Miyuki

{Miyuki}

Perfection isn't a choice. It's a necessity.

My morning routine never varies because it can't. Because perfection requires precision, and precision requires control.

Wake up at exactly 5:30 AM. Not 5:31. Not 5:29. Exactly 5:30. Thirty minutes of meditation to center myself, to push down the parts of me that don't fit into the perfect mold. Traditional breakfast follows - rice, miso, grilled fish. Then a full hour to ensure my appearance meets the exacting standards expected of Crescent Moon University's Student Council President.

[Everything must be perfect. Must be proper. Must be controlled.]

I stand before my mirror now, checking every microscopic detail of my reflection. My raven-black hair falls in a perfect curtain down my back, not a single strand daring to rebel. The uniform I pressed last night hugs my body in exactly the right ways - professional, proper, perfect. The student council president's badge gleams on my lapel like a promise.

The face staring back at me is beautiful... in the way expensive porcelain is beautiful. Flawless. Cold. Untouchable.

Just as it should be.

My... other parts remain carefully hidden, bound and controlled like everything else about me. Unlike some people, I understand the importance of propriety.

The Hayashi estate echoes with silence as I make my way downstairs, each footstep measured against marble floors. Servants bow as I pass, a choreographed dance of propriety that would make my ancestors proud.

Then my phone buzzes, shattering the perfect morning calm.

[Mei📋]: President, we have a situation.

[Mei📋]: That Nakamura girl's influence is already spreading!

[Mei📋]: Three students came to class with modified uniforms today.

[Mei📋]: Two more were caught using enchanted, glow-in-the-dark makeup in the bathrooms.

[That girl... Already???]

From the moment I saw her yesterday, with those obscene pink eyes and that uniform that barely qualified as clothing, I knew she'd be trouble. The way she moves, the way she laughs, the way she exists without shame or restraint...

[Everything I can't- Everything I won't allow myself to be.]

---

Through the windows of our family's car, I watch New Tokyo blur past like tears on pristine glass. Crescent Moon's towers rise ahead, a beacon of order in a world descending into chaos. Each spire stands as a testament to tradition, to propriety, to everything I've sacrificed myself to protect.

My domain. My responsibility. My cross to bear.

[I will not let her tarnish the very foundations of magical society itself.]

The student council room is already occupied when I arrive, as it must be, as it has been since time immemorial. Mei stands at attention with the other council members, their uniforms a symphony of pressed perfection, their postures a monument to proper conduct.

"Report," I command, my voice carrying the weight of generations as I take my seat at the head of the table. The ancient wood beneath my fingers thrums with the echoes of past presidents, their legacy burning in my veins like sacred fire.

Mei steps forward, her tablet clutched like a holy text, her movements precise as a ritual dance.

"The situation has escalated beyond our darkest fears, President." Her voice trembles with barely contained horror. "Since Nakamura's arrival, we've documented a 47% increase in uniform violations! Social media engagement around 'alternative' student practices has doubled. A-And this morning..."

She pulls up a ManaGram post that makes my very soul cry out in anguish.

Akari fucking Nakamura, sprawled across our sacred courtyard like some common influencer, surrounded by admirers like a queen holding court.

[Look at her...] My fingers dig into the armrests as if they could anchor my sanity. [That skirt, hiked up in defiance of all decency. That obscene cleavage, mocking our dress code with every breath. Those breasts, bouncing in open rebellion against gravity itself. And that smile... smiling.] 

My nostrils flare with the fury of a thousand proper ladies as I watch her in the video, pink sparkles dancing around her fingers like the death throes of tradition itself.

"And that's how you make your lipstick change color with your mood!" Her voice rings out, each word another dagger in propriety's heart. "Way better than that boring stuff they teach in class, right?"

[UNACCEPTABLE. This transgression against all that is proper and right cannot stand!]

The wood beneath my fingers wails in sympathy with my righteous fury. My carefully bound secret throbs with the intensity of my moral outrage.

In a whisper that could silence storms, I ask:

"How many views?"

Mei's voice quavers.

"Over fifty thousand, President. It's... it's trending."

"TRENDING!?"

I stand with such violence my chair goes flying backward, probably shattering into a thousand pieces like my faith in today's youth.

The very foundations of Crescent Moon University seem to tremble beneath the weight of my horror.

"Call an assembly." My voice carries the finality of an executioner's axe. "Now."

[The time has come to restore order to this world... or die trying.]

---

The great hall fills like a tomb being sealed, each student another nail in propriety's coffin. Their whispers echo off the enchanted ceiling. My council members take their positions, their faces appropriately grave, as if attending the funeral of decency itself.

I stand at the podium, letting the weight of history press down upon my shoulders. My fingers trace ancient wood that holds the prayers of a thousand proper presidents before me. How many stood here, defending these hallowed halls from the forces of chaos? How many fought this eternal battle?

[I will not be the one who fails. I will not let our legacy crumble beneath platform heels and pink hair dye.]

"Students of Crescent Moon University." My voice rings out like judgment itself, silencing their mindless chatter. "We stand at a crossroads of destiny."

In the crowd, I spot her - Akari fucking Nakamura, taking SELFIES with that gyaru companion of hers like this is some common social gathering. My eye twitches with the force of a thousand proper ladies spinning in their graves.

"For centuries," I continue, each word weighted with the gravity of tradition, "this institution has represented the pinnacle of magical excellence. Our traditions, our standards, our very way of life have been preserved through dedication, discipline, and respect for proper conduct!"

The enchanted crystals above pulse with my righteous fury, casting dramatic shadows across the assembled masses. Yet SHE doesn't even look up, too busy adjusting her obscene cleavage for another photo.

[How DARE she ignore the very foundation of society crumbling beneath her feet?]

"But now," my voice rises like a tide of propriety about to drown the unworthy, magic crackling around me like the wrath of a thousand etiquette teachers, "there are those who would CORRUPT everything we stand for! Those who mistake VULGARITY for individuality! Those who would trade our SACRED traditions for... trending social media posts!"

Finally, she looks up. Those unnatural pink eyes widen with confusion, those perfectly glossed lips part in surprise, and something in my carefully bound core twitches traitorously.

"AKARI NAKAMURA!" I thrust my finger forward with enough dramatic force to start a war, sending waves of magical energy rippling through the hall like righteousness made manifest. "You may be S-Class, but your influence threatens the very FOUNDATION of this institution! As Student Council President, I formally declare you an ENEMY OF CRESCENT MOON'S TRADITIONS!"

The hall erupts in gasps and whispers, a symphony of scandal. All eyes turn to her, and she... she blinks.

Several times.

Like a confused puppy.

"Wait, what?" Her voice carries through the silence, shattering my moment of triumph. "Did she just... is this actually happening right now?"

"Girl, I think you just got rival'd," her friend whispers back, GIGGLING of all things.

My magic flares with the intensity of my outrage, turning the crystals above as dark as my fury.

"From this day forward," I declare, my voice trembling with the weight of destiny itself, "every violation of dress code, every disruption of proper conduct, every bat of your mascara-laden eyes will be met with the FULL FORCE of student council authority!"

[There. Now everyone will witness the depth of her depravity!]

She stands up, looking adorably- INFURIATINGLY bewildered, those ridiculous platforms adding unnecessary inches to her already inappropriate height.

"Um, quick question?" She raises her hand like this is some common classroom discussion. "Have we even met before?"

My eye twitches with enough force to generate electricity.

[How DARE she make a mockery of this historic moment?]

"This isn't over, Nakamura!"

"Something started????"