After Rose ate the bun and drank the strawberry milk, she sat on the bed for a long time, staring blankly at the wall, trying not to fall asleep.
She was waiting for her roommate.
Minute after minute passed, the clock hands crawled inexorably forward, but Dylan still hadn't returned from the shower.
Rose had already read through the documents issued by the Director three times. The schedule, the internal regulations, the list of required literature — she had practically memorized it all. But Dylan still wasn't back.
What could one do in the shower for so long? Wash? But over an hour had passed! Had he decided to take a bath? Or had something unexpected happened to him in there?
The thoughts in Rose's head grew increasingly absurd, but drowsiness gradually took over.
Her eyes grew heavy, her eyelids drooped, and at some point, she simply passed out, never having waited for her mysterious roommate's return.
***
When Rose opened her eyes, dawn was already beginning to break outside the window.
A greyish light seeped through the thin curtains, painting the room in muted tones.
Rose sat up abruptly in bed and immediately turned her head towards the neighboring bed.
Empty.
Dylan's bed was neatly made, the coverlet lying flat without a single wrinkle, the pillow fluffed. It gave the impression that no one had slept in it at all.
Had he already left? So early?!
Rose frowned and looked at the wall clock.
Seven in the morning. Classes started at nine.
She had plenty of time to get ready slowly, take a shower, and even have a little breakfast before the first lesson.
But the fact that her roommate had disappeared so early caused a slight unease. Where could one go at seven in the morning? Maybe for a morning run or... perhaps he had extra classes?
However, this was actually for the best. Since the roommate wasn't there, she could freshen up in peace without prying eyes.
Rose got up and immediately noticed coins on her nightstand.
The very ones she had left on Dylan's table yesterday as payment for the eaten bun and milk.
"Oh..." she breathed out, picking up the coins.
So he hadn't taken the money. He'd simply returned them.
Well, at least he wasn't petty. Or perhaps he just thought a bun and milk weren't worth charging a hungry roommate for.
Rose didn't know how to interpret this gesture but decided it was a good sign. Maybe her roommate wasn't as icy as he seemed at first glance.
In any case, there was no time to ponder this now. She needed to get ready.
Rose grabbed a towel and a change of underwear and darted into the bathroom before her roommate returned.
The shower was divine. The hot water washed away the remnants of travel fatigue, the tension of the last few days, and even, it seemed, some of the anxiety. Rose stood under the strong streams, eyes closed, savoring the moment of silence and peace.
But she couldn't relax for long.
She quickly dried off, hastily dried her hair with a magical hair dryer — a marvel of technology that created a stream of warm air without fire — and put on her wig.
The wig fit perfectly. Her mother hadn't lied — the craftsman from the Imperial Theater had done his job well. The short chestnut strands looked absolutely natural, concealing her real pink hair.
Then Rose pulled on her uniform — a strict burgundy jacket with silver buttons, trousers, high boots. In the mirror, a handsome young man with delicate features and expressive violet eyes looked back at her.
"Well, God be with me," she whispered to her reflection.
The first day of classes had begun.
***
The corridors of Arden Academy were teeming with students.
Rose walked, trying not to attract attention, but inwardly she flinched at every glance thrown her way. It seemed all these guys were just waiting to expose her.
Classroom number — 12-B. Where was that?
She turned her head, trying to navigate the labyrinth of corridors, staircases, and passageways. The academy turned out to be huge, and finding the right classroom on the first try was a real challenge.
There was one minute left until the bell when Rose finally spotted the sign with the coveted numbers.
She knocked softly.
"Enter," a calm male voice came from behind the door.
Rose took a deep breath and entered.
The first thing that caught her eye was a sea of burgundy uniforms. Dozens of guys sat at the desks, and all of them as one turned their heads towards the newcomer.
Rose caught her breath.
But she quickly pulled herself together and shifted her gaze to the teacher.
A man stood by the blackboard. Middle-aged, a strict suit, thin-rimmed glasses, hair neatly combed back. The classic image of a professor.
He gave Rose a thorough once-over and nodded, as if confirming some thought of his own.
"I presume you are our new student?" he asked.
"Yes," Rose bowed slightly. "Ruven Rosenberg."
"Well, Mr. Rosenberg, please introduce yourself to the class."
Rose turned to face the room. Dozens of pairs of eyes looked at her with varying degrees of curiosity. Some indifferently, some with interest, some with a slight smirk.
She cleared her throat.
"My name is Ruven Rosenberg. I am... the third son of Baron Rosenberg from the northern province."
Silence hung in the air.
And then came the clapping.
Sparse, but quite distinct.
Rose looked towards the sound and saw a familiar blonde head.
Zeke Wilford was sitting at one of the back desks, smiling broadly, clapping his hands. Next to him sat Dennis — that same blue-haired guy in glasses who had hit her with the ball — and another, unfamiliar one, with dark skin and a cocky smile.
That same gang of hooligans the guard had warned her about.
Rose sighed inwardly.
Of course. Of course, they would be in her class. Because fate was a real bitch.
"Mr. Rosenberg, you may take any free seat," said the professor.
Rose surveyed the room.
There were free seats. But all of them... every single one was located near Zeke's gang. As if on purpose.
Either the other students were afraid to sit next to these slackers, or the teacher had deliberately left spots for the newcomer away from the exemplary students.
There was no choice.
Rose headed for the back desks and sat down on the only free chair — next to Zeke.
"Ruven!" the blonde immediately whispered as soon as she sat down. "Sorry again about yesterday. Does your head hurt?"
"...No," Rose replied dryly.
Her head didn't hurt, actually. But the bruise remained, and it was quite painful to the touch. Fortunately, the wig's bangs conveniently hid it.
"Really? You look a bit pale," Zeke peered at her face with concern.
"I'm fine."
"Well, look. If anything happens, tell us immediately, we're in your debt."
Rose snorted inwardly.
In debt? For nearly killing her with a ball? Well, thanks for such a "debt."
"Mr. Wilford," the professor's icy voice rang out. "I, of course, understand that the rules of politeness require showing attention to a new student. But perhaps you could show this attention during the break? And now, with your permission, we will actually conduct the lesson?"
Zeke wasn't the least bit embarrassed. He just lazily leaned back in his chair and smirked.
"Of course, Professor. Sorry."
But there wasn't a drop of remorse on his face.
As soon as the professor turned back to the board, Zeke started whispering again, but more quietly:
"Listen, why did you choose our academy? There are decent educational institutions in the north too."
Rose glanced sideways at him.
However, before she could even respond...
"No talking during class!" the professor barked without turning around.
Zeke shut up, but only for a minute.
"Hey, Ruven," he started whispering again, "how are you with your grades anyway? Good with the subjects?"
Rose thought for a moment.
"Not really," she admitted honestly.
"Don't sweat it!" Zeke slapped her on the shoulder. "We'll help! I'm actually the best in the course at practicals. If it weren't for my personality, they'd have made me class prefect by now."
"If it weren't for your personality, they wouldn't have accepted you into the academy at all," snorted the dark-skinned guy sitting across the aisle.
"Shut up, Richard!"
"What's wrong with that? I'm just stating a fact."
A brief squabble started between them, but the professor, tired of the constant noise, roared:
"Mr. Wilford! Mr. Almus! One more word, and you'll both go to the Director to sort out your personal problems!"
Silence fell.
Rose breathed a sigh of relief.
But not for long.
About ten minutes later, Zike stirred again. He tore a sheet from his notebook, quickly wrote something, and discreetly passed the note to Rose.
Rose unfolded the paper.
"You really look like a girl. Do you have a sister?"
She almost choked on air.
What kind of idiotic questions were these?!
But before she could respond, another note flew in from Richard.
"Zeke, are you gay? Just admit it honestly."
Zeke read it, turned crimson, and launched a crumpled paper ball at Richard. Hit him right in the forehead.
"MR. WILFORD!" the professor yelled so loud the windows trembled. "GET OUT OF THE CLASS!"
Zeke stood up with a satisfied smile, bowed, and walked out, throwing over his shoulder:
"See you at the break, Ruven!"
Rose covered her face with her hand.
She had ended up in a madhouse. An absolute madhouse.
***
The break came too quickly.
Rose had only just managed to gather her things when Zeke burst into the classroom, whom, apparently, the Director hadn't even bothered to listen to — just sent him back.
"Let's go to the cafeteria!" he announced in a tone that brooked no argument. "We need a snack before the second class!"
The gang of hooligans — Zeke, Richard, and Dennis — grabbed Rose by the arms and dragged her into the corridor.
"I can walk by myself!" she protested, trying to free herself.
"Oh, come on, don't be difficult!" Zeke only tightened his grip on her elbow. "We're a team now!"
Rose wanted to object that she wasn't going to be on any team with anyone, least of all them, but she didn't get the chance.
Because at that moment, she saw HIM.
At the end of the corridor, by a large window, stood a group of students. They were chatting merrily about something, laughing, trading jokes.
And among them, one stood out.
A handsome young man with soft features, light hair, and eyes in which playful sparks danced. He was laughing at something, head thrown back, looking completely carefree.
Rose froze.
Her whole body suddenly felt filled with lead. Her fingers went cold, her heart skipped a beat, and then started pounding somewhere in her throat.
She would have recognized that profile from a thousand.
Gilbert.
Her younger brother.
The one because of whom she was now standing in the corridor of a men's academy in a wig with her chest bound.
The one who had run away on the eve of his own wedding.
The one who had left them to be torn apart by the Valentino family.
The one she had been searching for for half a year.
Rose didn't think.
Her legs carried her forward on their own.
She walked quickly, resolutely, clenching her fists so hard her nails dug into her palms. In her violet eyes blazed a fire capable of incinerating everything in its path.
"Ruven?" Zeke called out in surprise. "Where are you going?"
But she didn't hear him.
She saw only Gilbert.
And Gilbert, as if sensing someone's gaze, suddenly stopped laughing.
He slowly turned his head.
Their eyes met.
For an instant, bewilderment flickered in his gaze — he clearly didn't recognize this strange young man in the burgundy uniform walking straight towards him with an expression that suggested he was about to commit murder.
But then...
Then he looked closer.
Gilbert paled.
First he paled, then turned crimson, then paled again — so quickly it seemed he might have a seizure at any moment.
The young man stopped breathing.