Glass Wings: Rivalry at Oris Academy
The pine trees trap the early sun around the gates of Oris, turning gold on elite windows. Riku Minase stands by an old stone sign, his hands tucked in his blazer sleeves. New to the school, aiming for top scholar, but stuck with secondhand shoes and zero family name. ‘All these nobles… Do you think they even got up themselves this morning?’ Riku whispers, side-glancing at the statue of Chiyoko Ichigo, past winner of the Zenith Prize.
Kanae Tomori, Oris’s golden child, violin case dangling, flicks back her black hair and frowns. ‘There’s practice exams fifth period. They say you’re ranked because sensei doesn’t want you getting too used to failing.’ Isn’t that cold? Would someone say that just to scare him? What would you do in Riku’s spot?
Each student rules some tiny empire—vitamin research, fencing, calligraphy hacks, quantum chess club. But Riku’s old school trained him for nothing much, except reading under bridges where dreams flutter like trash in wind. Oris’s prestige is all hybrid gear and old-world rules. Want a locker? You duel. Want library pass? You recite School Creed in three tongues and hope your accent passes.
The arc’s anchor is “The Soaring Tableaux”—weekly event, tradition for new/vulnerable students. Teams fight with art skills, logic quickness, and ’emotional propriety.’ It’s all school spectacle, but to Riku it’s sink or float. Here’s the twist: staff let Kanae and Riku get paired for this week’s match as rivals instead of allies. Are you siding with raw skill or tested polish?
Day before the contest, Riku helps Nanase Munakata re-wire the robotics lab. He’s loyal, quick with a soldering iron, but in wordplay duels he often folds early. They’re working when Yasuto Takami barges in, blue suit sprayed with something sweet and fizzy. He says, ‘Practice’s canceled—the panel changed the contest deck last-minute.’ Not that Oris kids ever make it easy. In halls fly rumors: some say it’s because outsiders like Riku are too honest; others say it’s a test for Kanae, whose perfect score hides nerves sharp enough to draw blood.
Kanae, by moonlight on the strings in South Gardens, mutters, ‘They could pair me with anybody, and somehow it’s you.’ She doesn’t look at Riku—her stare slides over him, lingers on the blown glass lanterns hanging from fig branches. ‘Maybe it’s fate. Or just punishment.’
Morning: the contest runs in the event hall, gold and quartz lighting on faces flush with tension. Sir Ogata, in ceremonial blue, reads the day’s prompt. It’s an act about “Balance in Adversity.” Each side must pull from both modern tactics and real emotion—no easy rote answers, no safe dry logic. Score one: Riku sketches a scene—a torn letter folded inside an empty lunch box. The panel husts—a low, happy noise. Maybe that rawness catches them off guard?
Halfway, Kanae’s turn. She weaves her music into her team’s play, fingers stolen by an older grief she never shouts aloud. Her adversary falters. Even the elitists at the back lean forward. What would move you in front of a hundred judges, under old bright lights?
Barely ahead, the rivals are forced by staff to swap a piece of their work—a blind exchange. Secret or signature? Riku can’t win without trusting her. He gives her his full notes, masking his own feelings beneath clipped warnings. Kanae passes him a muffled violin tune in C-minor. There’s a silent plea hiding in the melody—he picks it out. Will this plea lift or doom them?
It’s nail-biting close until the last bell. As judges raise their fans, Sir Ogata holds his hand—twist coming. ‘The Tie: Both show excellence, but which side lives their truth?’ The crowd holds breaths. Is this classic Oris mischief? In whispers, the contest will spill into Night Hall—the tie to be broken on hidden rules Riku never saw coming. Kanae grabs his arm. ‘Stay close. The real test starts now.’
