An Unfamiliar Ceiling
He opened his eyes. The first thought that crossed his mind—
The ceiling's different.
He stared at it blankly for a few seconds. It wasn't the plain white painted ceiling he'd known for the past nineteen years, nor the fluorescent lights. Instead, old wooden planks with visible grain stretched across in tight rows, and the only light in the room came from the faint morning sun filtering through the window.
Where am I?
He sat up. The bedsprings creaked annoyingly in his ears. The room held just a bed, a desk, and a small wardrobe. On the desk sat a half-burned candle, hardened in place.
No electric lights, just candles?
He frowned at the anachronistic scene. Then, glancing down at himself—his breath caught.
His hands were different. The knuckles were thicker, the fingers longer. And most of all, calluses were embedded in his palms. The hands of someone who'd gripped a sword for years. He'd never had hands like these in his life.
He got out of bed and stood before a small mirror in the corner. The face staring back was unfamiliar. Dark hair. Eyes calm but edged with sharpness. A neat overall impression, yet somehow rugged— that was the vibe.
Handsome? Eh. By his own standards, it was ambiguous. Honestly, below average. The eyes were sharp, the features a bit angular overall. Not ugly, but if he had to score it, below average— that kind of face.
Yet the face in the mirror felt strangely unfamiliar and familiar at the same time. Like something he'd known forever.
"……What the hell is this."
The words slipped out. Even his voice was different. A bit lower than his own, with a resonant timbre.
If this was a dream, it was too vivid. He pressed his fingernail into his palm. It stung. He pinched his cheek. It hurt. Cold sweat trickled down his spine.
He took a ragged breath and scanned the room again. On the bedside table sat an envelope. Sealed with wax, it had a noble air about it. He tore it open.
Inside was a thick sheet of parchment. At the top, gold-embossed lettering caught his eye.
Royal Academy
To Ain,
You are hereby admitted as a new student to our academy. The entrance ceremony is—
Before he could finish reading, it hit him. Academy. Magic. Swordsmanship. Medieval fantasy?
And this name……
Akanagé?
Yeah. Akanagé. He'd definitely heard the title somewhere. Digging through his memories, he recalled a conversation from last year or the year before with a friend.
"Ain, this novel's seriously fun. You gotta read it."
"Academy stuff?"
"Yeah, academy fantasy, and later on—"
"Nah, not my thing."
That was the end of it. The friend had nagged a few more times, but Ain had been busy with other novels and only remembered the title. And now.
Ain stared down at the parchment in a daze. The envelope's seal, the parchment's texture, even the ink's scent— all real. If this was a dream, he couldn't be smelling the candle wax this vividly.
Possession…… right?
Isekai transfer. Possession story. He knew the genres. But experiencing it firsthand blanked his mind. What now? How to get back to his original world? Where'd this body's owner go?
No answers anywhere.
A bell tolled outside. Distant murmurs of people rose. Checking the time on the admission notice, the entrance ceremony was fast approaching.
Ain hesitated. Then he opened the wardrobe. A new uniform hung inside. Black with silver trim. Sleek design— uniform or military garb? Hard to tell.
He dressed mechanically. Perfect fit, tailored to this body.
……Might as well go for now.
Decisions could wait. He needed more info. He straightened his collar and left the room.
A long line snaked down the dormitory hall. Young people in identical uniforms headed the same way. Toward the entrance ceremony.
The great hall was bigger than expected. Vaulted ceiling, flags lining the walls, colorful light pouring through stained glass. Hundreds packed the space, new students crammed in.
Ain took a corner seat. As quietly and unobtrusively as possible.
"Hey, check out that guy over there."
"Huh?"
"That new student's pretty handsome."
Whispers reached him. He tried ignoring at first. But similar murmurs popped up everywhere.
"For real. Nice face."
"Commoner? Uniform looks plain, not noble……."
Weird. Ain recalled his face again. The mirror showed average, at best. Not ugly, but not the type to get "handsome" raves like this. At least not by his standards.
But the reactions were genuine. Not mockery— real admiration.
What the……?
Then another conversation drifted over.
"Over there, that pink-haired girl."
"Oh, Lady Rize von Arhart?"
"Isn't she stunning? How do you even get a face like that."
Ain glanced over casually. And saw her. Rize. Pink hair, flashy accessories, exuding confidence. Obvious noble lady.
But her face— to Ain's eyes, utterly ordinary. Honestly, leaning ugly. Imbalanced proportions, awkward feature placement.
Yet people called her "beautiful." Sincerely.
Ain slowly scanned elsewhere.
"That one's seriously ugly. Which family?"
"How'd a face like that even get in……."
There sat a girl with a slim face and refined features. Pretty enough by Ain's gauge. But they whispered "ugly" about her.
A chill ran down his spine.
……This world has reversed beauty standards.
The pieces clicked. His average face praised as handsome. Rize hailed as beautiful.
And—
……So to this world's people, pretty faces look ugly, and ugly ones look pretty.
Absurd setup. But it explained everything. He'd landed in a world operating inversely to his ingrained aesthetics.
During the ceremony, Ain barely registered a word. The headmaster or whoever droned on, but it didn't stick. His head was chaos.
A novel with this premise?
Akanagé. What kind of author cooked up this? And why him, of all people, into a story he barely knew?
Incomprehensible.
The ceremony ended. Students rose and filed out. Ain followed the crowd in a stupor.
His thoughts hadn't settled. Lay low. No idea how to return, no plot knowledge— don't stand out. Graduate quietly, live peacefully here.
That was the plan. Until—
"Hey, Lumi's passing."
A low whisper.
"She's so ugly. How does she even live with that face? Life must suck."
"Poor thing. She'll never marry."
Laughter mixed in. Not malicious— just stating the obvious, like "the sky is blue." Treating Lumi's ugliness as natural fact.
Ain looked up instinctively. How bad must it be for that level of shade? Something indescribably horrific, he reflexively assumed.
His gaze landed. Amid the crowd, half-blended—a girl. Wrapped in a dark robe, with white-silver hair glowing faintly blue, cascading to her waist.
Long locks veiled half her face, but from his angle, it was clear enough. Delicate contours. Translucent, clear skin. Long, dark lashes. Slightly drooping lavender eyes. Soft, refined nose and lips.
Robed figure hid her build, but around 160cm, slender silhouette. Quiet aura, perfectly suited—
She's pretty.
The thought slipped out aloud. Pure reflex. Brain still foggy from waking. Shock of reversed standards. All filters off.
The disconnect: the world finger-pointing "ugly," but to him, utterly normal—no, above normal pretty.
It bypassed thought, spilling straight from his mouth.
"……She's pretty."
Quiet words. Not loud.
But the girl's steps halted. The crowd hushed.
Lumi—the name just clicked—slowly raised her head. Eyes through the hair met his. Pupils quivering.
And, in a trembling voice,
"……What did you just say?"