Chapter 7 - "Harem Academy"
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The next morning, Akane showed up at my door exactly at 07:00 sharp, looking like she'd never been naked in front of me in her entire life.
I, on the other hand, had not slept. Every time I closed my eyes I either saw the Colonel's smug face or Akane's… everything.
"Good morning," she said, crisp and professional. "Time for enrollment."
I mumbled something that might have been "morning" and followed her out like a zombie.
We took a hovercar—because of course we did—and flew over the city toward a massive campus that looked like someone had taken a sci-fi university and cranked the budget to eleven. White buildings, floating walkways, training domes, gardens everywhere.
Peak Harem Academy.
Even the name sounded like a bad joke.
The car landed on a private pad, and Akane marched me through the main gates like I was a package she was delivering.
That's when the staring started.
Everywhere I looked: girls. Hundreds of them. Thousands, maybe.
And their uniforms?
Holy crap.
Some wore normal stuff—skirts, blazers, the usual school look. But the rest… I swear half the campus was cosplaying as lingerie models.
Crop tops that ended just under the chest. Shorts so tiny they were basically denim underwear. Thigh-high stockings with garters on full display. One girl walked past in what was literally a bikini top and a see-through jacket. Another had a skirt that was more suggestion than clothing.
Nobody batted an eye. This was apparently standard issue.
*Is this an academy or a Victoria's Secret runway?*
And every single one of them stopped whatever they were doing to stare at me.
Whispers hit me like a wave.
"Is that him?"
"A male?"
"Natural?"
"He's kinda cute…"
"Wonder if he's taken…"
I felt my face catch fire. I shoved my hands in my pockets and stared at the ground, trying to pretend I was invisible.
Spoiler: I wasn't.
Girls actually started following us at a distance. A little parade of barely-dressed students trailing the rare male specimen.
*This is how animals feel at the zoo. Except the animals don't usually get ogled by supermodels in micro-skirts.*
Akane didn't slow down. She powered through the courtyard like a battleship cutting through waves of hormonal teenagers.
We entered one of the central buildings, climbed to the third floor, and stopped in front of a door labeled "Private Classroom 3-A."
"Your academic instruction will be conducted separately," Akane said. "Standard classes are not suitable at this stage."
"Because I'd start a riot?" I asked.
"Because the curriculum assumes certain societal norms that no longer apply to you," she replied smoothly. "Also yes. Riot."
She opened the door and basically shoved me inside.
The room was small, private. One big desk, two chairs, holographic displays on the walls, window overlooking the gardens.
Empty.
"Your instructor will arrive shortly," Akane said. "I will return later to review your full schedule. Health evaluations. Compatibility assessments. Training assignments."
She listed it all like she was reading a shopping list.
I dropped into one of the chairs. "Can't wait."
Akane gave me the tiniest twitch of her lips—closest thing to a smile I'd seen from her—and left.
Door closed.
Alone again.
For about ten seconds.
The door opened.
A woman walked in.
Brown hair in a loose braid over one shoulder. Soft eyes. Gentle smile that actually looked real. Figure that the academy uniform—a fitted white blouse and knee-length skirt—somehow made look both proper and unfairly good.
She closed the door softly, turned to me, and bowed.
"Hello, Kaito-kun," she said, voice warm like hot chocolate on a winter day. "I'm Hoshino Aya. I'll be your private academic teacher from now on."
I sat up straighter without meaning to.
Well.
This day just got a whole lot more interesting.
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