Recently, the Divine Church seemed intent on recruiting promising talents from various academies. After the Angels completed their registration, they were all sent back to their original schools. The Church would closely monitor them, identifying who was worth recruiting—or at least befriending.
"Hmm? Why are there still two without assigned academies?" The old man at the front scanned the list, spotting us—the two who’d entered through special arrangements, having never attended any academy before. "Mistflower, Lerfu, step forward."
I had no choice but to approach. Instantly, every gaze in the hall locked onto Mistflower and me. Our wing counts clearly outnumbered the others’, making us the sudden center of attention. Eyes flickered with shock, suspicion, and envy. Thankfully, Mistflower’s ten wings drew most stares away from me.
Mistflower had grown up in the countryside, never entering a proper academy—only attending village schools that taught basic literacy. As for me, I’d been homeschooled by private tutors, learning aristocratic etiquette and clan management.
Bishop Corlmo whispered something to the old man. The elder’s stern expression instantly crumbled, replaced by a beaming, almost fawning smile.
"Ah, I see! Leave it to me." The old man flipped through records and quickly found what he needed. "You two will attend the Imperial Kingdom Academy. Bishop Farina teaches as a guest lecturer in the Divine Arts Department. Report to her for assignments."
A ripple of agitation spread through the crowd. The Imperial Kingdom Academy was one of the Empire of Aifei’s most elite institutions, with ruthlessly strict talent requirements. Few Angels present likely belonged to it.
"Anan, you’re from the Imperial Kingdom Academy originally. Show them around." A silver-haired girl stepped forward from the crowd. Her hair was duller than mine, leaning toward ash-gray, cut short except for two strands framing her face down to her neck. She looked lively, but her expression brimmed with resentment—as if she wanted to protest but held her tongue.
I instinctively checked her back. Three pairs of wings, just like mine. So this was the archbishop’s daughter Bishop Corlmo mentioned—the academy’s star student. Definitely not someone to cross.
"Finally," the old man continued, "allow me to introduce your direct supervisor: Featherwing. She is a true Descended Angel—the strongest Angel in the Church today. Bring any questions to her. In urgent matters, she can contact the great Breath of the Sun on your behalf."
The golden-haired Ten Winged Angel stepped forward. Her presence instantly silenced the entire hall. She truly looked like an Angel: posture serene yet commanding, expression gentle but radiating authority—a harmony of contradictions.
"Hello. I’m Featherwing, your senior. Ask me anything you don’t understand. I’ll share what I know. No need to stand on ceremony."
She embodied what an Angel should be. We had wings and beauty too, but lacked that divine essence.
No wonder—she was a Descended Angel, a divine emissary sent to aid mortals. Fundamentally different from us, reborn Angels.
*Someday… could I become like her?*
I was so lost in Featherwing’s presence that I missed the rest of the speech. After dismissal, Anan approached Mistflower and me.
"Follow me." She didn’t even glance back, already walking away. A faint hostility clung to her. *Great. When did I offend this young lady?*
We trailed her to a small side chamber. Featherwing waited inside, having just left the stage.
"Senior Featherwing, I’ve brought them."
*Senior Featherwing? Was she also from the Imperial Kingdom Academy?*
"Good. Here are the academy application forms. Fill them out. Use this sample if you’re unsure." She handed us three sheets—one already completed.
As we filled the forms, Featherwing and Anan chatted. They clearly knew each other well.
"Senior Featherwing, I’ve missed you so much!" Anan suddenly lunged forward, hugging her tightly. "Ever since you graduated, I rarely see you—even alone time is impossible. I’ve really missed you."
She buried her face against Featherwing’s generous curves, stealing a few rubs. Featherwing could only chuckle softly, ruffling Anan’s hair. Her earlier composure shattered instantly.
"There, there. My little Anan’s all grown up now. Keep working hard. When you graduate, senior will have a special reward for you." Her hands drifted playfully over Anan’s shoulders. The Angelic image lay in ruins.
*Sigh. Could you two at least tone it down? Two former men are watching.* Mistflower’s face burned crimson. She stared rigidly at her application form, forcing her focus.
Their whispers grew increasingly intimate—and increasingly indecent. For the first time, I found filling out a form utterly torturous.
