DISCLAIMER! I do not own KHR.

Chapter One: KHR

I was once a princess, now an "adopted" child of a principal of a school – A martial Arts Boarding school.

Or also known as the school for the troubled and the unwanted.

Or also known as KHR.

Honestly, I don't really know much about my "adopted" father. All I know was that his name is Reborn. Strange name, indeed, not that it bothered me much. All I need is food and a roof over my head – the rests are unnecessary.

Bright rays of sunlight shine into my medium-small sized dorm. I grumble and roll around my bed, not wanting to leave the warmth that it had provided me last night. I squint at my roommate, who is already dressed and is wearing her socks, getting ready to leave the room. I grumble some more before willing myself to swing a leg out of the bed. Then, the other.

"Get up, you lazy bum," Nat says without looking at my direction. She is too familiar to this morning routine of mine.

I reply with a 'no', but it comes out slurred instead.

"Yeah, whateva, Lynn. Even though your father is the principal, you still can't get away with the zero on your report card if you missed the art exam today." She pauses for a while. "Hmm… It is starting in 30 minutes."

My eyes swing open instantly.

Art. The art exam.

The Art exam.

This is the moment of my life as an art student. Nothing can describe the feeling of pride swelling up inside you when a buyer stops behind you and observe your beautiful strokes of art. Okay, let me backtrack a little. Over here in KHR, the art exams are actually an arts exhibition where students do their master pieces while RICH people walk around and buy art works. The higher the amount the buyer offers, the higher your grades are.

Honestly, this is the only time where I get to shine. I'm not an arrogant person and I hate to boast, but art is the only thing I take pride in.

With the exception of having royal blood flowing in my veins.

I shake that thought out of my head. After my fiancé's family was brutally murdered, my father sent me to the other side of the world. He had promised me that he would contact me after everything has settled down. But apparently, he had already forgotten me.

Poor me. I think to myself as I rush down the stairs to the exam galleria. All of my anger towards the past has changed into self-pity by the time I reach the exam galleria. Immediately, I noticed Nat sitting in front of a large canvas by the window. Likewise, I took my spot, carefully choosing it somewhere opposite her.

We are like sisters out of the classroom, but when it comes to art, we are enemies. Not that I mind, anyway. It is always good to have some type of competition in a way or another. Right after I have finished arranging the materials in the way I like, the examiners arrive. All eyes focus on them.

The atmosphere in the room is tense, to the point where I feel as if the one next to me can hear my heart pounding in my chest. Muscles tense and relax, jaws clench and released. Silence engulfs the galleria.

The examiner in the middle clears his throat before speaking. "This year's theme is…," he pauses, as if waiting for a drum to roll in the background, "sentimental. Without further ado, let the 98th Annual Art Exhibition begin!"

With that, the examiners exit the room, leaving the students to work.

I stare at my canvas, thinking about something that is sentimental. Obviously the first thing that comes to mind is my life as a princess. My hand reaches out for my necklace subconsciously. Closing my eyes, I roll the pendant between my fingers, thinking about my past.

I snap my eyes open.

And my hands start to move swiftly and furiously.

2 hours have past and a number of buyers have stopped to look at my work. It is going smoothly and a couple has already placed a bid on my work. Honestly, this has yet to be my best so far. There is a warmth feeling to this piece, yet it has a tinge of sadness to it. A delicate balance.

We are given 5 hours to work on this, with a half an hour break to eat or to visit the loo. However, we can also use this time to continue working – an extra 30 minutes to our allowed time. Normally, I could spare a few minutes grabbing a bite, but this time, I couldn't.

Truthfully, this piece of art stirs and churns the emotions inside my heart and soul. It causes me to mourn and grief over the loss that I had suffered, but it also causes me to feel the nostalgic sense of warmth that engulfs me when I am feeling blue.

There is a really delicate balance to it, indeed.

The timer screams. All the artists stop moving and the buyers – or sponsors – walk around the galleria, placing bids on pieces that they like.

Most of the time, 50% of the bid is given to you to spend and the remaining lump of money is used to pay any outstanding bills you owe and the rest is given to the school budget. Really, it is not a bad way to keep the school funded.

The last call – my master piece is sold for a price of 10 thousand dollars.

Whoopee, it is just another $5,000 to be added to my bank account that I never use.

And will probably never ever use.

I shake hands with my sponsor and left the room silently, heading towards the hill that overlooks the campus. It was the closest thing I can find here to the garden in the picture – the garden of my past. Nonetheless, the breeze caresses my skin and the tranquility of the hill gave me comfort. But it cannot replace the scene in my heart.

And it never will.

I sit on the peak of the hill, hugging my thighs and resting my chin on my knees. I stare at nowhere in particular, because there is nothing interesting to begin with. Not with this lifestyle, not with this school, not with the present me.

I am about to fall asleep in the sun when I hear the grass rustle behind me. The noise creeps closer and closer to me, and then it stops. Without moving my head, my eyes look at the shadow beside me.

It is someone with a HUGE head and a thin body.

Fran.

I sigh inwardly, regretting about me telling him that his illusion looks fake on the spur of the moment. It wasn't my fault at that time, he was blocking my path. This causes him to bother me, asking me questions that are too painful for me to answer. And I can't answer him without telling him my past. Princes and Princesses are just part of a fairytale here. Nobody believes in the other side of the world.

I can feel his gaze prickling on my back.

I hate this uncomfortable silence: It ruins the delicate balance.

"What are you doing here? Don't you know the tournament is starting?" I say, finally, breaking this unnerving atmosphere between us.

"You never seem to be there," he replied, using the monotonous voice of his.

"There is no reason as to why I should be there in the first place."

That is true. I dislike fights. It reminds me of the blood that has been shed during times of war between and within Kingdoms. And also it is mainly because I hate crowds – screaming crowds, supporting their favourite fighters.

FIGHTERS.

I try to avoid them at all cost, but it is difficult. After all, this IS a fighting school. At least half of the school's population is fighters. There are some cliques that are famous and they are people you should beware of.

Cliques such as the Varia.

Nat told me once that they are a bunch of insane people – Squalo, Fran, Lussuria, Levi.

Especially Xanxus and Belphegor.

At the background, I hear Fran talking about something. However, in my mind, something about the fighter named Belphegor keeps bugging me.

I stand up abruptly.

"… So, are you going to watch the tournament?"

I keep my gaze at the horizon, not wanting to look at any fighter in the eye.

"Sorry, you should go to the arena now." I reply with my voice clear from any emotions.

At the corner of my eye, I watch the head of the shadow nod and then slowly pace away.

I let out my breath that I am holding.

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

An hour later, I find myself at the entrance to the arena.

45 minutes ago, the tournament started.

I hesitate before entering. The battle between Fran and someone else is about to start. Both participants shake hands and the bell rings.

Immediately, both leap backwards, putting some distance between them. Fran's opponent makes the first move. Cracks start to form on the ground and then, the ground split into several small pieces. The audiences scream.

Fran counter attacks. Hot molten lava starts to flow out of the cracks that his opponent has made. Blurry black bubbles start to appear, it's as if there are something swimming in the magma. Vines grow out of nowhere, attacking Fran as he skillfully avoids them. Suddenly, Fran loses his balance and the vines catch him, holding him by his wrists and ankles.

The audiences go berserk.

Of course, I know better.

The split moment when the opponent let his guard down, some things leap out of the magma and pin the opponent on the ground.

TOADS.

The opponent's eyes turn to the vines. But the greens are on the floor, lying in a heap.

Fran disappeared.

Murmurs can be heard from the audiences. Then, silence follows.

The frog boy materializes from thin air, his face emotionless. In contrast, his opponent's face is twisted with fear.

I can see why.

Hundreds, or maybe thousands, of small blades hover in the air above the struggling person on the ground, threatening to cut him into unrecognizable pieces. I close my eyes, waiting for the crowd to cheer when Fran has made the finishing move.

But I hear the bell ding instead.

Slowly, I open my eyes. All of the illusions from the battle are gone.

Fran is crowned as winner. Silently, I smile to myself. If this is compared to the illusions made in my Kingdom, it would be a kids' battle. The bell shrieks again, signaling the start of the next battle.

Belphegor's battle.

I notice that the number of audience is growing rapidly. And I leave the place due to the discomfort of standing in crowded places. One battle is more than enough excitement for the day.

Little did I know that a pair of eyes is watching me.

I can still hear the screams of the fan girls even after leaving the area.

Is Belphegor really THAT popular? I ask myself.

Yeah. Maybe he is famous for shredding his opponents to bits.

I shudder at the thought of it. There are absolutely no rules for the tournament. You either kill to survive, or get killed. From what I know, only the battles of the illusionists have rules. The rule is simple – you have 5 minutes to terrify and trap your opponent using illusions. However, many people keep forgetting that illusions are just a figment of their own imagination.

However, the others have to fight to death, or at least until they 'give up' or they faint. These battles can sometimes last for hours or sometimes just a few minutes, depending on the participants.

Oh, right. The tournaments are not individuals versus individuals, but instead it is cliques versus cliques. According to the results from last year, the only the Vongola is able to defeat the Varia.

But all of these don't matter to me, because I have nothing got to do with it.

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