Why Are You Out of There?
A week after the exam.
Rone and I finally made our way to the Academy together for the long-awaited entrance ceremony.
We weren't applicants anymore, but freshmen.
Which meant our attire had changed as well — no longer the somewhat shabby clothes we'd worn traveling from home, but the crisp uniforms of academy students.
Damn, this place is huge.
When we arrived at the hall where the ceremony would be held, my mouth fell open and I found myself overwhelmed despite myself.
It had looked massive from the outside, but stepping inside, it was practically an entire sports field relocated under one roof.
Holding an event in a space this size must be a genuine ordeal. I honestly couldn't fathom why anyone would build it this vast — sure, all that open space looked impressive, but still.
Anyway, we entered the hall, had our identities verified, and were on our way to finding our seats when Rone gave my sleeve a subtle tug and pointed at something.
"Looks like we're supposed to sit by class."
"Guess so."
There stood fairly large signs marked with letters — A, B, and so on.
Exactly as they'd been described in the original novel, so I nodded without much feeling and began searching for the one marked E.
Which meant this was where Rone and I would have to part ways for now.
"Then I'll wait for you out front when the ceremony's over!"
"You don't have to."
"Might as well walk together, right?"
Couldn't argue with that, so I nodded. The road to the dormitories was fairly long anyway; having someone to talk to would do us both good.
I sent Rone off first and headed toward the Class E line at the far right edge.
Walking past the lines starting with Class A, taking in each class's atmosphere one by one, I let out a wry smile at the differences in the air itself.
The students transferring into Classes A and B, without question, had a certain spring in their step. They were laughing, chatting, introducing themselves to one another — the whole scene radiated warmth.
The students in my own Class E line, by contrast, gave off a deathly gloom you'd expect from a funeral parlor.
In their eyes I could read despair — as if asking why they had to be here at all — tangled with the bitter conflict of knowing they couldn't bring themselves to throw away a hard-won acceptance.
Must be all that pride.
Though in a way, I supposed it was only natural.
A considerable portion of the students entering the Academy were the sons and daughters of high-nosed noble houses.
Most of them had been on the privileged side of things, looking down on others; countless more had lived their whole lives convinced they were better than everyone else.
And then, upon entering the Academy, they found themselves at the very bottom of the caste system from day one — stuck in Class E. Of course they couldn't accept reality.
That kind of sentiment was beyond a country bumpkin like me, so I just headed for a reasonably empty seat.
Don't get me wrong — I'd hoped for at least Class C so I could enjoy a comfortable school life too.
But honestly, just getting in at all felt like a miracle worth celebrating, so I wasn't particularly despairing about my placement.
"Hi! You're in Class E too?"
"Hm?"
As I sat there, absentmindedly staring at the stage up front, an unfamiliar voice approached me.
Turning my head, I found a girl with pale orange hair — a shade I hadn't even seen in the original novel.
She was about Rone's height, with a bright smile playing at her lips like something was endlessly entertaining her.
"I'm Tina Everett. Sorry if it's rude of me to just walk up and talk to you like this?"
"Not rude at all. I'm Bell Dinauer."
When I offered my hand along with my name, Tina happily clasped it in both of hers and shook it with rough enthusiasm.
"Wow! You're really nice! Seriously, you're the first person today to respond to me this warmly!"
Maybe because everyone else is in full funeral-mourning mode, and you're the only one bouncing around striking up conversations.
I wanted to deliver that little jab, but she looked so genuinely delighted that I decided not to douse her with cold water.
Then again, talk about high energy.
The characters I'd seen in the original had mostly been like Elisha yesterday — calm and composed — or carried that air Rone had. Bright, cheerful types like this were practically nonexistent.
Maybe that's why Tina's presence felt so refreshingly novel, and I found myself liking it.
Befriend someone like this, and fun was guaranteed.
"Anyway, looking forward to being around you! Oh, right — you can just call me Tina."
"Same here. First name's fine."
Calling each other by first names within three minutes of meeting was a first in my entire life, but it didn't feel awkward in the least.
In the world I'd originally lived in, first names were simply the default anyway.
If anything, I still found being addressed by surname the strange one.
Scarcely had we finished sorting out what to call each other than I sensed the entrance ceremony about to begin.
Made sense — the professors were filing onto the stage one by one, and a single representative had begun walking slowly toward its center.
As I watched the stage with that indescribable, strange sensation — unfamiliar yet somehow familiar — a presence quietly crept up beside me.
Thump.
"Whew, hah... looks like I made it in time."
The man who plopped down next to me spat out the classic latecomer's catchphrase, and I turned my head slightly.
Something about the situation felt like I'd experienced it somewhere before.
"...Huh?"
What met my eyes was a male student with a face I'd seen somewhere before.
An involuntary gasp escaped my lips at the sight of him.
Blue hair and an amiable, easygoing smile.
And on his left cheek, a scar that looked like something had cut it.
Despite being someone I'd never met, his face was achingly familiar.
No — that wasn't right. He wasn't a stranger. More precisely, this was the first time seeing him in the flesh.
Arden Feltner.
The protagonist of the original novel, who belonged in the Class C line — not Class E.
As he appeared before my eyes where he never should have been, my mind felt as though it were freezing over.
Why the hell is this bastard here right now?
I remember nothing whatsoever of the entrance ceremony after that.
Arden Feltner.
From the moment that bastard showed up, the scenery around me stopped registering entirely, and my ears went muffled as if someone had stuffed cotton in them.
"Bell, is something wrong?"
"N-no. Nothing at all."
The ceremony had ended, and we were walking toward our assigned dormitories.
Rone must have sensed something off about my expression, because worry seeped into her voice.
Normally I would have replied as breezily as possible, but I was too mentally preoccupied, and my answer came out clumsy.
Because of that, the doubt swimming in Rone's eyes showed no sign of fading.
Ordinarily I'd have rushed to tack on something like it's nothing, really, but right now I didn't have the bandwidth to spare her even a thought.
Why on earth did he come to Class E?
In the original, Arden — wary of the Followers discovering his existence — did everything he could to hide his strength.
As part of that, he judged that Class A, packed with the elite students, carried the highest risk of their attention landing on him.
So he deliberately scored low during the exams, earned his placement in Class C, and built his connections there with Rone and the other characters of the original story.
In other words, if he didn't head for Class C, the story would derail from its very first page — too many things would break.
The things I'd prioritized most just yesterday: Rone's awakening, and the first encounter with the Followers.
Those crucial branch points, too, would never unfold properly at this rate.
This is giving me a headache.
It wasn't as though I'd assumed reality would dutifully follow the original script anyway.
But the original protagonist himself — Arden, of all people — drifting into Class E was a major deviation, one that demanded a thorough reexamination.
What if, unlike the original, Arden had failed to grow his power and had honestly landed in Class E purely on lack of skill?
Or what if there was some other reason I didn't know about — some necessity forcing him into Class E? Something that would profoundly warp the entire story's flow?
Too many variables.
If it turned out he'd simply changed his mind on a whim and only revealed Class E-level strength, that would be the best-case outcome.
But if it was the former — I didn't even want to imagine the future that would unfold afterward.
A world where the original protagonist lacks the power to crush evil?
That's not a story. That's just a straight-up bad ending.
"Whew."
Parking my thoughts for the moment, I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself.
Racking my brain now wouldn't produce any brilliant solution anyway.
Maybe the reason would turn out to be something ridiculously trivial, or maybe protagonist plot armor would carry him through somehow.
For now, what I needed to do was simple: whether I liked it or not, get close to the guy and figure out his true intentions.
Only then could I redraw the stance I'd need going forward and sketch out, at least roughly, how the story ahead might play out in my head.
"Sorry. First day at the Academy — guess I was more nervous than I thought. I'm feeling better now."
Having recovered my composure, I started with an apology to Rone.
After all, I'd planted her beside me like a lamppost for a while there, wearing a grave expression and not saying a single word. Knowing her personality, her worry must have shot straight through the roof by now.
Sure enough, Rone still looked up at me with anxious eyes and answered carefully.
"Well, if that's all it was, I'm relieved... You're really sure nothing's happened, right?"
"Of course. Have you ever known me to hide anything from you?"
I'll admit, saying that felt shameless even to me.
But aside from the things that genuinely had to stay secret, it was true that we shared everything with each other — down to the most trivial details.
Rone stared straight into my eyes.
Something about the look was distinctly different from her usual self — so much so that I felt a chill run through me — but before long her face returned to its usual meekness, and she broke into a sheepish smile.
"Okay. I'll believe you. But if something does happen, you promise to tell me?"
"Don't worry."
I answered her solemn warning with a smile, and we resumed walking.
Before long, the four buildings I'd seen yesterday came into view at the end of our path.
Presumably there were four instead of five because Loperia Hall — reserved for Class A — stood elsewhere.
If I remembered correctly, Loperia Hall occupied its own separate spot, somewhat removed from the Academy's main building.
And since it housed the Academy's very best students, the building itself was said to be extravagantly luxurious.
According to the original novel, it rivaled any royal palace — private showers, kitchens, living rooms, everything compartmentalized, practically an entire house transplanted indoors.
Must be nice. Must be so, so nice.
Thinking about how far removed that place was from anything meant for me, I clicked my tongue and reached the edge of the road, where a fork and a signpost appeared.
Turn right here, and you'd reach Aslet Hall — the gathering place of the bottom-rankers.
Turn left, and you'd find the remaining dormitories, everything except Loperia.
Staring at that signpost, I couldn't shake the feeling of being marched off into exile.
The original novel did mention that Aslet Hall, unlike the other dormitories, stood somewhere dim and gloomy — but never did I imagine even the road leading to it would be on the exact opposite end.
This, of all moments, was when I truly envied Rone for landing in Class C.
Not that it's fair for me to say — I'm the lucky bastard who clawed my way into Class E from the brink of rejection, after all.
"You'll be going that way, then. See you tomorrow, Rone."
"Mm-hm. See you tomorrow, Bell."
I tossed Rone a light farewell and turned on my heel, heading straight for the dormitory building.
Apparently I was on the later side, since barely any other students trailed behind me.
"Freshmen, confirm your assigned rooms before heading up."
"Yes, ma'am."
Following the matron's instructions, I approached the paper pasted to the glass panel and checked my room number.
Room 208. I was sure every room would be just as wretched as the rest, but knowing this would be where I lived from now on gave the number a strangely snug, settled feeling in my mouth.
And the moment I climbed the stairs and arrived at the second floor—
Squeak, squeak.
"I can't live in a place like this! Goddammit!"
A man came bursting out of a room — with a house mouse scurrying in tow — cursing up a storm as he brushed past me.
All that fuss over a single mouse?
Typical pampered rich kids. Tsk, tsk.