After a night’s rest in the dorm, Yifia woke up refreshed and energized the next morning, slipping into her school uniform skirt.

In her previous life as a pampered third-gen rich kid, Yifia had been a well-groomed young man. Good looks were always a pleasure to behold—regardless of gender—and lifted spirits. His mother was a stunning international supermodel; his father’s lineage had been refined over generations. Inheriting the best traits, he was naturally handsome, no cosmetic procedures needed. Once, sneaking out with classmates for barbecue, a talent scout spotted him and tried recruiting him for stardom. The scout painted rosy pictures of fame and fortune—financial freedom, peak success. Yifia simply showed him the balance in his phone account. The scout went utterly silent.

Shaking off the memory, Yifia gently shook her head and focused on the present. She adjusted her reflection in the mirror. A sweet smile lifted her lips, dimples appearing. Her round, almond-shaped eyes crinkled warmly—she looked like a bite-sized candy, pure sweetness.

“Yifia, time to go,” Eileen called. Unlike Yifia’s unhurried pace, Eileen was ready in seconds. Where Yifia’s black hair flowed to her waist, Eileen’s shoulder-length locks framed her delicate face with quiet innocence—practical, easy to manage. Her figure was flat, chest barely curved, front and back nearly identical. Glancing at Eileen’s slender frame, then recalling Amelia’s voluptuous silhouette, Yifia’s breath hitched—a fleeting memory of suffocating warmth. She patted her warm cheeks. “Coming!” Grabbing her wallet, she stuffed it in her pocket and followed Eileen toward class.

“First time reporting to class? Don’t worry,” Eileen said kindly as they walked. “Aside from the arrogant nobles, most commoner students are friendly.” Perhaps Yifia’s yesterday comment about liking diligent students had won her over. She was prepping Yifia gently.

Where there are people, there is drama. At Pris Academy, nobles and commoners eyed each other with open hostility. Many commoners like Eileen resented the nobility. But while commoners whispered criticisms behind backs, nobles wore disdain plainly on their faces and in actions. Conflicts flared often. The academy once considered barring commoners—but the Church intervened, and the proposal was denied.

“You arrived late. Exams are in four days. It’s tight, but try—you might scrape a decent grade.” As a commoner who earned her spot fairly, Eileen never doubted Yifia’s smarts. She had no idea the current Yifia knew next to nothing. The reminder hit: exams were *imminent*! She’d been so fixated on system tasks, she’d forgotten entirely… Though failing exams wouldn’t expel her—only rule violations stripping credits would. These days? *Not joining a club* meant expulsion. Panic flickered—then vanished. Calm returned.

“We’re here.”

The classroom gleamed. Gold-veined marble floors. Intricately carved wooden desks. A golden-framed blackboard. Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, making the whole room glitter. Coming from the slums, Yifia nearly choked on envious tears—and felt a wild urge to sneak back tonight and pry that blackboard loose.

“George, Fina, this is my roommate, Yifia.”

All eyes turned the moment she stepped inside. Yifia held a steady, warm smile—zero nerves. Back when she’d accompanied her supermodel mom to international fashion events as a guest, crowds were larger, camera flashes blinding. *This?* Child’s play.

“Yifia, you’re so pretty! I’m Fina—nice to meet you!”

“I-I’m George… also nice to meet you,” they greeted shyly.

Yifia beamed. “Hi! I’m Yifia. Sixteen.”

She settled beside Eileen’s group, blending in smoothly. But Fina and George looked like background NPCs. Were they part of the heroine squad? Would they reappear?

[System, just a tiny spoiler?]

[Host, stay grounded. No shortcuts.]

*Sigh.* Today’s system was useless as ever. Yifia smiled, shutting down the thought spiral. She pulled textbooks from her desk—peeked. A thick stack: theology, history, languages, bio, math, poetry, music… She flipped the top theology page. Blank comprehension. *Pris Academy students suffer more than exam-cramming high schoolers!* She closed the book with a pained expression. Reincarnation wouldn’t make her a scholar.

“Eileen, I didn’t grasp parts of Professor Spiegel’s lecture on Cairo’s religious civilization yesterday.”

“How many times has Madame Dec’s bel canto been performed at the Imperial Opera House?”

“Did you note the bard Balder’s biography?”

Yifia snapped back from textbook despair—only to hear academic gibberish. *What even is this?* Zero understanding. No point torturing herself. She kept a polite listening face while her mind drifted. Days ago, she was lazing in a slum shack. Now? Noble academy student. Life really was unpredictable. Honestly, she’d rather hunt down Amelia for the mission. Art Club interview this afternoon—as a connections hire, she felt a little thrill. Thinking of Amelia, warmth bloomed. Propping her cheek, sweet smile in place, she “listened”… until her peripheral vision caught it.

A stare. Leering. Creepy.

[System Friendly Reminder: In Yifia’s original storyline, the noble who bullied her has appeared!]