As they entered the grand hall, all eyes were drawn toward the towering vertical banners stretched across the front wall—each one bearing the constellation of a Pillar. The five banners had a presence almost like celestial guardians, casting a sacred presence over the room. While every banner commanded attention, it was Orion's that stole the most gazes, its brilliance eclipsing the rest.
The students halted at the threshold of the main hall, awaiting instruction. First-years were ushered to the table on the left and seated in strict accordance with rank and importance. Second-years took their place at the right table, while the third-years—revered as the pride of Constella—were placed at the center table. Gareth and Eric sat among the second-years, while Harrison took his place with the elite third-years.
The long tables were laden with polished dishes and silverware, ready for the feast to begin. Meanwhile, the Headmaster prepared to deliver her address.
Garfield, unbothered by the stares around him, began to eat with refined precision. Though eager, he displayed no vulgar haste. With noble-like decorum, he used his knife and fork to lift a drumstick delicately onto his fine porcelain plate, then sliced it into bite-sized pieces, consuming it with composed elegance.
"I didn't know you were so well-mannered," Tristan commented, surprised by Garfield's refined approach to dining.
Garfield swallowed before answering, his voice low and measured. "In a place like this, it's wiser to mind one's manners. We don't want to draw attention—not the wrong kind, anyway."
"You're right," Tristan replied, his tone tinged with quiet astonishment. He hadn't expected Garfield to be so perceptive, so strategically cautious.
'I may have underestimated him…'
While conversation bloomed across the hall, five individuals entered from a side corridor and ascended the stage. In unison, the second- and third-years rose from their seats in solemn respect. Among the first-years, only some nobles stood immediately; the others scrambled to follow suit, mimicking the gesture of reverence. All bowed gracefully.
The Headmaster took her place at the central podium. The five newcomers seated themselves behind her at a long, elevated table set horizontally to face the hall. With a slight nod, the Headmaster signaled for everyone to sit.
"I welcome you all to Constella Academy," she began, her voice rich with power and poise. "To the new faces, the returning scholars, and those nearing graduation—I extend a heartfelt welcome. This academy stands as a bastion of history and excellence. Those who thrive here rise to the uppermost heights of society. You did not arrive here by mere luck—no. It took skill, sacrifice, and resolve to earn your place. And that deserves appreciation."
She clapped her hands with pride, and the five behind her followed suit. The students joined in moments later.
Once the applause faded, she continued. "Each of you arrived with a purpose. Though I cannot speak for all, I know many of you dream of joining a Pillar, of one day ascending to lead a constellation and bear the name of a Pillat. Allow me to be the first to tell you—this path will not be easy, but..."
"These five behind me are your guides, your mentors. They will shape your journey."
She stepped aside so the students could clearly see the five seated figures.
"First, we have the instructor of Plant Studies—Mrs. Audrey Davis."
Mrs. Davis stood and offered an elegant, theatrical wave. A wide, glowing smile adorned her face before she gracefully returned to her seat.
"Next, Weapon Practice will be overseen by none other than Mr. Decker Vermillion."
Tristan's casual gaze snapped forward, his attention instantly caught. That name… His heart sank. Decker Vermillion—the man who had once promised to make his school life unbearable. There he sat, arrogantly poised at the teacher's table.
'Why is he here? Doesn't he have better things to do?'
Decker stood and began to survey the students. He looked first to the second-year table, then the third-years. Finally, his eyes reached the first-years. His gaze locked onto Tristan, and his smirk widened as though savoring a private joke.
Tristan held his stare, unfazed, his own expression unreadable.
'Whatever you throw at me, you won't break me. I've endured worse than you could ever imagine.'
Decker, seemingly satisfied, closed his eyes and slowly returned to his seat.
The Headmaster spoke again. "Next is your History of Constella instructor—Miss Eleanor Hughes."
Miss Hughes was stunning. Freckles dusted her nose, her light brown hair framed her soft features, her fair complexion only served to further accentuate the elegance and radiance of her beauty. Her deep brown eyes held an innate kindness. The boys across the hall looked at her with stars in their eyes.
She stood to wave, but in doing so accidentally knocked her knee on the table, letting out a quiet yelp. Beautiful, yes—but clearly clumsy. Laughter erupted across the hall, though it was good-natured. Even the other teachers chuckled softly.
"My apologies, Headmaster," Eleanor said, bowing in embarrassment.
"It's quite alright, Eleanor. You may be seated."
Once the giggles settled, the Headmaster resumed. "Next, Survival Practice will be taught by Charles Moore. And Ethics Class by Alice White."
Tristan suppressed a sigh.
'Another representative? Do none of them have other responsibilities? At this rate, Ruben will show up here as a teacher too…'
"And with that, the introductions are complete. You may now proceed to your classes. Miss Eleanor will guide the first-years to theirs. Dismissed."
The crowd rose and slowly began to disperse, making their way through the chaotic maze of hallways and stairs. As Tristan climbed the staircase with the group, he suddenly felt uneasy—his body sending him a warning. He needed to find a restroom, fast.
Without telling anyone, he peeled away from the group, determined to find one on his own.
'I'm not about to ask one of those pompous nobles for help. I'll manage just fine.'
But he didn't. Within minutes, he was hopelessly lost.
The labyrinth of staircases twisted in all directions, his sense of orientation crumbling. With every wrong turn, his urgency grew until it became unbearable. Finally, in desperation, he flung open the first door he could find and stumbled inside.
The room he entered was vast, filled with towering greenery and dense foliage—more like a section of the Amazon rainforest than a school chamber. He glanced upward, and to his shock, saw what looked like a glowing sun hanging in the sky.
'A sun… indoors?'
But there was no time to question it. The pressure in his bladder reached its limit, and he dashed behind the nearest tree.
As he finally found relief, a lazy voice echoed from behind him.
"You shouldn't be doing that."