The carriage ride to Divine Royale Academy was many things — scenic, historic, and deeply traumatic for Arila's nerves.
Lira, ever the dutiful attendant, sat across from her looking perfectly noble in her uniformed travel cloak. Arila, in contrast, wore her own version of "noble elegance": a slate-blue hoodie embroidered with tiny silver stars, matching black trousers, and her favorite navy-blue sneakers that made no attempt to look refined. A caramel tart balanced precariously in one hand.
On her shoulder, Ninko, in full visible glory, blinked his many-tailed kitsune eyes at the passing trees as if judging the landscape for proper snack potential.
"This is a mistake," Arila declared for the seventh time. "A fatal, cake-depriving mistake."
Lira sighed in the patient way of someone who had already lost three arguments that morning. "Lady Arila, it's just orientation. You're not being fed to a hydra."
"Yet."
Arila pressed her forehead against the window dramatically, fogging it up. "You say that now, but we both know magical schools always come with some cursed lake monster or a sentient quill with a vendetta."
"Besides," Lira continued, straightening the lace trim on her gloves, "Professor Daelen will be there. He'll make sure you don't accidentally blow up the orientation stage."
"I said it was one time. One time I accidentally summoned a fog beast into the greenhouse."
Ninko yawned dramatically and licked his paw. Even he was tired of hearing about it.
As the golden spires of Divine Royale Academy came into view, Arila fell into stunned silence.
The academy looked like someone had taken a cathedral, a castle, and an opera house, smashed them together with enchantments and marble, and then sprinkled the entire thing with "royal budget nonsense." Glittering stained-glass towers twisted upward beside magically floating walkways. Spell-torches flickered midair. A massive fountain shaped like a dragon holding a quill stood proudly in the entrance square, spewing glittering water into the sky.
"Oh great," Arila muttered. "They built a magical ego complex."
The carriage rumbled to a halt. Enchanted mist wafted from the cobblestones, and music that sounded suspiciously like harps and violins played from somewhere overhead. Arila popped the rest of her tart into her mouth and stepped out with the dramatic air of someone absolutely pretending not to be terrified.
Students gathered in front of the main gates, chattering excitedly. A sea of uniforms, fancy coats, sparkling dresses, glittery hairpins — and then Arila, in her hoodie and sneakers, confidently snacking on a frosted cinnamon twist like she owned the courtyard.
Heads turned. Ninko blinked slowly at the gawking crowd, then began grooming his tail like this was completely normal. Several nobles gasped. One girl actually dropped her parasol.
Arila whispered to Lira, "I give it three minutes before someone calls me 'uncultured.'"
She was wrong. It only took two.
Near the courtyard's center, the Four Official Love Interest Routes had already arrived and gathered. Lucien stood tall in an academy-issue uniform somehow tailored into royal perfection — navy blue with silver trim, his silvery-white hair catching the light just right. Darian stood behind him like a shadow with opinions, arms crossed, watching everything. Julian wore his jacket over his shoulder like he'd strolled in from a noble-themed drama.
"Aaaaaand there she is," he murmured, eyes locking on Arila with delighted disbelief. "The barefoot destroyer of ballrooms."
Vincent adjusted his collar and narrowed his eyes. "She's wearing a hoodie."
Lucien's lips quirked. "Of course she is."
Meanwhile, Arila was busy making silent enemies.
A noble girl in a sleek emerald-green dress turned with a swish of crimson-red hair. Her expression was a perfect mixture of disdain and disbelief.
"Oh dear gods," she whispered to no one. "Is that... suede?"
Meet Clarissa Blackbrook — future empress in her own mind, duchess's daughter by birth, and visual novel villainess by aesthetic. Her emerald eyes sharpened with practiced aristocratic fury.
"She's walking with a divine beast... and crumbs on her sleeve," Clarissa hissed, gripping her fan like a dagger. "I shall never forgive this insult!"
Several students flinched. Clarissa's inner monologue was practically screaming: I spent three hours on my hair for this! That walking bakery mascot is stealing my spotlight!
A few feet away, someone yelped and tripped over their own shoelaces, flinging a satchel straight into a bush. Books exploded from the bag in a pastel burst.
Enter Felicia Ashtorne — commoner scholarship student with a heart of gold and feet made of misfortune. She scrambled to collect her belongings with an apologetic smile.
"So sorry! I swear I tripped over air—Oh! A fox!"
Ninko blinked at her.
Felicia giggled, sunlight glinting in her curls. "He's so cute! Is he yours?"
Arila, who had just unwrapped a second tart, nodded. "Technically he adopted me. I'm just the designated snack-provider."
Felicia beamed. "I'm Felicia! You're amazing! I saw you destroy a wyvern in the paper and you were barefoot! Are you a noble? A rebel? A snack witch?"
"Uh," Arila said, mid-chew. "Yes?"
Before Felicia could launch into a full fan monologue, a familiar voice echoed across the courtyard.
Professor Daelen's voice thundered over the courtyard before further chaos could ensue. "Students, welcome to Divine Royale Academy! Orientation shall begin shortly—please gather according to magical affinity groups."
Arila let out a groan. "Great. Sorting hat time."
Lira gently elbowed her. "Try not to incinerate anyone during your introduction."
"I make no promises."
As students moved to form groups, Arila wandered toward the designated affinity circle, still munching. Several students gave her a wide berth. Clarissa looked like she'd smelled a sewer ghost.
Julian winked as Arila passed him. "Looking dangerously fashionable, my lady."
"I'm dressed for survival," Arila deadpanned. "Not courtship."
Vincent muttered something about dress codes under his breath.
Lucien's gaze lingered just a moment longer, eyes thoughtful. Arila caught it and immediately looked away, muttering, "Don't sparkle at me, Prince Plotline. I bite."
Ninko swiped a biscuit from a passing tray with his tail, then curled proudly on Arila's shoulder as the orientation bells began to chime.
But the chaos was only just beginning.
A line of professors began assembling at the far end of the courtyard, their robes fluttering dramatically in the enchanted breeze. One of them had a hat shaped like a thundercloud. Another wore glasses that sparkled every time someone sneezed.
A magical orb burst above the crowd, projecting shimmering letters into the sky:
"Welcome to the Elite Path of Arcane Refinement and Heroic Nobility."
Arila narrowed her eyes. "That's… acronym bait. They're trying to make EPARHN a thing. Gross."
Lira gasped softly beside her. "That's the advanced track."
"Oh, even better," Arila muttered. "They're going to try and crown someone 'Destined Magical Prodigy' before breakfast."
As the professors began calling names and grouping students, Arila noticed something odd. Her name wasn't called with the rest of the storm affinity students. Nor was she grouped with the scholarship nobility. She wasn't even lumped with the chaotic undefined category.
Instead, Professor Daelen walked toward her personally, holding a scroll.
"Miss Vellion," he said, smiling faintly. "You've been assigned to Section Omega."
Arila blinked. "Is that the cool rogue team or the disaster class?"
Daelen raised a brow. "Why not both?"
Behind her, Clarissa gasped. "Section Omega? That's the experimental track! They only place unstable prodigies and magical anomalies in there!"
Arila grinned. "Aw. They do see me."
Felicia gave her a double thumbs-up. "It sounds exclusive!"
Ninko chuffed proudly.
Lira, meanwhile, was furiously taking notes on a clipboard that might have had smoke rising from it. "Omega? We don't even have a prep binder for that…"
"Time to improvise," Arila said cheerfully.
And as the grand academy bells rang across the city, echoing like destiny, Arila Vellion smirked, adjusted her hoodie, and marched toward the unknown.
With a cinnamon twist in one hand.
And a fox on her shoulder.
To be continued...