Am I in a Different Genre?
Somehow, it felt like I was the only one whose genre didn't match. Holy Kingdom. Church of Light Grand Temple.
"Pardon? What did you say?"
Ariel doubted her ears, staring blankly at the priest before her to confirm she'd heard right.
In response to Ariel's reaction, Archbishop Gregorio let out an awkward smile, as if it were only natural, and repeated himself to her.
"I'm terribly sorry to bring this up, but... have you ever considered enrolling in Crocus Academy?"
"...Could you explain what you mean in more detail?"
An abrupt invitation to join the Academy?
From Ariel's perspective, it was impossible not to be flustered.
"Of course."
Gregorio nodded at Ariel's words and carefully unfolded a newspaper from his pocket, handing it over.
"This is...?"
"Just a minor bit of gossip stemming from your exploits in the Empire."
Gregorio slowly explained the current situation.
It's only natural that when light shines brightly, shadows envy it and bare their teeth. Especially in this modern world with developed transportation, news spreads quickly—such phenomena were inevitable.
"They're bound to grab at your ankles out of envy for Saintess Ariel's feats, whatever the reason."
Of course, he wasn't directly criticizing anyone.
After all, what flaw could there be in her, who had purified heretics with necromancy?
"Ah, of course, if you read the article, it's mostly praise for Saintess Ariel with just a touch of concern."
Ariel carefully scanned the headline's content as Gregorio spoke.
Indeed, it praised her exploits in the imperial capital. And at the end, it capped off with concern over the fact that someone like her had never attended the Academy.
No matter how glowing the body of the article, the ending stuck in people's minds the most.
Anyone reading this paper would likely think:
[The Pure White Saintess Ariel isn't even an Academy graduate.]
That one line would lodge firmly in their brains.
"Truly petty... Ahem. My apologies. Anyway, it's quite a shallow ploy."
Gregorio caught himself before a harsher word slipped out and sighed.
Even protesting based on this article's content—they could wriggle out cleverly. It toed the perfect line.
"Neither I nor most of the bishops and archbishops intend to pressure Saintess Ariel's decision."
The Church of Light wasn't so fragile as to waver over such trifles.
"However."
It was Gregorio himself who had brought the young Ariel to this church that day.
"Considering your personality, I thought you should know about this."
Thus, he knew Ariel well.
Though her delicate appearance led to misconceptions of frailty, her resolve was rock-solid.
From her perspective, if he hid this out of consideration, she'd understand but insist on full disclosure.
"You can refuse, and it would be fine."
He meant it sincerely.
"But please, at least think it over."
With that, Ariel left the room.
"..."
Academy. The Academy, huh...
Walking the cathedral corridors, Ariel pondered Crocus Academy, which hadn't existed in the world before her regression.
Her regressed world had academies, of course.
But none with the prestige of this Crocus Academy.
"Hmm..."
A place where high nobles from every nation were expected to enroll and graduate.
Yes—in this world, Crocus Academy held a position akin to a university.
A high official's child without a university degree?
Bound to stir up gossip.
Ariel's situation was similar.
Knowing the half-collapsed world pre-regression, she'd traveled nations, nipping the seeds of doom.
The Empire incident acted as a catalyst, exploding her pent-up fame.
Ariel trusted in people's goodness but knew their malice well.
Having endured countless discriminations and contempt pre-regression, how could she not?
"Archbishop Gregorio just said to think about it."
But this was likely a scheme exploiting perceptions of Crocus Academy and her own circumstances.
If even a speck of tarnish stuck, the rest would be easy.
"Haa..."
She was already swamped rejecting social invitations lately—what now?
Her schedule was relentlessly packed.
Aside from brief morning chats with Abel.
With fame surging post-Empire, drafting rejection letters for invitations—wording them carefully for political nuance was standard.
After letters, lunch meant leaving the Holy Kingdom for volunteer work across nations.
Evenings freed up, but she used them gathering intel from pre-regression knowledge.
Ten bodies wouldn't suffice for such a routine.
"Urgh..."
She'd even installed a personal typewriter to stay close with Abel, but no time for that—and now this.
Back in her room, she sighed, gazing at the typewriter on her desk.
The paper there was filled with her exchanges with Abel.
"Heehee."
Ariel smiled lightly at Abel's messages.
Imagining the decadent-looking Abel nodding off under warm spring sun during training was amusing.
"Yes, quite busy."
Before the imperial capital incident, she could snatch occasional rests.
Now, even that was scarce.
She knew her accumulated fatigue well.
Abel's words scratched at her inner thoughts.
Ariel smiled faintly.
A small gesture of care.
But to her, from a man who'd seemed subtly worrisome and distant, it pierced deep.
Abel didn't know—a regressor's heart.
Yet precisely because they weren't too close, she could approach him casually.
His light concern in that context shook her.
"You're right..."
Maybe she'd overthought it.
Or perhaps feared it.
Scared of tales tied to Crocus Academy, nonexistent pre-regression.
"Haa..."
Reflecting, she realized she'd been pushing herself too hard.
Empire collapse, civil wars, global war...
She scurried to prevent them, but those were distant futures.
This world diverged sharply from pre-regression—no guarantee of repetition.
"Urgh..."
Ariel stretched her arms high, loosening tense shoulders.
"Huum..."
Now she grasped why Archbishop Gregorio shared this.
His gaze, laced with subtle worry.
Handing her the choice, yet viewing Academy enrollment positively.
No ulterior motives there.
Pre-regression, he'd been a lifelong pious, frugal priest, revered near-saintly.
"Maybe telling me to rest a bit..."
Academy took about four years.
Perhaps to let her relax with peers during that time.
"Haha."
Realizing it, Ariel chuckled softly, pulling out the Crocus Academy enrollment form from when she left the room.
"Hmm... I wonder what Abel's up to?"
Filling it out, Ariel naturally thought of him.
He was the Nebula Duke's illegitimate child, right?
He might come to Crocus Academy.
From one of the Empire's four great ducal houses—not some minor noble.
"Classmates, then?"
How to put it.
Abel's vibe didn't match.
Handsome, sure, but too decadent and laid-back—seemed older than needed.
His aura overpowered his face.
Didn't fit a freshman image.
"Might be fun."
Such a guy as an Academy newbie.
"Or maybe not?"
Given his personality, he might skip the Academy outright.
She could picture him flatly refusing: Why the hell would I go there?
Either way, an intriguing future.
Ariel couldn't hide her bubbling smile, gazing out the window into warm spring breeze.
Whoosh.
Savoring the tickling floral scent, she smiled softly.
Vroooom.
A car crossing the wasteland.
Thirty minutes out from the Nebula Ducal Residence, it halted in the abandoned trade city.
"This place...?"
Stepping out, I scanned around, frowning slightly.
Once prosperous, now utterly desolate—people vanished.
Wasteland dust and corroded buildings stung my nose with musty rot.
"This was once a trade hub."
Karon, exiting with me, explained as we walked into the city.
"But soil barren, commerce dead—people fled, turning it into a ghost town."
He stroked what looked like an old café's outer wall.
"So the Nebula Duke bought it as a training ground."
"Training?"
"For raising [Shadow] members."
A training ground?
I eyed the city.
Too ruined for that.
No signs of human passage in ages.
"Ah, it's abandoned now. Too decayed—even the Duke discarded it."
"Hmm..."
Listening, I pulled a cigar from my pocket.
"Well, you're here as requested—shall we start?"
Simple reason for this wasteland ghost town: a spar.
Karon bowed deeply.
"Thank you again for indulging my bothersome request."
"..."
"What I want: subdue me or inflict major wound-level damage."
With that, Karon vanished from sight.
Super-speed movement and stealth severing my smoke threads.
As expected of the Duke's [Shadow] operative—not handed lightly.
> [Then.]
Impressed by his stealth, suddenly his voice echoed across the entire city.
Desolate, dust-choked streets.
Facing a master assassin in urban combat...
Thinking it over...
I gazed skyward, exhaling long from my cigar.
Something feels off...
Recalling Ariel's chat: swamped with noble invitations.
My deeds since arriving: Duke duel, Miraz drug raid, bastard heirs brawl.
Now urban assassin hunt?
Am I the only one whose genre doesn't match? Isn't mine different? Am I in a different genre?
> [Let us begin.]