The towering gates of Arcadia Academy loomed behind them, the ancient stone walls standing as a testament to centuries of knowledge and tradition. The academy's grandeur stretched as far as the eye could see, divided into vast halls, gardens, and dormitories.
Yuuya walked beside Flora as they were guided toward the student dorms. The air was crisp, filled with anticipation and the whispers of new beginnings.
They soon reached the central courtyard, where the path split into two distinct directions. The attendant turned to them with a polite smile.
"From here, we separate. The noble dormitories are to the east, while the commoner dormitories are to the west."
Flora's golden eyes flickered with worry as she glanced at Yuuya. "We'll be separated?"
Yuuya gave a small nod, his gaze calm. "It's fine. You'll be okay."
Still, Flora's fingers curled slightly against her skirt, but she smiled—soft, hesitant, but brave. "Right… we'll see each other during classes."
The dormitories reflected the status divide. Flora's building was elegant, adorned with gold trimmings, large windows, and perfectly manicured gardens. It exuded luxury but also a sense of coldness, as if comfort came at the cost of warmth.
Yuuya's dorm was simpler. Stone walls, small rooms, and a communal dining hall. Yet it felt honest, lacking compare to the noble's side.
Once settled, Yuuya stepped out, observing the academy grounds.
The academy structure was vast—two primary halls stretched across the grounds
The Mage's Hall, dedicated to the study and mastery of magic.
The Knight's Hall, for those who wielded swords and trained in combat.
The grandeur of the student halls was undeniable, with towering columns, arched windows, and pathways that branched into courtyards and training fields.
Later, when the class lists were posted, Yuuya stood before them, scanning the names.
Unsurprisingly, both he and Flora were assigned to Class A, reserved for the top students, the elite among their peers.
His eyes paused on several names.
Flora von Araulia – expected.
Sena – the girl from earlier.
Cedric von Verne – the problematic boy
Yuuya's eyes narrowed. (Troublesome…)
Trouble wasn't over. It had only just begun.
The next morning, the Mage's Hall buzzed with soft whispers. Students filtered into the grand classroom—long rows of polished desks, shelves of ancient tomes, and enchanted windows that allowed light but muted outside noise.
Yuuya stepped in first, his presence drawing silent stares. The tension from his trial performance still lingered, heavy in the air. Some students shifted uncomfortably; others whispered behind cupped hands.
He ignored it. (Let them stare.)
Flora arrived shortly after; her steps graceful but cautious. She held herself tall but hesitated when she noticed the eyes upon her. Whispers stirred, some in admiration, others heavy with expectation.
It wasn't until she caught sight of Sena, seated quietly in the back, that her face lit up.
"Sena!" Flora beamed and hurried over.
Sena blinked, startled. She half-rose, bowing awkwardly. "Y-Your Highness!"
Flora giggled lightly. "There's no need to be so formal. Here, we're just students, alright?"
Sena hesitated; her fingers nervously clasped together. "But… you're still… the princess."
Flora shook her head gently. "I'm still me. Just Flora here. So, let's be friends, okay?"
There was a long pause before Sena nodded, though she still looked unsure. "O-Okay…"
But Flora wasn't done. She reached out gently, taking Sena's arm. "Come on, let's sit with Yuuya."
Sena tensed. "Y-Yuuya…?" Her voice wavered slightly.
Flora nodded, leading her over.
Yuuya looked up, his gaze steady but calm. Sena hesitated under his eyes, then bowed slightly.
"G-Good morning…"
Yuuya nodded. "Morning."
The simplicity of his response seemed to relax Sena slightly. Flora smiled and sat beside Yuuya, motioning for Sena to sit as well. Slowly, Sena took the seat next to Flora, glancing nervously at Yuuya but saying nothing more.
For a moment, the three of them sat in a quiet, almost comfortable silence.
Moments later, the classroom door opened, and silence descended.
A stern-looking man stepped inside. Tall, sharp-featured, with piercing eyes that held decades of experience. His aura of power was unmistakable, a heavy pressure that filled the room.
Yuuya's eyes narrowed slightly. (He's strong. His mana… it's dense.)
The man set down a tome and addressed the class. "I am Instructor Aldren. You are here because you have been deemed worthy of this academy. But worth is not permanent. Prove yourselves every day, or fall behind. There is no mercy for weakness."
His words were cold but clear. Expectations were high—and failure was not an option.
Without wasting another word, the lesson began.
Meanwhile,
Across the academy, the Knight's Hall echoed with the sharp clash of steel. The air was heavy with tension, thick with anticipation. Today marked the first arrival and placement trial for the knight students—a stark contrast to the mage students, who had arrived earlier and already begun their studies.
For the knights, there was no gentle welcome. No slow introduction. The moment they stepped through the academy gates, they were led straight into the grand stone hall, where their first trial awaited.
A duel.
Against an instructor.
To prove their worth.
Among the gathered students stood Christina von Paldia, her crimson hair left loose over her shoulders, her posture sharp and proud. She wore the academy's knight uniform—fitted, clean, and dignified.
Today was more than just her trial as a knight.
It was her first step into the world as Christina, not the "Prince Chris" they had known.
And the reactions were immediate.
Shock. Confusion. Whispers that sliced through the air.
"...Is that Prince Chris?"
"No… that's—"
"She's a girl?"
"But… she was—"
Christina stood tall, forcing her expression into calm defiance even as her heart pounded beneath her uniform. She met every stare with unwavering eyes, though each glance felt like a blade pressed to her skin.
(They don't know me yet. But they will. I'll prove Father right. I'll prove them wrong.)
Her grip tightened on her practice sword, knuckles whitening.
"Strength is what they respect. Not appearance. Not title."
A sharp voice cut through the murmurs.
"Enough whispering. Prepare yourselves."
The instructor stepped forward. A seasoned knight, broad-shouldered and towering, with silver-streaked hair and sharp, calculating eyes. His armor clinked softly as he moved, the weight of experience evident in every step.
"This is your trial," he said, voice hard as steel. "One by one, you will face me. Not to win—but to endure. To prove that you belong here."
Silence fell. Fear lingered in the air, tense and unyielding.
The first few students stepped forward. One by one, they were swiftly defeated. Knocked down. Disarmed. The instructor did not go easy—he struck with precision, testing their strength, their resolve.
Most crumpled quickly.
And then—
"Christina von Paldia."
The name echoed, rippling through the hall. Whispers rose again, a mixture of curiosity and skepticism.
Christina stepped forward, her expression calm, her movements controlled. But her heart pounded louder than the clash of steel.
The instructor's gaze narrowed as he regarded her. A moment of silence stretched between them. His eyes flicked to her face, her hair—perhaps recognizing the shift, perhaps weighing her strength.
But he said nothing.
Instead, he raised his sword. "Begin."
Christina drew her blade, stepping into her stance. She had trained for this moment. She was ready.
The first strike came fast, powerful. Christina blocked it, though the force shuddered through her arms. She sidestepped the next, spinning to counter. Her blade met his, sparks flying.
Their duel was sharp, fierce.
The instructor struck with heavy, calculated blows, his every movement refined by years of experience. Christina responded with speed and precision, her strikes sharp, her footwork quick.
But his strength overwhelmed hers. Each clash of blades drove her back, forced her to adapt. She fought harder, her breath ragged, her arms burning. She landed strikes—sharp, clean hits that earned brief flashes of respect—but it wasn't enough.
Not yet.
Time pressed on, and exhaustion dragged at her limbs. She fought on, but the instructor's blade was relentless. He struck low, knocking her balance. She stumbled. Her sword slipped from her grasp, clattering across the stone.
Her knee hit the ground.
A sharp intake of breath echoed through the watching crowd. Whispers rose, though none dared speak too loudly.
But Christina didn't stay down.
She pushed herself up, rising to her feet despite the tremble in her limbs. Bruised, breathless, but unbroken. She stood tall and faced the instructor, her chin raised. Defiant.
The instructor's sharp gaze lingered on her. Watching. Measuring.
"Let's end here. You lost," he said, voice calm but edged with a different tone. Respect. "But you held your ground longer than any other today."
The words struck deeper than any blade.
"You have strength," he continued. "Strength worthy of respect."
Whispers rippled through the hall again. But this time, they were different. Curious. Impressed.
Christina bowed her head once. "Thank you, Instructor."
She retrieved her sword and stepped back into line. Her body ached, but her heart steadied. She had proven herself—not with words, but with action.
Later that evening, the results of the trial were posted. A long list of names, ranked by performance.
And at the very top—
Christina von Paldia – Top Ranking Student.
The whispers began again, but now they carried a different tone.
"She was the strongest today?"
"But she's… a girl."
"Even so… did you see how she fought?"
Christina stood apart, gazing at the board. Pride warmed her chest, though a shadow of uncertainty still lingered.
(He was right… Father was right.)
Strength would define her. Not appearance. Not status.
And certainly not doubt.
Still caught in her thoughts, she didn't notice the noble boy approaching until he cleared his throat. He wore his uniform neatly, his smile practiced and smooth.
"You fought well," he said, casual but with an undercurrent of curiosity. "Impressive for your first day."
Christina turned her gaze to him, calm and unreadable.
The boy's smile widened slightly. "I was wondering… would you join me for lunch?"
For a moment, Christina was silent. She studied him—searching for mockery, for amusement. Was this an act of curiosity? An attempt to get close for status or for rumor?
She let the pause linger. Long enough to be uncomfortable.
Finally, she spoke. Calm, decisive.
"No."
The boy blinked, thrown off by the simple rejection. "No?"
Christina's gaze didn't falter. "I prefer to be alone."
A beat of silence.
The noble's smile faltered, uncertainty flickering across his face. But before he could respond, Christina turned.
Without another word, she walked away, her steps steady and proud. She didn't glance back.
(If they want to know me, they'll have to face me first.)
The noble boy stood there, staring after her, his earlier confidence shaken. Confusion lingered in his eyes—but beneath it, perhaps a seed of respect.
Christina didn't care.
She walked toward her dormitory, her heart resolute.
No more hiding. No more masks.
She would face them all—
As herself.
And they would learn who Christina von Paldia truly was.
That afternoon, while other students wandered to the dining halls or training fields, Yuuya walked a different path.
The library.
It stood silent and grand, its ancient walls filled with books that whispered of forgotten knowledge. As he stepped inside, a man in his thirties glanced up from behind the front desk. His eyes were sharp but curious.
"First day and already seeking knowledge?" the man asked.
Yuuya nodded. "I'm just looking."
The man chuckled lightly. "Most first-years are off enjoying their freedom. You're an odd one."
Yuuya's lips twitched faintly. "I get that a lot."
The librarian watched him for a moment longer but said nothing more.
Yuuya wandered the aisles, fingertips brushing against worn spines. He pulled several times, his gaze scanning for any mention of lost villages or ancient magic. Hours slipped by unnoticed.
It wasn't until the librarian approached that Yuuya realized how late it had grown.
"It's almost dinner," the man said gently. "You should head back."
Yuuya nodded, standing. "Thank you."
In the commoner's dining hall, laughter filled the air. Yet Sena sat quietly in the corner, her tray half-empty, her gaze lowered.
Without hesitation, Yuuya gathered his meal and walked toward her.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked.
Sena blinked, startled. She hesitated but nodded shyly. "O-Of course not."
They ate in quiet for a moment until Sena spoke softly. "The princess… she was very kind today."
Yuuya glanced at her. "She's like that."
Sena's fingers tightened around her spoon. "I didn't expect her to be so… normal. She spoke to me like I mattered."
"You do," Yuuya said simply.
Sena's eyes widened slightly. "But I'm just a commoner."
Yuuya shook his head. "Not here. At least, that's how it should be."
Sena looked down; her voice hesitant. "I… I'm grateful. For both of you." She glanced up briefly. "You didn't have to talk to me. But you did."
Yuuya shrugged. "It's nothing."
But Sena smiled softly, and the warmth in her eyes lingered.
"To me, it means a lot," she said quietly.
Their conversation was simple, but it left a mark—an understanding, a quiet bond formed under the surface.
And for the first time that day, Sena didn't feel so alone.
Later that evening, the academy's library lay bathed in the soft glow of golden light. The librarian—the same man who had greeted Yuuya earlier—sat comfortably in a corner, his legs crossed as he flipped through the pages of an ancient tome.
The library was his haven. The place where time slowed, and responsibilities faded into the background. He sipped his tea, eyes flicking over the text with quiet satisfaction.
Then—
SLAM!
The doors burst open with a violent crash, the sound echoing like thunder through the quiet chamber.
The man didn't flinch. He calmly lifted his gaze, blinking once.
A woman stood in the doorway, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. Stray strands of dark hair clung to her flushed face, and her sharp, emerald eyes glared with fire.
"There you are!" she snapped, stomping into the library.
The man blinked again, tilting his head slightly. "...Oh. Evening, Liora."
Liora—one of the academy's senior instructors—marched across the room. Her gaze burned hotter with every step.
"Don't you 'evening' me!" she barked. "I've been looking for you all day!"
The man simply sipped his tea. "I've been here."
"I know!" she snapped. "You've been holed up in this dusty place, hiding from your duties again!"
He hummed in thought, closing his book gently. "Not hiding. Just… contemplating."
Liora's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Contemplating what? How many hours you can waste avoiding people?"
Without another word, she stepped closer and—
SMACK!
She swatted the back of his head, hard enough to jolt his calm posture. His tea nearly spilled.
"Ow," he muttered, though his tone lacked true offense.
"You're the headmaster," Liora growled. "You're supposed to be meeting the new students, not pretending to be a bookworm all day!"
The man—no, the Headmaster—slowly turned his gaze toward her, rubbing the back of his head. "I'm… sure they're fine. They seem quite capable without me."
"That's not the point!" Liora threw her hands up in exasperation. "You are the face of this academy. If you keep disappearing, people will start thinking you're just a myth!"
The headmaster chuckled lightly, a soft sound. "Is that such a bad thing?"
Liora shot him a glare sharp enough to cut stone.
Realizing his mistake, he offered a sheepish smile. "Sorry."
Liora sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Honestly… if I weren't here, this place would burn itself down."
The headmaster glanced back at his book longingly but set it aside. "...I'll be better tomorrow."
"You'd better be," Liora muttered as she turned toward the door. "Or I'll drag you to the entrance myself."
As she stormed out, the headmaster watched her go, a faint smile playing at his lips.
"Tomorrow, then…" he whispered, though whether he meant it was another question entirely.
And with that, the library once again fell into quiet solitude—just as the headmaster preferred it.