The morning sun bathed Hoshizora High School in its soft, golden glow, casting long, angular shadows across the bustling courtyard. The cherry blossoms, just beginning to bloom, fluttered in the breeze, their delicate petals a serene contrast to the cold, modern architecture of the school. Situated in Shinjuku Ward, Tokyo—a city that never slowed, never rested—Hoshizora was known for its prestigious reputation, often referred to simply as “Hoshi High.” Despite the name—“Starry Sky High School”—which might evoke images of cosmic grandeur, the reality was far more grounded: a rigorous private institution where excellence was expected and mediocrity had no place. Here, students were driven, competitive, and far too serious for the kind of casual ambiance one might expect.
Amid the low murmur of students chatting, the rustling of uniforms, and the rhythmic clicking of shoes on the concrete, one particular classroom stood apart. Room 3-B, a remedial history class, hummed with an energy that felt… different. There was an undercurrent in the air, an unspoken anticipation that made this morning feel anything but ordinary. The students slouched in their desks, some resting their heads on their arms, others whispering to their friends—but the silence between their words hinted at an expectation. Something—or someone—was about to arrive.
Petra, a girl known for her mischievous spirit, leaned back in her chair with a playful grin. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she swiveled her head toward her classmates.
Petra: “Soooo, how was your weekend~?”
Lio, a lanky boy whose perpetual indifference was written all over his disheveled appearance, stretched lazily, letting his hand rest across the back of his chair. His blazer was carelessly askew, and his shirt was untucked, as if he had no concern for how he looked. He shrugged, barely pulling himself from his laid-back posture.
Lio: “Nothing special. Mostly just gaming, you know.” He reclined further, balancing on the back legs of his chair, feet kicked up onto the desk. “When’s the new teacher gonna show up? Did we scare the last one off?”
Roy, seated just in front of Lio, turned around with a lazy grin, his unruly blond hair and casual slouch making him seem perpetually bored with life, but his sharp eyes held a certain spark—something more than the surface showed.
Roy: “Yeah, I heard. Apparently, the new guy’s our history teacher. But it’s remedial history, right? I doubt anyone’s gonna be able to handle us.” He chuckled darkly, clearly enjoying the thought of another hapless teacher facing his class.
Lio raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
Lio: “True that. They’ll probably drag in some old guy who’ll just drone on about centuries of boring stuff. He won’t last a week.” He ran his hand through his tousled hair, sending it further into disarray.
Petra raised a finger in mock seriousness, her expression shifting.
Petra: “Shh~! I think he’s here~”
The chatter died down as a strange, quiet anticipation spread through the room. The usual sounds of shifting papers and idle conversations fell into an eerie silence, leaving only the faint, distant sound of footsteps in the hallway.
Slow. Measured. Each step deliberate, as if each carried some deeper weight. The students could feel the change in the air, a rising tension. The footsteps stopped at the door, and in that moment, it felt as though the entire class collectively held its breath.
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The door creaked open.
A man stepped into the room.
Tall—at least six feet—and with a presence that seemed to fill the doorway, the man exuded an aura of unsettling intensity. His appearance was striking: pale skin, as though he seldom saw the sun, sharp angular features, and eyes of icy blue that pierced the room with their direct, almost unnerving gaze. His hair, raven-black, was neatly combed but disheveled in the way of someone who had no time for trivialities. Dark circles under his eyes only enhanced the ethereal, almost ghostly quality of his face. His stare felt less like someone looking at you and more like someone seeing through you.
His attire was peculiar—an oversized, dark-colored suit, seemingly tailored for mystery rather than comfort. The sleeves were embroidered with faint occult symbols, barely visible unless one knew where to look. A cryptic silver pendant rested against his chest, partially hidden beneath his jacket, its design obscure but carrying a strange weight in the air.
Lio’s eyes flickered to the pendant, and an unmistakable smirk tugged at his lips.
Lio (muttering under his breath): “Great. A conspiracy theorist…”
He wasn’t wrong. The moment the man stepped into the room, something about him felt… wrong. The pendant was no mere piece of jewelry. It was a symbol—a statement—something far more significant than a mere accessory.
The man stood in the doorway for a moment, surveying the students with that unnerving, unblinking gaze. Then, in a voice rough but commanding, he broke the silence.
Elias: “You may call me Professor Elias or Mr. Ravenscroft.” His voice carried a jagged edge to it, a rasp that hinted at years of disuse or self-inflicted damage. Despite the harshness, there was an undeniable authority in his tone. “I’ll be your new history teacher.”
Lio, ever the instigator, leaned back further, propping his feet up onto his desk with a devil-may-care grin.
Lio: “So, are you here to teach us about aliens and yokai? Maybe you saw a UFO on your way in?”
The class erupted in laughter, but Elias’ expression remained unchanged. His gaze hardened, and his lips barely twitched as he directed his attention to Lio.
Elias: “Take your feet off the desk.”
Lio raised an eyebrow, leaning further into his chair, his smirk unshaken.
Lio: “And what if I don’t?”
For a moment, the room seemed to close in. Elias’ eyes glinted with a coldness that was far more chilling than the temperature of the room. The air thickened, and a subtle pressure settled over the students—something primal, something unnerving. A silent threat echoed between them, and the oppressive weight of his gaze alone made Lio’s defiant posture falter. His smirk dissolved, and his feet slowly slid off the desk.
Elias (with a slight nod of approval): “Good. Now we can proceed without distractions.”
Just as he turned to begin the lesson, the air shifted again. Something—an unseen force—rippled through the room, making Elias freeze, his senses prickling with unnatural awareness. A pressure, like an electric storm, pressed against his skin, though to the students, it was invisible—nothing more than a quiet, unseen weight.
It was coming from Long Island City. From the United States. A deep, malevolent force, pulsing outward with an ancient, familiar resonance.
Elias’ pupils dilated as his lips curled into a knowing smile. He recognized it—the power. And the source.
The air quivered, and a vortex of black and gray energy spiraled into existence, rising from the source like a nightmare made manifest. Reality itself seemed to warp and shudder beneath its weight. Unnatural lightning cracked through the sky, jagged and eldritch, illuminating twisted forms in the storm—a parade of creatures that should never have been.
Elias’ hand brushed over the pendant that hung against his chest, his thoughts drifting for a moment. Amanda… he mused inwardly. Poor thing. You’ve unleashed something far beyond your control.
The thrill was palpable. The exhilaration of witnessing the beginning of something vast, something ancient. A thrill that sent a shiver down his spine—not from fear, but from anticipation.
Elias (whispering to himself): “So it begins…” His smile deepened. “I’ve been waiting for this moment.”
And just like that, Elias Ravenscroft was no longer just the teacher of Room 3-B. He was a harbinger—an agent of something far larger than anyone in the classroom could imagine.