"Well, no matter what, I still hope you’ll enjoy your time at our academy. We take great pride in our educational methods, you know."

Shiafa smiled as she escorted Oren out of the student council office. At her words, Oren froze for a moment before replying with a bitter smile.

"Oh, I’ve felt it quite clearly already. After all, this student council builds secret passages just to wield power more conveniently, doesn’t it~?"

Shiafa seemed unfazed by Oren’s sarcastic tone. She slowly spread her hands, still smiling.

"Everything is for the better service of our nation. Though we call ourselves an academy, I’ve always thought ‘military school’ suits us better. Most graduates here become soldiers of the duchy—and head straight to war."

*Mages are such rare resources.* Shiafa murmured the words like a lament for fate. But the shadow on her face didn’t linger. She slipped her hand into her pocket, fumbling briefly before pulling out a key.

"Well, regardless. We’ll honor our agreement and provide the assistance promised. And we expect you, classmate, to bring us meaningful intelligence in return."

She tossed the key to Oren. Only after he caught it midair did she clap her hands lightly.

"This unlocks your dorm room—the number’s tagged on the key. We’ve also prepared a platform for you to communicate with Miss Lia. Seize the opportunity well, and everything should go smoothly."

"Ah. I hope so."

Oren tucked the key into his pocket. Shiafa waved, her voice dropping to a murmur.

"Then safe travels, classmate Oren. May you have a fine semester."

*Yeah. If not for all this nonsense, I’d believe it could be.*

Oren waved back listlessly, then turned and shuffled out of the student council office, dragging his feet down the hall.

*Still… the days ahead will be troublesome.*

He let out a heavy sigh.

First, he had to mend things with Lia. Naked encounters aside, she seemed deeply displeased with one-sided sacrifices. And since he’d have to deal with the Crimson Dragon anyway, he’d inevitably face hordes of bizarre creatures. After seeing that goblin, Oren grasped just how far the dragon had debased herself to "revive non-humans."

From what Dysaia had told him, Dragons and Elvenfolk viewed goblins like worms—lower than humans. Yet now, goblins held military ranks under Dragons. It spoke volumes about how scarce non-humans had become.

*I wonder if Elaer feels tragic seeing the army she’s assembled?*

*Gurgle—*

A loud rumble erupted from Oren’s stomach. He froze, then buried his face in his palm with a grimace, muttering like a curse.

"Skipped dinner again tonight…"

Honestly, since arriving in this country, he’d barely eaten a proper meal. It wasn’t about raw meat being lethal or religious taboos—it was that his stomach revolted at the thought of the local cuisine.

*If I want to survive here, I’ll have to change my diet.*

Another sigh escaped him. Then—*cough cough*—a delicate cough sounded behind him.

"Ahem… O-Oren?"

He turned slowly. Yamwen stood there, face flushed crimson, a basket dangling from her right hand.

"Ah, Yamwen. Done eating?"

Yamwen coughed again, redder than before. She averted her eyes, stammering for so long Oren nearly lost patience before she finally whispered:

"Y-yes… no! Not ‘yes’—it’s not fine! I… I heard your stomach just now."

"Er… my apologies for that."

"N-no, it’s alright…"

She lifted the basket shakily, took a deep breath—which did nothing to steady her voice—and stammered on:

"I-I also… um… I made…"

Oren stared, utterly lost. Then a silvery head popped over Yamwen’s shoulder. Dysaia’s mischievous face appeared, her hand slapping Yamwen’s cheek as she chirped at Oren:

"What Miss Yamwen *means* is: ‘Lord Oren, I prepared some food. Would you… join me if you don’t mind?’"

"Prin—Princess陛下! When did you get here?!" Yamwen yelped.

"Ohohoho~~~" Dysaia ignored her, pinching Yamwen’s cheeks into a pout while cooing in a sugary tone Oren had never heard: "Yamwen~ Yamwen~ you’re just too adorable~~~"

"Pwoh zis, Pwincess!" Yamwen protested through squished lips. Oren opened his mouth but found no words. Dysaia suddenly swiveled to him, grinning.

"So, classmate Oren—will you accept Miss Yamwen’s invitation?"

"Eh? Ah… why not?"

*Perfect. Solves dinner. And with Dysaia here, I can report on the Crimson Dragon.*

"Excellent, excellent!" Dysaia released Yamwen’s cheeks. As Yamwen rubbed her face with a wounded expression, Dysaia beamed at Oren.

"Let’s go! I know a lovely picnic spot. Lontan should be nearby too—we’ll fetch him."

"Oh, right." Oren turned to Yamwen. "Where *is* Lontan? I thought he’d be glued to you."

Yamwen guiltily looked away. Dysaia patted her head like a doting mother.

"Some things are best left unasked, classmate Oren. Miss Yamwen worked hard enough."

*It took effort to shake him off,* Dysaia added with a sage nod. Oren blinked, utterly clueless.

*Is it me? Why shake him off?*

He shook his head, dismissing it. "Wait—I need to drop my weapon at the dorm first."

"Go ahead," Dysaia waved.

The dorm wasn’t far. Soon, Oren stood before room 502, key in hand. Then he paused.

*Didn’t that council president say something odd before handing this over?*

*‘We’ve created space for you to connect with Lia.’*

*And… this academy doesn’t separate dorms by gender.*

……

Oren lowered the key slowly, wiping his face.

*Narrow escape. Almost walked into the trap.*

*Same old setup—open the door, get hit with a naked scene. Treating me like a puppet. Doesn’t matter if it’s ‘world will’ or ‘fate’—this time, I’m walking in SAFELY!*

He knocked firmly on the door.

Silence.

*No one inside?*

He slid the key in, clicked the lock open—and froze.

The room was tidy: two small beds, a desk beside them.

*Nice setup.*

He unbuckled his sword, placing it in the corner. Then he spotted a clothes rack.

Hanging there was a black robe. Beside it leaned a staff.

Oren stared.

Then—epiphany.

"*Hell no!*"

He whirled to flee—but froze again.

Lia stood behind him, wrapped in a bathrobe. Water droplets glistened on her skin, dripping from her dark hair onto the floor.

*Though how much modesty a bathrobe actually provides…*

*Not much.*

"*Tch.* Luring me in with tricks, then ambushing from behind…" Oren covered his face. In that moment, he felt an otherworldly force steering him here again—some cosmic will dictating his path, no matter how he struggled.

*Life’s like a runaway carriage.*

*If you can’t stop it, you might as well enjoy the ride.*

He swept his bangs aside with a serene expression, clasped his fists, and bowed deeply.

"Thank you for the meal!"

"*MEAL MY ASS!*"

Lia’s foot shot straight for his groin.

And at that moment, Oren also realized... that there truly was something in this world more painful than having a fireball slammed into your face.