I stand up and look away until the door is fully open.
Whoever it is, they get the full experience.
I slowly turn toward the sound with a smile.
Not a friendly smile.
The smile.
The one that apparently reads as:
"I know where you sleep."
This seems to work in a menacing way on the locals, so hey—maybe I'll scare them.
Will I be made fun of for this?
Possibly.
Will I be spoken about in stories?
Ha.
I'd be a legend.
But what can I do?
My survival instincts are pushing me to make use of the only thing I know is genuinely threatening to whatever lives in this Academy:
My face.
The door finishes creaking open.
I complete the turn.
Full, slow, deliberate.
Smile at maximum unsettling.
There, framed in the doorway—
is Nurse Sanguina.
Her crimson eyes widen just slightly.
Her lips part.
Silence.
The system chimes in, judgy as ever:
⸻
[NOTICE: Host Has Deployed "Menacing Smile."]
[Local Reaction: …Processing.]
⸻
Nurse Sanguina presses a hand to her chest.
"Oh," she says, sounding delighted. "You are adjusting."
…That is not the reaction I planned for.
My smile falters.
She glances past me into the closet.
Sees the slimes.
All of them squished up near the rune line.
All of them staring at me like I hung the moon and also their emotional support blanket.
Her grin sharpens.
"My, my," she purrs. "Already collecting dependents? You work fast, little anomaly."
I cough. "They're not— I didn't— this is not— childcare."
The cross-eyed slime boops the barrier right where my hand is.
Right on cue.
Sanguina's eyes gleam.
"Oh? They seem… imprinted."
I look away.
Totally casual.
Totally not emotionally compromised by jelly.
"I was just checking on them," I say. "Making sure they weren't… exploding. Or crying. Or unionizing."
The system betrays me immediately:
⸻
[Clarification: Host Voluntarily Established Emotional Anchor.]
[Secondary Note: Host Used The Term "Papa" Earlier.]
⸻
I stare at the text.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
"Nobody asked you."
Nurse Sanguina hums, amused.
She steps closer, heels clicking softly, peering at the runes, at the slimes, at me.
"You know," she says, voice light but eyes sharp, "most new students avoid emotional entities. You, on the other hand, domesticate them."
"I didn't mean to," I mutter.
"Intent," she says, "is irrelevant to consequences."
Cool.
Love that.
She straightens, eyes flicking up and down, taking in my alive-ness, intact limbs, and distinct lack of reaper escort.
"Mira will be relieved," she says. "You haven't been devoured or ripped across realms in the last hour."
"Only internally," I say.
Her mouth curls.
"Good. It builds character."
She steps fully inside, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
For some reason, that makes the room feel smaller.
"I came to escort you," she says. "Professor Umbra is… mildly concerned you will get lost between here and your next class and somehow create a new category of disaster."
"That's… fair," I admit.
The system flashes:
⸻
[New Objective: REACH NEXT CLASS]
[Sub-Condition: Do Not Acquire More Children On The Way.]
⸻
"Rude," I whisper.
She tilts her head toward the door.
"Come along now, and I'll get you to your classroom in one piece…"
Her eyes gleam.
"…or, if you really want to be thorough, we could visit the Medical Wing first for a few… tests. Bloodwork. Aura readings. Maybe see how far that system reacts when we poke at it."
The system screams in my vision:
⸻
[ALERT: VAMPIRE-CLASS ENTITY SUGGESTING "TESTS"]
[Recommended Action: DECLINE. POLITELY. QUICKLY.]
⸻
"I won't force you," she says sweetly. "For now. Choose, little human."
The moment hangs.
I shake my head very gently, keeping my best monk-who-has-absolutely-given-up-on-life smile on my face.
"No, thank you," I say. "Please take me to my next class. I just finished Hauntology 101. It was great. A ghost almost tethered onto me…"
I keep talking.
Not because she asked.
Because if I shut up for more than three seconds, she might remember the words "few tests, bloodwork, aura readings" and drag me back to her happy little torture lab.
"So, uh," I continue as we walk, "Hauntology 101. Super educational. Learned about anchors. One of the ghosts tried to see if I'd make a 'good long-term emotional investment.'"
I give a brittle laugh. "I said I was a bad stock."
Nurse Sanguina glides beside me, hands folded behind her back, listening with that sharp little smile.
"Mmm," she hums. "You must have made quite the impression. Ghosts don't usually try to tether to something so… flammable."
"Comforting," I say. "Really love the implication that I'm kindling."
The corridor shifts around us as we walk—lanterns drifting overhead, the floor subtly tilting like the building itself is breathing. Students part around Sanguina's presence without her needing to say anything.
I stay half a step to her side like a very nervous, very edible duckling.
Because NO WAY am I going to the Medical Wing for "tests" with her.
I've seen that sparkle in her eyes.
That is not a "let's check your blood pressure" sparkle.
That is a "how many pints before he passes out" sparkle.
The system, of course, chimes in:
⸻
[NOTICE: You Have Successfully Avoided 'Optional Medical Study.']
[Survival Probability: Slightly Improved.]
⸻
"Mark this day on the calendar," I mutter.
"What was that, Luka?" Sanguina asks, all honey and knives.
"Nothing. Just… grateful to be escorted safely. By a professional. Who definitely respects ethical standards."
She laughs. Soft. Dangerous.
"Oh, little human," she says. "Ethics are… flexible in a tri-realm academy."
Yeah. I hate that sentence.
We turn a corner.
The air changes—warmer, thicker, with a hint of fur, soil, and something that smells suspiciously like wet dog and ozone.
A tall door looms ahead—grown from living wood, thick with twisting roots and vines that move like they're dreaming.
A metal plaque is embedded in the grain:
SPIRIT BIOLOGY 101 — INTRODUCTORY COHORT
The air smells different here.
Warm fur. Wet earth. Ozone. Breath.
– a low growl
– someone chittering
– something huge exhale
– and a teacher's voice saying, "No, you may not eat your lab partner."
Sanguina glances at the sign, then at me.
"Here we are," she says. "Try not to get eaten."
"Very comforting," I reply. "Really steadying my nerves."
She smiles, fangs just barely peeking. "If you do get eaten, make sure your attacker leaves a recognizable portion. It makes paperwork simpler."
"Wow," I say. "That's… inspirational."
She tilts her head, studying me a moment longer—checking that I'm still warm, breathing, and vaguely functional.
"For now," she murmurs, "you're still intact. Let's see if Spirit Biology can keep it that way."
Then she steps back.
Just like that, I'm alone in front of the door.
The system pings.
⸻
[NEW CLASS UNLOCKED: SPIRIT BIOLOGY 101 — INTRO]
Objective: Attend Without Being Mauled, Sniffed Too Intimately, Claimed As Pack, Or Used For Demos.
Reward: EXP, Beast-Spirit Affinity, Possible Trauma.
Penalty: Same, But With Bite Marks.
⸻
"Love the optimism," I mutter.
I reach for the handle.
Before I touch it, the wood… shivers.
Vines curl away like they're sniffing me.
A single root lifts from the floor, taps my shoe like it's poking at a suspicious bug.
"Hi," I tell the door. "I'm enrolled. For now?"
It creaks—not like an old hinge.
More like a tree sighing.
The roots retreat.
The door parts down the middle with a low, organic groan, opening just wide enough to let me in.
Great.
Even the door is judging me.
I step through.
The room inside is laid out in wide, tiered semicircles—almost like a lecture hall meets a den.
Seats aren't rows of desks.
They're platforms, cushions, rock slabs, nest-like hollows.
Because of course they are.
Because half the "students" aren't strictly bipedal.
Fur. Scales. Horns. Tails. Claws.
Beast spirits of every kind fill the room—wolves, foxes, avian spirits, something that might be a lion if lions were made of smoke and embers.
Conversations rumble. Growls. Chirps. Snorts.
Then I walk in.
Silence hits the room like a spell.
Dozens of eyes swivel toward me.
Some slit-pupiled.
Some glowing.
Some too many.
I freeze.
The system chimes in way too cheerfully:
⸻
[NOTICE: You Are The Only Fully Mortal, Non-Spirit Organism Present.]
[Status: Rare Snack.]
⸻
"Hey, that's great!" I think. "I'm the limited edition special."
I scan the room.
Up on the left tier, I spot familiar ash-gray ears and an even more familiar tail.
Fenn.
She's half-sprawled on a cushion, one leg bouncing, tail tapping the floor.
Her nose twitches.
She sniffs once.
Twice.
Her head whips toward me.
Our eyes meet.
Her ears shoot up.
"Luka!" she blurts, way too loud.
Every beast spirit looks between her and me now.
Great job, Wolf-girl! Announce me more so I can get eaten faster!
"Ha… hey," I say, lifting a hand in a weak little wave.
A couple of wolf-spirits near her sniff the air too, brows furrowing like they smell something interesting.
I know.
I smell like "emotional support human" again.
I make for the nearest empty space that seems least likely to result in me being tackled.
The front of the room is marked by a broad, bark-textured platform and a huge whiteboard carved into the stone.
A tall figure stands there, arms folded.
He looks like someone crossbred a gym coach with a forest.
Massive shoulders.
Mossy hair.
Eyes like amber glass.
He's wearing the Academy instructor coat over what looks suspiciously like a sleeveless shirt, because of course he is.
He lifts his head as I approach, nostrils flaring.
The room stays quiet.
I feel like a mouse delivering a presentation to hungry cats.
I pick a spot on the edge of a tier near the back, and start to sit down—
"Human."
His voice is deep. Rough.
Not yelling.
But it fills the room without effort.
I stop mid-sit.
Slowly turn my head.
"Yes?" I say, already regretting being born.
He studies me.
Not like I'm a threat.
Like I'm a puzzle, or a lab sample.
"You are Luka Vale," he says. Not a question.
"Unfortunately," I reply.
A couple of beasts huff-laugh.
The instructor's mouth twitches like he almost approves.
"Spirit Biology," he says, "is about understanding instincts. Flesh. Aura. Pack, prey, predator." His eyes narrow. "You are none of those things. You are… out of place."
I nod. "As is everywhere else in the academy, am I right?" I let out a chuckle at first, then it died moments later… noticing the eerie silence.
A ripple moves through the room—some amused, some irritated, some curious.
From the corner of my eye, I see Fenn watching intensely, ears forward, tail still.
The instructor finally jerks his chin toward an open seat just in front of Fenn.
"Sit," he says. "Do not faint. Do not run. And if anyone tries to mark you…"
His gaze sweeps the room like a warning.
Several beasts look away.
He turns back to the board.
"…you will report it after class."
The system flares in front of me:
⸻
[Mini-Quest: SURVIVE SPIRIT BIOLOGY 101 — PERIOD 1]
Conditions:
• Do Not Run.
• Do Not Pass Out.
• Do Not Accidentally Join A Pack.
Reward: +1 Haunt Point, Beast-Spirit Insight (Minor)
⸻
I swallow.
I sit.
I could feel Fenn's tail thumping.
A wolf-spirit two rows down leans in to whisper, eyeing me like I'm an unguarded steak.
The instructor picks up a chunk of chalk that looks like bone and writes on the stone board.
"Lesson one," he says. "The difference between prey that knows it is prey…"
His eyes flick pointedly to me.
"…and prey that pretends it is not."
The class turns their attention forward.
I feel every gaze that still lingers on my back.
The first diagram begins.
Survival instinct kicks in. I'm at the back, but not the very back.
Perfect. I've basically put myself in the center of the snack aisle. Sheep in a wolf den. Literally.
The only good thing is that Fenn is behind me. That is better than leaving it empty, for who knows when they decide to suddenly stalk me from behind.
What can I do in a situation? Let's pretend.
I am a puppy.
That's right! Let's become one.
I say it in my head again and again like a broken mantra.
Puppies don't move.
Puppies don't cause trouble.
Puppies survive.
I sit perfectly still and pretend I'm not here.
Like a rabbit hiding from its hunter.
Or a deer in headlights.
That one deer that just goes: If I don't move, the truck is a suggestion.
Very survival-oriented.
I am bad at this, aren't I?
I do my best to stay perfectly still.
Maybe if I don't breathe, no one will know.
A tail smacks the back of my head.
Not hard.
Just enough to remind me this is my life now.
I don't turn around.
I don't react.
Fenn's whisper slides in from behind me.
"Luka," she mutters, half-annoyed, half-amused, "you're tense. You smell like exam fear."
That is everything I do not want.
The instructor continues talking at the front, voice low and smooth.
"Spirit biology is not merely anatomy," he says. "It is instinct. Pack. Territory. Prey and predator. Everything here has a place."
Chalk scrapes bone-dry across the board as he draws a simple shape.
Circle.
Two groups.
PREY.
PREDATOR.
He underlines prey.
"The first kind of prey is loud, twitchy, obvious. It runs. It shakes. It announces to the world: eat me, I am soft and full of terrible decisions."
Some spirits chuckle.
I do not move.
"The second kind," he says, tapping the board, "pretends it is not prey. It freezes. Hides. Tries to disappear."
His voice dips.
"That kind," he says, "gets noticed first by the clever ones."
You could not pay me to breathe right now.
The system finally decides to help.
⸻
[NOTICE: You Have Entered 'Statue Mode.']
[Effect: Movement –80% / Suspiciousness +40%]
[Advice: Subtle Motion May Reduce Predator Curiosity.]
⸻
Too late.
The instructor sets down the chalk and turns.
His eyes sweep the room slowly.
Spirit beasts straighten.
Tails flick.
Ears perk.
Scales glint.
One guy with horns cracks his knuckles like this is the prelude to recreational violence.
Then the instructor's gaze lands on me.
Of course it does.
He squints.
The silence thickens.
"Human."
That's me.
My soul flinches.
He tilts his head, studying me like a specimen in a box.
"…You see, class?" he says calmly. "Exhibit B. The prey that pretends it is not."
Soft laughter ripples through the room.
Someone snorts.
A fox-spirit a few rows ahead murmurs, "He's doing the freeze thing."
A lizard yokai hisses quietly, "Classic."
Fenn growls behind me under her breath. Just a little.
My ears are burning.
The instructor's lips curl, not unkindly. More… interested.
"Stand," he says. "Let the class see you properly."
My knees send a formal complaint to HR.
But I stand.
Slow.
Stiff.
Like a man getting up for his own execution.
All eyes lock onto me.
I can feel their senses stretching—scent, aura, spiritual perception—like hands prodding at my skin.
The system chimes helpfully:
⸻
[ALERT: You Are Being Evaluated As 'Food / Curiosity / Exception.']
[Current Category: Undecided.]
⸻
"Relax your shoulders," the instructor says, still watching me. "You're making it worse."
"How," I say before I can stop myself, "can I possibly make this better?"
A few spirits laugh for real at that.
The instructor's mouth twitches.
"By not lying to your body," he says. "You are afraid. You should be. You are surrounded by beings whose instincts are older than your species' understanding of fire. But you pretend to be stone. Stone does not bleed. You do."
That's…
Yeah, that's fair.
He turns to the class.
"Lesson one," he repeats, gesturing at me. "Do not mistake stillness for safety. Some predators chase motion. Others seek the quietest thing in the room."
WELL THAT DOESN'T LEAVE ME WITH ANY OPTIONS NOW DOES IT? I thought to myself.
If I say it outloud, he might come up with a new category: chase after the loud ones.
He glances back at me. "Sit."
I sit.
Too fast.
The class snickers.
Fenn's tail brushes my chair leg. Subtle. Grounding.
The instructor picks up his chalk again.
"Now," he says, writing across the board, "we begin practical categorization. Your first exercise: identify your lab partner's instinct class and discuss how that shapes their spiritual biology."
Groans.
Muttered comments.
A few excited noises.
He continues:
"Choose a partner. Mammals with mammals. Spirits with similar core. Try not to bite each other yet."
Chairs scrape.
Desks shift.
Voices rise.
Fenn's hand appears on my desk before I can move.
She leans in from behind, amber eyes bright, ears perked, tail wagging once.
"Mine," she declares.
Half the row goes quiet.
Someone coughs.
A cat-spirit mutters, "Of course the wolf called dibs…"
The instructor glances up, sees us, and raises an eyebrow—but says nothing.
The system slides in like a smug pop-up:
⸻
[PAIRING ESTABLISHED: FENRISELLE (WOLF-SPIRIT)]
[Instinct Type: PACK / GUARDIAN / FOOD-AGGRESSIVE]
[New Micro-Quest: Survive Being Her Partner For One Class.]
Reward: +EXP In 'Human Instinct'
Penalty: Possible Chew Marks
⸻
I slowly turn to look at Fenn.
"…You didn't even let me—"
"You sat in front of me," she says simply. "That's consent."
"That is not how that works."
"Too late." She grins. "We're partners."
A heavy shadow leans over us.
I glance up.
The instructor is suddenly at our row, silent as regret.
He studies Fenn.
Then me.
"Interesting pairing," he says.
My stomach drops.
"Human," he continues, "stand again."
I do.
Of course I do.
"I want a volunteer from the class," he says, gaze drifting away from me to the rest of the room. "Someone with high predatory instinct. You will approach him. Calmly. Slowly. Let us observe."
Multiple hands shoot up.
Some tails.
A few glowing eyes.
"Wait—no, I don't agree to this." I whisper.
The instructor ignores me.
He looks to one side of the room.
"You," he says. "Glaciem."
A tall ice spirit with pale hair and sharp blue eyes stands up, smirking.
Arc.
I remember the name from somewhere in the buzz.
Competitive.
Handsome.
Absolutely reeks of problem.
He strolls down the aisle like this is a fashion show.
Fenn bristles behind me.
"Oh good," I mutter. "He looks sane."
The system gives me a shove in the back of my brain:
⸻
[CRITICAL MOMENT: PREDATOR APPROACH SIMULATION]
Options Detected:
• Freeze Completely
• Try To Act 'Cool'
• Use Human Instinct Skill (If Any Triggers)
• Hide Behind Fenn (Will Work. Temporarily.)
⸻
Arc stops a few paces in front of me.
His aura is cold.
Not Mira's death-cold.
More like winter—sharp, clean, indifferent.
He looks me up and down, unimpressed.
"So this is the human," he says.
Everyone is watching.
I feel Fenn's presence behind my shoulder, tense and ready to bite something if needed.
Arc tilts his head.
"Well?" the instructor says, voice mild. "Prey, what will you do when approached?"
Wonderful.
Love that I'm now a practical demonstration.
Arc's lips curl faintly, like he expects me to run, or flinch, or break. He settles lower, as if stalking prey.
My heart is a drumline in my ears.
Arc raises an eyebrow, aura pressing down just a bit more.
"Well, human?" he says softly. "Are you going to run?"
Am I scared?
Yeah. At least, I was.
Heart pounding, palms sweaty, brain writing its own obituary.
But for some reason… I'm more pissed than anything now.
Because in front of me stands this perfect specimen:
muscles neatly chiseled,
hair effortlessly styled,
face like he walked out of a limited-edition gacha banner.
He looks like the role model everyone else is supposed to benchmark themselves against.
And somehow, that stupid jealousy just… steps on my anxiety.
Something must have triggered in the system, right?
⸻
[EMOTIONAL STATE SHIFT DETECTED]
[Fear → Irritation / Inferiority Complex]
[Checking For Human Instinct Trigger…]
[Result: …Probably Fine. Proceed.]
⸻
I let out a long, depressed sigh.
"I thought you were gonna send someone scary," I say.
Arc's smile flickers.
The class goes quiet.
I look up at him, then deliberately glance aside like I'm searching the room.
Slow. Disappointed.
"Not some dress-up princeling."
You could hear a pin drop.
Or a neck snap.
Whichever comes first.
Someone in the back chokes.
A fox-spirit wheezes.
Fenn's tail slams once against the floor behind me.
Arc's smile dies completely.
His aura—cold and clean like a glacier—drops a few extra degrees.
The system panics.
⸻
[NOTICE: Host Has Selected 'Insult The Predator' Option]
[Recalculating Life Expectancy…]
[New Estimate: …Brave.]
⸻
Arc takes a step closer.
Ice crackles faintly along the floor around his shoes, webbing outward.
"Oh?" he says softly. "Princeling?"
His voice is calm.
That's worse.
Much worse.
My survival instinct taps my shoulder and whispers:
Run.
My pride slaps its hand away.
"I mean," I say, because apparently I don't value my life, "with how they were talking, I expected fangs. Claws. Something terrifying."
I raise an eyebrow at him.
"Instead I got… stage lighting and good cheekbones."
Someone actually cackles.
The instructor's mouth twitches.
Fenn is frozen behind me—caught between this is hot and he's going to die.
Arc's eyes narrow.
"I see," he says. "You're one of those."
"One of what?" I ask.
"Prey that thinks talking makes it less edible," he says.
I open my mouth—
The system elbows itself in:
⸻
[Skill Trigger: HUMAN INSTINCT — ACCIDENTAL INTIMIDATION (Minor)]
Effect: Lower-tier or easily unsettled spirits hesitate.
Side Effect: You Have No Idea You're Doing It.
⸻
There's a ripple.
Not big.
Not dramatic.
But a few of the weaker spirits in the room flinch when I look at Arc again.
Like they briefly see something else behind me.
I don't feel it.
I just feel annoyed.
"That's rich," I say. "Coming from a guy who looks like he spends twenty minutes posing before summoning ice."
The class loses it.
Laughter breaks out in full, rippling through the rows.
Arc's jaw tightens.
Frost blooms across his knuckles.
The instructor doesn't stop it immediately.
He's watching.
Studying.
"This," he says mildly to the class, chalk ticking against the board behind us, "is another example of prey response: counter-aggression."
He nods toward me.
"Deflection. Provocation. Attempting to shake the predator out of their rhythm by insulting their presentation."
"And does this work?" he adds.
Arc's aura spikes.
"No," he says.
Fantastic.
I'm dead.
A cold wind brushes past my face as Arc steps even closer, now right there in my space.
He's taller. Stronger. Stronger aura. Stronger everything.
You know.
Except common sense.
His voice drops low, meant for just me:
"Say that again, human."
My body wants to fold.
My legs want to sit.
My brain wants to hit log out.
Instead—
I hear myself exhale softly.
"I'm not repeating myself," I say. "You heard me the first time. Unless the ice spirit has a hearing problem?"
Fenn's breath catches behind me.
There's a sharp sound—like something cracking—then a thin line of frost splits across the stone at my feet.
Not touching.
Just… threatening.
The class goes quiet.
The instructor finally lifts his hand.
"That's enough," he says mildly. "Glaciem."
Arc doesn't take his eyes off me.
"But sir—"
"Stand down," the instructor says. "You've demonstrated predator pressure. He has demonstrated… poor survival instinct. The lesson is complete."
Ouch.
Everyone chuckles again.
Arc inhales sharply through his nose—
then steps back.
Aura receding.
Ice fading.
Not forgiven.
Just postponed.
"We're not done," he says under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.
"Yeah," I mutter back. "It's a class. We literally have fifty minutes left."
Fenn snorts.
The system pings:
⸻
[Mini-Quest Complete: Do Not Faint In Front Of Arc Glaciem]
Reward: +Small EXP — Human Instinct Tree
[New Title Consideration: 'Mouthier Than Your Stats Justify']
⸻
Modern art version of my life right now.
Arc returns to his seat, jaw still tight, shoulders rigid.
The instructor gestures to me.
"Sit, Luka," he says. "Try not to provoke any more apex spirits for the next… five minutes."
"No promises," I mutter.
I sit.
Fenn leans forward from behind my shoulder, voice a sharp whisper.
"That was SO STUPID," she hisses. "I loved it."
"Glad one of us did," I whisper back.
Her tail taps the chair leg twice—quick, excited, a little proud.
The instructor resumes the lesson, drawing diagrams of spirit hearts, aura flows, instinct loops.
I'm half-listening.
Half-aware of Arc's aura simmering across the room.
Half-aware of Fenn's gaze on my back, a strange mix of exasperation and… approval?
And somewhere, faintly, I feel something else.
Like a distant echo.
Someone noticing the emotional spike.
Someone in the Echo Wing.
Aeria, maybe.
Or something worse.
The system shivers.
⸻
[NOTICE: Multiple Entities Have Adjusted Their Evaluation Of You.]
Updated Tags:
• 'Annoying, But Interesting'
• 'Reckless Prey'
• 'Not Immediately Pathetic'
⸻
Improvement?
Debatable.
The diagram on the board glows faintly as the instructor finishes the core structure.
"Pair work now," he says calmly. "Discuss your instinct profiles with your partner. Identify at least two ways your biology conflicts. Two ways it aligns."
Chairs scrape.
Whispers resume.
Predators sniff prey.
Prey stare at notebooks.
Spirits compare auras.
Scribbles. Low talk. Little laughs.
Fenn plants her elbows on my desk, practically invading my entire personal space.
"So," she grins, fangs peeking, eyes bright. "Prey."
"That's me," I say. "Walking lecture prop."
"What are your instincts?" she asks.
"Currently?" I say. "Bad decisions and…" I recall the system, "dependence on something unreliable."
She squints.
"That's not real."
"Tell that to my life."
She tilts her head.
Her scent—forest, warm, sharp—brushes my nose.
"Seriously," she pushes. "You don't smell like just fear, you know."
"…Compliment?" I ask.
"Observation," she replies. "You smell like… stubbornness. Soft stubborn. The kind that gets hurt and keeps going."
I blink.
Oh.
That's… weirdly kind.
I cover it with sarcasm.
"And you smell like someone who would tear out a throat for bumping into the person she likes," I say.
Her ears shoot up.
Her cheeks go faintly pink under the fur.
"M-maybe," she mutters. "…Depends who bumps you."
The system wheezes:
⸻
[SPIRIT BOND: Fenriselle — Minor Resonance Detected]
[Flag: Pack Interest Up]
[Advice: Try Not To Die. She'll Take It Personally.]
⸻
Great.
So I've now:
Insulted an ice prince
Become live demonstration
Slightly impressed a wolf-girl
Possibly annoyed a ghost princess from afar
And made my own face a public safety hazard
Spirit Biology is going great.
The instructor strolls past us again, glancing at Fenn, then at me.
"Wolf-spirit," he says. "Would you defend this human if another predator attacked?"
Fenn doesn't hesitate.
"Yes."
He looks at me.
"Human," he asks, "would you hide behind her?"
I think about it.
About Arc.
About Mira.
About slimes.
About tapioca pearls.
"…If I said no, I'd be lying," I say.
The class laughs again.
The instructor smirks.
"Good," he says. "Admitting your limits is the first step to surviving them."
He walks on.
The rest of class starts to settle into actual learning.
And me?
I have one very loud thought:
I am in danger.
But also…
I am in this.
In the class.
In the dynamics.
In the stupid, chaotic flow of this school.
And that—
unfortunately—
means the next move might be mine.
Because when the bell (or whatever eldritch equivalent they use here) rings…
Fenn is absolutely going to follow me.
Mira may or may not appear from a shadow.
And Arc is absolutely going to have opinions.
Do I go up to Arc and try to de-escalate?
pretend he doesn't exist and bolt the second class ends?
let Fenn drag me off and use her as shield?
Was thinking about it useless?
Yes.
Fenn doesn't even wait for the bell.
Class isn't technically over yet—the spirit dissection diagram is still half-scribbled on the board—but the second Professor Stonehide says, "Any questions?" she's already leaning toward me.
I can feel her.
Vibrating.
Side-eyeing me.
Tail doing that excited flick thing.
I try to keep staring at the board.
Nope.
Doesn't work.
A warm hand hooks my sleeve.
Here we go.
"Luka," she whispers, "class is basically done. Let's go before the others crowd the hall."
Right. Others.
Like Arc, the ice spirit prince of aesthetic suffering sitting three rows up.
Am I scared of him?
Yeah.
Was I more pissed than scared when he turned around earlier, all chiseled jaw and smug eyes?
Also yeah.
Perfect specimen. Muscles built. Handsome. Probably a role model poster somewhere in Spirit Wing. And somehow that jealousy overrode my anxiety for exactly ten seconds.
I'm pretty sure the system triggered something then.
The bone-chalk hits the tray with a clack.
Professor Stonehide rumbles, "Class dismissed. Do not shed in the lab. Or molt. Or leak ectoplasm in the aisles."
Chairs scrape.
Wings unfurl.
Claws tap.
Arc stands in one smooth motion, turning just enough to look directly at me like he's been waiting.
Fenn tugs harder on my sleeve.
Cuteness: 9000.
Deflection resistance: 0.
I lose.
"Okay," I mumble, letting her drag me up. "Fine. Sure. Wolf-escort it is."
We make it maybe three steps out the door before cold air hits my face.
Not a breeze.
An ego.
Arc is already waiting by the wall like he's been leaning there for centuries—arms crossed, aura chilled, looking annoyingly like a magazine cover for "Winter Prince Problems."
His gaze drops to where Fenn is holding onto me.
Then up to my face.
I feel my anxiety twitch.
Then something new slides over it.
Jealousy.
Fantastic.
The system chimes in, delighted:
⸻
[New Flag: RIVALRY (PROVISIONAL)]
Target: ARCTURUS "ARC" GLACIEM
Status Toward Host: Annoyed / Confused / Jealous (?)
[Advice: Do Not Die In First Encounter.]
⸻
"Fantastic advice," I think. "Love that."
Arc pushes off the wall and steps closer.
"You've got a mouth on you," he says quietly. "For prey."
"Yeah," I say. "It came free with the 'not-optional-mortality' package."
A couple of nearby beast spirits slow down, ears angling toward us.
Arc's eyes narrow, flicking again to Fenn's grip on my sleeve.
"I don't understand," he says to her, not me. "You have training partners stronger than this. Faster than this. More compatible. Why waste time on a—"
"I decide who I waste time on," Fenn snaps.
Her tail lashes.
Her hand tightens on my sleeve.
Instinct flicks a switch in my head:
Do not make this worse.
I remember the choice I already made in my head:
Let her drag me.
Don't escalate.
Survive.
So I do the bravest thing I can think of:
I don't challenge him again.
I don't push more.
I just lean into Fenn's pull.
I jerk my thumb vaguely down the corridor.
"Well," I say, "this has been a deeply educational glaring session. I'm gonna go… not die. Somewhere else."
Arc looks like he wants to block us again.
Ice creeps faintly along the floor from his shoes.
Fenn's aura flares in response.
For one second, it's a perfect storm:
wolf spirit bristling,
ice spirit sharpening,
human in the middle thinking about tapioca pearls again.
The system panics.
⸻
[Alert: COMBAT FLAG RISING]
[Conflict Type: Territory / Ego / Wolf Instinct]
[Emergency Suggestion: RETREAT WITH WOLF.]
⸻
Sold.
"Fenn," I say quickly, "you said something about… snacks?"
Her ears perk immediately.
"Right," she says firmly. "We're late."
"For what?" Arc demands.
"Our lunch," she says. "You're not invited."
She yanks my arm.
I go.
Let the rivalry simmer at "annoyed and confused."
Let Mira deal with whatever fallout this becomes.
Let me keep all my limbs unfrozen.
We move down the corridor, Fenn naturally shifting so she's between me and Arc's line of sight.
I glance back once.
Arc is still standing there.
Watching.
Jaw tight.
Aura sharp.
Expression somewhere between offended and intrigued.
The system hums smugly.
⸻
[Rival Route Established: ARCTURUS GLACIEM — COMPETITIVE INTEREST]
Bond Type: Rivalry to Possible Frenemy
[Note: Expect Future Challenges.]
⸻
Wait, Frenemy? What do you mean?
All I could see is 'enemy' because why wouldn't I collect enemies like I collect emotional trauma… or slimes?
The hallway air feels less choked with hostility the farther we go.
Fenn finally eases her grip, but doesn't let go.
Her tail slow-wags, still high on adrenaline.
"You okay?" she asks.
"Define okay," I say. "If you mean 'not frozen into a human popsicle,' then yeah. Perfect."
She huffs a laugh through her nose.
"Don't mind Arc," she says. "He thinks he owns every room he walks into."
"He can keep that hallway," I mutter.
She bumps my shoulder with hers.
"You did good," she says. "Didn't fold. Didn't grovel. Didn't challenge him to a duel like an idiot."
"I thought about it," I lie.
Her eyes widen. "Don't."
"Exactly why I only thought about it," I say.
We walk.
The Spirit Wing shifts around us—stone archways, hanging charms, faint glowing script carved into the walls. Fur-scent, ozone, and faint spirit pressure roll along the corridor.
Fenn's stride loosens into something easy, confident.
I just follow, because at this point "dragged by wolf-girl" is my safest available transport.
"Where are we going?" I ask eventually.
"Spirit Cafeteria," she answers. "You haven't eaten since… uh… almost being devoured. That was hours ago."
My stomach growls loudly enough to be legally considered a third participant in the conversation.
Come to think of it, I have never eaten since arriving here. That was… yesterday. I think.
The system pings.
⸻
[Side Quest Generated: EAT WITH THE WOLF-SPIRIT]
Objective: Share a meal with Fenn in the Spirit Cafeteria.
Bonus Objective: Do Not Offend The Food.
Reward: Bond EXP (Fenn), Small Stat Recovery.
Penalty: Hunger, Awkwardness, Possible Minor Curses.
⸻
My eyes squint at the words, 'offend the food.'
"Hey, what kind of food are we getting?"
Fenn grins, sharp and amused.
"You'll see," she says. "Some of it has opinions."
"Of course it does."
We turn a final corner.
The smell hits first:
something roasted,
something electric,
something that probably isn't legally considered "food" in the Mortal Layer.
Ahead, a set of wide double doors swing open on their own.
Voices spill out—
laughter,
growls,
ghost-chatter,
the clatter of spectral cutlery.
The Spirit Cafeteria.
Fenn tugs me forward, bright, tail swishing.
I hesitate at the edge.
Because now I actually have to go inside.
Sit somewhere.
Eat something.
Not die.
Fenn looks back at me, tail wagging, eyes bright.
"Well?" she asks. "You coming?"