The evening bells echoed softly across Valerius Academy as the last of the day’s lectures finally drew to a close.
Students spilled from the academic wings in clusters, their conversations drifting through the cooling autumn air as they made their way toward dining halls, libraries, training grounds, and dormitories.
For most of Valerius, the day was gracefully ending.
For Lillian though, it had only become significantly worse.
The moment she stepped into her dorm, she quietly shut the heavy oak door behind her, crossed the floor without removing either her weighted satchel or her dusty leather shoes, and collapsed face-first onto her bed.
The mattress gave a soft, yielding whump.
She remained perfectly motionless, not because she had fallen asleep, but because she was actively attempting to stop existing through sheer force of will.
Only after a long, suffocating moment passed did a muffled groan disappeared into the fabric of her pillow.
“Argh…”
Her brain, unfortunately, had absolutely no intention of cooperating with her desire for temporary oblivion.
Like an especially vindictive librarian, it immediately reopened every single embarrassing memory from the last twenty-four hours, sorting them in perfect, chronological order.
First, the stairs.
Lillian squeezed her eyes tighter against the darkness of her blankets.
She had sprinted and launched herself down an entire subterranean staircase and body-slammed Roman Laurent’s friend with enough kinetic velocity to nearly send them both tumbling into the masonry.
She buried her face deeper into the pillow.
Why had she run like that?
She could have walked reasonably like a normal, socially well-adjusted person.
Instead, she had apparently chosen to impersonate a localized avalanche.
And to add a layer of permanent psychic damage to the memory, the guy named Jett had actually dusted a speck of lint off her wrapped blueberry muffins before handing them back.
Ugh…
Then came Roman.
The mere thought of his name made her stomach knot into a complex series of administrative errors.
Because he remembered her.
Not only her face, but her exact room number.
Three.
One.
Two.
She let out another muffled sound somewhere between a whimper and a dying kettle.
Why did he remember her room number?
Who memorized residential architecture recreationally?
Was that just something purebloods did when they were bored?
Mrs. Pugh had once told the orphanage children that extraordinary people tended to notice extraordinary details.
Unfortunately, Lillian would have greatly preferred not to be one of those details.
She rolled onto her side, staring blankly at the ceiling before her gaze drifted to the little glow-in-the-dark stars Stella had painstakingly stuck there one by one.
“You.”
Even replaying the smooth friction of his voice made her want to evaporate on a molecular level.
He had looked genuinely pleased when he saw her face.
Why?
What was there to be pleased about?
Surely she had not become an entertainment for a Laurent.
That possibility felt infinitely more dangerous than his anger.
Which brought her directly to Problem Number Three.
Her expression slowly emptied of all warmth.
Because she still had not officially met her assigned partner.
The realization settled over her like a heavy blanket of despair.
Technically, Roman now knew her face.
She knew his.
They had exchanged words, mostly apologies on her part, but that was not meeting.
There had been no formal introductions, no confirmation of identities, and absolutely zero discussion regarding the upcoming lifecycle of the Academy Integration Evaluation Framework.
After lunch, she had actually gathered enough desperate courage to come up to him and properly introduce herself, only to discover his seat in Lecture Hall Seven was completely empty. Find the original chapter at novelping.com.
He had simply skipped the entire afternoon block, vanishing from the surface of the earth.
Lillian frowned thoughtfully, hugging a pillow tightly against her chest.
Where did a Laurent even go when he was not violating safety regulations?
She knew the layout of the campus perfectly, but outside of scheduled classes, she had no idea where to locate him.
And she certainly could not just march over to the boys’ dormitory tower and said:
“Excuse me. Hello, guard. Could someone please summon Roman Laurent? Tell him his academic partner is waiting downstairs in the freezing dusk.”
She immediately hid her burning face behind the pillow again.
Absolutely not.
She would rather challenge a dragon to a staring contest.
So…
Maybe she could just handle it tomorrow morning?
The hopeful thought survived approximately three seconds before reality brutally stabbed it.
Tomorrow’s first lecture was Magical Physiology with Professor Alder.
The Reaper professor adored administrative efficiency almost as much as he enjoyed public academic suffering.
There was every probability that the very first words out of his mouth would be a calm, sweeping demand to verify partnership synchronization.
Lillian bit her lower lip so hard and closed her eyes in frustration.
What if the entire class answered yes, and she was the only one left standing in silence?
What if she had to explain her failure in front of everyone, only for Roman to casually lean back in his chair and drawl, “No, Professor. She was the one who never introduced herself.”
Lillian opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling for another long moment before letting out a slow, defeated sigh.
“…I’m spiraling again.”
Well, lying face-down on her bed was not a recognized solution to academic problems.
So with all the enthusiasm of someone marching toward her own execution, she reluctantly pushed herself upright, peeled off her academy blazer, and shuffled toward the bathroom.
Nearly twenty minutes later, warm steam still lingered inside the small dormitory bathroom as Lillian stepped out, rubbing a towel through her damp hair.
She was just about to slip herself back onto the bed when a deep, resonant bell rolled across the residential towers.
She paused mid towel-dry.
“…?”
The the communication crystal beside the dormitory door suddenly glowed.
“Attention all residents. Mandatory assembly in the Grand Residential Hall will commence in thirty minutes. Attendance is required for all first-years students.”
Immediately, a look of understanding passed over her expression.
Ah, yes… Orientation assemblies belonged to first years.
She had attended the same lecture last year, where Resident Warden Blackwell had spent nearly two hours explaining everything from curfew enchantments to why summoning familiars larger than a carriage inside the dormitories was prohibited.
Not something she should be worried about, probably.
Turning away, Lillian slipped one knee on top her bed and continued to dry her hair with the towel when the announcement resounded once again,
“Following repeated violations of residential regulations by members of last year’s first-year cohort, all current sophomores are required to attend the refresher briefing as well. Failure to report will result in disciplinary demerits. Residential supervisors will conduct attendance upon arrival. Thank you.”
Lillian slowly stopped drying her hair.
The towel remained suspended halfway over her head.
“…Sophomores too?”
A tiny crease formed between her brows as she stared at the glowing communication crystal, silently wondering what on earth last year’s first-years had done to warrant dragging an entire batch back through dormitory orientation.
Someone… actually broke the residence rules?
Enough to summon all of them?
She could not imagine what sort of spectacular decision-making had led to that outcome.
The crystal dimmed, the announcement concluded, and silence settled over the room once more.
Lillian remained standing for another moment when a new thought suddenly wandered into her mind.
If every sophomore had been summoned… did that include Roman Laurent too?
Surely not.
He skipped lectures whenever the mood struck him.
He was probably exempt from assemblies too.
…Right?
The room suddenly felt slightly less suffocating.
No awkward search around campus.
No approaching the boys’ dormitory.
No standing in front of Professor Alder tomorrow morning while silently accepting her academic downfall.
She could simply find him tonight, introduce herself properly, and finally get this entire situation over with.
It was not ideal, nor was it comfortable.
But it was better than whatever nightmare her imagination had prepared for tomorrow.
With that tiny thread of hope keeping her upright, Lillian changed out of her short sleeping clothes and into something appropriate for the evening assembly.
She pulled on a pair of long pajama pants, replaced her oversized shirt with a more presentable sweater and shoved her student crest securely into her pocket.
After one final glance at herself in the mirror, mostly to make sure she looked at least presentable rather than someone who had just escaped a dormitory bed, she stepped out into the corridor.
It was only a few minutes walk, the Grand Residential Hall is located literally between the male and female dormitories building.
The academy that had seemed impossibly alive only hours ago now carried the softer rhythm of evening.
Students wandered through the residential halls in loose groups, some carrying books they had forgotten to return, others already dressed for sleep despite being summoned outside.
Apparently, a mandatory assembly did not inspire everyone to look their best.
Lillian passed a group of first-year werewolves who looked like they had been dragged from their beds by an emergency alarm.
One of them was still wearing mismatched socks, another had his hair sticking up in several directions, and a third was yawning so widely that his friend had to physically nudge him forward.
“Do you think they’ll notice if we leave after attendance?” one of them whispered.
“They always notice,” another muttered.
“That’s why we’re here.”
A few steps ahead, a group of sirens moved through the corridor with significantly more dignity.
Even half-prepared for bed, they somehow looked effortlessly elegant, their hair perfectly arranged and their silk robes flowing behind them like they had intentionally coordinated their appearance with the evening lighting.
Lillian stared for a moment.
Of course they looked like that.
Meanwhile, she had spent the last twenty minutes debating whether her sweater looked too casual for a gathering where nobody else seemed to care.
She quickly looked away and continued walking towards the Grand Residential Hall, its enormous wooden doors already open.
Warm golden light spilled across the stone floor, carrying with it the sound of hundreds of students gathering inside.
The moment Lillian stepped through the entrance, she immediately felt the familiar sensation of being surrounded by too many people.
Not strangers exactly.
Valerius was full of familiar faces now.
Students she had seen in lectures, students whose names she vaguely recognized from attendance lists, students who had walked past her every day for an entire year.
But familiar did not always mean approachable.
She adjusted the sleeves of her sweater and quietly moved toward the side of the hall after taking her attendance, where she could stand without accidentally becoming part of a conversation.
Old habits.
The first-years gathered near the front, still whispering excitedly about dorm rules and academy traditions.
The sophomores occupied the back half of the hall with a much less enthusiastic energy, most of them looking like they had already survived this speech once and considered experiencing it again a personal attack.
Against her better judgement, Lillian scanned the crowd back and forth, then back again.
Her heart gave a tiny, anxious stumble.
No Roman.
She told herself she was not disappointed.
She absolutely was not disappointed.
But then again, the universe had finally handed her a reasonable excuse to talk to him, and apparently it was still deciding whether it wanted to cooperate.
Lillian exhaled quietly and looked toward the front of the hall as the residential supervisors began preparing the assembly.
Maybe he was just late.
She leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her chest.
The thought had barely finished forming when a familiar voice drifted across the Grand Residential Hall, cutting cleanly through the ambient noise with perfect, impeccable timing.
“Which one of you idiots managed to get the entire sophomore batch dragged back into orientation?”
Lillian turned instinctively.
A localized wave of murmurs rippled through the expansive hall as dozens of students shifted their attention toward the entrance.
Some of them recognized the voice before they even caught sight of its owner, their expressions instantly hardening with deep respect or softening into sheer fascination.
Across the threshold of the grand hall, Roman Laurent stepped through the heavy oak doors.