Rhea could hardly believe the audacity.
The sheer idiocy of his question had frayed her last nerve, and there were lots of things she had little patience for.
Hopefully, he'd take the hint and make it his life's mission to never be in the same hallway as her again. She could spot trouble from a mile off, and whatever that ding-a-ling was, he wore it like a cologne; thick, suffocating, and impossible to ignore.
With a dismissive flick of her fingers, she brushed the entire encounter off and sauntered into the main hall with her luggages.
Her eyes traced the long banners that hung at even intervals along the corridor, emblazoned with the Academy's crest– a twisted, arcane symbol that hinted at some kind of ancient power and long-forgotten wisdom. Rhea stared at it for a bit too long, her eyes narrowing in quiet recognition. Where has she seen this symbol before?
Her attention was stolen when her phone beeped, and she pursed her lips, scrolling through the map as she tried to recall the route to the Registrar's office.
Around her, a few students drifted in small, well-manicured packs. Everything about them screamed curated perfection. Their uniform consisted of midnight blue blazers tailored to exact measurements, snow-white shirts and ties or scarves that shimmered softly with silver threading.
The girls walked by, some in tailored trousers while others wore knife-pleated skirts. The boys looked sharp-jawed and glossed like they'd been printed straight from a luxury catalogue. There wasn't a hair out of place, a wrinkle in sight, or a scent of insecurity at all.
Even their bags were sleek leather satchels, some embossed with luxury logos, others minimalist and chic, slung effortlessly over one shoulder like they hadn't cost more than someone's rent.
Rhea gave them all one sweeping glance. They looked like pretty little mannequins, and she wondered if good looks was also a requirement to get into this place, cause almost everyone looked fantastic.
Their eyes stared at her oddly, following her like flies to meat, but Rhea wasn't the type to flinch under such stares. Whether they stared or not, it held no importance to her. Her gait exuded a kind of eerie poise that made students unsure whether to stay and admire or step out of her way. It was clearly the latter, but apparently, one boy, not reading the room, gave a low whistle.
"Need help getting around, pretty damsel?" he asked as he leaned against a wall, nodding at her luggage with a crooked grin.
Rhea only smiled but didn't slow down. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'd rather drag it over broken glass," she said pleasantly, not even glancing back at the student as she veered confidently down the corridor.
It wasn't long before she found exactly what she was looking for. A glass paneled room marked as the PROCESSING ROOM came into view. It glowed in white letters, and Rhea knew she had found the exact office displayed on the map. She knocked once, and a composed female voice granted her entry.
Inside, the room was all clean lines and cool lighting. Bookshelves lined the corner of the wall, and at each side of the room were two big potted plants with blooming flowers. Behind the pristine desk in the middle, a dark-haired woman in a sharp charcoal suit remained seated, and she was currently tapping on her tablet with bureaucratic precision.
Everything about the space was super foreign to Rhea. This was her first encounter with anything resembling a school. She'd been homeschooled once, by her father when he still loved her. That was before she became their favorite little test subject back at Blackreach institute.
They hadn't performed any surgeries on her during that time. At first, they were fascinated by how quickly she absorbed any information they tossed her way– was it languages, numbers, anatomy? And at such a young age too. She learned without much extreme effort, and they praised her brilliance while quietly planning to carve it up for themselves.
Blackreach institute had been her classroom, and after each operation, while her body healed and her mind adjusted, they tested her again and again. The whole thing actually worked if she were to push the trauma aspect aside, almost too well. She learned everything they wanted her to know, and plenty they themselves hadn't counted on.
"Name?" The woman behind the table finally asked without looking up.
"Rhea Ashbourne," replied Rhea.
The woman's fingers danced across the screen, then she glanced up and nodded. "Your name has been recorded on the school's registrar, welcome to Novarion Academy. You can call me Miss Winnie, and I'm the mistress of this academy. I hope your journey here was pleasant?" She asked, her tone firm but not unkind. Rhea paused before simply nodding her head in response.
"Let's see…" Miss Winnie cleared her throat before pulling out a slim envelope from a neat stack and placing it on the table before Rhea, along with a matte black keycard. Her name shimmered in silver at the top of the envelope, and Rhea took it.
"You'll be staying in Dormitory Four, East Residential Wing. That's on the other side of the campus. You'll be rooming with Callista and Elira– both returning students."
Rhea observed the envelope before letting her gaze settle on the mistress. "Of course."
Realizing how cooperative Rhea was by listening to instructions, Miss Winnie continued. "Your digital class schedule will be synced to your student's portal. Today's sessions are already over, so you're free to settle in and prepare for orientation tomorrow. You're expected to be in uniform by then."
She picked up her phone from the side of the desk. "Hold on, I'll have someone assist you with your luggage."
Rhea murmured a 'thank you' and obediently waited for the call to be made. From Winnie's point of view, Rhea appeared bright-faced like how any other newcomer would behave; fresh, polite and eager. But something else lingered within her. It wasn't fear, neither was it excitement. Just something off that she couldn't quite put a name to yet.
She could only hope that this student doesn't end up becoming a new pawn to those devils the way the previous Ashbourne did.
After the call was made, only a few minutes passed by before a knock echoed through, and a man walked in. He was dressed in a different type of uniform, but didn't look like a security guard to her. After he made a brief exchange with Miss Winnie, he collected Rhea's luggage and politely led her out.
When they were gone, Miss Winnie exhaled slowly and relaxed against her seat, already beginning to believe she might actually be free of chaos for once. She even dared to entertain the idea of peace. But then, as if summoned by sheer irony, the door creaked open again. She didn't need to lift her gaze to be aware of her disrespectful intruder. The atmosphere shifted the very moment he walked in, charged like static before a lightning strike.
Of course. Kael Miller.
She let out a long, suffering sigh, shaking her head. Somehow, she truly believed she'd make it off the Academy's premises today without encountering the human embodiment of a plot twist. But here he was, strolling in like he owned the very air everyone breathed.
Miss Winnie didn't bother hiding her exasperation as she looked up from her desk, eyes narrowing at the uninvited guest who had already made himself very comfortable in the chair across from her— unapologetically lounging like he owned the place. Of course, it didn't help that he looked like he'd just stepped off the cover of a men's fashion magazine, all sculpted cheekbone and effortless charm.
"What business can I help you with today, Mr. Miller?" she asked crisply, clasping her hands together as if that would prevent her from chucking her pen at his annoyingly perfect face.
Mr. Miller tilted his head, feigning concern. "Why the long face?" he asked, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He looked far too pleased with himself, as if her irritation was the ending highlight of his day– which, unfortunately– it probably was.
His gaze slid to the tablet lying on the desk, and before Miss Winnie could so much as twitch her fingers to protect it, he had already snatched it up like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat.
"Mr. Miller!" she exclaimed, leaning forward in protest as he casually flicked through the student admission records like they were a takeaway menu. "Those are confidential files! You can't just barge into my office and disrespect—"
"Rhea Ashbourne," he interrupted, his tone suddenly dreamy as he spotted the passport size picture of the same student who had punched him in the face. Miss Winnie froze mid-scold as he leaned back in his chair, grinning like a man recalling the taste of forbidden fruit. "So that's her name."
He let out a low chuckle, one hand theatrically clutching his chest as if struck by Cupid himself. "I need a favor," he said with a wink, the very picture of a man on a mission— with absolutely no respect for boundaries.
Miss Winnie knew that look on his face, and she didn't have a good feeling about it either. She wondered what someone like him, who never paid attention to anyone in the institute before, could possibly want from the new student.
She just started for heaven's sake.