Chapter Text
The Ramshackle Dorm was currently serving as a war zone.
Discarded sheets of notebook paper lined the floor, half-eaten snacks littered the coffee table, and six first-years were on the absolute brink of tearing each other apart.
It had all started three hours ago when Professor Crewel had slammed his riding crop onto his desk during Alchemy class with a sharp CRACK.
"Listen up, pups," Crewel had announced, sweeping his fur coat off his shoulders and narrowing his grey eyes at the class. "The Headmage has decided that your major assessment for the next two months will test your ability to cooperate. You lot will work in your year-groups for a bi-weekly music evaluation. Every two weeks for two whole months, you will perform a song—four performances in total. You may cover an existing track, but there will be substantial bonus points awarded for original compositions. If I hear a single uncoordinated, tone-deaf screech, I will personally see to it that your entire group spends their weekends skinning potion ingredients. Dismissed."
While the NRC boys reacted as if Crewel had just sentenced them to hard labor, Yuu had barely blinked.
Every two weeks? Only four performances? Yuu thought, drinking a juice box on the worn-out couch. That’s nothing.
Back home in the Philippines, high school performances was a completely different beast. You’d get assigned a full-blown folk dance routine, a choir piece, or an original skit on Monday, and be acted on Wednesday your group was expected to have matching costumes, synchronized choreography, and zero excuses—because performance tasks made up a brutal 60% of the grade. If you didn't deliver, your report card was cooked. This Crewel assignment was just a casual Tuesday.
The six Twisted Wonderland boys, however, were suffering a collective breakdown.
"I am telling you, a majestic, thunderous orchestra is the ONLY acceptable option!" Sebek bellowed for the fifth time, slamming his hands onto the coffee table so hard the teacups rattled. "If we want those bonus points for an original song, we must write an anthem that echoes through the halls of history! Something worthy of—"
"If you mention Malleus one more time, Sebek, I’m gonna shove this pencil up your nose," Ace groaned, sprawled dramatically over the arm of the couch with an arm tossed over his eyes. "Writing an original song from scratch in two weeks?! Are you insane? We're supposed to do this four times over two months! Nobody wants to sit through a twenty-minute opera anyway. We need something upbeat. A pop track. Something where I get the center mic."
"A pop track?!" Epel’s voice cracked slightly, dropping his delicate demeanor as he glared at Ace with sharp blue eyes. "Are you out of your mind, Trappola? If we want those extra points, it needs real grit! Heavy bass, electric guitars—something with power!"
"Statistically speaking," Ortho chimed in, floating near the ceiling while holographic charts projected from his visor, "writing an original song guarantees a 15% grade boost, but attempting an original without a clear genre alignment carries a high risk of failure. An up-tempo pop-rock fusion yields the highest grade distribution in Crewel's historical rubric. I can easily synthesize the instrumental, provided we settle on a vocal arrangement."
"I don't care about the extra points yet," Jack grunted from the corner, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his wolf tail flicking in sheer frustration. "I just want a passing grade so we don't look like idiots. We've been in this room for three hours and we haven't even decided if we're doing a cover or an original!"
"Jack's right!" Deuce chimed in, holding a pen like a weapon as he pointed at a blank sheet of paper. "We need discipline! We need a structured strategy for the whole two months! First, we assign roles, then we draft the first chorus, then—"
"Oh, shut up, Deuce, you've been chewing on that pen cap for forty minutes and you haven't written anything either!" Ace snapped.
"I AM THINKING!" Deuce yelled back, his face turning bright red.
Yuu sighed, tossing their empty juice box into the bin. They watched the chaotic mess with the tired, hardened patience of a veteran group-project leader.
Classics, Yuu thought with a shake of their head. Every group always has the loud one, the lazy one, the overly dramatic one, and the one who panics. Just like high school back home.
"Alright, tama na 'yan," Yuu said, cutting through the noise.
"What?" Ace blinked.
"I said, enough," Yuu switched back to English, standing up from the armchair. "You guys are treating a basic performance task like it's the end of the world. In my world, we do this every single week. It's literally 60% of our grade. You survive by working smart, not by screaming at each other for three hours well mostly"
"Every week?!" Deuce gasped, looking at Yuu like they were a warrior who had survived a war.
"How are you people even alive?!" Ace muttered in horror.
"We survive on spite and instant noodles," Yuu deadpanned. "Now listen. Crewel wants an 'original' song for bonus points, right? But nobody in Twisted Wonderland knows a single thing about music from my world. To Crewel, anything I bring from back home is automatically an original song."
The room went dead silent.
Ace slowly sat up straight, his jaw dropping slightly as the realization hit him. "...Yuu. You absolute evil genius."
"That is... an exceptionally efficient loophole!" Ortho chirped, his visor flashing green. "It bypasses composition fatigue while securing maximum bonus metrics!"
"What kind of song is it?" Jack asked, crossing his arms, looking genuinely impressed. "Is it an ancient battle chant?"
"Even better," Yuu smirked, pulling out a notebook. "It's a song from an old animated show I used to watch as a kid back home. It’s high-energy, it’s catchy, and it’s literally written about a group of idiots who finally settled their differences and made up."
"Who are you calling chaotic idiots?!" Sebek yelled, though he looked curiously at the notebook.
"If the shoe fits, Sebek," Epel snickered, leaning in closer. "What's it called, Yuu?"
"It's called 'Better Together'. Ortho, hit record," Yuu said, tapping a rhythmic beat on the coffee table. "I'll hum the chorus so you can map out the instrumental, then we're assigning lines. No arguments—I'm leader for this project."
Nobody dared disagree