It was a sunny day. Birds chirped in the light blue sky, drifting lazily beneath clouds as soft as cotton. I often wished I could be one of them—free to glide across the sky, unburdened by expectations or identity. I longed for that kind of freedom. The kind that comes not from achievement, but from simply being.
Ever since I was a child, people said I was different. Not just in the way every child is a little unique—but profoundly, unmistakably different. I wasn't your average high schooler dreaming of landing a prestigious job. I could've had that future easily, if I wanted it. I was the type of person who excelled at everything—academics, sports, even social etiquette. People called me a genius. Some whispered I was a "perfect human."
And by society's standards, I suppose I was. I had it all—sharp intellect, athletic prowess, striking looks. The sort of things other sixteen-year-old boys could only wish for. Girls adored me. Boys resented me. And yet, despite all I had, I felt empty. Like a polished statue on display—admired, envied, but untouchable. I didn't want perfection. I wanted peace.
That's why I made a decision.
I left the city and moved to a remote city on the edge of the country. A quiet place called Groatye, home to one of the nation's most prestigious schools: Swemaday High. Known for producing elite scholars and athletes, Swemaday was a battlefield of talent. Classes competed fiercely, and only the best survived.
But I wasn't worried.
I had studied material far beyond what Swemaday offered since I was 6. I'd mastered university-level content with ease. People compared me to legends of science and physics, The best of the best were compared to me. . Secretly, I believed and knew I surpassed them. But that life wasn't for me—not anymore.
I, Tufa Poyori, decided to become… average.
I wanted to fade into the background, live as a regular student, and enjoy the simple pleasures of high school life—just four years of peaceful anonymity. Like a bird among the clouds.
Swemaday divided its students into six ranked classes: from the elite Class S at the top, to the bottom rung—Class F. I would aim for F. The lower, the better. I could taste freedom already.
The entrance exam was straightforward. Of 500 applicants, only 240 would be accepted. To ensure I landed squarely in Class F, I aimed for average scores—72, 73, and 78. Nothing too high to raise suspicion. Nothing too low to get rejected. Just right.
When I arrived at the testing center, heads turned. Not because they recognized me—thankfully, I had kept my name quiet—but because of my looks. My black hair, my "perfect physique." I couldn't disguise those features, no matter how I tried. I felt like the sun in a dark sky—radiant and unwanted.
In the exam room, I took a seat beside a boy with dirty blond hair. He looked sharp, but not extraordinary. Just average enough. He might make a good friend, I thought. Someone real.
"Hey, nice to meet you. I'm Tufa Poyori," I said with a calm, practiced smile.
He glanced at me, unfazed. "Cool. Nice to meet you, I guess. I'm Nataki Froy, if that matters."
"Hope you do well on your test," I offered.
"Yeah, yeah. Thanks. You too."
The exam began. I breezed through it—choosing to answer correctly only the questions I believed average students would get right. I intentionally missed the harder ones. No stress. No challenge. Just the way I planned it.
Afterwards, I walked out with Nataki.
"How do you think you did?" I asked.
"Mid, at best. Guessed on a lot. Harder than I thought," he said, scratching the back of his head.
"Same here. Maybe we'll end up in the same class."
He looked at me in disbelief. "Wait, seriously? With that physique? Nah, I wouldn't bet on that in a hundred years. You look like someone who belongs in Class S. But I guess you can't judge a book by its cover."
He shrugged, then added, "Honestly, I don't care where I start. F, S, whatever. I just want to get in—and then work my way to the top. Class S is my goal. I want to improve myself."
In that moment, I saw something in him—potential. Raw, untapped brilliance. If nurtured, he could rival the best. And I wanted to see it happen. Maybe even help, quietly.
Three days passed.
Then the email arrived.
I was in. No surprise there. The message didn't mention our class placements—only that there would be 40 students per class, and that anyone who scored above 95 was placed in Class S. To me Class S wasn't such a big deal but to others Class S was the appiphny of the school. If you didn't graduate in Class S you would feel disappointed. The difference in futures was unreal. If you didn't graduate from Class S then you were given a fraction of a wink. it almost like S was the whole reason for the school. Still I could of easily gotten in if I chose to.
But that wasn't me, of course. Not this time.
And that's exactly how I wanted it to be I wanted Wings like the ordinary.