The plane touched down with a jolt tires squealing like the metal beast itself didn’t want to be here. I pressed my forehead to the tiny oval window, breath fogging the glass as I stared down at Incheon Airport: all cold steel and rain-slicked roads. My own eyes stared back warm brown, a little too sharp, a little too suspicious-looking. I swear I wasn’t trying to look untrustworthy. That’s just how my face is built.

  I leaned back in my seat and sighed. “South Korea, huh? Guess we’re really doing this.”

  The older woman next to me gave me a sideways glance but didn’t say anything. I flashed a polite smile and fumbled for my headphones my last line of defense against the growing tide of what the hell have I done.

  I’m Lynn Kurosaki. Fifteen. Half Black, half Japanese. Five-ten and some change. My hair? Curly, wild, and completely uncooperative. Not even gel or divine intervention can get it to behave. My mom calls it "character." I call it war.

  I was born in Oklahoma of all places. Raised by my Japanese-American mom. My dad? A ghost. A tall, quiet man I only remember in fragments always watching the sky like it owed him something. We moved around a lot. Never stayed in one place long enough for it to feel like home. Mom said we were “staying ahead of the storm.” Whatever that means.

  But this… Korea… This was different. This wasn’t just another new town or new school.

  This was the place.

  The country that discovered the Rifts. The first to build an academy for Hunters. Home of the Korea International Strider Academy KISA. A fancy acronym for what basically amounts to: school where you don't die if you're good at killing things.

  Three hours, a customs check where I nearly got detained over my portable charger, and a cab ride that cost more than my soul later, I stood in front of KISA’s gates.

  And holy hell, they were huge.

  Not just “prestigious institution” huge. I’m talking “is Godzilla enrolling?” huge. Obsidian spires curved into the sky, glowing softly with glyphs that pulsed like they were breathing. The gates were plated steel, with the school’s emblem carved into them: a dragon coiled around a crescent moon, its eyes glittering like it was judging me already.

  I stared up and felt something shift in my chest excitement, maybe. Or gas. That kimchi pancake at the airport was… suspicious.

  I adjusted the strap on my duffle and muttered, “Time to start my anime arc.”

  With a low hum, the gates opened on their own. No guards. No fancy announcement. Just gears and magic. Or magic and gears. I couldn’t tell. Either way, it was cool.

  The campus was… wow. A blend of futuristic glass towers and traditional rooftops. Cherry blossom trees lined the paths even though it was too early in the season. Petals drifted around like the place had its own special effects budget. There was even a koi pond. I had to actively fight the urge to poke it.

  A drone zipped past my head, beeped twice, then hovered in front of my face.

  “Student ID confirmed,” it said in the most cheerful British accent I’ve ever heard on a machine. “Welcome to KISA, Kurosaki Lynn. Please proceed to Dormitory East, Room 219. Orientation begins at 8 a.m. sharp. Tardiness will be punished with calisthenics. You have been warned.”

  “Ruthless,” I muttered.

  It beeped again and flew off.

  Glowing tiles lit up beneath my feet, like some kind of magical red carpet. If Hogwarts and Google had a baby, this school would be it.

  Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

  Dormitory East was tall, sleek stone with sliding paper doors and windows that blinked open on their own. My room had two beds, two desks, two wardrobes basic but clean. One bed was untouched. Either I didn’t have a roommate yet… or they bailed early. Lucky me.

  I claimed the bed with the best window view and collapsed beside it. The ceiling fan above spun lazily, matching my energy.

  For a moment, everything went still.

  I was really here.

  I reached into my duffle and pulled out an old photo. Me, as a toddler, squished between my mom and dad. The colors had faded. My dad’s face was mostly in shadow like even the photo didn’t want to commit to remembering him.

  “Hope you’re watching, old man,” I whispered.

  The next morning, the world ended.

  Okay not literally, but it felt like it when a deafening explosion rocked the courtyard the moment I stepped outside. Smoke filled the air. People screamed. A voice roared over the chaos:

  “WELCOME TO DAY ONE, FREAKS!”

  I ducked, coughing, blinking through the haze. A figure stood on a raised platform like she was auditioning for a villain role. Long black trench coat. Silver hair whipping in the wind. Megaphone in hand like a weapon.

  “I’m Instructor Baek,” she announced. “Some of you will love me. Most of you will hate me. All of you will learn.”

  She tossed the megaphone.

  It exploded.

  “Was that really necessary?” someone muttered behind me.

  “She blew up a clock tower last year for being late,” someone else whispered.

  I grinned. “I think I’m gonna like it here.”

  We herded into an auditorium with high ceilings, floating screens, and a giant black pillar in the center that gave off don't touch me vibes. Baek stood under it like a queen staring down at her soon-to-be-disappointed subjects.

  “You’re here because you’re special,” she said, pacing. “You’ve got the potential to become Slayers. Striders. Whatever. But potential means nothing if you’re dead.”

  She pointed to the pillar. “This is the Marker. If your name shows up, you’re in. If not, you fail. I don’t do second chances.”

  I stared at the Marker. It didn’t look that impressive.

  “Does it at least come with mood lighting?” I muttered.

  Apparently, Baek had super-hearing, because her eyes snapped to me instantly.

  “You. With the attitude. Step forward.”

  My soul left my body. “Me?”

  “Yes, you. Afro Japan.”

  I stepped forward, every student parting like I was Moses with social anxiety. Baek looked me up and down.

  “Name?”

  “Lynn Kurosaki.”

  “Quirk?”

  “…You mean ability?”

  “Don’t play dumb.”

  Right. Not the time for jokes.

  “I… enhance shadows,” I said. “And they… kind of listen to me.”

  A few students laughed. Some looked interested. Baek just raised an eyebrow.

  “Show me.”

  I stepped into the Marker’s light. My shadow stretched long across the floor.

  Then it moved.

  Twisted.

  Lifted.

  It coiled around me like smoke made of ink, protective, curious, alive then slipped back into place like nothing happened.

  Silence.

  Baek smiled.

  “Interesting.”

  Then, turning back to the crowd: “That, children, is how you make a first impression.”

  The rest of the day blurred past in a curry-udon haze. Lectures about Gate theory, mana flow, combat types. Horror stories about portals opening in bathrooms. (Note: never trust a toilet again.)

  By sundown, I found myself on a bench overlooking the training fields. The sky had darkened, and the moon—just a faint crescent hung like a reminder.

  Tomorrow was Evaluation Day.

  The day they sorted us into combat, research, or washout tracks.

  I didn’t come all this way to wash out.

  Not after everything.

  Behind me, the Marker hummed faintly.

  Its surface flickered just once like it remembered something.

  And somewhere, deep beneath the academy, something stirred.

  Something old.

  Something watching.