'I remember reading a thread once, "Why transmigration would actually suck in real life," I got into a long argument with the OP, called him an idiot, told him he was overthinking it…'
Soren exhaled quietly, the breath slipping out through his nose as he stared at the corridor ahead, uniform collar itching against his throat in a way that made him want to tug at it, even though he knew that would only draw attention.
'Yeah… I owe that guy an apology.'
It was a stupid thought to have while walking to class, and yet it wouldn't leave him alone, circling the same point with the stubbornness of a tongue worrying at a sore tooth, because if he had to boil it down to one word, it was school.
Waking before sunrise, forcing his limbs into motion while the rest of the world still felt half-asleep, wrestling stiff fabric into place, then sitting through lectures until his brain softened into mush, all while pretending he belonged in a world that ran on etiquette and ranks.
To put it simply, it was hell.
Back on Earth, Isaac had been a college student, or at least he had been enrolled as one, and that alone had come with a kind of lazy freedom: sleeping late when he could get away with it, skipping lectures when he didn't have the energy, showing up only when he had to, and never, ever having to wear anything resembling a uniform again.
Here, there was no such luxury, and the academy didn't care whether you were tired, confused, or still trying to convince yourself you weren't hallucinating.
It only cared that you turned up on time and sat down where you were told.
He had to admit, for all the fantasies he had read, none of them ever lingered on how exhausting it was to live like a student again, not when your body wasn't used to it, not when your mind was already frayed at the edges and every little demand felt like someone pressing a thumb into an old bruise.
And to make it worse, teenagers were worse here.
In his old world, high school had been bad enough, but this place was built on hierarchy, not the petty kind where popularity decided who got to speak, but a rigid, absolute system of status with laws and titles backing it up, a world where "noble" and "commoner" weren't vague labels, they were the bones of society.
Nobles above commoners.
Dukes above counts.
Counts above viscounts.
The entire social pyramid was a nightmare, and as expected of a fantasy setting, arrogance came free with every title, neatly packaged as "proper pride," and anyone without a title was expected to accept it.
So, naturally, everyone looked down on someone.
And right now, everyone was looking down on him.
'Actually… scratch that, they're not even looking.'
He swallowed a sigh that threatened to escape, because the distinction mattered more than it should have.
It wasn't contempt delivered openly; it was something colder, a refusal to even acknowledge he existed.
It had only been an hour since he had woken up, and he was already exhausted, not from the classes yet, but from the constant low-level tension of moving through a place where he didn't know the rules of his own reputation, where every glance felt like it could mean something and he couldn't afford to be wrong.
Soren's lips twitched when another student's eyes caught his for a split second, then immediately turned away, the movement quick and practised, as if looking at him for too long might be contagious.
Every time he passed someone in the corridor, they either averted their gaze or quietly shifted aside, giving him space the way people gave space to a mess they didn't want on their shoes.
Some students whispered under their breath, not loudly enough to be confronted, but loudly enough to ensure he knew they were doing it.
At first, he had been confused, and in a moment of embarrassing optimism for him, he had even wondered if his absurd Charm stat meant people were shy around him, the kind of ridiculous web-novel advantage that made strangers blush and stumble over words.
That fantasy had died fast.
They weren't shy; they were avoiding him.
'Seriously, though, what did you do, Soren?'
No one spoke to him.
No one even tried.
The cold avoidance was almost eerie, like a silent agreement shared by people who had known each other longer than he had been awake in this body, and it pulled at something in his chest in an uncomfortable way, because there was a familiar shape to it, the way a crowd could decide you were "other" without needing a reason you were allowed to understand.
His thoughts tried to slide somewhere darker, a reflexive warning that had nothing to do with Stellaris Academy and everything to do with old instincts.
The memory of hallways where laughter didn't mean happiness, where the wrong kind of attention could ruin your day, your week, your life.
He shoved it down before it could find a name.
It hurt a little, if he was honest, but only a little, and mostly because he didn't like not knowing.
He didn't like being blind to a piece of information that clearly mattered.
After a few minutes of chewing it over, he decided it might even be for the best.
Sure, it was lonely, but if someone suddenly treated him like an old friend when he didn't even have Soren's memories, that would have been worse, because then he would have to pretend, to mirror them, to fake familiarity he couldn't feel, and he had already spent too much of his life pretending things were fine when they weren't.
Still, it would have been nice to at least know why they were acting like he had kicked their pets.
By the time he reached the classroom, the tension had settled into his shoulders like a weight, and he took his seat with as little fuss as possible, sliding into place near the back, where he could watch without being watched too much.
The room filled slowly, low chatter rising and falling, then quieting the way it always did when people remembered there was supposed to be an atmosphere of "proper learning."
A few students glanced at him, then looked away, the same pattern repeating as predictably as clockwork.
Soren sighed softly and leaned forward over his desk, resting his head on his arms, because if he kept scanning faces for answers he didn't have, he was going to grind his teeth down to nothing.
"Whatever…" he murmured.
With nothing better to do, he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep until the professor arrived, letting the noise blur into something distant, letting his body go slack enough to fool anyone watching into thinking he didn't care.
In truth, he cared too much; he always had, and that was the problem.
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
SLAM!
The classroom door burst open, hard enough that several students startled in their seats, and Soren's head lifted on reflex, sleep-pretence evaporating instantly.
An unfamiliar woman strode in with quick, purposeful steps, and for a moment, his tired brain failed to process what he was looking at, because it felt like the world had switched to a different art style without warning.
Short pink hair, neatly cut to her chin.
Vibrant lime-green eyes, bright and clear in a way that made the dim morning light seem dull by comparison.
Small, rounded bear ears twitched atop her head, fitting her so perfectly that the absurdity came a heartbeat late.
If "adorable" had a physical form, this was it.
'Holy crap… she's real.'
He had seen that face hundreds of times, in fan art, in forum posts, on character wikis where people debated her best builds and wrote essays about whether her quests were "underrated," and now she was standing three metres away from him, holding a stack of papers as if she belonged there.
At any other time, it would've been comforting, a familiar landmark in a place that kept shifting beneath his feet, but right now she was also a person he wasn't thrilled to meet, and the conflict made his stomach tighten.
He muttered a word under his breath, quiet enough that no one would notice.
"「Information」"
.
[Lilliana Roseblood]
Age: 22
Gender: Female
Race: Dhampir (Beastkin)
.
The familiar translucent window popped up in front of his eyes, crisp and matter-of-fact, confirming what he already knew and yet somehow making it heavier.
'I should've guessed as much…'
When he had read his own status, he quickly noticed what was missing.
There was no affinity bar.
No neat relationship meter.
No convenient numbers to tell him who liked him, who hated him, who was about to stab him in the back.
That absence had been easy to ignore while he was staring at his miserable stats, but now, with Lilliana right in front of him, it mattered, because in the game she was a known quantity, a character with routes and triggers and flags.
Here, she was a person, and he didn't get to see the invisible lines.
He swallowed a sigh and closed the window.
Lilliana Roseblood, a first-year professor, half-dhampir and half-bear beastkin, with overwhelming magical talent and a childlike stature that made it impossible to take her seriously at first glance, which was exactly why people underestimated her in the forums until they saw her fighting and shut up.
She had graduated only the previous year, young enough that calling her "professor" still felt weird, yet talented enough to earn the position immediately, and in the fandom, she was basically a mascot: cute, hardworking, flustered easily, and a gold mine for fan artists.
The reason she taught Class F, despite her knowledge, was simple: her first year of teaching had been treated like a test, a trial run in the academy's harshest environment, because Stellaris Academy wasn't sentimental; it was pragmatic.
Class F served as a safety net for newly enrolled students, the ones who had just barely failed to reach Class E, the ones who hadn't had time to grow yet, the ones who might become something if someone gave them a year with resources and didn't write them off too early.
Stellaris had created Class F to discover those hidden sprouts, and it was also why that safety net disappeared by the second year, because by then, the academy expected you to have proven whether you were worth the resources.
The thirty-five students in this classroom, including Soren himself, would be whittled down by the start of their second year, then merged into Class E, and how many would remain was information only the professors would know after the year ended, because there was no firm cut-off point, only attrition.
If Lilliana could grow any of these sprouts, it would prove her ability as a professor.
And in fact, in the game, she did, spectacularly, which meant by next year she would be teaching Class B of the second-years.
However, to Soren right now, she was a problem.
That was because her presence meant one thing, and it wasn't "cute professor spotted," it was the far uglier conclusion he had been trying not to make since waking.
He was in the same year as the protagonist.
His chances of living a peaceful, trouble-free life had just plummeted.
Lilliana set her papers down on the desk with a blank expression, completely ignoring Soren's inner turmoil, then looked out at the class like she was counting faces.
"Good morning, everyone. I'll be taking attendance now, so please respond when I call your name."
Her voice was gentle, but it carried professionalism beneath it, the kind of tone that said she took her job seriously, even if she looked like she should be the one sitting behind a student desk with her feet not quite touching the floor.
Soren leaned back in his chair and watched her begin the roll call, listening to names he didn't recognise yet, responding "here" and "present" in a chorus that sounded too normal for a world that contained demons.
'Well… at least she's exactly like I remember.'
The thought gave him the smallest bit of comfort, because consistency meant he could plan, and planning meant he could avoid becoming important.
If he could avoid becoming important, maybe he could avoid repeating the kind of tragedy that happened when the wrong people got dragged into the spotlight.
He kept that thought to himself, and kept his eyes down when his own name was called.
"Soren Arden."
"Here," he answered, and the word came out a little hoarser than he meant it to.
Lilliana's eyes flicked to him for half a second, then moved on without comment, and the lack of reaction was, strangely, a relief.
————「❤︎」————