I've Been Cast Out

Chronicles of Rodoros.

That was the name of the romance fantasy game I used to play all the time.

Set against the familiar fantasy backdrop of St. Celestia Academy, it offered the unique delight of becoming a teacher who guided a cast of students… and after years of grinding through hard labor, it had been nothing short of my one true reward once the workday ended.

I had spent years seeing every route through to its end, forging intimate bonds with heroine after heroine… Chronicles of Rodoros was, in all honesty, a game I could have called my second life.

The reason I was bringing it up now, however, was far from pleasant.

There were several reasons, but chief among them was the fact that I had somehow been sucked into the game itself.

I had come home from work as usual, checked on my in-game affairs for a moment, and dozed off—only to wake and find a system window floating before my eyes.

Only then did it hit me. Somehow, I had already been pulled into this game world.

Okay. Fine. That can happen.

It's your garden-variety game transmigration story. No need to panic. If anything, the situation was so cliché that adapting was easy.

What was not easy was the part where I had transmigrated into a pretty little noble young lady.

Flowing blonde hair. Skin like polished jade. Soft cheeks… and a face still touched with youth.

Why, though?

I'm a guy.

Not that I hadn't, while watching the young ladies in the game, ever thought they looked enviable. Walking the academy grounds, you'd catch sight of those refined, elegant girls and—well—anyone might idly wonder what it would be like to live as one of them.

Everyone has thoughts like that, right?

But no matter how often you imagine it, actually having it come true is a problem.

Damn it. If mere imagination were enough to make things real, my stocks should have skyrocketed first.

"Carmilla de Valin. You will leave this house."

And yet.

That wasn't even the end of it!

"Father… whatever is the reason for this?"

Still reeling in this absurd predicament, barely finished grasping the situation, I had already been cast out by my own family.

"Tsk… Reflect on your own conduct. Habitual violence against the maids. Waste and extravagance that showed not the slightest improvement no matter how often you were told to restrain yourself!"

What on earth has this girl been doing?

"…And above all, you thoroughly thrashed the fiancé I myself arranged for you? That this happened a mere week ago is truly shameful…. Carmilla, you are a disgrace to this house. It would be better for us both if you vanished as soon as possible."

The words fell cold and hard, and they hurt.

More precisely, they felt unjust.

I hadn't done any of it. So why?

But through that exchange, I finally remembered.

The person I had transmigrated into was the third-rate villainess Carmilla de Valin.

A disposable antagonist who picked a few fights with the protagonist, lost her temper, and exited in miserable fashion. A character so minor you could miss her existence entirely—and that was who I had become.

I hadn't known she came with this kind of backstory, but apparently this Carmilla had quite the record as a proper little terror.

"Haa… how utterly absurd this is."

And so, personally escorted out of the estate by the maids and banished beyond its borders, I could only stare ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠blankly at the mansion in the distance.

A young man—no, a young lady—left sitting on the roadside overnight.

The first thought that struck me in that situation was closer to bewilderment than despair.

What am I supposed to do now?

No amount of lamenting would change anything, so I took stock of my condition.

Ah—right. There was something you were supposed to try at least once in a situation like this.

When you've been dumped into a game world, there's one line that never hurts to say.

"Mm… status window?"

I'd said it half in disbelief, and something enormous had popped up.

So it actually works…

Surprise at the status window lasting only a moment, I carefully studied Carmilla's stats.

Anything related to physical activity was a complete wash, but her magical aptitude was fairly solid. With a proper grounding in magic studies, she wouldn't reach the absolute top tier—but second-rate was well within reach.

I nodded along, reading carefully, until an utterly unfamiliar trait snagged my eye.

Dignity of a Noblewoman.

"You must be jesting?"

A trait that did essentially nothing except rewrite your speech—a practical joke of a skill.

Why does this even exist?

There was one other hidden trait, but with no way of knowing its unlock conditions for now, I set it aside.

With nothing left to check on the status window, I turned to my remaining assets.

Rummaging through my pockets produced roughly ten gold. More than I'd expected, but not enough to live on indefinitely.

Looking down, I saw my outfit—somewhat dusty from being dragged out so roughly. Selling the clothes I was wearing might free up a little capital… but it would still be pocket change.

The simple luggage I'd managed to grab on the way out held only a few changes of clothes, so the same applied there. If anything, those might fetch a better price.

Assuming I sell the spare clothes, that puts my budget at around twenty gold.

Even then, it would barely cover a little travel fare and food.

"Ahaha… what a spectacle this is."

In the blossoming March of spring, I had lost my way in the most hollow fashion imaginable.

A single month. Find a way to feed myself within that?

"Even jests have their limits…"

Watching people stroll leisurely under the warm sunlight left me thoroughly drained. A thoroughly wretched situation, and the weather was beautiful for no good reason—just as I felt the urge to take it out on something, a thought struck me.

The fact that it was a fine spring day.

"Oh?"

March.

The single fact that date carried.

It didn't take long to realize.

"Now that I think of it, enrollment at St. Celestia is nearly upon us, is it not?"

Only then did a smile touch my lips.

I had thought myself stranded on bare ground with nothing to lean on—but one path still remained.

"Let's see… about nineteen gold left, I suppose."

Selling the clothes I had on hand had netted me ten gold, and the carriage fare to the academy had cost roughly one. Spending a full gold just to hire a coachman felt excessive, but the de Valin family estate sat rather far out on the frontier, so I decided to chalk the expense up to distance and move on.

For all I knew, the coachman had overcharged a clueless young lady who knew nothing of the world—but that wasn't what mattered right now.

The simple fact that I had arrived at St. Celestia Academy overshadowed every petty detail.

In the original game's flow, this would have been Carmilla's first time here. My position was a little different.

This place was as familiar as my own living room—every corner of it mapped over years of exploration. From the idle rumors circulating on campus to the grim secrets buried beneath the academy itself… without exaggeration, if it was limited to this school, there was virtually nothing I didn't know.

"Mm, first things first—the reception desk… the reception desk…"

Come to think of it, this was no time to stand around.

I needed to run straight to reception and confirm something.

"Let's see, Carmilla de Valin… Ah, yes. Your father has already paid half a year's tuition and dormitory fees. There is no issue with your enrollment."

"Ahh, how fortunate!"

It was said that human life required three essentials.

Clothing, food, and shelter.

Clothing would be handled by the academy uniforms, and what I was already wearing was serviceable enough. As for shelter—though I had been expelled from the family, Carmilla's father hadn't been cold enough to demand a refund of tuition already paid, so for the next half year, at least, a roof over my head was secured.

It was a temporary home that would vanish if I failed to scrape together more tuition within six months, which was a pity—but at least I wouldn't be sitting in the street tonight. That counted for something.

And as for food…

Growl—

The moment my thoughts reached that far, my stomach let out a pitiful cry. The instant I set aside my worries for the future, I came face to face with a problem in the present.

"Well then—since it's come to this, shall we take a look at the dining hall as well!"

There were still several days left before the entrance ceremony. Walking the grounds of a school I had only ever known through text would be a fine experience in its own right.

No—honestly, I was curious.

What kind of culinary philosophy did a fantasy world possess?

As someone who had always taken a deep interest in food culture, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it was a subject that genuinely intrigued me.

And so I marched into the cafeteria with high spirits—

Splat.

"Wh-what is this, pray tell?"

"It is the Goddess's gracious school meal, Sister."

What the blank-faced server dropped onto my tray was a pale, viscous liquid.

What is this?

No, seriously—what is this?

Surely they don't expect me to eat it?

"Ahem, that is to say… does this substance not have a name? Being quite unfamiliar with it, I should very much like to know!"

"Ah. This is oatmeal porridge. Made from oats—a grain of perfect nutrition."

I see.

Nodding faintly in understanding, I took a seat at a table.

Oatmeal existed in the modern world too, so I knew what it was. A processed grain product made by flattening oats, typically soaked in water or milk. Not something I ate regularly, but a legitimate food item all the same. I couldn't simply throw it away.

Who knew? Maybe oatmeal in this world was incredibly delicious.

With that hope, I boldly scooped up a spoonful of the porridge and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠put it in my mouth.

Tuh.

"Ugh."

At once, lukewarm mush coated my tongue. For all my taste buds' desperate efforts to find any flavor at all, "this" offered absolutely none. When there is no taste, texture becomes the next best hope—but unfortunately, the texture was something akin to a sticky slime, so even that line of resistance failed.

Wondering whether something with not even a scrap to chew could truly be called food, I forced down the residue in my mouth with difficulty.

Gulp…

My impression of the first food I ate in this world was as follows.

"How dreadful…"

A culinary catastrophe. (☆☆☆☆☆, 0 points)

That was the only review I could leave for my first school lunch at this academy.