Meal First? Bath First? Or...

After Skala and Darvin left, a few hours passed. I stood in the center of the personal exam arena, bathed in the sunset light streaming through the window.

There wasn't a single spectator. My turn was dead last.

My heart had nearly lightened at that, but Professor Bastian Cred fixed me with a terrifying glare.

"Harné Astel. Stand before the straw golem."

The rules for the individual exam were simple. Under the watchful eyes of three proctors, demonstrate techniques for ten seconds against a sturdy straw dummy.

No Noktia, and my body was far from peak condition. But that didn't change my stance.

Squeeze out every ounce of power I could muster right now. Thrash about desperately for even a slightly higher ranking.

"Hoo."

I pushed the lingering pain from my mind. Steadying my breath, I focused every nerve on the dummy ahead.

"Begin."

Tang!

Kwaduduk!

"Time's up."

"...Haa."

Ragged breaths escaped me. I'd thought the headmaster's treatment had restored me decently. But after just ten seconds of inefficient mana burn, my body was half-broken. What insane fuel efficiency.

My slightly blurred vision flickered. And right after, the floor rushed up.

Ah, I was collapsing.

Thud!

But the expected impact never came. Someone had snatched my body mid-fall.

It was Professor Bastian. As if he'd anticipated this, he calmly set me down on the floor.

"Drink this potion. The headmaster prepared it."

A cool, bitter liquid slid down my throat. My ragged breathing eased bit by bit, and my foggy vision began to clear.

But what ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠filled my clearing sight was muscle. Lots of it.

"Professor Bram Hayden. You'll scare the student."

At Bastian's words, the middle-aged muscle hog filling the screen stepped back.

"Haha! Sorry about that. How can I help worrying over the student?"

Thankfully, strength returned to my legs quickly. I stood on shaky limbs before the proctors. Then, as if waiting, Professor Bram spoke up.

"That swordsmanship you used. It seems counterattacks form the core, right?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"I see! No wonder. The conditions were lacking to show your true colors."

Bram crossed his arms, his expression grave with genuine regret. But he soon flashed a toothy grin.

"Still, it was splendid! Power was lacking, but the movements were smooth and fluid. Not something you'd expect at your age! If you have time later, how about a spar with—"

"That's enough."

Bastian cut off the fidgeting Bram with a single stroke.

"Put your personal interests aside, Professor. It's not too late after enrollment."

"Hmph, you're too by-the-book."

Bram chuckled with a hint of dissatisfaction, but mercifully didn't push further.

"..."

And the female professor at the corner desk silently alternated between me and her scoring sheet. The herbalism professor, I think. Her face gave nothing away.

"Harné Astel. Exit through that door."

Bastian nodded toward the door after seating Bram. I bowed my head and headed that way. Then, a small, steady voice came from behind.

"...Well done."

Professor Bastian, as expected. There was a reason he was popular among the professor characters back in the game days.

I walked steadily into the sunset.

My steps felt the lightest they'd been all day. Partly because the exam went well, but the bigger reason was finally shedding that embarrassing test suit. Who knew this light everyday outfit could feel so welcoming?

Of course, days wearing that suit again—and even worse ones—lay ahead in droves.

...I'd worry about that grim future later.

Exam results would be announced in the evening. Until then, I had a few free hours. And new students had one set destination for such times.

Southwest of the academy, the largest city in the Kalsea Autonomous Region: Kalroad Commercial City.

Which was exactly where I'd just stepped into.

"Freshly baked bread—take some on your way!"

"Theory books perfect for Mana Fundamentals—on sale!"

"Extra! Extra! Secret Society executive spotted in lawless city Belmars!"

The nutty aroma of baked bread hit first. Then rich meat stew scents, followed by spicy herb notes.

The heat of bodies packed in tight pressed in next. Laughter-mingled chatter and hawker cries layered over the street, filling it with vibrant energy.

That energy had infected the post-exam crowd surging in. Kids opened wallets like moths to flame before magic tools and food stalls everywhere.

"..."

I might've gotten swept up too. If I were a normal student instead of a possessor.

Unfortunately, I couldn't immerse in the scenery. It felt... detached, somehow. Wide awake to it all.

Shop clerks and owners first. No idea the logic, but they were all young women. Even the blacksmith at the forge.

A landscape that could make you think you'd dropped into an all-women world.

And their outfits—exposure levels off the charts.

Off-shoulder crop tops with short shorts on the magic tool seller. Bikini armor ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on the weapons dealer. Cow-print getup on the meat shop girl.

A riot of styles, some defying eras without a care. Tragically common in this city. I needed to get used to it, but every day still felt ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fresh.

Oh, didn't notice—an adult shop. My head shook involuntarily. But I slapped my cheeks lightly to refocus, fixing my gaze straight ahead.

No time to gawk. Truth was, I had someone to meet right after the exam.

And I'd placed dead last.

"..."

I steeled myself with a deep breath and plunged into the crowd ahead.

The street was jammed solid. Even on tiptoes, I couldn't see ahead.

Shoulders and backs everywhere. Wedged between human walls, I bobbed powerlessly like driftwood.

"Excuse me. Coming through."

No use. This small, frail body was worthless in crowds.

Pinballing between bodies like that—then the guy ahead halted abruptly.

Nearly face-planted into his broad back. Peering out, what I saw was unexpected.

The crowd around noticed too. Murmurs swelled amid the lively street din.

"Th-that white robe... no way, a heresy inquisitor!"

"Don't stare. Eye contact won't end well."

"What's he doing here? They don't even have a branch in the city."

People stepped back one by one. The packed throng split like the Red Sea in the center.

Through it strode two men in white robes, bold as brass.

White masks. Silver brooches. Sinister metal tools jangling at their waists.

Definite. Subordinates of the Goddess Church's Heresy Inquisition. Heresy inquisitors.

Or, "otherworlder" hunters by another name.

Gazes poured onto them, laced with hostility, fear, tension.

But they ignored it, focused on chatting into their communication crystals.

"This is Squad 2. Continuing search for D-53."

"Heading to the forest of disappearance. Requesting kill authorization due to defection risk."

Whew, brutal talk. Labeling a person "D-53." Zero humanity.

Still, they cleared a path. Ignoring the reactions, I slipped through the gap.

A moment later, I emerged onto a quieter street and headed to the meetup alley.

Turning the corner—there she was, a girl leaning against the wall.

Skin pale as white jade, verging on ghostly. White hair flowing with innate elegance. Crimson eyes like jewels.

In the shadow-cloaked alley, devoid of sunlight, she drew in all light and gaze alone. Like a painting come alive.

...Just the composition was a mess for framing. She was surrounded by two thugs.

"Hey, miss. All alone?" "Got time? Play with us—we'll show you a good time."

The men braced hands on the wall, tossing sleazy lines.

Leave it like this, and the plot twist was obvious. Had to stop disaster before it struck.

I stepped naturally to her side. Grabbing her arm protectively, I pulled her behind me, shielding from the thugs.

"She's with me. We'll be going now."

"Ha?"

"Let's go."

But they'd fail their species if they let us leave easy.

The burly one smirked down at me. The other sidled around, slyly blocking escape.

"Pfft! Thought you were some justice knight, but an even cuter miss shows up?"

"Don't be like that—join the fun. 2v2, perfect."

Ah, total ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠backfire. This appearance was zero help in moments like this.

No time for lamenting my fate—a thick, rough hand clamped my wrist.

And in that instant, time froze. The alley air turned to ice.

"Uh... guk..."

The thugs' faces drained to ashen. Sweat poured like waterfalls; legs buckled.

Then a soft voice brushed my ear.

"First time pests like this, so I held back out of curiosity for what you'd do next."

The girl behind wrapped her arms around my neck in a gentle back hug. Precise, as if guarding against the slightest scratch.

But the invisible pressure on the thugs was anything but gentle.

"Yet you dare lay hands on whom?"

Violent. Merciless.

"Ugh... khek..." "Grrrk..."

The thick hand fell limp from my wrist. The thugs twitched faintly, then foamed at the mouth and collapsed.

Damn. Big trouble for the thugs after all. That's why I wanted to stop it.

"Are they okay?"

"Hmm, what do you think?"

She kept the back hug, resting her chin softly on my shoulder.

"Just leaked a bit of my aura. No threat to their lives, so don't worry."

She unwrapped her arms from my neck, then kneaded my wrist where the thug had grabbed it. As if erasing the offensive trace. Gentle yet insistent.

"Anyway, you. What kept you? Quite late."

"Sorry. Circumstances. Wait long? Pietsha."

"It's fine. Got some rare time for quiet thought."

Pietsha smiled calmly. But having spent time with her, I saw it—the faint pout hidden in that smile.

"You could just be honest. We're alone—loosen up a bit."

"No. With inquisitors prowling lately, I need practice like this, even before you."

"Hm, is it really necessary? Your natural speech is charming enough."

"Eut."

Pietsha's lip twitched ever so slightly. But she regained composure fast.

"No arguments. As leader of an organization, a minimum of courtesy and responsibility is required."

She leaned in closer, peeking at my face.

"Plus, it lets me see fun reactions like this."

Hoo. Pietsha blew softly in my ear on impulse. I flinched reflexively; she smiled faintly.

"See? Same action, but polite speech makes it fresh, no?"

"Not sure about fresh—feels more infuriating."

"Ouch."

I flicked her forehead lightly. She stuck out her tongue, then spun around.

"Shall we go then? To our hideout."

Pietsha took my hand carefully and led the way slowly.

A few alley turns later, a rundown two-story house appeared. Cracked walls, peeling window frames.

Proclaiming "nothing to see here" to any onlooker. Discreetly, one of our micro surveillance crystals was mounted.

At the door, Pietsha knocked in a specific rhythm. Moments later, it opened silently.

A man like an old butler appeared, pale-skinned like Pietsha. He bowed politely in crisp posture.

"We've been waiting. Lady Pietsha, Executive."

Inside looked like an ordinary home. But ascending to the second floor per his guide flipped the mood.

Plush carpet underfoot. Soft antique lighting. Rest sofas, tea table, convenience magic tools—luxury furnishings galore.

A space designed to pamper guests. Even a bathroom door visible in one corner.

"This the new branch you mentioned?"

"Different. Precisely, the front building. This is prepared for you—drop by freely when you have time."

Pietsha nodded proudly, then waved the man away.

As the old butler closed the door quietly, Pietsha stepped forward with hands behind her back.

"Now, three choices. Pick one?"

"What?"

Pietsha raised her index finger.

"Meal first?"

Middle finger.

"Bath first?"

Then slowly her ring finger, lips curling.

"Or..."

She paused, whispering low.

"Check the interrogation results on the D-53 you kidnapped for me?"