Chapter Text
Jack woke up to the sound of his phone vibrating against his face like it had a personal vendetta. Not the alarm—he’d slapped that thing into silence thirty minutes ago. This was worse: a call. From Wuya-senpai .
He answered, already bracing for the headache.
“Jackie~” she cooed with the venom of someone who once hexed a teacher over a B+. “You sent me the real homework again. Are you trying to sabotage me? Because if you are, it’s working.”
Jack groaned and sat up. “Wuya, it’s the same homework I always send you. You just have to change the formatting and spell one thing wrong.”
“That sounds like effort,” she said, and hung up.
Jack stared at the ceiling and contemplated transferring schools. Or quitting school entirely. Or burning it down and blaming Omi. But none of those things would get him out of being late.
He dressed like someone halfway between goth and sleep-deprived tech support, gave his reflection a look that screamed ‘we’re doing our best’ , and sprinted toward the kitchen. He grabbed the nearest slice of toast—dry, slightly burnt, no butter—and shoved it in his mouth. Not because he liked it. But because apparently that’s what you do in this school.
“I’m gonna be late!” he shouted to no one in particular, then ran out the door, half chewing and already regretting everything.
The morning was crisp. Too crisp. The street was blurry with speed lines. Pedestrians were literally background extras.There were cherry blossoms fluttering in the air for no reason . It wasn’t even spring. Jack narrowed his eyes. “This is bullshit,” he muttered to himself.
He sprinted around the corner—and crashed full force into someone.
WHAM.
His body hit the ground like it was personally offended. His toast, however, flew from his mouth in slow motion. Time slowed .
The crust spun mid-air, catching a ray of sun like it was the centerpiece of a million-dollar scene.
Somewhere, Hans Zimmer played in Jack’s head.
BWOOOOOOOOM.
Tune. His toast flew, turning in slow-motion like it was in a Christopher Nolan movie. It hit the pavement. Face down. Crumbs scattered like shattered dreams. Tragic.
Jack stared at it. Still lying on the ground. Not moving. Barely breathing.
“God damn it,” he whispered, eyes stinging. “She was perfect. Golden. Crisped on the edges. The center was still warm.”
A hand appeared in his field of vision…
Jack blinked up. Cue sparkle filter. Cue violins. Cue dramatic wind that didn’t exist before.
And of course. Of course the person he ran into was Le Mime . Silent. Stoic. With that smug little face like he knew exactly when Jack was about to trip over his own life.
Jack blinked up at him, fully aware this should be a romantic moment if his life was one of those school romance anime. But it wasn’t. It was this .
He took the hand and let Le Mime pull him up… Then the sparkles disappeared. Reality came crashing down.
“Thanks. But also, fuck you. This was my breakfast.”
Le Mime tilted his head slightly, either in pity or because he had no other expressions.
Jack dusted himself off, shot a look at the toast corpse on the sidewalk, and sighed.
“I woke up early,” he muttered. “I did my homework. I even color-coded my notes. And now I’m late because this school runs on cheap anime tropes!” Then looked at the toast. Then back at Le Mime. “Okay but seriously, what the fuck is this school. Why do we have shrine gates and a vending machine that sells hot fish cakes? .”
He turned to no one in particular. “And why is Kimiko the only one who looks like she belongs here?! She’s the only one with a normal uniform. Omi dresses like a water polo monk. Raimundo carries a sword and a skateboard. What even is this place?”
Le Mime said nothing. Obviously.
Jack stood, brushing dirt off his pants. (AGAIN)
“I had my homework done. I even double-checked the quadratic equation thing. And now I’m gonna be late because I got anime-tackled by you , toast is dead, and Wuya’s gonna pretend it’s my fault she’s illiterate.”
He turned and started walking, muttering under his breath, “This whole place is built like a filler arc.”
And somewhere behind him, Le Mime followed in silence, like a badly written love interest with no backstory.
First period hadn’t even started yet. Jack already needed a nap and maybe a therapist.
Maybe both.
Jack stepped into the classroom a full two minutes after the bell had rung, already rehearsing some kind of apology or elaborate lie involving a dying grandmother or a cat on fire—only to realize the teacher wasn’t even there.
“Oh thank god,” he muttered, dropping into his seat like a bag of wet laundry. His lungs finally took their first breath of peace for the day.
Le Mime, without a word, nodded toward him and then peeled off to his own class, leaving Jack alone to process everything that had just happened.
Jack exhaled slowly.
“Okay,” he whispered to himself, trying not to look like he was talking to himself. “That was fine. Totally fine. Just a normal morning. No romantic sparkly moment. I’m not flustered. That wasn’t fluster. That was... shame. Yeah. The good ol’ shame. Classic, universal, reliable.”
He wiped a hand down his face and groaned into his palms.
“God, this school is stupid.”
But there was no time to wallow. He had a mission. A cursed, greasy, unfair mission: find Wuya.
Because not only had she demanded his homework, she'd given him her chemistry notebook and told him to forge her homework too.
She’d even handed him a guide sheet: “Here’s how I dot my i’s. Don’t screw it up.”
He hated how good he’d gotten at faking her handwriting.
But hey, she paid. In cash. And snacks. And only insulted him like… twice per conversation now. That was basically respect.
Jack grumbled his way through the courtyard, dodging a group of kendo kids who were using actual swords (what was this school??) and nearly tripping over a beanbag chair someone had left on the path.
He was about to turn toward the science wing when—
“STOP! YOU CAN’T PASS!”
Time paused. No— Jack paused. Everyone else just turned and stared, because a voice like that demands drama.
Over by the school gate (or what passed for one—half a fence, half a shrine torii), a figure leapt over the top like it was nothing.
He landed with the grace of someone who had never tripped in his entire life. His hair—long, sleek, impossibly black—whipped through the air in slow motion. Probably smelled like tea tree oil and sin.
Jack squinted, heart sinking.
“Oh great,” he muttered. “It’s the shampoo commercial.”
Chase Young.
First year? Second year? Immortal? No one was sure. But he had a permanent spot on the school council despite never attending meetings. The teachers either feared him or owed him favors. And every time he moved, a dramatic wind kicked up like the weather respected his vibe.
He adjusted his collar like a model mid-shoot and walked through the open gate without looking at anyone. Not even the hall monitor that had shouted at him. That guy just bowed and stepped aside like Chase had hypnotized him with conditioner.
Jack stared. Then looked up at the sky.
“I don’t get paid enough for this. I don’t even get paid. Why am I like this.”
He turned on his heel. Wuya wasn’t going to find herself. And unfortunately, Jack had her chemistry homework and her forged signature to deliver.
Hopefully without running into Chase again. Or Le Mime. Or Kimiko. Or toast.
Jack had almost made it through the east courtyard without further humiliation when fate, cruel bastard that it was, decided he hadn’t suffered enough.
There she was.
Wuya-senpai. Standing under the sakura tree like she was posing for a dating sim cover.
And she wasn’t alone.
“Eww,” Jack whispered under his breath.
Because there she was— flirting.
With Dashi.
Jack blinked, squinted, then blinked again as if his brain was refusing to load the image. Wuya had one hand on her hip, leaning in just slightly, and Dashi was smiling like an idiot—like he didn’t even know she was evil. Which honestly, maybe he didn’t.
“How the hell is that happening?” Jack muttered, pressing himself behind the vending machine like he was dodging sniper fire. “Weren’t they enemies? Mortal? Like, cursed-forever enemies? What even is this school?”
He peeked out again. Yup. Wuya laughed at something Dashi said. Her laugh was fake. Her smile was predatory. Dashi didn’t notice. Dashi never noticed anything except his own hair which is non-existent and snacks.
Jack’s brain itched.
“How does Dashi even pass school? I’ve seen him try to microwave a salad.”
He paused.
“Actually… how do any of my sempais pass? They’ve been here for, like, five years. And they’re still in uniform. Is that allowed? Are they cursed? Is this a cult?!”
His brain spiraled. Again.
There was even the whole dumb “two-faction” thing in school—Xiaolin vs Heylin. Like, officially. With lockers grouped by alignment . Who the hell let that happen? Why did the teachers not care? Was this just some high school musical knockoff with martial arts and barely disguised moral relativism ?
“God this is so stupid,” Jack muttered. “Why is this allowed? It’s school— SCHOO— ”
“Jackie~”
He froze. Spine locked.
That voice. That sing-song death bell .
He turned like a man facing the executioner.
Wuya stood there, hand still on her hip, hair too perfect for a humid day, eyes locked onto him like she was mentally dismembering him.
Beside her, Dashi gave a goofy wave. “Hey, Jack!”
Jack nearly collapsed on the spot.
Wuya smirked. Hard. “Did you bring my chemistry, Jackie-chan~?” she said, dragging out the last syllable like it physically hurt him.
Jack died inside. Right there in the courtyard. In front of God and cherry blossoms and whoever else was watching.
He reached into his bag like it was a body bag. “Yeah. Here. Notes, answers, signature, emotional labor. Enjoy.”
Wuya took the folder with the grace of someone receiving a gift, then flicked her hair behind her shoulder like she was on a runway.
“Aw, you’re such a good kouhai, ” she purred. “What would I do without you?”
“Fail,” Jack muttered.
“What was that?”
“Smile,” he said, louder, grinning like his soul wasn’t crumbling into dust.
He turned around, fleeing the scene with all the dignity of a wet cat.
Behind him, Dashi called out, “Catch you later, buddy!” like they were pals or something. Like that wasn’t adding insult to injury.
Jack didn’t respond. He just walked faster, muttering under his breath:
“I swear to god, next time I’m making her worksheet say 'my favorite element is carbonated soda.' See if she notices.”
He wouldn’t. But he might. Because this school? This school made no damn sense.