By the time Vivienne and Claire slipped into the lecture room, nearly every seat had already been occupied.
Rows of students were already seated in quiet conversation, while a woman stood behind the lectern at the front of the room, calmly arranging several folders into neat stacks.
Vivienne slowed to a stop.
"...We’re late."
"Only by a minute," Claire whispered.
As if hearing them, the woman looked up.
Instead of annoyance, a gentle smile crossed her face.
"Good morning."
"You two must be Miss Beaumont and Miss Whitmore."
Vivienne blinked.
"...Yes, Professor."
The woman inclined her head.
"You’ve arrived just in time."
"Please, find your seats."
"We’re about to begin."
A few curious eyes followed them as they quietly made their way down the aisle.
Vivienne offered the professor a small apologetic smile before slipping into one of the empty seats beside Claire near the middle of the lecture hall.
The chair had barely stopped creaking when the professor closed the last folder before her.
The room gradually fell silent.
She surveyed the class with calm, practiced eyes before speaking.
"Good morning, everyone."
"My name is Professor Eleanor Ashcombe."
"For this academic year, I’ll be serving as your Freshman Adviser."
"It is my pleasure to welcome all of you to St. Albion University."
She paused, allowing her gaze to travel across the room.
"I believe congratulations are in order."
"You’ve successfully passed one of the most competitive admissions processes on the continent."
Several students smiled proudly.
Professor Ashcombe smiled as well.
"The admissions committee has already completed the difficult part."
She folded her hands together.
"Your responsibility now..."
"...is to remain students until graduation."
Soft laughter spread throughout the lecture hall.
"I’m pleased to hear that some of you find that amusing."
Her smile remained.
"You’ll find it considerably more amusing if your grades remain above the university’s retention requirements."
The laughter immediately quieted.
Professor Ashcombe gave a small nod.
"Yes."
"That usually gets everyone’s attention."
Even Vivienne smiled.
...Noted.
Study...
Or be politely escorted out of the continent’s finest university.
Professor Ashcombe turned toward the board and picked up a piece of chalk.
With neat, elegant handwriting, she wrote two words.
Foundation Year
"As many of you already know from your admission packets, every student admitted to St. Albion begins with the Foundation Year."
"No exceptions."
"It matters little whether your family governs a duchy, commands an army, operates an international trading company, or tills the land."
"For one year..."
"You are all simply Foundation students."
Vivienne found herself sitting a little straighter.
So that’s how it works.
It suddenly made sense why the novel had never mentioned Evelyn’s college during its first season.
Everyone had started here.
Professor Ashcombe continued.
"Our founders believed that before one could become an exceptional lawyer, physician, merchant, diplomat, engineer, or statesman..."
"One must first learn how to think."
She wrote another list beneath the heading.
Kingdom History.
Political Thought.
Economics.
Foundations of Law.
Natural Sciences.
Mathematics.
Literature.
Foreign Languages.
Vivienne stared at the board.
...
Right.
There were subjects.
She had been so excited about transmigrating into her favorite novel...
So excited about finally meeting Anthony Ashford...
That she’d somehow forgotten one very important detail.
She was, in fact...
A university student.
Again.
Who actually had to study.
...Oh no.
Another realization quietly followed.
I graduated from university about seven years ago.
I’ve forgotten almost everything.
Her eyes slowly drifted back toward the board.
Eight subjects.
Not counting examinations.
Not counting essays.
Not counting whatever impossible standards St. Albion expected from its students.
...Forget winning Anthony.
Surviving St. Albion might actually be the harder challenge.
As though sensing the collective anxiety settling over the lecture hall, Professor Ashcombe looked up from the board with the faintest hint of amusement.
"Every year," she said, "our newest students celebrate receiving their letters of admission."
She paused.
"By midterms..."
Another deliberate pause.
"They’re usually celebrating survival instead."
The lecture hall erupted into laughter.
Even Vivienne laughed.
...I suddenly understand why.
Professor Ashcombe waited for the laughter to settle before continuing.
"The Foundation Year is designed to give every student, regardless of background, the same academic footing before specialization."
"At the conclusion of this year, each of you will apply to one of St. Albion’s colleges."
She wrote another heading across the board.
Colleges
Beneath it, one by one, she listed the university’s academic divisions.
College of Governance.
College of Law.
College of Commerce.
College of Medicine.
College of Engineering.
College of Humanities.
College of Natural Sciences.
"The college you enter will largely determine the direction of your professional life."
She set the chalk down.
"And your eligibility..."
"...will depend primarily upon your academic performance during this Foundation Year."
A quiet murmur spread throughout the room.
No one seemed surprised.
Only thoughtful.
Everyone already knew the rules.
Hearing them spoken aloud simply made the reality feel much closer.