By the time I'd made it past the Academy gates, Tolan had already vanished like a smug phantom. With only a small map, my uniform clutched under one arm, and my staff held like a lifeline, I began the slow and disoriented walk toward the dormitory building.
Or at least, that was the plan.
I didn't even make it twenty paces.
It turns out, walking through a prestigious Academy courtyard while looking like I did was... problematic.
"Hey, new student? What's your name?"
"Are you in Combat Runes? We should team up!"
"Would you—uh—want to grab tea later?"
One guy even offered to carry my staff for me, which earned him a glare sharp enough to cleave steel.
And all I did was exist.
I wasn't swaying my hips, I wasn't batting my lashes. I was just walking, awkwardly, dressed in a slightly oversized tunic and boots, gripping my belongings like a child on the first day of school.
But apparently, that didn't matter. My figure alone, the absurd luck of genetics and whatever the hell that skincare ring did to my face, was enough to stop conversations and turn heads.
Tolan warned me, I thought bitterly. So did Mom. Don't cause trouble. Be nice. Be normal.
I forced a smile at a group of seniors who had practically created a human wall around me.
"Hi. I'm Elara. I'm just… trying to find my dorms."
"We'll help you!"
That came way too fast and in perfect unison.
I blinked.
"Like, right now?"
"Absolutely!"
Two minutes later, I had a full escort. Three guys—each clearly competing for who could be the most helpful. One offered to carry my bag, the other kept giving me unnecessary historical tidbits about the campus, and the third kept complimenting my hair.
It was… exhausting.
By the time we reached the residential wing, I'd learned that all three of them came from minor noble families, they each considered themselves rising stars, and—despite trying to outcharm one another—they were all terrified of the female Combat Arts instructor, a woman nicknamed "The Duel Duchess."
Useful information, I supposed.
We arrived at the student housing—a long sandstone building with ivy-covered walls, tall arched windows, and the general aesthetic of a castle that had once been converted into a wine-tasting venue.
"This is the first-year women's dormitory," one of them said, clearly reluctant to leave.
"Thanks," I replied, trying to edge toward the door.
"Are you sure you'll be okay?"
"I'll survive. Probably."
They didn't laugh.
I slipped inside and closed the door, finally able to breathe again.
The entry hall smelled of lavender and old wood polish. Polished stone floors, tapestries with the Academy's crest—a stylized ouroboros entwined with a sword—and a surprisingly efficient receptionist desk greeted me. The woman at the desk barely looked up as she handed me a key with a room number.
"Third floor. End of the hall. You'll be sharing."
"Sharing?"
"Yes. Roommate's name should be on your file. Not here yet. Your belongings will be delivered to your room later today."
I nodded and made my way upstairs, trying not to slip on the absurdly shiny steps.
Room 314 was better than expected. Spacious, with two canopy beds, a shared writing desk, separate wardrobes, and even a small mana lamp embedded into the ceiling that cast a gentle bluish glow. The window opened onto a view of the central gardens, where more students milled about.
And best of all—my roommate hadn't arrived yet.
I dropped my things, placed the staff carefully next to the wardrobe, and pulled out my uniform.
Then I stared at it.
"Oh, no. No, no, no."
It was, in theory, a perfectly reasonable uniform. Tasteful. Elegant.
In practice? It was a masterclass in visual manipulation.
The Academy Uniform (Female Standard):
A crisp white blouse with gold-thread embroidery along the cuffs and collar. The fabric, though thick, clung to curves like it had a grudge against modesty.
A midnight-blue blazer with sharp shoulders, crest embroidered over the left breast, and tailored to nip in tightly at the waist before flaring slightly at the hips.
The skirt was a knee-length pleated affair in matching midnight blue, high-waisted, with a hidden slit in the back for ease of movement… or for dramatic entrances.
Stockings. Dark gray, enchanted for comfort and durability, but with a suspicious sheen.
Boots. Black, polished, with two-inch heels and reinforced toes, capable of cracking tiles if you kicked hard enough.
A neck ribbon, color-coded by academic focus. Mine was silver—Techno-Rune Theory.
I dressed slowly, carefully, trying not to look at myself in the full-length mirror.
Which, of course, only made it worse.
The moment I was fully dressed, I turned… and froze.
The uniform hugged everything. The blazer made my chest look like it had its own gravitational pull. The skirt swayed with every step like it was trying to choreograph a ballet. Even the stockings seemed to whisper, You're now someone's problem.
"You've got to be kidding me," I whispered.
It didn't help that my hair—long, healthy, annoyingly luxurious thanks to that stupid ring—framed my face like I was about to star in some noble family's engagement portrait.
I looked like a protagonist in a romance novel.
I was doomed.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the window.
Day one, and I was already fighting a losing battle against my own appearance.
I hated that I looked good. Not because it wasn't nice to be attractive—but because I hadn't chosen this. I hadn't asked to look like a living painting.
And more importantly: no one took you seriously when you looked like this.
A knock at the door interrupted my spiral.
I stood, cautiously approaching. When I opened it, a girl with curly red hair, freckles, and a giant trunk stood there.
"Hi! Room 314? I'm Lyria. Are you Elara?"
I blinked.
"Yes. You're my roommate?"
"Sure am! I heard you're in Rune Tech. That's awesome. I'm in Beast Integration!"
We spent the next hour chatting as she unpacked. Lyria was bubbly, loud, and completely unfazed by my stilted attempts at socializing.
She also didn't bat an eye at my staff, which earned her immediate bonus points.
"You know," she said eventually, glancing at me as I folded my backup blouse, "you've got one of those faces. Like, the kind that'll make half the school fall in love with you and the other half want to fight you."
"Great," I muttered.
"Just embrace it!"
"I'd rather invent a laser to erase all fashion senses."
She snorted. "Elara, you're ridiculous."
Maybe. But I'd take ridiculous over helpless any day.
As night fell, I lay in bed staring at the canopy above.
Tomorrow, the real work began.
Classes. Schedules. Expectations.
And all while pretending I wasn't on the verge of a breakdown every time someone looked at me for too long.
Still… I was here.
And I'd be damned if I didn't make it count.