being plucked off Earth and dropped into Mount Olympus."
Akame tried to smile, but her fingers curled tighter around the envelope. "I don't know if I want Olympus."
Ayame's excitement dimmed as she studied her friend's pale face. She stepped forward and gently took the envelope, turning it in her hands like something sacred. "Hey... is this why you look like you're about to puke?"
Akame nodded slightly. "It's everything I worked for. But also... I don't have anyone to talk to about this. My mom's gone. My dad..." She trailed off.
He had vanished the day after her sixth birthday. No notes. No remains. Just a void.
Ayame's gaze softened. "You don't need to explain. I know."
They stood there in silence, the hallway humming faintly with the distant murmur of school life, too ordinary for the gravity pressing down on Akame's chest.
"I don't want to leave Crimson," Akame whispered. "I'm so close. Valedictorian. Scholarships. It's finally mine."
Ayame nodded slowly. "Yeah. But Suiren... isn't just a school, Akame. It's a gate. And the people who walk through it don't come back the same." Her tone turned firmer, eyes gleaming with conviction. "If anyone deserves that kind of chance—it's you."
Akame's lip quivered.
"It's not just about grades," Ayame added. "They chose you. You've made it this far with no legacy, no connections, no family name. If Suiren sends you an invitation, you go. That kind of door? It opens once. Ever."
Akame stared at the envelope again, the seal glinting in the light like blood and gold.
"And if it sends me somewhere I can't come back from?" she asked, voice small.
Ayame gave her a crooked grin and threw an arm around her shoulder. "Then I'll sneak in after you and raise hell."
Akame laughed. A weak, wet laugh—but real.
That night, she stayed up alone in her small bedroom, staring at the dusty frame on her nightstand. A photo of her mother, faded and half-burned from the fire that ruined their old apartment. Her fingers ghosted the glass.
"I'll make this count," she whispered. "I promise."
The next day, she packed her things, signed the official acceptance, and boarded a private transport that smelled of leather and money. She clutched her worn notebook to her chest, Ayame's letter tucked inside, and gazed out the tinted window as Crimson Academy faded behind her.
The gates of Suiren Academy loomed in the distance like the jaws of something ancient and alive.
And Akame Yanai stepped forward.
Unaware that something was already waiting for her.
Something with crimson eyes—watching, waiting—who stood at the window of the East Wing's highest tower. The glass reflected only the golden spill of the afternoon sun, but beyond it, his eyes glowed faintly, like embers buried beneath snow.
"Miss Yanai has arrived, Sire," came a quiet voice from behind.
A man—tall, composed, no older than his twenties—stood just within the shadows of the doorway, dressed in a pristine black butler's uniform adorned with silver embroidery. His silver-blond hair was slicked back neatly, his gloved hands folded before him. He did not blink as he spoke.
The figure at the table didn't turn immediately. He was seated behind a broad desk made of blackwood and adorned with intricate carvings of serpents and lilies. Shelves of ancient books lined the walls, and strange, preserved artifacts—some human, some not—were kept in glass cases that seemed to hum with their own heartbeat.
Finally, the man behind the desk turned his head slightly.
He looked to be in his mid-forties, though no one could say for certain. His features were sharp yet smooth, a face carved by elegance and softened by time, with silver-streaked ebony hair combed back in gentlemanly fashion. His eyes were a muted shade of wine—refined, patient... and cold.
Chairman Hisao Kimura.
His smile stretched slowly, almost kindly—yet there was nothing kind about the silence that followed.
"Well, well," he said, voice silk over broken glass. "She's arrived at last. The girl with no name but numbers on her file... and blood on her stars."
He tapped his fingers together once, softly. The ruby ring on his right hand caught the light like a slit pupil. "Escort her here, Gin."
The butler bowed low, his expression unreadable.
"As you command."
Then, without a sound, Gin vanished into thin air—his form disintegrating like dust caught in moonlight.
Chairman Hisao remained still for a moment longer, his fingers resting on the edge of an old document bearing Akame Yanai's name. His gaze lifted once more to the window.
"Let's see if you survive the garden... little moth."