[Time]: One Hour After the Entrance Duel
[Location]: Yggdrasil Academy · Golden Bough Apartments · Room 302
Hathaway stood before the heavy black walnut door, clutching the brass key in her hand.
This was [The Golden Bough], the most exclusive residential area in Yggdrasil Academy, and behind every door lay an independent Demi-plane Bubble. Here, you weren't buying "square footage," you were buying "Spatial Laws." As long as your mana could support it, you could even raise a humpback whale in your dorm.
But right now, Hathaway felt like she was holding the pin to Pandora's Box.
"Phew... it's fine, Hathaway."
She mentally prepped herself: "You are the winner. According to the Witch's Law of the Jungle, you are now one of the owners here. Show some Lion-like spirit."
She took a deep breath, inserted the key, and infused her mana.
Click.
The hum of spatial folding resonated.
Creeeeeak—
The door opened.
Waiting for Hathaway was a Gothic Great Hall that looked like it belonged in a vampire's castle.
Expansion Charms had stretched the area behind the door into a high-ceilinged hall of at least three hundred square meters. Heavy deep black velvet curtains sealed the windows, and the room's entire light budget came from a few Necrotic Ghostlights drifting in mid-air, faint and chilly.
The air was filled with an expensive, stale scent mixed with myrrh and ambergris: the specific "Old Money Scent" of the Holheim region, a silent aroma like something aged in a coffin for three hundred years.
And on the velvet high-backed chair in the center of the hall, sat the original owner of this room.
Victoria Wellington had already changed into a black lace long dress, the collar still rigorously buttoned up to her chin. She looked like an elegant black swan.
Her face was bare of lenses. For a Wellington, glasses were dangerous items that focused soul mana; wearing a pair was tantamount to suicide. Her eyes were closed. She was holding a cup of black tea.
The red, swollen nose and teary eyes from earlier had long vanished. Wellington bodies filed every poison they met and never filed the same one twice; the alkaloids had lasted four minutes.
Victoria kept her head where it was. The air density in the entire hall climbed.
"Close the door."
Victoria's voice was calm and cold. "You are letting the vulgarity in from outside."
Hathaway's mouth twitched.
Vulgarity? You mean oxygen and sunlight?
She closed the door behind her and dragged her suitcase inside.
"Hello, roommate. Looks like your recovery ability is pretty good. I thought you'd need a stomach pump at the infirmary."
"That is an option for the weak." Victoria took a gentle sip of tea, her closed eyes turning precisely towards Hathaway's direction. "A Witch's body remembers every injury and evolves resistance. Right now, even if you poured a whole jar of Ghost Pepper extract into my mouth, I would only taste ketchup."
She put down the teacup and finally opened her eyes.
Those azure pupils still lacked focus, but that look of "I see through you, liar" was sharper than any focused gaze.
"Sit."
Victoria pointed to the sofa opposite her, a full twenty meters away.
Hathaway dropped onto it and looked around. "Nice environment. Just a bit too... Netherworld-y. Don't you think it needs some light?"
"This is Wellington territory," Victoria said indifferently. "I do not like light. I especially dislike restless Ludwig mana that feels as though it is about to undergo nuclear fusion at any moment."
She stood up, her soft-soled black shoes making no sound on the thick carpet. She crossed to the center of the hall and swiped a finger through the air.
Zzzzt—
A streak of ghostly blue electric arc traveled along the floor from her fingertip, instantly bisecting this massive common hall.
"The Dean's Office put you in here. The Dean's Office does not decide what happens inside." Victoria pointed at the line. "This is the border line of the [Room 302 Armistice Treaty]."
"The left side is the foyer and the guest room area; that is yours. The right side is the main living area and the mana node; that is mine."
Hathaway looked at the glowing boundary line and laughed. It came out wrong.
"Thirty-seventy split? On what grounds? And the best viewing terrace and the fireplace are on your side! I paid rent too!"
"On the grounds that I was here first." Victoria's tone was matter-of-fact, carrying the specific arrogance of someone who had never been told no by a person she considered real. "And on the grounds that I am thinking of your safety."
"Miss Ludwig, your very existence is a massive 'Light Pollution Source'. Isolating you outside my sensory comfort zone is to prevent me from accidentally strangling you in my sleep."
"Hah!" Hathaway acted like she heard a joke.
She stepped onto the arc, her boot sole popping.
"Miss Wellington, I think you need to get one thing straight." Hathaway crossed her arms, leaning forward slightly, adopting the posture of a victor. "I moved in as the 'Winner'."
"If you think I don't deserve the master bedroom, or if you think I'm too loud, you are welcome to challenge me to a duel again. I don't mind letting you experience the 'Call of Hell' one more time."
At the word "Hell," Victoria's face, which had not moved since the door opened, moved.
"...You still have the nerve to mention it." Victoria's voice turned cold, very quiet. "That phrase actually worked once."
She picked up her teacup without looking at Hathaway.
"You used it to throw chili powder. And you are proud of yourself."
"You flatter me." Hathaway showed no shame, even looking a bit proud. "In my hometown, there's an old saying: All is fair in war. Besides, I literally wished you to 'Go to Hell.' It was you who over-interpreted it. How is that my fault?"
The two stared at each other across the line.
One gaze was empty but radiated deep-sea-like mental pressure.
One gaze was deep but carried a rogue-like nonchalance.
For exactly one second, something shifted in Victoria's expression: the unfocused blue eyes going a fraction stiller, the way a calculation stills when it meets an unexpected variable. Then it was gone.
She sat back down. She was a civilized person, and school rules forbade killing the other party, so the barbarian would have to be restrained through Rules.
"Very well." Victoria regained her elegance. "Since you are unwilling to abide by the territorial division, let's talk about Code of Conduct."
She held up a finger clad in a black sheer glove:
"First, using any light spell brighter than 500 Lumens in common areas is prohibited. I know you Ludwigs have a sickness where you glow all over when excited. But in here, glowing equals a declaration of war."
Hathaway spread her hands: "I want to glow too, but I can't. Are you bli... cough, are you nearsighted? Can't you tell I'm a mutant?"
Victoria's unfocused eyes swept across her, slow, the way someone reads a line twice.
Whatever she found there, her face kept it. She adjusted her gloves. "Exceptions do not alter the rule. Do not glow."
"Second, creating noise exceeding 30 decibels is prohibited. If you dare practice your crude Evocation spells in the middle of the night, or make crunching sounds while eating chips..." She pointed to the massive crystal chandelier overhead. "...I will use sonic resonance to vibrate you into deafness."
"Third." Victoria's voice became extremely serious, carrying a warning that bordered on a threat. "Put away your messy alchemical dusts. If I smell even a hint of chili, pepper, or wasabi in this room again..."
Hathaway interrupted her: "Relax. Those are combat supplies. I cherish them usually; they're expensive after all."
"Good."
Victoria waved her hand, and the electric arc line on the floor vanished. Instead, she turned her chair around, putting her back to Hathaway, a clear gesture of dismissal.
"Your bedroom is on the second floor, left hand side. Though it cannot compare to the master suite, the space is enough for you to raise an elephant. Now, I am going to meditate. Get out of my sight."
Hathaway shrugged.
Chatting with a roommate she had just scammed held limited appeal anyway. She picked up her suitcase and headed for the second floor.
But as she climbed the stairs, she suddenly stopped and looked back at Victoria sitting in the dark hall.
The silver-haired girl sat there alone. Like an exquisite ghost, or a queen guarding the remnants of a bygone era's dream.
Hathaway remembered what Hecate said earlier.
"She applied for solo occupancy because she 'cannot tolerate the sound of others breathing'."
"Um..." Hathaway suddenly spoke up, perhaps feeling a microscopic shred of guilt for the chili powder incident.
Victoria's eyes stayed closed, her back stiff and turned.
"Although I am a liar." Hathaway leaned on the stair railing, trying to keep her tone casual. "I don't snore. And actually, I quite like the quiet too."
She waited for a response. A witty comeback, a threat, anything.
Victoria sat there like a statue carved from ice, and the silence she handed back was heavy, awkward, and colder than the air conditioning.
"Right. Good talk." Hathaway muttered to herself. The bridge between them was past burned. It was nuked.
She turned and carried her suitcase upstairs.
Click.
The second-floor door closed, sealing Hathaway into her own space.
Outside the door, the Gothic hall remained submerged in darkness, silent as a tomb.