The Re-Enrollment Application

Today was another peaceful day at the mansion. I'd hoped to ditch the lady now that her fever had broken ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and slack off a bit, but some unwelcome guests showed up.

Thought I'd seen the last of them for a while.

I brewed some cheap green tea and eyed the two sitting at the table. Their uniforms were pristine white with impressive gold embroidery—a design identical to the one I'd worn a year ago.

The woman made no effort to hide her disgust, while the familiar-faced ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠guy lounged around, his eyes roving everywhere. They were waiting for me to sit down.

"You're Hanna, right?"

I said as I placed the market-bought green tea—1 silver a pack—in front of my guests.

She sniffed. Did she clock it as cheap just from the smell? Her face twisted the moment she saw it, which soured my mood right away.

That's too much. I put some effort into this, and she hasn't even tasted it.

The lime-haired punk snickering like this was all hilarious didn't help either. They were the ones who showed up out of nowhere, ruining my sweet downtime, and now they were hogging my tea too. Total scumbags. But for the lady's reputation, I held back.

After a brief tea time, Hanna nodded.

"I'm Hanna Histania, first-year swordsmanship department student and scribe for the Imperial Academy student council."

Her tone was icy. She clearly wanted to cut straight to business, which suited me fine. I had no interest in entertaining guests either.

Let's wrap this up quick.

If they'd come about a debt, I'd make them kneel. If it was revenge against the lady, I'd draw steel. Either way, as long as we agreed, it'd be over fast.

I opened my mouth to probe her intentions—

"Hey, Ricardo."

The lime-haired thug called out.

"Yes?"

"Yes? Pfft—haha! This guy's killing me. For real."

The handsome bastard spun his teacup idly. He looked like watered-down green tea, and hearing him "hey" me was grating.

Drawing on memories from my past life, I flashed a capitalism-honed smile. But I didn't forget to jab back.

"You seem unhinged. Showing up without warning like this."

"Haha. Same as ever."

The smirking lime-head seemed to know me. Of course I knew him too. Ruin and I were academy classmates.

I was 22—late entry to sync with Olivia's enrollment year—and back then, I'd endured half-pints' casual talk while scraping by in that cutthroat place.

Ruin had been perpetual runner-up, sucking his thumb behind Olivia. In the original story, he was the obsessed stalker chasing the heroine's tail. Especially annoying was his fireball flexing like it made him hot shit—a total problem child.

I never treated him nicely. He'd tormented Olivia in the story, and his slacker vibe clashed with my tastes. Female readers ate it up as "decadent bad boy charm," but to me, he was just rude.

Possessing the body only amplified that. So I ignored him. In the academy, whether he chatted me up or picked fights, I'd blank him like a pro.

Maybe that's why he turned into a fragile snowflake.

I'd signaled: don't mess with us, obsess over the heroine, I'll focus on my lady, live and let live. But he took it as a challenge.

"Hey. You listening?"

Lost in memories of snowflake Ruin, I'd zoned out briefly. I could ignore his blabber like bad tea, but what if it involved money? Better stay sharp.

Thud.

Ruin provocatively propped his foot on the table. The rickety thing creaked like it was signing its death warrant—skreeeeech.

"Sorry. Got lost in thought for a sec…"

"What…?"

"Your esteemed presence has me on edge."

He grinned like he was winning.

"Anyway, long time no see. A year, right?"

"Yes. About that."

"Since you got chased out by us."

Us. Crown Prince, Mikhail, and the heroine's sub-males.

Ruin gazed dreamily, reminiscing his glory days. Worried about his early-onset dementia, I corrected the edited memory.

"I didn't get chased out. I took a leave of absence."

"Puhahaha! Oh right, right. That's why we're here."

Sudden halt. His laughter cut off, face hardening. Goosebumps—not from fear.

This guy's how old, and still got middle-school syndrome?

It was like staring at my own chuunibyou phase. Laugh one second, stone-face the next to intimidate. Mirror image—infuriating.

"Talk like old times, Ricardo. You used casual with me."

I placed my hands demurely on the table.

"I'm the Desmont household butler now, so I can't use casual with guests."

"Butler? What butler. Your clan's falling apart."

"No. The Desmonts are still thriving. It's precisely the lady I serve who's hit rock bottom."

I had zero interest in rising to his cheap bait. Piles of work—no gain in a pointless blush-fest. Unless he paid up, fighting was a no-go.

So I ignored Ruin. Whining snowflakes are bad for mental health.

I turned to the one who seemed more reasonable.

Why the negative? Am I that ugly?

Or did the butler service rub her wrong? It was our mansion's priciest tea—cheap green, sure, but I splurged for rare guests. This favorability assassination attempt was rough.

Still a long way to go.

Butler-wise, human-wise—plenty lacking.

"Miss Hanna?"

"…"

Ignoring me. Instead, she slammed a letter on the table.

"What's this?"

Hanna crossed her arms. Cocky junior folding arms before a senior—infuriating. One head-knock and she'd drop, probably. But with a good heart, I mentally tallied "patience" strokes and waited.

"The student council president said to reenroll."

"The president?"

Who? Heroine wasn't president yet.

I asked curiously.

"Who's the current ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠president?"

"Princess Shartia."

Shartia. Empire's third princess. Minor character who liked Mikhail in the original—clean confession, clean rejection. Unlike Olivia's clingy mess.

I nodded. Shartia—no big ties, but decent memory.

I skimmed the letter on the table and slid it back.

"Sorry. Timing's not right yet."

"Bullshit."

Vulgar curse rang out. Hanna scowled at Ruin beside her.

Still pockets-deep, smugly mouthing off. He'd gulped the carefully brewed tea, gargled it, then—

Ptooey.

Spit it out. I was stunned. Even his partner Hanna looked blindsided.

Ruin said,

"What timing? You're just too embarrassed."

I listened quietly, inviting more drivel.

"Right?"

He nodded at me, craving my stuck reaction. I shrugged instead.

Thinking me easy, he kept spewing crap.

"Olivia's in the gutter—who'd wanna come back? Your money tap's dead."

Nod nod.

I nodded.

"True enough."

Tch. Ruin clicked his tongue at my bland response.

"Acting all nonchalant. But yeah. Your master's a cripple from botched black magic."

"Yep."

"Who'd return to serve a cripple?"

Puhaha. Ruin cracked up.

I watched silently.

"Senior…!"

Stoic Hanna's face twisted at his vitriol. She'd expected snark at the villainess, but this crossed lines hard. Brain freeze.

Butler taking master's insults quietly. Tea tasting sour. Useless senior. Hanna's mind blanked—only Mikhail surfaced.

I watched the show. Entertaining.

Ignored every insult, yet when fight brewed, the girl reins him in. Laughable mage.

Logically, not wrong. I left like a dog. Lady's handicapped unavoidably.

But it stung.

Fight?

Modern humans grew most in anonymous spaces—not strength, not knowledge: savage trash talk. Keyboard warriors honing mental demolition till death.

I'd thrived in gaming's brutality. Orphan protecting distant mom—had to toughen up.

Thus, I knew Ruin's weak spots best. Maybe better than him. Original knowledge. Favorability system too.

But no poking here. Lady might hear.

Fragile-hearted—she'd wail the mansion down. Feverish already—more stress could blow it.

Can't just take it, though. I mulled his trigger phrase. Calm, but enraging.

"True. That's why I'm delaying reenrollment out of shame."

"Right?"

Ruin snickered, smug—finally knows his place—but soured at my follow-up.

"Tower Lord's disciple, who lost top spot to a normal noble miss, now second-year topper. Wow…"

I sneered vilely.

"Standards really dropped…"

Instant.

"This fucking prick."

Red orb formed in Ruin's hand.

Hanna beside him couldn't react. Too fast—eyes couldn't track. First vs. second-year gap? Distant wall—she moved late.

"Senior…!"

Crash────!

Then.

Ruin's head—post-spell—smashed into the floor.

Table splintered. His scream cut short, face-planted.

Hanna blinked. Couldn't see it. More like didn't register.

By blink's end, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠done.

The culprit gripped writhing Ruin's hair, whispering low.

"Shut your trap. Lady's sleeping."

Butler’s red eyes flickered crimson.