The snowflakes fell gently onto the school grounds, cloaking the chaos in a deceptive calm. The once-imposing gates now bore a soft coat of white, and the sound of students’ footsteps was muffled by the powdery snow. Despite the serene scene outside, a sense of unease tugged at Ms. Akasuki as she watched through the frost-kissed window.

  “Alright, freshmen! Grab your coats and blankets, huddle up, it’s going to be freezing today!” she called, her voice carrying the warmth of a caretaker. Yet, as she turned back to her students, the gnawing pit of anxiety in her stomach refused to fade. Something about the stillness outside felt... wrong.

  Before she could dwell on the feeling, the school’s intercom crackled to life, interrupting the mundane classroom chatter.

  “Attention, students!” Principal Takeda’s voice rang out, unusually cheerful. “It’s that time of year again! Our annual Secret Santa celebration is here, brought to you by our generous benefactors! Those of you who’ve impressed our hosts will be receiving a mysterious gift, delivered directly by drone. Accept the delivery to claim your prize!”

  Excitement rippled through the classroom like wildfire. Students broke into eager chatter, their voices rising as they speculated about the nature of the gifts and who might be fortunate enough to receive one.

  Kohaku exchanged a sceptical glance with Senku, her arms crossed as she leaned against her desk. “This feels... weird,” she murmured, through her eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity.

  Senku, perched lazily in his seat, smirked. “Weird? That’s just another word for interesting,” he teased, his tone light, but his gaze sharp as it flicked toward the passing drones visible outside the frosted windows.

  Despite her reservations, even Kohaku couldn’t entirely resist the allure of the unknown. Around her, the energy of the classroom grew electric, anticipation tingling in the cold air.

  Meanwhile, above the snow-covered school grounds, the Rooftoppers battled the elements to keep their fragile ecosystem alive.

  The wind howled across the rooftop, cutting through the layers of mismatched coats and scarves the Rooftoppers had pieced together. Snowflakes swirled in the air, catching the faint light of the sun as it struggled to break through the overcast sky. Hinata stomped her feet against the cold concrete, her pink pigtails bouncing with each frustrated step.

  “Can we call it a day already? My toes are frozen solid, and my winter uniform isn’t made for this!” she whined, pulling her coat tighter around her slender frame.

  Ichika, tall and composed despite the biting chill, barely spared her a glance as she adjusted the angle of the solar panels. “Complaining won’t make it any warmer, Hinata,” she replied, her voice calm but firm. “The greenhouse heaters need power, and the water tanks can’t freeze. If we don’t keep up maintenance, the rest of the school will suffer.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Hinata grumbled, rubbing her gloveless hands together. “You’re practically a walking icicle. I’m more of a spring person.”

  Nearby, Michi’s sharp voice carried over the rooftop. “Focus! We need those panels clear of snow and those tanks inspected before the next freeze hits. Move it, Rooftoppers!” His commanding presence left little room for argument.

  Hinata muttered under her breath but didn’t stop working. Ichika cast her a small, rare smile. “Here,” she said, offering a hand to steady Hinata as she struggled with the icy surface. “If you slip and fall, Michi will have more to yell about.”

  Before Hinata could retort, the faint hum of an approaching drones drew their attention. Everyone paused, turning toward the sound. Several of the sleek machines hovered just above them, its mechanical limbs clutching a small package wrapped in crimson paper, a black ribbon tied neatly on top. The unmistakable logo of the sinister death games jester skull grinning mockingly was stamped across it.

  “Something from the principal's earlier announcement?” Hinata asked, her voice tinged with both curiosity and wariness. “For us?”

  The nearest drone to the girls lowered the package onto a nearby workbench and beeped twice before retreating into the grey sky. Ichika approached it cautiously, her black hair trailing behind her in the wind. She glanced at Michi, who gave her a curt nod.

  The tag attached to the package read: To Ichika, from a Generous Benefactor.

  “Looks like you’re popular,” Hinata quipped, through her eyes lingered on the package with thinly veiled interest.

  Ichika hesitated for a moment before pulling the ribbon loose. The paper fell away to reveal a neatly folded winter hat, scarf, and gloves, their deep blue fabric stark against the rooftop’s scraps.

  Hinata’s jaw dropped. “No fair! I’m the one freezing, and you get a whole winter set?”

  Ichika smirked faintly and handed the scarf and gloves to her shivering companion. “Here. You need them more than I do.”

  Hinata blinked, surprised, before breaking into a grateful grin. “Thanks, Ichika! You’re the best!”

  As she wrapped the scarf around her neck and slipped on the gloves, Michi’s sharp tone cut through the moment. “Enjoy your gift later. There’s still work to do, people!.”

  Elsewhere in the school, a heated argument was brewing in the scavenger’s territory. A classroom, a chaotic mishmash of mismatched furniture and salvaged decorations, felt like it belonged to a post-apocalyptic cosplay convention. Banners of anime characters fluttered alongside makeshift flags made from scraps of school uniforms. Tables were strewn with trinkets and crude tools, while racks of scavenged supplies leans precariously against the walls.

  Kitaro stood near the centre, his stocky frame clad in makeshift armour fashioned from school supplies. Padded textbooks lined his shoulders like pauldrons, and his chest was protected by layers of metallic cafeteria trays hammered into the semblance of a knight's cuirass. His unkempt black hair framed a scowl that deepened with every passing second.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  Across the room, Suzuki leaned casually against a desk, his tall, lean figure wrapped in an elaborate kimono. The shoulder and chest plates of his cosplay armour gleamed under the dim light, and his spiky brown hair made him look like a protagonist ripped from a battle shounen. He tapped the hilt of his katana with an oversized duck plushie, a confident smirk plastered across his face.

  “You can’t just go around stealing supplies from everyone else, Kitaro,” Suzuki said, his voice dripping with mockery. “We’re all trying to survive here. Ever heard of trading? You know, like civilized people?”

  Kitaro’s scowl darkened as he crossed his arms over his armoured chest. “Civilized? You think the Death Games are civilized, Suzuki? Trading’s a waste of time when we can just take what we need. You’d rather play samurai while your people starve?”

  Suzuki chuckled, brushing imaginary dust off his kimono. “Better a starving samurai than a mindless brute in tin cans. At least we don’t have to sleep with one eye open, wondering if our allies will slit our throats for scraps.”

  The tension in the room crackled like a live wire. Behind Kitaro, members of the Scavs murmured their agreement, their rough attire and battered weapons making them look every bit the scavengers they were. Opposite them, Suzuki’s Weebs stood in a more orderly formation, their outfits a patchwork of cosplay armour and meticulously cared-for props that, somehow, still looked intimidating.

  Before the argument could escalate further, the low hum of drones approaching silenced the room. All eyes turned to the open door as three sleek machines glided in, their mechanical limbs clutching wrapped packages. The drones hovered over the centre of the room before dropping their deliveries with precision.

  One package landed directly in Kitaro’s lap.

  He stared at it for a moment, his jaw tightening. The crimson wrapping paper and black ribbon seemed mocking, the grinning skull logo a reminder of their puppet masters. Slowly, he pulled the ribbon free and unwrapped the package. Inside lay a tanto, its polished blade gleaming wickedly under the fluorescent light.

  Kitaro’s lips curled into a grim smile as he lifted the blade, inspecting its edge. “Looks like the benefactors know who deserves real power,” he muttered, his voice low but loud enough for the room to hear.

  Suzuki scoffed, folding his arms. “Power? It’s a dagger, not Excalibur. Maybe it’s to remind you to stay in line.”

  That was the last straw. Kitaro surged to his feet, towering over Suzuki. “I’ve had enough of your lectures, Suzuki,” he snarled, pointing the tanto at him. “You want to trade? Fine. Trade with the scraps when we’re done taking what we need.”

  He turned to the room, his dark eyes sweeping over the gathered students. “Anyone who’s tired of sitting around, waiting for someone else to save us, come with me. The Scavs don’t ask for permission.”

  Kitaro didn’t reply. With a final glare, Suzuki stormed out of the classroom, his makeshift armour clinking with every step. His new recruits followed closely, their footsteps echoing through the empty hallway.

  As the nights cut in early, amid the dim glow of flickering holodipsy, a Blonde hair student sat in the corner of a cluttered tech workshop, his uniform dirty and torn. The only sound was the rhythmic clicking of keys played, Liber-tea first person shooter, his sharp focus cutting through the eerie quiet. His eyes reflected game play as he muttered under his breath.

  "Almost there..." he whispered, adjusting his posture to get more comfortable. His workstation, a chaotic mix of salvaged circuit boards, half-assembled drones, and blinking LED lights.

  Suddenly, a soft hum filled the room, and a sleek drone entered the workshop, its mechanical limbs clutching a brightly wrapped package. He froze, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he watched the drone lower the parcel onto his desk with a cheerful beep before retreating into the shadows.

  "From... a Sponsor?" he murmured, his brow furrowed in suspicion. The package bore the now-familiar jester skull logo. Similar logos printed on the tech his group have salvaged.

  The boy hesitated for a moment, then carefully unwrapped the package. Inside was a compact but advanced programming kit, complete with tools that gleamed under the dim light. His eyes widened in genuine amazement.

  "This..." he muttered, running his fingers over the sleek tools. "This could access everything."

  "Reo!" one of them called out, panting as they pushed the machine into the workshop. "We found this offline in the old gym! I think we can repair it and hack it for free stuff?"

  His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of scraping metal. Reo turned to see his group, three other tech-savvy students, dragging a broken vending machine through the doorway with no small amount of effort.

  Reo stood, his curiosity piqued as he approached the vending machine. Its screen flickered faintly, and the exterior was dented. “Come and give us a hand! It's bloody heavy” the students order.

  As the day dragged on, the weather eased. By evening, the stars twinkled above, casting their faint glow across the pristine winter snow. The chill of the air seeped into the freshmen’s classroom, despite their best efforts to huddle together under blankets. The students sat in tight clusters, rubbing their hands for warmth as snow continued to drift lazily outside the frosted windows.

  The freshmen class room hadn't seen a single drone, many had given up as the portals reported seeing or hearing others getting presents, from food to clothes, to weapons and toys.

  Kohaku sat cross-legged on her desk, her usual sharp eyes softened by the cold. “I swear, if my toes fall off, someone’s going to hear about it,” she muttered, pulling her coat tighter around her shoulders.

  Senku, lounging at a desk nearby, smirked as he adjusted his glasses. “Well, if you lose them, you can always study frostbite first hand. And science loves a willing subject, right?”

  Kohaku rolled her eyes, but before she could retort.

  “Sorry, everyone,” Ms. Akasuki called out, her voice gentle but tinged with regret. “No fried chicken for Christmas this year. But as a treat, I managed to grab some sweets from Ms. Chiyo upstairs. You can have one after finishing your nutrient paste.”

  The students groaned softly, their breaths visible in the frosty air.

  Moments later, the telltale hum of drones echoed outside in the corridor. Heads turned as six sleek machines glided into the classroom, their mechanical arms clutching brightly wrapped packages.

  One drone hovered over Kohaku and dropped a parcel into her lap. She raised an eyebrow, glancing at Senku. “What’s this? Some kind of joke?”

  “Open it and find out,” Senku replied, leaning forward, his curiosity piqued.

  Kohaku tore into the wrapping paper, revealing a set of Gorilla Strength Training grips. She held them up, her scepticism melting into an amused grin. “Do I really look like I need more strength?”

  “Or they’re warning everyone else to stay on the gorillas' good side,” Senku quipped, earning a laugh from the other students.

  Another drone approached Senku, lowering its package onto his desk. His eyes gleamed as he quickly unwrapped it, revealing a deluxe science kit. Inside were test tubes, a microscope, and various chemicals neatly arranged in labeled containers.

  “Now this is a real Christmas miracle,” Senku said, inspecting the contents with genuine excitement. “Looks like my experiments just got a whole lot more interesting.”

  As the other drones found their targets, the last, to everyone’s surprise, approached Ms. Akasuki. She blinked in astonishment as the package landed gently on her desk. The students murmured among themselves, curious about what their teacher could have received.

  Ms. Akasuki carefully unwrapped the package, revealing a compact water boiler and a set of hot chocolate mix, complete with marshmallows. Her lips curved into a warm smile as she turned to the students. “Well, I suppose we can’t let this go to waste, can we?”

  Within minutes, the room was filled with the comforting aroma of hot chocolate. Ms. Akasuki poured steaming cups for the shivering students, her smile never wavering. “Merry Christmas, everyone,” she said softly, handing out the drinks.

  For a brief moment, the harshness of their reality melted away as outside, the snow continued to fall, soft and quiet, as if the world itself had paused to offer them a fleeting moment of peace.