After breakfast, Ichiro sat in his apartment's dining room, his gaze fixed on the student ID card in his palm—the ticket of his newfound life.

A gentle breeze stirred around the card, lifting it into the air as if guided by an invisible force. Using the wind, he made the card dance and twirl on his palm by his will—a gift he possessed as a magician.

His full name, Matsuda Ichiro, was written on it.

1-F was his new classroom.

He stared at it for a long time, like a prop from a third-rate comedy show, briefly twisting his mouth into a sneer.

Ichiro’s portrait was shown on the side of the card, showing his face: bright skin, black hair, and dark brown eyes—typical Sakuranese features. He wore a forest green blazer with a white shirt tucked beneath – the very uniform he wore at the time.

The emblem of Hisuiryuu, the jade dragon, was stitched on the blazer’s front pocket—a symbol with a hundred-year-old legacy. It identified him as a Horikawa Imperial Magic High School student, one of the oldest and most prestigious magic schools in Sakurajima. While many would consider it an honor and a symbol of prestige, it held no significance for him.

Ichiro then released the card from the wind’s embrace. It descended slowly onto his palm before he slid it into his wallet.

Despite his age, entering high school felt unnatural after the events of his past.

Through great perseverance and a stroke of luck, he weathered the storm of life. Disbelief and suffering lingered in his memories, but the passage of time gradually tended to the wounds.

His apartment was a world apart from his previous home—spacious and airy, boasting modern amenities alongside traditional decor. It was the kind of place people usually see in magazines or movies.

Outside through the apartment window, the dawn sky unveiled the metropolis sprawled outside his apartment.

The city of Sanzan, the third-largest in the Empire of Sakurajima, was stirring to life.

At the city’s core, The Hashiratani Tower soared above all buildings—an urban titan among surrounding lesser skyscrapers. Around those structures, a network of busy highways buzzed with early morning traffic. The sheer jungle of concrete and steel was the symbol of the Hashiratani clan’s influence and authority as the city's ruler.

Sanzan had expanded beyond his memories. Ichiro had spent a lot of time there when he was still a child, but the city's once familiar roads had become alien to him, and its once humble skyline morphed into a jungle of steel and glass. No matter how often he saw it, the view never ceased to overwhelm him. He felt like a lost soul, a ghost from the past.

Everything had changed.

The scenery sent his mind to his benefactor and protector—the person responsible for his return.

Hashiratani Kaori; his mother’s close friend.

Until that moment, he still wondered how she was able to pull such a move to repatriate Ichiro back without much conflict each day since his return.

Stolen story; please report.

Thinking about her made Ichiro take his smartphone out of his pocket.

He glanced at the clock—6:32 a.m.

Aunt Kaori was late.

He had anticipated a call from her. She promised to pick him up for the first day of school, but the phone had remained silent for too long. It was unusual for her to be late.

While Ichiro didn't mind waiting longer, he had to ensure there was no problem.

He quickly browsed his contacts and called her. The phone emitted a series of soft, pulsating tones that filled the quiet apartment.

A familiar voice filled the line after a few seconds.

“Ichiro, I'm so sorry! I know I should have called you first!”

“Is there something wrong, Aunt Kaori?”

“No need to fret, dear. I completely forgot to ring you up. I’m en route in my car now. I'll probably be there in ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Okay.”

“Ready for school? Did you take your breakfast?”

“Yes, had my favorite—Nasi Goreng.”

“Still stuck on your ‘Nasi Goreng,’ huh? Don’t you get bored? Maybe you should switch it up and try some Sakuranese food for a change!”

“Thanks, but I like my fried rice.”

“Sewunusan cuisine is tasty, Ichiro. I get it. But even a Nasi Goreng enthusiast like you might revive something nice in the flavors of our homeland’s cuisine.”

“I'll consider it, but no promise.” Ichiro chuckled, tilting his head. “I don’t hate them, but Nasi Goreng is easier and quicker to cook.”

“What kind of Sakuranese don't enjoy their own cuisine?”

“Well, I do eat Sakuranese dishes too! Remember, I’ve got plenty of them in the kitchen cabinet.”

“Instant ramen does not count as ‘eating Sakuranese food,’ Ichiro.”

“It’s enough Sakuranese for me.” He laughed.

Ichiro could hear her let out a sigh through the speaker. “You’re really your mother’s son, aren’t you? Always ramen and ramen!”

Ichiro chuckled at her teasing.

“Okay, I’ll let you free on that. By the way, I’ve got something for you! A surprise!”

“What?” Ichiro furrowed his brow. A sense of caution crept into his tone. "You better don't try anything funny."

“No, no! You will like this one! I promise!”

“Your tone becomes weird, Aunt Kaori.”

“Whoops! Have to pay more attention to the road. Bye!”

She suddenly hung up the call, and the apartment was silent again. Ichiro let out a long breath.

Aunt Kaori's teasing and pranks left Ichiro with bad memories during his childhood. What could it be now? He just hoped it wasn't anything stupid, but he had to be sure to be on guard.

Ichiro went to his luxurious bedroom, wanting to retrieve his school bag from the desk.

With a flick of his fingers, a gust of wind whistled through the air, wrapping around it. The gust lifted the bag gently in a soft embrace, floating and drifting it towards Ichiro—bobbing gently as if held up by invisible strings.

Ichiro ran his fingers through the bag's contents, checking each one of them. Satisfied with what he saw, he used the wind again to return the bag to the desk.

While waiting for Aunt Kaori, he sat on the edge of his bed and played a popular RPG gacha game on his smartphone. He was so engrossed in it that he stopped worrying about time.

After some time, the doorbell echoed in his apartment, slicing through the silence.

Finally, Ichiro thought.

He strode towards the door and opened it.

“...Hanami?”

Ichiro's grip on the doorknob tightened as he looked at the figure on the other side. The years had transformed her, but he could never mistake her for someone else.

Her green eyes, once bright with their childhood innocence, now held an allure he had not anticipated. Her silver hair had grown long and beautiful, and her skin looked as white as snow beneath the dimly lit corridor. Her beauty had flourished in a way that left him breathless.

She wore a uniform similar to Ichiro’s. The only differences were the knee-length skirt with long socks instead of trousers and the jade brooch tied below her neck, which Ichiro did not wear.

A childhood friend he had not seen in years.

Aunt Kaori’s daughter.

"It's been a long time, Ichiro." Hanami greeted him with a bow, a brief smile playing on her lips. "How have you been?"

The Hanami he remembered was a lively girl with an infectious laugh. Yet, the one standing before him was a figure of refined grace and maturity—a befitting manner of a proper, up-and-coming Hashiratani princess.

A surge of words was eager to escape Ichiro’s mouth, yet he held them back, uncertain where to begin after all this time.