I peer through the aeroplane window—an expansive campus that could be easily mistaken as an entire country unfolding beneath.

This remarkable sight seamlessly blends with the twilight sky and ominous black clouds, creating an otherworldly panorama.

The collective gasps of the other students speak volumes about their awe and surprise. I, however, am not surprised.

The school’s colossal size is no revelation; it is common knowledge.

I sit back in my seat, unmoved by the gasps around me. The colossal campus sprawls beneath, a kingdom of academia that stretches as far as the eye can see. As the plane descends, the details of the campus become clearer. Rows upon rows of buildings, each one a maze of classrooms, libraries, and laboratories, dot the landscape.

The architecture is a blend of modern and traditional, with sleek glass structures standing alongside ancient brick buildings.

The stewardess announces our arrival, urging everyone to fasten their seat belts. I comply, my gaze still fixed on the approaching spectacle. It is not that I am unimpressed; it is just expected.

The other students chatter excitedly, speculating about what awaits them.

“Imagine the cultural treasures this place must hold.”

“I heard the local cuisine is a culinary masterpiece. I can’t wait to dive into that!”

“I hope the accommodations are comfortable. A good night’s sleep can make or break the first impression of a place.”

I remain silent; my thoughts are my only companions.

The moment the plane’s wheels make contact with the runway, the subdued murmurs of my fellow students are swiftly drowned out by a deafening symphony of thunderous footsteps.

I follow the stream of enthusiastic students down onto the school’s airport, where we are greeted like a maid greeting their master.

The grandeur of the welcome did not escape my notice—a choreographed display to dazzle the newcomers.

“Whoaaaa! This is soooo cooool!

“I know, right? I can’t believe we got in!”

“We’re the best of the best! It’s no surprise we got in.”

Ignoring the unnecessarily enthusiastic dialogue, I wait until the crowd disperses.

The school’s representatives guide us towards the imposing entrance, adorned with intricate symbols hinting at the magical essence of The Twilight Institute.

Once we reach the entrance hall, a tall, powerful-looking man walks up the stage and tests the microphone.

“Cough cough… Ahem! Welcome students to the wonderful, amazing… Twilight Institute!”

The hall transforms into a realm of auditory chaos, as if a legion of banshees decided to throw a party in my eardrums.

And the quality of these screams. They reverberate through the hall with the finesse of opera singers hitting those high notes.

It is like the entire cast of a horror movie suddenly realised they left the oven on and decided to vocalise their collective distress.

“Your journey here marks the beginning of an extraordinary chapter in your lives. But be warned, the Twilight Institute is no ordinary magic school. Here, magic doesn’t merely occupy a curriculum; it pulses through the very essence of our existence.”

As he speaks, the symbols adorning the walls begin to shimmer, emitting a soft glow that captivates the audience.

“The magic within these walls is not bound by tradition; it’s a force that intertwines with the fabric of our reality. You are not here merely to study spells and incantations. You are here to wield the very essence of magic itself.”

The crowd of students gets louder.

“We encourage you to explore and push the boundaries of what you thought possible. The Twilight Institute is a place where innovation and discovery reign supreme. Embrace the magic within you, and you’ll find that this institute is more than a school—it’s a crucible for the extraordinary.”

The man pauses, scanning the sea of eager faces, then continues with a note of seriousness.

“But with great power comes great responsibility. The magic you wield can shape reality itself. We expect you to use it wisely, with respect for the balance that binds our world. Misuse of magic can have dire consequences, not only for you but for the very fabric of existence.”

A hushed silence falls over the hall as the gravity of his words sinks in. The man’s gaze remains unwavering, his presence commanding attention.

“We thank you for listening attentively, for this marks the commencement of your extraordinary journey within the mystical confines of The Twilight Institute.”

The hall becomes silent momentarily before erupting in cheers and screams.

I remain indifferent, accustomed to such grandiloquent speeches.

As the speech concludes, we are each granted keys with a specific number on them; mine is 4296.

We are escorted out of the hall and into the outside.

I analyse around, noting the grandiosity of the twenty-four dorm buildings. The Twilight Institute does not just live up to its reputation—it exceeds it.

Every building easily surpasses a five-star hotel, complete with luxurious amenities and a pampering staff.

Students mill about, engaged in idle chatter. Some point and whisper, clearly talking about me.

It is no surprise—purple hair is a rare colour, and my indifferent façade does not help.

Ignoring their stares, I make my way towards my dorm. They had wormholes placed around the whole school as a means for fast travel. It is helpful for long journeys.

Upon unlocking and entering my dorm, I am greeted by an elaborate suite fitted with lavish furnishings and state-of-the-art amenities.

Not too bad.

The Twilight Institute does not lack opulence.

It may not seem like it, but luxury is something I appreciate and value.

“This place is meant for the mighty.”

My remarks carry a heavy burden that lingers. But there is just stillness, that old friend.

Glancing around my dorm, my eyes capture peculiar assortments: a demon heart—I am not even going to ask how that got on earth; a crypt token, undoubtedly earned by the school’s elites; a slew of sci-fi-esque items. Amidst these curiosities, a seemingly out-of-place item caught my attention—a lone condom.

Who knew an elite magic school would have one of these?

My dorm, which featured a bed, prosperous walls, and a bathroom that is above and beyond five stars, is where I moved in.

Each detail, meticulously crafted, contributed to an atmosphere of extravagance that transcended the ordinary.

Stepping out of this human paradise for a moment, a gentle reminder plays in my mind—lessons awaited me today.

Stepping outside of human paradise for a moment, I realise that I have lessons today.

Every group of people I see in the dormitory halls is brimming with a thirst for authority and attention.

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I enter the wormhole’s shimmering vortex, ignoring the far-off voices behind me.

As the skewed reality settles, I find myself under the shadow of a massive school structure.

This must be where the classes are.

A gentle tap on my shoulder halts me as I am about to enter the school.

I turn back and find a lime-green-haired boy grinning brightly at me.

“Hello there! Are you new to this school? I’m your upperclassman if you are.”

I look at him expressionlessly, yet he smiles even more.

“Yes, I am new to this school. Who may you be?”

“I’m Sora. Sora Mitsuru. What’s your name?”

“My name is Kiyorakana Kage.”

I withhold any inclination to reciprocate his smile. The choice of my words and the measured tone reveal little, but my internal assessment is thorough.

“Nice to meet you, Kage.”

Sora Mitsuru extended his hand, perhaps for a handshake. Though, in response, I chose not to reciprocate the gesture, my decision is communicated through a subtle shift in posture.

“I prefer that you use my first name.”

“Sorry, Kiyorakana. I’ll make sure to use your first name from now on.”

“It is fine.”

Sora Mitsuru’s bright grin widens as he continues the conversation, undeterred by my brief responses.

He appears to take the initiative to engage, which demonstrates both confidence and a welcoming temperament. Observing him, it is clear that Sora Mitsuru represents a symbol of peace. His effort in conversation demonstrates more than just simple confidence but also a genuine desire to connect. Sora Mitsuru’s sincere grin and the serenity in his introduction portray a picture of someone who prioritises peace above all else.

He wants everyone to live in harmony with each other.

A horrible decision if you truly desire world peace. And I am certain he already knows.

“So, Kiyorakana, what brings you to our renowned academy? Are you excited about the magical journey that awaits you?”

“I am here to acquire knowledge and hone my abilities. Excitement is irrelevant.”

“Well, Kiyorakana, this place is full of surprises. I’ve been here for a while now, and trust me, every day feels like an adventure. You’ll get used to the magical charm of this school. There’s always something extraordinary happening around here.”

I tilt my head.

“Extraordinary? Well, I would assume so.”

Sora Mitsuru’s jovial conduct does not waver, and he seems determined to break through my reserved exterior.

“Kiyorakana, you’ll discover that our academy is more than just classes and magical training. It’s a location where relationships are formed and friendships are strengthened. Have you made any new friends?”

I raise an eyebrow, considering the concept of friendships in this environment.

“I have just arrived. It is too early to establish connections.”

Sora Mitsuru chuckles, seemingly undeterred by my pragmatic response.

“Fair point, fair point. But trust me, this school has a way of bringing people together. You might be surprised.”

“This conversation has gone on long enough.”

Sora Mitsuru’s grin persists, and he leans against a nearby pillar, undeterred by my attempts to keep the conversation brief.

“Well, Kiyorakana, even if you’re not seeking friendships, you can’t deny the enchanting atmosphere of the Twilight Institute. There’s an undeniable magic in the air that goes beyond spells and incantations.”

I remain silent, absorbing his enthusiasm for the mystical ambience of the school. Sora Mitsuru seems determined to share his positive outlook.

“Trust me, you’ll find your rhythm here. Maybe even discover something about yourself you never knew.”

I turn and begin moving in the direction of the enormous school building’s entrance.

“That, I doubt.”

The hallways’ twists and turns look never-ending, and it is evident that the institution lacks any easy traversal wormholes to make navigating simpler.

I eventually find my classroom after what feels like an eternity of roaming about. My view is obscured by the abundance of chairs and classmates as I go in.

There are a total of one hundred desks, yet only eighty-six people are here. The instructor is not among them.

I take a seat in what is referred to as the protagonist’s seat—the back corner near the window, away from everyone else—and wait patiently for the class to start.

My attention is drawn to the other eighty-six people while I waited. Amber hair, pink hair, obsidian hair, and brown hair are common hair colours I noticed in this school.

This dark-coloured institution is infected by a rainbow of hair colours.

It somewhat takes the ‘Twilight’ out of ‘Twilight Institute’.

I notice a lone individual seated next to me reading a book; she probably believes acknowledging the hectic classroom is a strain on one’s mind. Which I would not blame her.

Which makes me think about something: Where is the instructor?

And as if the Outer Gods were listening, the instructor bursts through the door, excluding a strict and unfriendly guise.

Everyone went silent and quickly scurried into their seats. I can see fear in some of their eyes.

The instructor does not look terrible or have a bad personality; she most certainly just has a reputation for expelling students effortlessly. Not to mention, she seems rather irate.

“Alright! I’m going to be your lecturer this week—”

The students quietly communicate and giggle throughout the instructor’s introduction, trying to avert their minds from her.

“QUIET!”

It did not work out well.

The unnecessarily curvy instructor, with her black hair and sharp eyes, bore her gaze on everyone before speaking again.

“My name is Kyoko Shinoda. Now, listen up. Refer to me as Instructor Shinoda. I demand respect, and any deviation from this form of address will not be tolerated. This week, you will descend into the complexities of advanced Dissonance Affinity; you are all smart enough for that. Monday through Friday, 9 AM to 4:35 PM No tardiness will be tolerated. Punctuality is a virtue that I expect each of you to uphold. I will also not hesitate to expel anyone I believe to be a nuisance. This is not a conventional classroom. You’re not ordinary students. You’re part of the Twilight Institute. Consider yourselves fortunate or cursed, depending on your perspective, but I expect you to act like a proper elite student.”

I can already hear the moans and groans of most of my classmates; the lone individual still has her gaze locked onto her book, clearly undeterred by all this.

“I will now be explaining the most basic things you will need to understand about this school. Firstly, magic is to be wielded only within the confines of designated training zones. Any deviation will be met with severe consequences. There is no room for leniency. Secondly, students will be meticulously sorted into working groups based on their average power level. This is not a matter of choice but a necessity for maintaining order and efficiency. Resist this categorization at your peril. Thirdly, leaving the school premises during your enrollment is strictly and unequivocally prohibited. You are here to learn, not to wander. Any attempt to breach this restriction will result in immediate repercussions. Finally, expulsion from any staff member is absolute and final. There will be no appeals unless blatant unfairness is proven, a rare occurrence. The rule board, situated just outside this classroom, contains the detailed framework of your obligations. Ignorance of these rules will not be accepted as an excuse.”

As the teacher continues, her voice becomes more stern and authoritative.

The students in the classroom shift uncomfortably in their seats, realising the seriousness of the rules.

Some exchange worried glances, while others scribble down notes, determined to remember every word.

They know that they will be held accountable for any violations.

One student, however, raises their hand and speaks. What an idiot.

“Uhm, Instructor Shinoda? I don’t want my school life to be—”

“Did I ask you to speak?”

The instructor looks at him with dark, piercing, fear-instilling eyes.

“N-no! Instructor Shinoda!”

“Then grasp the glaringly obvious concept and refrain from polluting the air with your unnecessary input. Simple enough, even for someone of your apparent cognitive capacity.”

The student, seemingly incapable of grasping the simplest instructions, nods vigorously as if desperately attempting to comprehend.

Yet, this feeble display of acknowledgement is promptly followed by the audacious act of resting their head on the desk.

“And do refrain from using your desk as a makeshift pillow. It is a classroom, not a nap haven. Keep your head off the desk, unless, of course, you have suddenly developed an insatiable desire for a headache.”

The student jumps up; surprisingly, no one laughs or giggles. The solemnity in the air seemingly exceeded the capacity for amusement.

“As previously emphasised, the rule board stands just beyond this classroom, accompanied by its counterpart, the job board. Considering your constrained existence within these walls, we generously provide you with the option to apply for various positions. From the mundane, like cashiers, to the grand, such as training instructors and Dissonance Affinity researchers.”

“The dormitories—by now, you should be acquainted with their functioning. However, let me reiterate for those with selective attention spans: Sexual activity is strictly prohibited.”

Then why is a condom in my dorm?

Who would leave a condom in the dorms?

This place is meant for the mighty, not the horny.

“Consider those the fundamental tenets you must engrave into your consciousness at this esteemed institution. Effective immediately, formal lessons shall commence, and be forewarned, every alternate day will be devoted to rigorous training.”

“So—”

“Do. Not. Speak”

“…”

The silence following those words hangs in the air, an unyielding decree cutting through any potential disruption.

Three hours elapse in relentless productivity. The subject matter? The purported history of Dissonance Affinity—information that, I, for one, am already well acquainted with.