First Entry into Advanced Nurturing High School

The early autumn wind swept across the Seto Inland Sea, shattering the sunlight filling the windows into shimmering ripples that spilled over the body of the speeding pure-white bus.

This cross-sea highway lay far from the clamor of the city. There were no homes or shops on either side—only stretches of lush green vegetation embracing the boundless blue sea. Layer upon layer of waves gently lapped against the reefs, producing the soft, mellow sounds of the tide. The entire road was closed off, accessible only to designated vehicles bound for the island campus ahead. It shut out every trace of worldly bustle, carrying an aloof yet solemn stillness of its own.

The bus was filled with first-year high school students who had just passed the rigorous entrance examinations. Every one of them was among the best, having stood out from tens of thousands of candidates across the country. The cabin was not noisy; instead, it held a restrained tension and anticipation. Scattered whispers occasionally rose, only to quickly fade into silence. Countless gazes were directed either toward the distant scenery outside the windows or the brand-new enrollment handbooks in their hands. In their hearts, everyone carried endless yearning for the academy ahead.

The bus's destination was the most renowned, legendary, and awe-inspiring private elite institution in Japan—Advanced Nurturing High School.

Within Japan's education system, this school was unquestionably the ultimate benchmark, the final academic sanctuary dreamed of by countless students and parents.

Built with full national funding and backed by the finest educational and social resources, it had been destined from its founding to cultivate only the highest-tier elites.

Every piece of publicity circulating outside showcased the school's irreplaceability.

Advanced Nurturing High School operated under a three-year, full-time, fully closed boarding system. Throughout their three years of study, every student's food, accommodation, tuition, and daily expenses were entirely covered by the school. Their families did not have to pay a single cent.

From uniforms for all four seasons, three daily meals, and apartment-style dormitories to everyday necessities and basic recreational supplies, everything was provided free of charge. The benefits were generous enough to make students at countless ordinary schools green with envy.

Yet its most astonishing and defining feature—the one that dominated every ranking—was the official, public record that had never been broken: a 100% advancement rate and a 100% employment rate.

It was a miracle that no other top-tier prestigious school could hope to match.

Unlike other schools' vague promises of further education, Advanced Nurturing High School's promotional materials were blunt and unequivocal. Written in black and white in the most conspicuous place in its admissions brochure were these words: as long as students successfully completed the three-year program and graduated from the school, they would directly qualify for guaranteed admission to Japan's finest national and private universities, or receive exclusive internal recommendations to industry-leading companies and top financial conglomerates.

In other words, stepping through this school's gates was equivalent to securing a bright and open path through life in advance. Prestigious universities, high-paying jobs, and connections among the upper echelon—all of it came with the most reliable guarantee.

The campus presented to the public also lived up to the title of a "top-tier elite academy." In official promotional videos and the images in the enrollment handbook, the school was located on its own private island, with vast grounds, elegant surroundings, and hardware facilities luxurious enough to be called best-in-class. Neat, orderly academic buildings, independent apartment-style dormitories with excellent lighting, fully stocked on-campus chain convenience stores, and refined cafeterias offering balanced meat and vegetable dishes were all available.

Beyond that, there were professional-grade gyms, standard heated swimming pools, outdoor athletic fields, and woodland leisure trails. The school even had a dedicated mountain and wilderness area for students to conduct outdoor practical activities and personal development programs. Every campus facility was open for student use, all in order to cultivate their overall abilities in every respect and help each student grow comprehensively.

In the minds of all incoming students—and even the public at large—Advanced Nurturing High School was an ideal academy of absolute fairness, mutual assistance, and individualized instruction. There were no rigid shackles of exam-oriented education, no harsh and dull high-pressure control. The school promoted a learning environment of healthy competition and collective progress, striving to provide every student with the finest platform for growth, uncover each person's talents and potential, and allow every elite student who enrolled to grow here and reach the summit.

Most of the new students on the bus carried such pure expectations, eagerly awaiting the three years of high school life about to begin. Some secretly hoped to improve their studies and make lifelong friends here. Others dreamed of building themselves up with the school's resources and laying the foundation for their futures. Everyone's eyes were filled with beautiful expectations for what lay ahead.

By the window, Bai Mu sat quietly with his back against the seat. His posture was straight, and his expression indifferent.

He was different from every other naive, hopeful freshman on the bus.

That was because he was not originally from this world. Bai Mu was a transmigrator, hailing from another modern city in one of countless parallel worlds.

In the years since he had crossed over, he had inherited everything about this body and accepted the original owner's identity and background. His parents worked for one of China's leading strategic enterprises and had long been stationed at its Japan branch, deeply involved in core research fields. From childhood, he had received an elite upbringing far more demanding than that of his peers.

The mature mentality and meticulous thinking from his previous life, combined with the deliberate honing of this life, had given him a temperament, insight, and ability to plan far beyond those of any freshman present.

More than anyone else, he knew that there was no such thing as a free lunch in this world, much less extreme preferential treatment without a price.

How could benefits this perfect possibly exist?

Land in the Tokyo Metropolitan Area was worth every inch of its weight in gold, yet Advanced Nurturing High School had directly monopolized an entire island. The campus was lavishly outfitted in every way, from apartment-style dormitories and complete athletic facilities to exquisite daily meals and round-the-clock supplies. The school covered all expenses for tens of thousands over three years. Such a cost-blind investment required an astronomical amount of funding, resources, and manpower.

If its purpose were merely to cultivate ordinary elites, there would be absolutely no need to pay such a terrifying price. Public elite schools had sufficient resources, and top private academies were more than capable of supplying talent. There was no reason for the state to spend enormous sums creating such a seemingly flawless closed-off high school.

What aroused even more suspicion in Bai Mu was its strange admissions model.

Logically, with a top-tier reputation built on a 100% advancement and employment rate, as well as unmatched resources nationwide, Advanced Nurturing High School could have held a unified public examination across the country, judged applicants by their scores, and selected the most outstanding, disciplined, and intelligent geniuses from among tens of millions of candidates.

Yet it had chosen the exact opposite path, abandoning public standardized examinations in favor of an extremely loose school recommendation system.

Middle schools of every region and every level had recommendation quotas, and students of wildly varying quality were sent to the campus together. Some elite middle schools did recommend outstanding students with exceptional academic ability and good character, but more ordinary middle schools—even schools with poor atmospheres—recommended students whose qualifications varied greatly. Their academic ability, temperament, and personal qualities were worlds apart. Some had severe weaknesses in particular subjects, some were unruly by nature, and some possessed extremely poor self-discipline. They simply did not deserve the "elite selection" standard so lavishly praised by outsiders.

Such a lax admissions method, without any rigorous barriers, completely contradicted the school's title as a top prestigious academy and the astronomical resources invested in it. Everything about it carried an inexplicable strangeness.

There was no educational investment in the world that accepted losses, nor any preferential allocation of resources that sought no return.

His gaze swept casually across the bus before finally settling on an especially eye-catching figure diagonally ahead of him.

The girl had a head of particularly soft and striking pink hair, making her stand out sharply among the bus full of boys and girls. Her hair was fluffy and gentle, accentuating her delicate, mild face. Her brows and eyes were clean and clear, and she possessed a soft, soothing air.

She had an attractive figure, and her fitted school uniform emphasized her upright posture. As she sat quietly, she gave off a warm and modest aura entirely unlike the tense, restless state of most people in the cabin.

Even more eye-catching was the magnificent Mount Everest-like grandeur on her chest.

The girl sat properly with both hands resting lightly on her knees, quietly gazing at the blue sea and sky outside. Her expression was relaxed and calm, without the slightest hint of a new student's awkwardness or unease.

Bai Mu did not deliberately inquire about her identity. His gaze merely passed over her before he withdrew it and returned his attention to the vast seascape outside.

The smoothly moving bus gradually slowed at a seaside stop midway through the journey. With a faint mechanical sound, the doors slowly opened, and a refreshing sea breeze poured into the cabin, dispersing some of its stuffiness.

An elderly woman with a head full of silver hair and a stooped body slowly climbed aboard, holding onto the handrail by the door. She was quite advanced in age, and her legs were clearly inconvenient. Every step she took seemed difficult, and as she stood in the crowded aisle, her figure looked frail and at a loss.

At that moment, every seat on the bus was occupied by freshmen.

In an instant, the cabin, which had been filled with scattered whispers, fell abruptly silent. Quite a few students noticed the elderly woman, yet no one stood up immediately. Most merely glanced sideways at her before looking away again and maintaining their original sitting positions. An awkward silence settled over the bus.

Bai Mu remained leaned against his seat, his expression calm and unmoved.

He had never liked making meaningless gestures of goodwill, nor would he deliberately conform to conventional moral standards. In his view, none of them knew one another. It was only natural that no one gave up their seat; there was no need to condemn anyone, nor to demand more of them. Naturally, he had no intention of standing.

He was accustomed to staying apart from things and watching the warmth and coldness of human relationships around him with detached eyes. He would not casually interfere in trivial matters unrelated to himself.

Just as the elderly woman stood helplessly, unsure where to go, a gentle, sweet female voice softly broke the silence in the bus.

"Grandma, your legs are inconvenient. Please, take my seat."

Her voice was soft and sincere, without the slightest trace of affectation or performance.

The one who spoke was that gentle girl with short pink hair.

The moment her words fell, she immediately rose to her feet and quickly walked over to the elderly woman. She gently supported the woman's thin arm, her movements tender and careful, and cautiously helped the elderly woman from the aisle to her own seat. She even thoughtfully adjusted the angle of the seat for her, ensuring that the woman would not become uncomfortable from sitting too long.

After doing all that, she merely gave the repeatedly thanking old man a gentle smile, her eyes curving warmly. Then she stood quietly by herself in the crowded aisle, slender in stature yet radiating a kindness that moved people.

A single simple gesture quietly shifted the atmosphere of the entire carriage.

The girl's kindness was too pure and open, devoid of any ulterior motive, instantly breaking the subtle chill in the carriage. Mere seconds later, a short-haired boy seated near the right side of the aisle was the first to stand and call out to the pink-haired girl, "Classmate, take my seat."

With someone taking the lead, kindness spread outward in ripples.

Then a second and third student rose in succession, each voluntarily giving up their seats and softly inviting the classmates standing beside them to sit down. What had been a somewhat indifferent carriage, with everyone looking after themselves, became swept up in a gentle tide of mutual courtesy in just moments.

There were no rules demanding it, no one urging them on, and no interests at stake. These boys and girls, about to enter an elite academy and soon set off along their own lofty paths, shed all reserve and distance in that moment, leaving only the purest, most genuine kindness and courtesy. Everyone willingly yielded, showing consideration for one another, and the atmosphere in the carriage instantly turned warm and harmonious.

Everyone in the carriage was standing and yielding their seats—except Bai Mu, who remained seated securely in his original spot.

He still wore that same indifferent, tranquil expression, his eyes utterly calm, with no intention of getting up. The kindness flowing around him, the gentle courtesy of the others, seemed to have nothing whatsoever to do with him. Alone, he held on to his quiet seat, standing apart from this warm current.

Bai Mu had never feared others' gazes, nor had he ever cared about strangers' opinions. More than a decade of harsh training had long forged in him an unshakable composure. Worldly social conventions and moral restraints had never been able to bind the principles by which he acted. Even if everyone else in the carriage yielded their seats while he alone remained still, he felt neither guilt nor discomfort.

Yet even though his temperament had long settled into utmost composure, surrounded by an atmosphere where everyone was gently yielding to one another while he alone sat watching, an indescribably subtle awkwardness still quietly settled over him.