Graduate Safely!

A strange message window, unfolding at the Grayton Academy entrance ceremony. The moment I laid eyes on it, the memories of my past life came rushing back.

South Korea. Lee Min-cheol. Twenty-five years old. Cause of death: overwork. An orphan since childhood — a man diligent to the point of dying for it. He'd skipped sleep entirely to grind the same maps over and over so he wouldn't miss a one-week burning event, and dropped dead on the final, seventh day. So yes, death by overwork: accurate. Diligent: also accurate.

It was an uncanny sensation. Like someone had dropped Ashburn Hale and Lee Min-cheol into a toilet bowl together and flushed. Whatever else was true, Ashburn Hale was unmistakably me — and Lee Min-cheol had been me, too.

'A status window, right?' Whatever that message floating in front of my eyes was, Lee Min-cheol's stockpile of knowledge could process it. 'A novel? A comic? A game? Wow — so otherworld reincarnation actually exists.'

Games were my specialty, admittedly. But starting with web novels and moving on through light novels, Japanese anime, and the rest, I'd dabbled far and wide, so reading the situation came quickly.

"Status window."

Unfortunately, whispering the words didn't conjure anything. But there was a definite, visible change.

"Hi! What's your name?"

The girl seated next to me at the entrance ceremony had suddenly struck up a conversation. Neatly braided orange hair, a fresh, sunny smile — a girl whose flowered shoes left the strongest impression.

It's not that her talking to me was anything special. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Me, Ashburn Hale — believe it or not, the undisputed pretty boy of my hometown. A face so fine my own mother joked I must be the fruit of an affair, since I resembled neither of my parents. Registered owner of a female childhood friend, even. A girl speaking to me first? Hardly a shock.

What shocked me was this: 'She has a rank.' A rank was floating above the girl's head.

A rank that hadn't been visible ten seconds ago. And D-rank, of all things. Her face was decent enough, mind you — nothing to complain about there.

"Oh, um—"

"I'm Ashburn Hale. Here's to three good years together."

Good looks take you more than halfway through a first impression by default. Whether she liked the friendliness of my smile or not, the reply came back twice as giddy.

"I'm Clara Rose! Looking forward to it!"

An alarm announcing a point gain — and in the same instant, an information window unfurled before my eyes.

'Epithet? Story?' What had appeared in place of my own status window was someone else's information. Epithets and stories weren't entries that existed in any ordinary game. 'Hmmm. Like some kind of lore compendium?'

Fortunately for me, the dean chose that moment to begin his entrance address on the podium, pulling Clara's gaze away. I pounced on Clue No. 1. The instant I pressed it with my finger, points drained away and the text swapped itself out.

'Huh?' What kind of bullshit is that? 'Are there actually people who dislike kindness?' What was the angle here, peddling info this self-evident like it was some grand secret? It left me with the same greasy feeling as the time I got scammed in M*pleStory as a kid. And yet — I'd earned the points for doing nothing but saying hi, so it also felt like free money.

'But this thing—' The way it sorted people into ranks made me think of one of those character-collection RPGs. And if not that—

"Please be a dating sim."

"Huh? What did you say, Ashburn?"

"I said I hope it turns out to be a bishoujo dating sim."

"Bi- what?"

"You. You're the bishoujo."

"Wha?! H-hehe! Thank you!"

Clara went red to the ears, squirming, glowing with delight. And in the same breath, the alarm rang out again.

'Easy.' A vending machine for points, this Clara. At this rate, wouldn't we be sharing a bed by dinnertime? I promptly pulled up the second clue.

"...Yeah, that tracks."

We'd known each other all of five minutes, but there was something docile and trusting about her. I'm from the sticks too, but this girl looked like she'd spent her whole childhood in some village without so much as a road, skipping stones and weaving flower rings. 'No — it's not quite that, either.' If I had to put my finger on it, she reminded me of a girl from a part-time job I worked ages back. Hopeless at the work in spectacular fashion, capable of nothing, yet unfailingly bright and positive. 'And it turned out she was the granddaughter of a major conglomerate's chairman.' Clara Rose gave off the exact same air. Coddled and doted on her whole life — you could practically smell that she'd never once had to look at the world's ugly side.

'So it really is a bishoujo dating sim?' The way it rattled off textbook heroine traits just clicked. I scanned the surroundings; nobody else had a rank hovering over their head. Could it be because our academy was the certified dumpster of all the academies in Academy City? 'And digging up info was secretly fun, too.'

Very well, Clara Rose. I hereby grant you permission to become my first heroine.

"Clara, want to grab dinner together after this?"

"Gah! Yes!"

At this rate, I could speedrun the entire Clara Rose route.

Sadly, I was now on Day 3 of the Clara Rose speedrun. I'd blasted through to the third clue within ten minutes of meeting her, but from then on, a mere greeting earned nothing. It's the same principle as buying your girlfriend a $4,000 designer bag for her birthday — come her next birthday, the $4,000 designer bag becomes the minimum order. 'Clara, you greedy, greedy girl.' So greetings and smiles don't even register anymore, is that it?

Not that that was the whole story. We'd enrolled in the academy, after all — between dorm assignments, rank exams, and learning our way around the campus, there simply hadn't been ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠time to hang out with Clara.

Evening fell with a burning-orange sky. Unlike the elite academies, ours didn't exactly boast anywhere pleasant to stroll, so there we sat in front of the dormitory, sharing ice cream.

"Um, Ashburn?"

Clara wriggled in place, shyness overtaking her. Cheeks blazing, she turned to me and, carefully, made her confession.

"I— I, you know. I think I like you!"

"...Me?"

I know. In lectures, do you have any idea how many times you've sneaked glances at me? Like a hamster. Adorable.

"Y-yes! Ashburn. I-if it's okay— could you, could you go out with me?"

A smile tugged its way onto my face. It really was a dating sim, then. Nothing else in the world could be this easy. My first heroine. My very own Pikachu and Agumon.

"Yeah. I'd love to."

"R-really?! Yaaay!"

Clara flung herself at me and squeezed tight. My ice cream paid the price for it, but no great loss.

'Plus two points!' With my arms still around Clara, I flipped the information window open over her shoulder.

Clues three and four, which I'd unlocked earlier, were unexpectedly credible. And Clara having lost her hometown — wasn't that a ready-made chance to soothe a wounded heart? 'Only she never actually seemed all that broken up about it.' Maybe she hadn't been that attached to her village? In any case, the info-gathering was turning out to be plenty fun. 'The epithet and the story ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠are still mystery boxes, though.' But I figured if I opened the final clue, everything would come spilling out.

'Bare your secrets, Clara!' Spending the two points I'd just earned, I opened the last window.

"...You're a married woman?"

"Huh? What do you me—"

The next alarm ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠swallowed the rest of her sentence.

While I was still scrambling to make sense of the avalanche of things I couldn't begin to parse, something in the red flower shoes on her feet began to writhe. Riding the long shadows the sunset threw across the ground, it climbed by degrees into view. Human in shape — but its body was the blackest of blacks, its only ornament the withered flower stems coiled tight around it from head to toe.

"Huh? Huh?"

Clara toppled over sideways, flustered. Judging by the stunned look on her face, this was news to her too. Nobody got the chance to react.

The thing released a shriek no human throat could produce and closed both hands around my neck.

"Gahk?! Urkkh—?!"

A monstrous grip. Struggle as I might, I couldn't loosen a single finger. No air, eyes bulging out of my skull, drool stringing from the corner of my mouth. The stems wound around the thing traveled up its hand and onto my throat — and the moment they probed into my nose, into the inside of my mouth, forcing their way down into me—

'Ah, motherf—'

Just like that, absurdly, stupidly — I met my death.

……

The familiar message window, floating before my eyes. The Grayton Academy entrance ceremony — the very scene I'd sat through three days ago. Beside me, Clara stole a glance in my direction, seemed about to speak, caught the hollow look on my face, and turned her head away.

"Ah."

A short groan tore out of me. Now that the words were staring me in the face, I could see what I'd missed the first time. 'It said graduate safely, didn't it.' And "safely" meant only one thing: something out there was going to come for me. A brain pickled in dating sims had spun its happy circuits until they burst — and in the end, I died for it.

"Ahh—. AAAAAAARGH—!"

I clutched my face. I could not — could not — bear it without screaming, so I howled for a good long while, past caring who was watching. Only then, dragging my melting face downward, did I pronounce sentence on myself:

"Well. I'm fucked."