Chapter 8: Lessons of the New World

  The grand double doors of the Great Hall creaked open as the Pope's solemn voice concluded the final blessings. Rows of summoned students stood stiffly in pce, their minds swirling with questions, fears, and curiosity. Among them, Shouta Izumi remained silent, his gaze cast downward. The marble floor beneath his feet gleamed with unnatural purity—another reminder that this world was no dream.

  “Starting tomorrow,” the Pope had said, “you will attend daily instruction at the Church. You must learn everything—our history, your roles, the very essence of this world. Only then shall you earn your pce at the Holy Magic Academy.”

  The words still echoed in Shouta’s ears as he slowly followed the others out. Candles lit the corridor in soft golden hues, casting flickering shadows on the white stone walls. The sheer grandeur of the holy pace was enough to make even the boldest students falter. Velvet carpets. Gold-trimmed windows. Everything felt surreal, like they’d stepped into a living painting.

  “Servants will guide you to your rooms,” the Pope had added before their dismissal. “You will find fresh garments awaiting you. Tomorrow, a new life begins.”

  Shouta gnced around at the unfamiliar faces as they were gently herded by silver-robed attendants. Some students were chatting nervously, while others pretended to be calm. A few seemed excited. One of the girls whispered something about “finally becoming a heroine.” Shouta ignored them.

  He wasn’t a main character. He knew that. The ones who stood in the front earlier—the ones with confident voices and proud stances—they were probably the protagonists. He was just… background. A guy with average grades, average build, average everything. Even here, in another world, he felt like a side note.

  The servant assigned to him bowed politely and led him down a quieter corridor. It was wide, with tall arched ceilings and tapestries embroidered with the crest of the Holy Kingdom—a winged sun with a spear piercing the clouds.

  Eventually, the servant stopped before a polished wooden door. “This will be your room, Sir Izumi. If you require anything, please ring the bell beside the bed.” Her voice was practiced, pleasant but distant. “Your attire for tomorrow’s lessons is prepared inside. Please rest well.”

  He thanked her with a nod, and she bowed once more before vanishing down the corridor.

  Inside, the room was unexpectedly spacious. A soft-looking bed, a writing desk, a small bookshelf with empty journals, and a wardrobe carved with symbols he didn’t recognize. By the corner, a folded set of clothes—white and blue robes with silver accents—waited neatly.

  He sat on the bed, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. So this is real…

  The silence of the room wrapped around him. No cssmates ughing, no sound of traffic, no phone buzzing. Just the ticking of an ornate wall clock and the dim glow of magical mps. He ran his fingers over the robes. They felt smooth, almost too fine for someone like him.

  Outside the window, stars unfamiliar to Earth hung in the night sky—strange consteltions twisting in shapes he couldn’t name.

  He y down, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

  The robes were folded neatly. Tomorrow he would wear them and learn to pretend again—to walk beside the chosen, hoping no one noticed he didn’t belong.

  His eyes fluttered shut.

  Even in a new world, the weight he carried hadn't changed.

  Tomorrow, their education would begin. And maybe… just maybe… he could find something here. Something that made him more than just background.

  But even that thought felt hollow.

  Haruka Nakano… Her name drifted into his mind like a whisper, like the faint scent of summer pavement after the rain.

  He remembered the first time he met her.

  He had been wandering alone near the old toy and candy store that stood like a leftover dream from another era—paint peeling, wind chimes jangling in the breeze. And there she was: a little girl in a cute summer dress, standing in front of the store, tears in her eyes.

  She was crying softly, clutching the edge of her dress, clearly lost. Too scared to ask for help.

  Shouta had hesitated. He was shy, awkward even then. But he took a breath, stepped forward.

  “H-Hey… are you okay?” he’d asked, voice small, trying to sound braver than he felt.

  The girl sniffled, nodded weakly, then shook her head. Her small shoulders trembled.

  “I forgot… the way home…”

  It had felt like something big, back then. Like the moment you decide to be the hero in your own tiny story. So he took another breath, reached out, and awkwardly held her hand in his.

  “It’s okay,” he said, his voice still quiet. “Let’s walk. Maybe you’ll remember if we go slowly.”

  So they walked, hand in hand, through alleys lined with vending machines and rusted shutters. The cicadas buzzed in the summer heat. The sky above was impossibly blue.

  She tried to describe her house, but she didn't know. There were tears in the corners of her eyes, but she didn’t cry again. Maybe the walk helped. Maybe holding someone’s hand helped.

  Then… she appeared.

  A girl a little older than them, maybe a year or two, stood at the edge of the alley like a figure from a storybook. Her bck hair fell straight down her back, a beautiful wide-brimmed hat shading her pale face. A blue popsicle glistened in her hand. She looked at them like they’d intruded into her private summer.

  She frowned.

  “…Another lost kid?” she said, voice calm and almost too adult.

  Without waiting for a reply, she stepped forward. “Give me that bag,” she told Haruka, gesturing to the little crossbody pouch slung over her thigh.

  Haruka blinked and handed it to her, uncertain.

  “Follow me,” the girl said, licking her popsicle again, and turned.

  They obeyed without question.

  She led them through the winding backstreets like she’d known them all her life—turning corner after corner with confidence, popsicle stick ccking softly as she walked.

  Eventually, they stopped in front of a house. Haruka’s eyes lit up.

  “This is it…” she said, surprised.

  The girl with the popsicle gave them a sideways gnce. “Try not to get lost again,” she said, almost bored.

  Then she turned, walked down another alley without looking back… and disappeared. Like a phantom of summer.

  Shouta stood there for a moment, watching the empty path she vanished into, unsure whether to say something.

  “Um… thanks,” Haruka mumbled beside him, voice still soft but steadier than before.

  He nodded. “You live here?”

  She hesitated, then pointed at the namepte. “We just moved in yesterday.”

  Shouta blinked.

  “…I live next door.”

  Haruka looked at him, surprised. Then, for the first time, she smiled. Just a little.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Shouta. Shouta Izumi.”

  “I’m Haruka.”

  There was a brief silence. A breeze passed between them.

  “Well… see you,” he said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

  Then he turned and walked the few steps home, his heart beating strangely fast. He didn’t look back.

  They were friends after that.

  Inseparable, even.

  Their families hit it off quickly—neighbors with kids the same age, both shy and quiet in their own way. It just… worked.

  They went to the same elementary school. Took the same route, shared lunches, pyed the same games after css. When one got sick, the other would visit with snacks and a handwritten note. People used to call them "the silent duo." No drama, no noise—just a soft, constant presence in each other’s lives.

  Middle school came, and things began to shift.

  Haruka changed subtly at first. She got taller, more graceful. Her voice gentler, but surer. She started drawing attention without trying. The boys, especially… they started looking at her differently. Whispering. Admiring her from a distance.

  And some of them started gring at him.

  Shouta.

  The quiet, unremarkable boy who always walked beside her.

  He noticed it in the hallway gnces. The comments he wasn’t meant to hear.

  And then… the bullying began.

  It wasn’t loud. It was quiet. Strategic. Erasing. Like he was being unwritten from the space they shared.

  People began to make space between them. And Haruka… maybe she didn’t notice at first. Maybe she did.

  She tried, at times. Smiled at him when she could. But the distance grew all the same. Different csses. Different clubs. Different worlds.

  By high school, they barely spoke.

  She became someone people admired from afar. Elegant. Kind. Distant. He… faded into the background.

  They never fought. No breaking point. No goodbye.

  Just silence that stretched over the years like a sea between them.

  Now… we’re in another world. Thirty of us, torn out of our lives. And she’s still ahead, shining. And I…

  Shouta stared at the ceiling of his borrowed room.

  I’m still the boy who got left behind.

  He turned to the side, pressing his face into the pillow.

  “…I shouldn’t expect anything.”

  Not her kindness. Not her attention.

  Not even her remembering that once, a long time ago, he held her hand and guided her home.

  The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the magical mp on the wall. A soft breeze passed through the window, carrying with it the faint scent of distant incense and unfamiliar flowers.

  His eyelids felt heavy.

  Thoughts tangled like vines—of Haruka, of the past, of the gap between them.

  But slowly, the sharpness dulled.

  The ache softened.

  And Shouta Izumi, curled beneath the bnkets of a world not his own, sank quietly into sleep, carrying the warmth of a forgotten summer and the silence of a fading bond into his dreams.

  The morning light was soft.

  It filtered through the tall arched windows, casting pale golden streaks across the stone floor of Shouta's room. The scent of fresh linen and incense lingered faintly in the air—clean, unfamiliar.

  Ding… ding… ding…

  The bells of the great church tower rang through the halls—gentle, almost solemn, as if blessing the day itself.

  Shouta stirred under the bnkets, blinking against the light. For a moment, he didn’t remember where he was. The unfamiliar ceiling. The ornate woodwork. The quiet.

  Then it all came back. The summoning. The Pope’s voice echoing in the grand hall. Haruka’s distant eyes. And the feeling of being somewhere… completely out of pce.

  He sat up slowly, rubbing sleep from his eyes. The clothes he'd worn yesterday—his school uniform—were neatly folded on a nearby table. But something else was set beside them: a new outfit, crisp and white.

  The church uniform.

  He reached for it, running his fingers over the fabric.

  A long white upper coat, sleeveless and fitted, with silver embroidery lining the edges—runes woven into the threads that shimmered faintly in the light. It had a high colr and a silver csp at the throat bearing the emblem of the Holy Kingdom: a radiant cross surrounded by wings and a single star above.

  The pants were pure white as well, soft and easy to move in. Flexible, but formal. A thin belt ran through the loops, more decorative than functional. The entire set was simple, yet strangely elegant. Like it belonged to a priest, or a knight in training.

  He changed quietly, brushing down the fabric, checking his reflection in the polished surface of the water basin.

  I look like someone important, he thought absently, then looked away.

  But I’m not.

  A soft knock at the door startled him.

  He opened it slowly.

  A servant stood there—young, robed in deep blue with white gloves. Her expression was polite, distant, the way trained attendants always were.

  “Good morning,” Shouta said, voice barely above a whisper.

  The servant gave a small bow. “Good morning, sir. I have come to guide you to the cssroom.”

  He hesitated. “Uh… thanks. Um, I mean… thank you. I’ll follow you.”

  She nodded once and turned without another word, walking down the corridor at a measured pace.

  Shouta trailed behind awkwardly, hands brushing the sides of his new coat.

  They walked through quiet marble halls, passing windows that opened into sunlit courtyards, small shrines, and intricately carved pilrs. He could still hear the faint bells ringing in the distance, slower now, like the st chime of a memory.

  Eventually, they reached a doorway at the end of one hall. The servant gestured silently, and he stepped inside.

  The cssroom was… normal.

  Surprisingly normal.

  A medium-sized room with rows of benches and desks set for thirty students. A rge bckboard at the front. A wide desk for the teacher. A wooden chair.

  Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting angled shadows across the room. The air smelled faintly of parchment and polish.

  Students were already inside—some seated, some still walking in.

  A few talked excitedly about blessings and skill affinities.

  “Did you hear mine’s Wind-type? That’s rare.”

  “Really? I got Fire. I think. I still don’t get this mana thing…”

  Others were fidgeting with the cuffs of their white uniforms, adjusting belts, trying to look confident—or at least not lost.

  It was strange seeing Ms. Aiko at the front, seated in the first row, just like a student. Some gnced at her and whispered behind their hands.

  “Can’t believe she’s here too…”

  “I thought the teachers would be in charge, but they’re learning with us?”

  Meanwhile, Mirei and Shizuku were chatting near the back. Mirei looked composed, already used to the white uniform, while Shizuku had her chin resting in her palm, her expression unreadable.

  Shouta quietly took a seat in the second row, near the window. He didn’t want to be too far back—or too close to the center.

  Just invisible enough.

  He let out a soft sigh and looked at the bckboard.

  So this is where we learn to live in another world…

  The seat beside him was empty.

  He didn’t dare wonder if Haruka would sit there.

  Just as he was beginning to fade into the quiet hum of the cssroom, the sound of footsteps came from the hall.

  Two figures entered.

  The low chatter dulled. Eyes turned, curious and expectant.

  Haruka Nakano stepped into the room.

  For a second, Shouta forgot how to breathe.

  She wore the church’s student uniform, specially designed for girls. A long white upper coat, finely tailored, flowing just past her knees. Silver embroidery spiraled elegantly across the sleeves and hem like sacred vines. The skirt beneath was pleated, soft, pure white, swaying just slightly as she walked with her usual graceful, almost ethereal pace.

  But there was something different about her uniform. Compared to the one her friend Kasumi wore—also clean and formal—Haruka’s had subtle, near-unnoticeable accents: light-blue threading hidden in the folds of her skirt, a delicate silver lining along the colr, and a small sigil stitched at the back of her coat. A symbol of favor, or recognition, perhaps.

  Special.

  It fit her like it was meant only for her.

  And it suited her far too well.

  Her pale hair—neatly tied in a ribbon—glistened in the morning light. Her skin almost glowed. There was a kind of serene grace to her presence, like a painting that had quietly stepped off the canvas.

  She looked like someone chosen by the world.

  Haruka gave the room a brief gnce, her expression unreadable. Then, without saying a word, she and Kasumi moved forward, walking down the aisle between the rows of desks.

  Shouta stiffened.

  They stopped right at his bench—his heart thumped. But they didn’t look at him.

  They sat.

  Haruka took the front seat. Kasumi slid in beside her, just in front of him.

  It was like a dream. Or a punishment.

  From his position, he could see the slight ripple of Haruka’s skirt, the edge of her sleeve, the light catching on her shoulder.

  He lowered his head, pretending to adjust the cuff of his coat. But his eyes flicked up, just briefly. Just enough to see her side profile, the curve of her cheek, the way a strand of her hair had slipped free.

  He breathed in, shallowly.

  The air around her carried a sweet, almost holy scent. Like flowers in morning dew mixed with incense. He tried not to notice it. Tried to think of anything else.

  But his posture… the tilt of his head… From the outside, it looked like he was leaning forward, trying to catch a whiff of Kasumi.

  And Kasumi? She shifted slightly in her seat, confused. A flicker of suspicion in her eye.

  And Haruka…

  From the corner of her vision, she saw it.

  Shouta didn’t notice at first. But then he caught the tiniest glimpse of her reflection in the cssroom window. Her lips were neutral. Her gaze was forward.

  But her expression—something about it had changed.

  Distant. Cold. As if a wall had dropped between them again.

  Shouta sat up straight, shame tightening around his chest like a chain. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move.

  He just kept staring forward, pretending to listen to the conversations around him, as the faint traces of Haruka’s scent slowly faded into the morning air.

  And behind that scent… came silence.

  Kasumi, seated beside Haruka, tilted her head ever so slightly.

  She gnced at Shouta from the corner of her eye.

  Then, just as quickly, she turned away—smoothly, gracefully, as if it had all been a passing thought. Her posture rexed, a faintly amused, nonchant expression resting on her face like a mask she wore out of habit.

  Her eyes moved across the cssroom slowly, zily taking in the scene: the soft light of the morning sun spilling through the windows… the faint murmuring of students… the sharp scent of polished wood and incense hanging in the air.

  A whisper of a thought passed through her mind.

  What’s the best way to get information?

  Her gaze paused on a group of students talking animatedly about blessings. Another group whispered about mana and skill affinities, their eyes alight with wonder and confusion.

  She leaned back just a little, a finger tapping gently against her thigh.

  This pce is full of loose threads.

  But before she could follow that thought any further—

  Click.

  The door opened with a soft sound, cutting through the low chatter like a bde of calm through a crowd.

  The cssroom stilled.

  A man stepped in.

  He walked with quiet, precise steps—each one as composed and deliberate as his appearance.

  Silver-white hair fell neatly to his neck, catching the light like moonlit silk. His gsses glinted slightly as he looked across the room, taking in each student with calm, unreadable eyes.

  He wore a long white robe embroidered with sacred patterns of gold and violet, the insignia of the Church resting proudly on his chest.

  He looked young—no older than his te twenties—but carried the kind of presence that made age irrelevant. Upright. Beautiful. Schorly.

  And holy.

  He radiated a quiet intensity. Not of power, but of knowledge. A man who had seen more than he ever spoke of. A teacher of the world’s secrets.

  He moved to the front of the room, standing just beside the lectern.

  “My name is Ira Cudius,” he said, his voice deep, calm, perfectly measured. “I will be your theory instructor for the next two months.”

  The students sat straighter, listening.

  “I will teach you all the knowledge necessary to survive in this world: its history, its structure, its peoples, your skills, your affinities, and the very rules of magic that govern this realm. You will learn to understand the roles you were summoned to py. You may not like what you learn. You may not like what is required of you. But you will learn it.”

  He paused.

  Then, as if measuring the weight of his words, he gave a small nod.

  “Css begins tomorrow.”

  And just like that, he turned, taking a seat at the teacher’s desk.

  The room fell into silence, the weight of a new world pressing softly on every shoulder.

  From his seat, Shouta Izumi stared ahead, hands folded on the desk, thoughts drifting between past and present.

  Somewhere in front of him, Haruka sat, motionless.

  And across from him, Kasumi watched the teacher with sharp, calcuting eyes.

  In the quiet hum of the moment, the chapter closed.