Elite Academy

Yami Takashiro was surrounded by the flickering reflection of his screen light, tucked away in his room in a mundane suburb of Japan. His fingers danced over the keyboard with the speed of a virtuoso; it was the sweet moment of triumph after defeating the final boss. Every single moment of his summer break, which had begun after his junior high graduation three months prior, was spent either in this bright digital world or in the gloom of his room with the curtains drawn tight.

"Achievement Unlocked: Lone Wolf!"

With this message blazing on the screen, Yami finally let the tension ease from his shoulders. It had been a twelve-hour, non-stop marathon. He leaned back in his chair, a faint expression of satisfaction on his face. He didn't need to ponder what he would do tomorrow; most likely, he would start the same game again, preparing for the new season. "A perfectly ordinary life," he thought, "but at least no one is bothering me."

It was at that very moment that a splash of red slid under the door and into the room.

Yami frowned. Mail rarely came under the door, and when it did, it was usually his father's business documents. But this was a deep, matte red. It was too thick to be called a mere letter, its edges heavy and the seal embossed. He slowly bent down and picked up the envelope. The stylised "E" on the seal was completely foreign to him.

His name was written on the red envelope in a formal, almost handwritten-looking font: The Honourable Yami Takashiro.

"What nonsense is this?" he muttered. It looked like a terrible prank by friends (though he didn't have many). He flipped the envelope over. Written on it was the name "The Elite Academy," renowned as a highly luxurious and prestigious high school in America.

He began to laugh. "The Elite Academy? Me? They must be filming a comedy." Throughout junior high, his notebooks had been filled with average marks; the closest he ever came to being the school's brightest student was reaching the furthest in the canteen queue to snatch the last sausage roll.

However, the thick paper and the professional printing sowed a momentary seed of doubt. Curiosity overshadowed his desire to game, and with a shaky hand, he tore open the envelope. The card inside contained a simple message:

Congratulations, The Honourable Yami Takashiro, you have been selected for The Elite Academy.

We would be delighted to have you attend our school for four years.

The contact number for any enquiries is at the end of this envelope.

Yami tried to crumple the paper but stopped himself. His eyes found the shiny contact number at the bottom of the card. His finger, which had memorised the buttons of his game console, instinctively moved to the dial pad of his phone. He would call that number to prove the letter was a fake.

A few seconds later, a woman with a flawless English accent answered on the other end of the line:

"Elite Academy admissions department, how may I assist you?"

A short circuit occurred in Yami's brain. This was real. This was the breaking point in the dull, predictable course of his life. He swallowed, his voice coming out muffled:

"I... I am Yami Takashiro. I received a letter."

The woman replied in a polite but formal tone: "Yes, Mr. Takashiro. I see you in our records. We look forward to welcoming you this autumn."

When he hung up the phone, the card in his hand felt as if it were burning hot. Yami suddenly felt the air in the room closing in. What he had considered a 'prank' was now a tangible door: a door promising a better profession and a more comfortable life in the future. "No one will bother me there, and I'll find a good job," he thought. This was his one and only chance to shed his ordinariness.

Yet, Yami did not yet know that the Elite Academy was not merely a place of challenging lessons; it was a hell where no one trusted anyone, and manipulation was an art of survival. At that moment, two unfamiliar emotions, which he identified as fear and excitement, began to clash in his chest.

The Calm Before the Storm

Yami spent the first few days after receiving the letter in silent panic, followed by a surge of great euphoria. His mother and father reacted with a mix of astonishment and pride that their son (who was usually shut up in his room, his sole connection to the world being the internet) had achieved such a great international success.

"Our son... is going to America?" His father, Takashiro, dropped his newspaper. "Your grades... were always average."

Yami shrugged. "Perhaps I'm very good at tests, Father. Or maybe they looked at my online profile," he dismissed. In truth, he hadn't the faintest idea why the academy had chosen him and refused to dwell on the question. All that mattered to him was this: The school promised him a guaranteed job and respectability in the future. It was an easy escape ticket for an unsociable game addict.

His mother was more practical. "We must pack immediately! New clothes, you won't get cold in America, but take a cardigan anyway. How is your English? You won't have time to play games there!"

The summer holiday was spent, for the first time in Yami's life, in preparation and chaos. Visa procedures, plane tickets, clothes shopping... Yami chose to remain passive throughout this process. His mother handled all the official paperwork; Yami merely signed where he was told. This was a testament to his distractibility and his habit of not paying attention. He still wanted to believe that the thick red envelope was nothing more than a 'better life' ticket.

The Academy's First Warning

A week before his departure, Yami found a long document from the Academy in his email inbox: "Student Life Guide: The Elite Academy."

Normally, he would ignore such lengthy documents, but the word "Elite" in the title compelled him to read it.

At the very beginning of the document, a warning was written in bold letters:

"The Elite Academy is an institution that rewards not only academic superiority but also determination and psychological resilience. Our annual student attrition rate is high. Any student whose academic average falls below 80% will be unconditionally dismissed from the school at the end of the term. There is no right to appeal. This school is an opportunity, but it is also a process of elimination."

Reading this section, Yami felt a weight on his shoulders for the first time. An 80% average? He had barely scraped a 65% in junior high. He didn't even bother reading the remaining clauses.

"Hah," he said to himself, wiping the dust off his keyboard. "These are just things written to frighten people off. I'm smart; I'm just lazy. I can do it if I want to." This was Yami's way of comforting himself. He was naive enough to think that even the Academy providing a contact number at the end of the letter was a joke. He believed the school was simply a 'bright career path,' not a 'process of elimination.'

In fact, along with the compulsory textbooks, he packed the latest version of his favourite online game and a large set of headphones into his suitcase. "When I meet the American students, I'll teach them a bit of Japanese RPGs," he thought, dreaming of the "friendships" he would forge at school.

And the Journey Begins

When the day of the flight arrived, Yami was filled with both fear and an unidentifiable curiosity. He bid farewell to his family at the airport.

"Don't embarrass us, Son. Be successful and be careful," his father said.

"Call me every day! And don't fall asleep with those headphones on," his mother said tearfully.

Yami smiled. "Don't worry. Just four years."

As the plane took off, Yami felt a sense of a light breeze at his back, washing away the fatigue of years of ordinary life. As he glided through the American clouds, he momentarily recalled the document's terrifying 80% rule.

A process of elimination.

Yami shook his head, put on his headphones, and turned on the music for his favourite game on his phone.

"No," he whispered to himself. "This is just my golden ticket."

Arrival at the Elite Academy

Yami Takashiro finally arrived at the massive main gates of the Elite Academy after a long flight from Japan and a subsequent luxury transfer. The moment he stepped out of the car, it was as if the music ringing in his ears had abruptly cut out.

The air was sharp and clean, unlike the humid Japanese summer. He squinted his eyes. The structure standing before him resembled a financial centre more than a school. A high castle built of shiny white stone, its windows reflecting the sunlight. Lush green lawns, statues, and buildings that each looked like a work of art. Everything was miles away from the grey, concrete blocks of Yami's junior high school.

"Wow..." Yami dropped his shabby suitcase. "This is definitely the right place for a good profession."

As he headed towards the registration area, he became aware of the students around him. They were not like the ones in Yami's high school dreams. They were all incredibly self-assured young men and women, dressed in expensive clothes, each movement purposeful. The way they looked at Yami was like a game's stats screen: Strong. Intelligent. Dangerous.

As Yami passed a crowd of students, he overheard whispers. They were all talking about the next academic year's "point system" and "individual assignments."

"Leo, who had the highest score last year, secured the board of directors' internship this term. It's not something average students can manage."

"No one will help you for free here. Remember, this isn't a school of solidarity; it's a process of elimination."

Yami regretted not putting on his headphones. These whispers were more realistic and terrifying than the 80% rule in the guide. Yami's sweet, movie-like scenario of making friends was shattered before he even walked through the door.

The First Slap: The Registration Desk

He reached the registration desk. Behind it stood a student in a smart uniform, her face devoid of emotion.

"Name?" the girl asked, her voice flat and mechanical.

"Yami Takashiro."

The girl quickly checked her tablet. "Mr. Takashiro. Welcome. Here are your course timetable, your dormitory key, and your Initial Credit Card."

The student handed Yami three items: a thick packet of course textbooks, a key to a single dormitory room, and a silver-coloured card inscribed with "Elite Academy Credit – 100 Points."

"A credit card? What is this for?" Yami asked in astonishment.

A mocking smile appeared on the girl's face. It was the coldest smile Yami had ever seen.

"Everything here operates on Credit Points, Mr. Takashiro. Food, laundry, in-school services, even lecture notes. You receive 100 points a month. This is the bare minimum for survival. You can't afford any services, but you won't starve."

"Wait," Yami's voice trembled. "So... we live on a budget? In junior high, I could get whatever I wanted in the cafeteria."

The girl shrugged. "This is the Elite Academy, not a junior high. Good grades, successfully completing special assignments, and, of course, outperforming other students earn you points. If your points run out, your family cannot send you money from outside the school."

The girl looked at Yami's shocked face. "Evidently, you haven't read the Life Guide carefully enough. A typical 'expectant' student. Remember, it's not just intelligence that gets you through this school, but resource management and strategy. Good luck. You will truly need it."

Holding the 100-credit card, Yami was instantly crushed by disappointment. This was not a 'golden ticket'; it was a game built on hunger and uncertainty. And he had started this game with only 100 points. His dreams of making friends were replaced by a cold feeling in his stomach. This was an arena where everyone fought only for their own survival.

The girl's final remark rang in Yami's ear like a slap:

"Use those 100 points wisely, Mr. Takashiro. Some students here have already accumulated thousands of points since you walked through the door."