First Impressions Are Important
Chirp-chirp-chirp—
The instant the birdsong woke me, I knew.
That day had finally arrived.
Today was the entrance ceremony of St. Celestia Academy.
For some it might be a time to savor the thrills of youth…
But for me, it was the day I would begin business in earnest.
Whatever magical excitement the words “entrance ceremony” might conjure held no particular thrill for me.
With a thoroughly businesslike mindset, I would draw in customers in the shortest time possible.
That thought alone made my eyes snap open.
And the moment I tried to spring vigorously from my place…
A terrible pain shot through me.
“Hurgh… Young lady, save me!!!”
Something was wrong.
Every joint ached.
If I had to put it into words, it felt as though I had become a five-hundred-year-old undead rising from a cold grave.
The reason became clear at once.
Swept up in the moment, I had slept on the floor all night, leaving me in this dreadful condition.
Luca’s warm body heat had kept the cold at bay, yet my back and neck, pressed hard against the unyielding floor, were stiff as boards.
I never thought I would prove with my own body the old saying that sleeping on a cold floor will twist your face.
“Ugh… My back hurts so.”
Fortunately, Carmilla was a vigorous teenager.
That I could twist myself upright even under such harsh conditions was proof of youth.
In my previous life, with my pathetic thirty-something body, I would have simply died right there.
After a long, unsteady struggle I stretched fully, and a series of cracks sounded from my joints.
Still, what needed doing had to be done.
“I shall go take a look.”
The secret to business, after all, is consistency.
The academy, now fully in the embrace of spring, hummed with a warm atmosphere.
The campus that had lain silent through winter was oddly bustling, and the once-quiet streets thronged with people.
Especially crowded was the main gate, where even before the ceremony countless students waited for something.
“When will they come?”
What they awaited were, of course, the next heads of their nations.
Noble bloodlines one would not even be permitted to meet in ordinary times were gathering here.
That fact alone was enough to explain the interest…
Add the knowledge that after the entrance ceremony all of them would be treated as students equal to everyone else, and the gathering of crowds became only natural.
In that atmosphere of strange excitement and tension, as though something were about to begin at any moment, a voice rose from the throng.
“Look over there—it’s the prince of the Pendragon Kingdom!”
A splendid carriage decorated in blue and white approached the academy’s main gate.
The door opened, and from within stretched a neat white shoe.
Its owner was a handsome man with blond hair and blue eyes.
The prince of Pendragon, Leonheart Pendragon.
A man whose majestic name—bearing the kingdom’s surname alone, without even the middle names middling nobles so often attach—seemed to declare that the name itself proved his station.
Owing to the kingdom’s characteristic flair for display, his entire life from birth to every achievement had been broadcast like propaganda and stamped deeply into people’s minds…
As a result, Leonheart had become a celebrity so famous that scarcely anyone on the Rodoros Continent did not know his name, far beyond the academy alone.
“Is that real? He’s incredibly handsome.”
“I’ve never seen such a cool guy!”
“Are we really allowed to take the same classes as someone that high up?”
“…So this is where we’ll be competing against men like that.”
At the appearance of such a figure the surroundings began to buzz.
It was only natural.
This was no ordinary entrance ceremony.
This was the academy where the continent’s foremost talents gathered.
Though they had only ever heard of this dream school by rumor, for most students the sole measure of its prestige until now had been their parents’ reactions.
What turned that vague impression into certainty was the prince of Pendragon, known until now only through distant hearsay.
That overwhelming status itself imprinted upon the students exactly what sort of place this was.
Despite the fervent gazes, the prince merely smiled, waved once, and strode into the campus…
Yet there was no time to feel disappointed by such a restrained response.
For a figure every bit as talked-about as Prince Leonheart had appeared.
“The Crown Prince approaches!”
At a cheer that was nearly a scream, every gaze swung around.
What arrived beneath fluttering red banners was the imperial carriage decorated in gold and crimson.
The engraved ornaments, like gold and blood, spoke of the empire’s long history.
“There are two of them…?”
Descending from the carriage was a pair—a man and a woman.
A brown-haired man and a red-haired woman stepped onto the ground side by side.
“I see. The woman must be the guard.”
But even the act of distinguishing was unnecessary.
Judging by the splendor of their attire, it was obvious the man was the Crown Prince.
“Greetings, fellow students.”
The man who alighted declared with arrogant ease.
“My name is Adrian El Ignas. Remember well the name of the one who will become the next emperor.”
From an ordinary mouth the words would have been pure insult.
It was bold confidence bordering on arrogance.
Yet when matched with the proper station, even that arrogance became ambitious aspiration.
As if flaunting that very ambition, Adrian proclaimed it for all to hear.
“Your Highness, we should move soon.”
“Ah. Shall we go, then.”
At the guard’s polite urging, Adrian—having achieved his purpose—followed Leonheart into the campus.
“Is there no one else now?”
“Well, I heard there’s a successor of Libra…”
“How many successors are there?”
“Hmm, about five or so?”
“Wow. It’d be hard to check them one by one. Let’s just go.”
Once the celebrities had swept through, the time for the entrance ceremony drew near.
Like a crowd whose spectacle had vanished, the students began to disperse.
In truth the merchant coalition was still a minor power compared with the empire and the kingdom.
Unless one favored underdogs, there was little reason to wait for a successor whose name was not even known to the world.
It was natural order in a way, yet the man left alone where the crowd had stood seemed rather displeased.
“This is disappointing. So if you’re not royalty you don’t even get acknowledged?”
Whether he had been hoping for something or not, Roen Lacroix scratched his head.
For someone who was, after all, a successor candidate of Libra, the cold reception stung.
Still, he had achieved his own purpose.
He had memorized the faces of the competitors he needed to surpass.
By any means necessary he had to stand out at this academy.
To leap over those everyone regarded as insurmountable mountains and prove his own worth—
that would be the condition required to become the guardian.
“Anyway, Father is really picky. How am I supposed to beat monsters like that?”
Of course that stern reason was not the whole of it.
If he successfully became Libra’s guardian, these were figures he would meet one way or another.
If I meet them later, it’ll be fun to compare them to how they look now.
That was pure personal curiosity.
In that it was an act done solely for amusement, he was quite student-like.
“Oh my, Roen. I hope you are well.”
To Roen, still lost in those thoughts, a somewhat familiar voice reached him.
Carmilla de Valin.
The first investor he had met at the academy had suddenly greeted him.
She carried a basket on one arm—an odd sight, yet somehow perfectly like her.
“Hmm. At least one person recognizes me.”
Finding that fact rather pleasant,
Roen discovered that the chance meeting with Carmilla was surprisingly enjoyable.
The long, long entrance ceremony ended.
And every student began to voice complaints.
“Whoa, the principal’s words make no sense. What kind of speech goes on that long?”
“I almost dozed off listening.”
“Couldn’t sleep for fear of ruining the first impression, so it was real torture.”
…It truly was long in absolute measure of time.
Perhaps overzealous, the principal had delivered a full two hours of encouragement, admonition, and the proper mindset for academy students.
Was it not said that the road to hell is paved with good intentions?
From his perspective the words were meant to inspire the young; from the students’ perspective the time had been pure hell.
“I am exhausted…”
That went for me as well.
With my already poor condition, sitting through two hours of chair-bound torment left me drained of strength.
Yet I did not dislike it entirely.
Ding—ding—ding—ding—
The school’s bell tower rang four times.
The bell that sounded once every three hours served as a clock for the entire academy…
What it meant now was that noon had arrived.
In other words, lunchtime.
“Shall we head over soon.”
Students are hungry.
They were vigorous teenagers in their prime, but today another reason was added.
Because of the principal’s unexpected performance they must have felt great fatigue from the entrance events.
Moreover, it was the hour when the tension of adapting to a new environment since morning would begin to ease.
For that reason I carried my basket and headed for the cafeteria.
And the expected reactions burst forth at once.
“What is this? Are you telling us to actually eat this?”
“Our house servants probably eat better than this.”
A quick scan showed today’s menu: oatmeal porridge, boiled meat, and boiled vegetables.
Dishes that had traded all flavor for nutritional balance—things missing several steps of the cooking process entirely.
With a menu that matched every prediction, the place I headed with certainty was clear.
My first customer.
“Hmm, the school meals here are truly… frugal.”
Though he tried to phrase it gently, the one expressing regret over the current fare was Adrian El Ignas.
The man who only hours earlier had declared his grand ambitions at the main gate.
In other words, the Crown Prince.
“My, you use quite restrained expressions.”
I sat down beside him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“In my personal opinion, I believe the meals here have not completed the process of becoming cuisine.”
The guard’s sharp gaze from nearby pricked at me, yet I paid it no mind.
Even that had been calculated.
“Hmm? An unfamiliar face. What is your name?”
“My name is Carmilla de Valin.”
After the brief introduction I reached into the basket and from the very start drew out my trump card.
“I have come with a proposal you cannot refuse.”
What I held was a sandwich.
The sole salvation that would rescue any stomach from this dreadful school meal.