Even a String Theory Trip is Just an Overnight Stay
Even calling it a string theory journey, it was still just a one-night, two-day trip. Naturally, I didn't pack much. A change of clothes and underwear. Basic toiletries. A novel for emergencies. That was all of it, fitting neatly into a slightly roomy crossbody bag.
"Then I'll be off."
"Take care out there, Miss Konstantia."
I placed my clenched left fist over my chest and saluted. Only after Dean Myurvel, standing before me, returned the gesture did I turn and exit her office.
Even if the Imperial Academy wasn't a strict military installation, I was still a soldier. Leaving the grounds meant reporting to a superior. The dean had waved it off like it was overkill, but... following protocol to the letter was the best way to avoid trouble. For minor issues, I could take the heat and the punishment myself. Actually, I kind of want to. But when a foreign princess was involved—even if the Empire didn't recognize her nation as such—it escalated to an international incident. No matter how much of a masochist I was, I had my limits. Getting impregnated by a succubus and 'Getting impregnated by a succubus and dying from childbirth complications' were entirely different kinks. Sure, some people might be into the latter in fiction, but in reality? How many would happily embrace it? The world had all sorts of tastes, so probably a few, but they'd be a tiny minority.
Anyway, to cover my bases and dodge any blame, I'd laid the groundwork. Next stop: the student dorms. I had about five minutes until the appointed time. Normally I'd arrive early, but since the rendezvous was near the dorms, I timed it to be as late as possible. Faculty hanging around student housing was a nuisance, right? Age-wise, I was the same as most first-years, but I knew my place. Once I stood at the podium in uniform, I wasn't some 'friendly peer girl' anymore—I was the 'intimidating superior you don't mess with.'
"Ah! Senpaiiii!"
"P-Professor. Hello."
Sure enough, when I reached the dorm entrance, the two were already waiting. Beni, shouldering a bulky bundle. And Riley, pacing circles like a dog desperate to poop, her leather satchel slung over one shoulder. Spotting me, Riley let out a shout that pierced my ears, while Beni flashed a wry smile and gave a quick nod.
We'd only known each other for less than two weeks since her enrollment, but Beni already seemed used to Riley's antics. No fluster at the yelling—just a 'yep, that's her' look.
"You arrived first. Sorry to keep you waiting."
"Huh? Were we early?"
"You're not late. We just got here ahead of time..."
Riley squinted at the distant clock tower, wondering if she'd misread the schedule. Beni chimed in to clarify.
"Shall we head out right away? No other business?"
"Uh... I'm good. Riley?"
"All set!"
Calling her Riley wasn't an issue—she'd probably insisted on it upfront. Folks from Groomha preferred names over family names. No grand reason, just: 'How do you tell family apart if everyone shares a name?' Simple as that. Names existed to distinguish people, so why use ones that didn't?
"Then let's get going. But first..."
I unzipped my crossbody bag and pulled out the item on top. It gleamed like metal—a squat gear-like thing with six chunky cogs. Slightly smaller than my palm. One side had six indentations ringing a central circle. Anyone from my old world would call it a revolver cylinder. A thin, sturdy chain dangled from the end, tinkling softly. From afar, it might pass for a pendant, but up close, it wasn't quite right for wearing around the neck.
And I had two of them. Including the one in my pocket, three total—but I handed over just these two.
"Six-Aperture Pods. Academy-issued gear for club activities."
"Six... Aperture what?"
Beni echoed curiously—she was a total newbie in magic engineering. Riley? No expectations there. She just grinned, figuring it was a gift.
I passed one to each. Beni turned hers over, puzzled—until her eyes widened.
"...Huh?!"
Her gaze locked on one of the apertures. More precisely, where one should be.
"Th-this... no way..."
One slot held a dark red gem-like bead.
"Yes. A Red Jade."
"That's, like, super expensive!"
"Not that pricey."
I pulled out my own from my pocket—belt-clipped and chained for safety—and tilted it to show Beni all six slots filled with red beads.
"They gave the 'escort' five extras. So don't sweat just one."
"But still..."
"Magic students get one or two anyway. Think of it as early issue."
She still looked overwhelmed but didn't protest further.
Simply put, Red Jade was like a 'special resource' from games. Most skills ran on MP or stamina, but some needed extras. This was one. Required for certain chants, shortcuts, or East Continent ninjutsu. Basically, it let you cast a handful of special spells. Not a perfect analogy, but think of it as drawing out unique energy stored inside.
Beni called it pricey, but it wasn't that rare. Too costly to hand one to every Imperial soldier—though doable with effort—but frontline officers and NCOs got a few yearly. Our 2nd Combat Military Band carried two each for contingencies. Market prices were high partly because the military scooped up supply. Soldiers bought extras at markup too. Demand was inevitable—without it, you'd seal off skills and fight handicapped. Fine for games, not real combat where lives hung in the balance.
Cast a Red Jade spell without one? The so-called 'Orc's Curse' kicked in: your body exploded. Sometimes with a massive blast sweeping bystanders, or sea monster spawn from the chunks. No wonder they made dedicated cases.
"Miss Beni, arm up a bit."
"Ah, yes."
I took her pod back, secured the chain to her belt, and slotted it into her left pocket. Academy uniforms mirrored Imperial military ones, complete with pod fixtures.
"And for Miss Riley... hmm."
Then I paused equipping hers.
How do I even...?
She wore her usual: topless, skin-tight denim pants. The pod would stick fine in her pocket—thanks to those firm thighs and clingy fabric. But the chain... normally belted at the waist or side. She had no top, though. Pants had belt loops, but regs called for navel-high. Bullet belt level. The chain was sized for that—dangling loose if just knotted over pants would annoy.
"Professor? Problem?"
"No, just figuring the most efficient spot without a shirt..."
"What d'you mean, no shirt?"
She pointed to her own side, baffled.
"Got string right here. Use that, yeah?"
"......"
Her elegant finger indicated the 'string,' and I swallowed hard. Low-rise pants grazing her hips. Above, a thin white cord traced her iliac line along her side. Bluntly: the strap of her thong panties.
My eyes drifted to her lower abdomen unbidden. Dark brown skin etched with vivid red tattoos in seductive curves. They coiled up her arms to her shoulders and back, snaking down one side to her belly. Most striking: the heart shape where they ended below her navel. Dizzyingly erotic every time.
"If you're not doing it, I don't need the pod. Red Jades are for cowards anyway."
"...It's for unforeseen risks. For my sake as chaperone, please. I'll be the coward."
Tourist spots rarely needed magic, let alone 'Orc spells,' but her status as foreign heir outweighed logic. If Riley got slimed into sea beast chow—however unlikely—it'd be apocalypse. Sure, Groomha barbarians shunned Red Jades. Not just recklessness (though yes), but they had alternatives: those red tattoos eroded to mimic them. Living Red Jades, basically. Hence the warrior rep.
Still, as faculty, I couldn't skip safety gear. Protocol covered my ass if shit hit the fan.
After agonizing, I reached out gingerly. Not giving in to desire. No way.
Gulp. Trembling fingers to her panty strap. Thick as yarn—stout. But as the last barrier holding her underwear... Just this?
I tugged it from her skin with thumb and forefinger. Her side brushed my fingertips. Taut abs, firm core like steel cable under soft, supple skin. Springy, chewy resilience. Quivering texture fits.
I fought the urge to grab her waist. Her pants shifted slightly. Heart pounding, reminded where that strap led.
"...Not uncomfortable?"
Give me credit for professionalism here.
I exhaled—relief or heat—and stepped back.
"Mm! Kinda bugs, but I'll adjust."
She looked unfazed, innocent. Naturally—only I felt the taboo thrill.
"Yo, no shirt means no anchor?"
"Can't we just tie it to her panty elastic?"
"Pfft lol, genius."
High school boys joking crudely? No big deal. From their view, same vibe. We weren't bros, and most students found me standoffish... but Riley? She'd arm-wrestle yelling 'Bros forever!' and I'd roll with it.
"...Let's head out."
I muttered, hiding my flush, fingers still tingling from the memory.
