The Lady of the Jerman Duchy
Iris Jerman's life as the lady of the Jerman Duchy was unbearably dull.
From a young age, she had no interest whatsoever in noble etiquette or high society. Learning the precise gestures of hands and feet for dancing paled in comparison to running through the gardens or devouring books in the library—a hundred, no, a thousand times more enjoyable.
Because of that, she hoped her younger brother would become the next Jerman Archduke instead of her.
But—
"We want you to become the Archduke, Iris."
The current Jerman Archduke and his wife wished for their eldest daughter to succeed them. Iris had shown remarkable intelligence from a tender age, while their eldest son, Henut, lagged behind her in every way. The more they compared, the more her position as heir solidified.
I can't be bound like this.
She wasn't dissatisfied with her status as a lady. She knew there were people in the world shivering in the cold and starving from food shortages, and she was well aware that being born into wealth was a tremendous blessing.
But Iris couldn't imagine spending her life playing dress-up and games.
That year, at the age of twelve, she stumbled upon a grimoire left by a wandering mage and made her vow.
She would walk the path of magic, no matter what.
Iris was certain of it.
Once, a high-ranking mage from the Magic Tower had visited their territory due to a drought. She had secretly approached him and begged for a mana diagnosis.
"You undoubtedly have talent."
"Y-you're not lying?"
"I'm infamous at the Tower for my silver tongue, but I'm no scoundrel who gives false hope with magic."
To escape her suffocating daily life, she needed an excuse.
So she chose Snowrobe.
It was a place to learn magic—her goal—and a perfect justification.
The cradle of the continent, where promising talents from across the nation gathered regardless of status. Simply attending would efficiently build a network of capable connections.
But the Jerman ducal couple didn't want their daughter leaving the duchy.
The world was dangerous for mages due to anti-magic factions, and rumors swirled that they were targeting magic academies like Snowrobe, the cradle of mages. They couldn't easily allow their heir to be exposed to such risks.
"If you don't send me to magic school, I'll fall behind the other young nobles. Is that what you want for your daughter?"
"If you won't let me go to Snowrobe, I won't touch food until I starve!"
After several "requests" that were thinly veiled threats, Iris finally succeeded in enrolling at Snowrobe.
Snowrobe truly lived up to her expectations.
It was filled with experiences she'd never encountered before, offering glimpses into every kind of person.
And among them, one person had caught her interest.
First-year Class 1.
Iris turned at the dull sound of the sliding door opening.
A man taller than his peers by a head, with a sturdy build that even a cardigan couldn't fully hide. White hair and pale blue eyes blended into an otherworldly aura that made him hard to approach. He stood frozen in the back doorway of the classroom.
Maness Pictri.
Iris's recent obsession.
It wasn't his striking looks that captivated her, nor the wealth of the Pictri Trading Company.
She was simply intrigued by how someone with such a background strutted around like a wastrel without a care.
Most students condemned him, but Iris was different.
To her, it seemed like a unique kind of freedom—that a trading company heir who could grasp the continent acted without restraint from his pedigree.
Freedom unbound by background.
Perhaps he possessed exactly what she yearned for.
"I asked if I knew you to etch your name into these students' minds."
"……."
"Though you're already famous without needing it, Pictri heir."
So Iris quietly anticipated.
What words would spill from the mouth of this wastrel who spat venom at his peers?
Could he flaunt his freedom even before this viper of a professor?
"I'm sorry."
But contrary to her expectations, Maness showed no hostility.
Before the professor, he sealed his lips to hide his fangs, crouched low to conceal his claws, and lowered the tail that had menaced his prey.
"What a letdown. Boring."
Iris swallowed her pointless mutter.
*
After the professor's one-sided berating ended, Maness headed to the unoccupied seat by the window at the very back.
Fortunately, he wasn't too late, so the lesson hadn't delved into the main topic yet.
"Since all seats are filled, let's do introductions."
Hiteri once more sneered at the wastrel and struck the blackboard sharply with his staff.
"Hiteri Solik. A mage registered at the 6th Rank in the Magic Tower. You'll understand later from my class syllabus, but I primarily teach pure magic, which emphasizes variability."
The students exchanged quick glances before breaking into applause one by one.
"They say even reaching 4th Rank is like secretly plucking a harpy's wings…."
"He's a professor. Of course he's exceptional."
Amid the murmurs of admiration, Maness clapped curtly as well.
There was nothing particularly impressive about his introduction.
As Class 1's homeroom professor, he already knew all about him.
No way he's just 6th Rank.
A magic school professor.
Such a person couldn't possibly be merely 6th Rank.
Professors—the first mages most aspiring ones encounter—were limited to registering up to 6th Rank in the Tower. This prevented rank divisions among faculty in students' eyes.
Hiteri cleared his throat with a fist over his mouth, silencing the room once more.
"I'll skip the nonsense. Now, pay attention as I explain how Snowrobe's education proceeds."
The students perked up their ears, eyes sparkling.
Maness focused on the blackboard too.
No matter how much game knowledge he had, hearing it firsthand would differ.
Hiteri didn't pick up the chalk.
Instead, he waved his staff, and the chalk on the lectern floated into the air.
The chalk swam through the void, etching letters into the blackboard while seemingly wearing itself down.
Basic Subjects & Elective Subjects
"You're the students assigned to Class 1. But you won't take all your classes here in this room."
As Hiteri paused briefly, his staff moved again, inscribing subjects like history, geography, and literature under basic subjects.
These were treated as general education, not specialized studies.
But contrary to the students' expectations that it ended there, "All Electives" appeared at the bottom.
"The freshmen with rock heads are signaling curiosity."
Hiteri mocked the silent students.
That was his way.
It wasn't personal grudge against Maness or latecomers.
To him, every student in the school was a target for scorn.
Only a few who reached his approved level escaped his ire.
"You there."
"M-me? Are you talking to me?"
"Yes, you—the one with the face of a squirrel caught stealing nuts from a desk."
The arbitrarily singled-out student's face tensed visibly.
Name was… Sobiang? Something like that?
Seeing the extra who shared his fate as Hiteri's prey, Maness rummaged through his memory before giving up.
"Your name?"
"Sobiang Forte, sir."
"Right, Sobiang. No need to tack on your family name."
Sobiang flushed red.
Mentioning one's house even in brief self-introductions was to flaunt status.
Though school rules mandated equality among students, it wasn't perfectly upheld.
Even speaking casually or sharing classes couldn't erase ingrained class gaps.
Graduates swore oaths against repercussions, but no one knew if they'd hold.
Thus, factions formed around imperial or noble students, or hierarchies emerged.
You couldn't stamp it out entirely.
So faculty were sensitive to students name-dropping houses.
The intent was obvious—and infuriating.
"What goal brought young master Forte of house Forte to Snowrobe? Care to share?"
Like calling Maness "Pictri heir," Hiteri invoked family when mocking highborns.
It hammered home: No matter your origins, you're just a powerless student now.
"I-I came to learn music."
"Music? This is a magic school."
Obviously, more baiting.
Everyone knew you could enter Snowrobe without magic ambitions.
Stung twice by Hiteri, Sobiang bit his lip.
As if resolved, he repeated firmly.
"Yes. I came to learn music."
A faint smile tugged at Hiteri's lips.
"I thought you were just a coward, but you do have a spine. As the boy says, Snowrobe has plenty of students uninterested in magic."
Hiteri's index finger whipped sharply.
The chalk slammed into the board with a bursting crack that echoed through the room.
Students flinched, shoulders hunching, or let out short yelps.
"But wanting something and having talent for it are different. Sobiang, even if music is your passion, you mustn't let other talents rot for it."
Desire and aptitude weren't the same.
If Sobiang had pure magic talent, ignoring it for music would waste it.
"First-years will sample all electives. From second year, you'll specialize. If you haven't chosen by then, special provisions await—no need to worry."
*
Afterward, Hiteri gave a few more guidelines and left.
Unexpected free time ahead of schedule.
Students who'd already mingled gathered in groups, sharing impressions.
Hearts dropping at the chalk sound, scary homeroom prof, looking forward to what's next.
And, predictably—
"That guy's late on the first day?"
"More like, did you see? Couldn't even squeak at the prof."
"Yeah. He goes feral on easy targets."
Talk of the wastrel circulated too.
Maness heard it all with sharp ears, but from his view, it had upsides.
Treated as a ghost, staying quiet—he could prepare for the uncertain post-graduation world.
Main characters would handle events anyway.
On that note, Maness scanned for Tales Saga protagonists.
Kyle and Iris, well-rounded in background, grades, personality, were fending off crowds.
Hard to spot amid the throng, so he shifted gaze.
Another back-row holdout like him.
Conien Mactatum sat arms crossed, eyes closed, just as when he'd entered.
Black hair tied in a rear ponytail.
Tanned skin immune to sun from outdoor life bespoke northern nomad blood.
Eyes closed now, but surely golden within.
A beast raised wild.
Later nicknamed the Grouch, surprisingly scholarly too.
Despite harsh northern training, he thirsted for knowledge.
His tribe sent him for imperial ties, but his Snowrobe journey held scholarly aims too.
As Maness pondered protagonists—
"Maness?"
An utterly unsurprising figure reached out.
"First time saying hi today, right? I'm Kyle."