Angel couldn’t stop grinning as she leaned close to Mari, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

  "My brother’s so cool, isn’t he?" she gushed in a hushed tone, not bothering to hide her pride.

  Mari gave a polite nod, her expression unreadable as always. Angel knew Mari wasn’t just a regur maid—she was her brother’s direct subordinate. A trusted one. Yet, despite that, Mari never said anything overly fttering or critical about Lemuel. She was perfectly neutral. Professional.

  That neutrality, ironically, made Angel trust her even more.

  If Mari had been mistreated, I’d know, Angel thought. But she’s always calm, always loyal... So he must treat her with care. That’s just like him.

  Her brother never showed his affection directly. He never hugged her or said the words she longed to hear. But Angel knew. She knew he cared.

  After all, how else could she expin that mysterious pouch of money she received st week? Enough to st her comfortably for three whole months—delivered with a simple note:

  "A gift from your fairy."

  Angel had ughed softly when she read it.

  Fairy? No. That was definitely Mari.

  And if it was Mari, then the one behind it could only be her brother.

  He was watching over her. Protecting her. From the shadows, maybe—but always watching.

  Her fingers brushed the small pouch hidden in her pocket, and she smiled to herself.

  She looked forward to the day she could dismantle the Ark family name. Not out of spite—but because she wanted to break every chain that kept her brother tied to duty, to image, to legacy. She wanted him free.

  Free… and always by her side.

  Angel’s eyes wandered across the crowd instinctively, her heart skipping a beat when she caught a stray thought—one that echoed in her ears like a whispered secret:

  “Good. If she’s sticking close to Mari, it'll be easy to slip her money and resources without drawing attention. Being an overprotective sibling in secret feels like an S-tier side quest.”

  Her heart pounded.

  That voice.

  That was his voice.

  Excitement surged through her as her eyes darted across the auditorium, searching, hunting, hoping for a glimpse of her brother's silhouette.

  He’s here.

  And just like that, Angel's whole world felt a little brighter.

  --

  Merry Beaux, pampered daughter of the Marquis of Freezingfield, stood stiffly amid the bustling courtyard of Astral Academy. She should’ve been glowing with pride—after all, she had arrived at the heart of the Central Continent, where only the best and brightest from noble and heroic bloodlines gathered. This was the starting point of many legends, the gateway to the Otherworlds.

  But instead of basking in her deserved glory, Merry was stewing in silent frustration.

  Light wasn’t here.

  How could he not be here?! she clenched her fists. He had promised they’d enter together. They were supposed to walk this path side by side. Yet here she was, alone, standing in a sea of strangers.

  Her scowl deepened.

  He better not forget this grudge, she thought bitterly.

  Then—she heard it.

  Not through her ears… but inside her head.

  “Is that... ohhh it is. Merry Beaux. Childhood friend of Light. Former noble. Marquis family. Tsundere type. Ft as a cutting board. Cssic.”

  Her eye twitched.

  W-What was that?!

  It wasn’t a memory. It wasn’t her own thought. It was… someone else’s voice. A smug, bored, gender-neutral tone echoing from the void of her consciousness. Her heartbeat picked up.

  Spirit? Curse? Illusion? She scanned her surroundings with trained wariness. If this was a joke, it was a tasteless one.

  “Tsundere type. Ft as a cutting board. Cssic?!”

  She whispered the insult to herself in disbelief, her voice low and dark. "Who... dares..."

  Merry’s hands curled into fists at her sides, mana pulsing faintly from her gloves. If some spirit thinks this is funny, I will exorcise them from existence.

  But the voice didn’t stop.

  “Wait. Light should be here... unless... oh. Right. The cssic ‘Main Character in Css D’ cliché. I’m in Css S, second year. Of course I won’t bump into him casually. Script says no.”

  Her anger turned into confusion.

  Css D? Light? No way! He's not incompetent! Merry almost shouted, but she managed to hold it in.

  More importantly, what was this voice even talking about? Script? Clichés? Was this person treating the world like some kind of... stage py? Novel?

  That’s when it clicked.

  The voice didn’t come from around her—it came from above. A second-year. Css S.

  Merry’s eyes narrowed.

  Whoever they were, they were watching. From somewhere in the crowd, invisible but not unreachable. Someone arrogant enough to speak like a narrator and bold enough to insult a noble like her without fear.

  And worst of all—she couldn’t fight back.

  I’ll remember this voice, she thought coldly. You think being in Css S makes you untouchable?

  Merry Beaux was not the kind of girl to forgive insults.

  Not now.

  Not ever.

  --

  Samantha Fme sat with perfect posture, her crimson-lined uniform impeccable, her expression unreadable as always. The central pza’s fanfare, speeches, and introductions all blurred into background noise. She didn’t particurly care. Ceremonies were merely formalities—pointless, predictable, and inefficient.

  Her mind wandered elsewhere. Strategic pns. Elemental convergence theory. The Fmeheart Codex revisions she was yet to finish.

  Then, like a whisper cutting through fog, it came:

  “Ah. Samantha Fme. The Crimson Duchess of the Central Kingdom.”

  Her crimson eyes flicked open.

  That voice… was not hers.

  Instantly, her senses extended. A ripple of invisible mana pulsed from her skin, sweeping the area for illusory tampering, mental interference, possession—even divine intrusion.

  Nothing.

  The voice continued:

  “Duke-rank noble. Kuudere. Zero emotional dispy. Red design motif. Confusing contrast. Honestly, she looks like a tsundere, talks like a kuudere, and acts like a sleep-deprived AI. The writers got bold here.”

  Samantha blinked.

  She had no idea what half those terms meant, but it was clear enough—whoever this was had analyzed her like she was some kind of… character profile. Or worse, a trope.

  Her brow twitched by less than a millimeter. For anyone else, that would be a full-on scowl.

  Tsundere. Kuudere. AI?

  She internally processed the terms. Were they insulting me?

  It was hard to tell. The tone was casual, vaguely amused. Not hostile, but far from respectful. And definitely not coming from her own consciousness. This was external.

  Yet no presence revealed itself.

  She should’ve felt vioted.

  Instead… she felt something strange. Curiosity.

  It was the first time in years that someone had confused her—caught her off-guard, even slightly. Whoever this mysterious voice belonged to, they weren't just powerful—they were odd.

  A rare kind of odd.

  And for someone like Samantha Fme, whose life was a long stretch of calcuted routines and quiet mastery, that oddity was... refreshing.

  Her gaze swept the courtyard slowly. Students, nobles, professors. Nothing stood out.

  But now, for the first time, Samantha wasn’t thinking about magic theory or noble diplomacy.

  She was thinking about the voice.

  Whoever they were, they knew things they shouldn’t.

  And she intended to find them.

  --

  Emilia Brightshield stood like a sentinel among seated students, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the memory of that bastard Ark—Lemuel.

  His arrogant decration still echoed in her mind.

  "You should not dream high, because all of you are weak. And if you disagree… then fight me."

  Her gauntlet-cd fists clenched tighter.

  Fight you? I'd tear your smug skull off if the headmaster allowed duels during ceremonies, she thought darkly. Unfortunately, regutions had their chains wrapped around her sword arm.

  She’d spent years preparing for the moment she could strike down that scourge. He wasn’t just an enemy—he was a stain on her kingdom. His backdoor dealings, his shadowy influence… They had seeped into her homend’s politics like rot in the walls of a holy temple.

  And to think—despite all her efforts—her spy reported that he had grown stronger.

  That enraged her.

  Her lips curled in frustration.

  I just need time. Just a little more power. Then he’s mine.

  She was still thinking through new training regimes when the voice came:

  “Of course. Brightshield is here too. Literal knight in shining armor. Chivalrous. Handsome. Loud. Overrated.”

  The insult hit her brain like a thrown gauntlet.

  Her eyes widened in stunned confusion.

  What was that? Who—?!

  She scanned the area, but no magic signature fred, no psychic trace lingered. It wasn’t a direct message. It felt… like a thought. A voice that just slipped past her defenses and jabbed her pride.

  Her brow twitched.

  Overrated?!

  Her certifications? Peerless.

  Her skill ratings? Top percentile.

  Her swordpy? Honed by twelve masters across three regions!

  She was properly rated, thank you very much.

  Who dares—

  Her scowl deepened.

  Whoever they were, they’d just made it onto her list. Just below Lemuel Ark.

  Two enemies. One with power.

  The other with… an annoyingly sharp tongue and no concept of decorum.

  Her knuckles cracked.

  Fine. Let the voice hide for now. Let Lemuel py his games. I’ll rise. I always do.

  And when she did—she would crush that smug bastard first… then muzzle that voice second.

  --

  “Just wait, Light. Your true final boss is currently scouting the entire cast in a girl’s uniform… and regretting everything.”

  The voice echoed—loud, clear, and uninvited—into the minds of four very different girls.

  Angel blinked, then blushed violently.Her eyes darted around the auditorium, unsure if what she heard was real or some bizarre joke from the heavens.Wait… was that my brother’s voice…?The mental image smmed into her brain: her beloved big brother, dressed in a girl’s uniform, sulking in a corner while mumbling about final bosses.She cupped her cheeks in embarrassment, but her heart fluttered.So cute…

  Meanwhile, Merry Beaux sat frozen, stunned by the name that had slipped from the mysterious voice.

  Light?!

  Her mood soured instantly.Had he already offended someone powerful? Was he being targeted? Had he forgotten his manners—or worse, her?She gritted her teeth, trying to suppress her spiraling thoughts.No, no, Light wouldn’t... but what if this “final boss” girl meant it literally? Who is she?!

  Samantha Fme, for the first time in months, was fully alert. Her crimson eyes narrowed with surgical focus.The voice had dropped a name.Light. The same person Merry’s attached to. So this isn't random—it's connected.

  She leaned back slightly, folding her arms.

  If I can trace the pattern of her appearances… then maybe I can isote her. The “final boss” doesn’t hide forever.

  And Emilia Brightshield?

  She was no longer confused.

  She was furious.

  Regretting everything? Good. Because when I find you, you’ll regret insulting me first.

  Her grip on her enchanted wristguard tightened. Whoever this girl was—this self-decred final boss—was mocking them from the shadows.Arrogant. Unseen. Cowardly.Just like Lemuel Ark…

  A silent vow settled in her heart.

  She would drag the final boss into the light—and knock her ft.