[Time]: Day 30 of Enrollment, 07:45 AM

  [Location]: Yggdrasil Academy · Dormitory [Golden Bough] · Room 302

  The morning sun filtered through the colossal, emerald leaves of the World Tree, casting dappled, golden patterns across the wooden floor.

  Hathaway stood before the full-length wardrobe.

  She hadn't slept well.

  Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Cecilia’s gentle smile. She heard the "Saint" calling her a "Quiet Lion." And then, a cold, lingering chill would crawl up her spine.

  I am a gambler, she thought, looking at her pale reflection. I used a terrifying entity who rewrites reality as a cheap poker chip just to get a tutor. And that tutor... actually trusted me enough to open her family's door.

  She reached out and touched the cold glass of the mirror.

  Fear and debt were heavy things. For a normal person, they might be crushing. But for a Ludwig—even a fake one—they were fuel.

  "I played a dangerous game," she whispered to the empty room. "I can't undo the bluff. I can't tell her the truth yet. It would destroy everything."

  Her hand clenched into a fist.

  "So, I have to make the payout worth the risk."

  "If I bought my way in with counterfeit coins, I will pay her back with solid gold. I will not let her time be wasted on a failure. I will repay her trust with the only currency that matters in this school: Perfection."

  She reached for the heavy garment bag at the back. She pushed aside the sensible grey vests. Today was not a day for modesty.

  Today was a Coronation.

  She pulled out the Crimson Velvet Military Coat.

  It was aggressive. It was loud. It was the color of fresh arterial blood and warning signs. The buttons were pure gold, carved in the shape of roaring lions. The cuffs were embroidered with "Ludwig" in intricate, cursive silver script.

  She slipped it on.

  The weight of the velvet felt grounding. It felt like putting on armor.

  She fastened the gold buttons, one by one. Click. Click. Click. Like loading a gun.

  She brushed her silver hair until it shone like spun moonlight, tying it back with a black velvet ribbon. She leaned closer to the mirror.

  The girl staring back didn't look like a terrified gambler anymore. She looked like a Young General preparing to march into hell to retrieve a debt.

  Her Crimson Eyes glowed with a cold, detached arrogance.

  Thirty days. Thirty days of splitting her mind. Thirty days of Victoria dissecting her logic.

  I owe her. And today, I pay the first installment.

  "120 points," she hissed to the reflection.

  For a normal student, 50 was a pass. But for a Transfer Student like her, 120/130 (Distinction) was the only way to avoid repeating the year.

  "I will not just pass. I will dominate."

  [Time]: 08:00 AM

  [Location]: Dining Room (First Floor)

  Hathaway walked down the spiral staircase, her boots clicking rhythmically on the dark, polished wood.

  As she descended, the atmosphere shifted. She left the sunny, botanical warmth of the upper floors and entered Victoria’s Domain.

  The first floor was not designed for sunlight. It was designed for Atmosphere. Heavy velvet curtains blocked out most of the morning sun. The furniture was carved from black mahogany, upholstered in blood-red silk. Tall candelabras flickered with cool, blue magical flames.

  It felt less like a student dormitory and more like the dining hall of a Vampire Countess.

  Victoria was already there.

  She sat at the head of the long, obsidian dining table, her figure swallowed by the high-backed throne-like chair. She was not reading.

  A copy of The Witch Daily floated in mid-air beside her ear. The paper glowed faintly, and a low, disembodied voice—dry and monotonous—whispered the headlines to her.

  "...Breaking News: A Class-4 Spatial Rift opened above The Lunar Thorn Academy this morning. A swarm of Prime Dragons has infested the campus..."

  "...The Student Council has declared an immediate holiday. The cafeteria staff is currently capturing the dragons. Tonight's menu will be 'All-You-Can-Eat Dragon BBQ'..."

  While she listened to the report of the delightful disaster, a silver knife floated in front of her, spreading butter on a scone. She didn't need eyes to see; her mana perception mapped the entire table with radar-like precision.

  She didn't turn her head when Hathaway entered.

  "Your heart rate is 78 beats per minute," Victoria said, her voice cutting through the whispering newspaper. "Elevated. But acceptable."

  Hathaway stopped at the foot of the stairs. She looked at the silver-haired girl sitting in the gloom.

  Yesterday, she saw a "Demon Tutor." Today, she saw a fiercely proud sister guarding an absolute entity. She saw the person who had trusted her with a glimpse behind the curtain.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  I manipulated my way into your sanctuary, Hathaway thought, the weight of the debt pressing against her chest. But I swear, I will make your investment count.

  "Good morning, Teacher."

  Hathaway pulled out a heavy wooden chair and sat down. Her Crimson Coat blended perfectly with the gothic surroundings, making them look like a pair of conspirators.

  A silver teapot floated over and poured a cup of Earl Grey for her.

  "I trust you are ready?" Victoria asked. She waved her hand, and the whispering newspaper fell silent, folding itself neatly on the table.

  Hathaway picked up her fork. She didn't start eating immediately. She looked at Victoria—really looked at her.

  "I am ready," Hathaway said quietly. "You spent thirty days on me. You gave me your notes. You gave me your time."

  Hathaway gripped the fork tighter. "I will not let that investment turn into a bad debt. I am getting the 120 points."

  Victoria paused.

  Her blurry blue eyes stared unseeingly in Hathaway’s direction. She seemed to sense the shift in the air. The lingering fear from last night had hardened into something sharper. Determination.

  Her lips curved slightly. "Good."

  They ate in silence for a few minutes. It was a comfortable, heavy silence. The gloom of the room made the silver cutlery shine brighter. It felt like a breakfast between a mob boss and her favorite hitman.

  Finally, Victoria wiped her mouth with a napkin.

  "I will not be accompanying you to the Examination Institute," she stated calmly.

  Hathaway nodded, slicing a piece of bacon. "I assumed as much. It is just a basic qualification exam."

  "Precisely." Victoria leaned back, her fingers drumming on the armrest. "For the average Witch, today is a milestone. Parents will cry, flowers will be given. It is touching."

  She let out a soft scoff.

  "But for you? It is merely a bureaucratic hurdle to fix your attendance record. If you cannot score 120 on a test designed for teenagers, Hathaway, then my tutoring was a waste of time. And I do not like wasting time."

  She turned her face toward Hathaway. Even though her eyes couldn't focus, the weight of her gaze was crushing.

  "Go. Get the score. Secure your credits. If you pass with Distinction, we will celebrate with a bottle of 1882 Star-Dust Wine."

  Victoria paused, her smile turning polite and terrifying in the candlelight.

  "If you fail to get 120... and get held back a year..."

  She didn't finish the sentence. She just picked up her tea, the steam swirling around her pale face.

  Hathaway stood up. The gold lion buttons on her coat flashed in the gloom. She didn't feel fear. She felt the weight of her debt.

  "I will get the score," Hathaway said, her voice steady. "I won't let you down."

  "See that you don't." Victoria dismissed her with a wave of her hand, and the newspaper floated back up, resuming its whispering about the BBQ sauce recipe for the dragons. "Now go. Do not let the door hit you on the way out."

  [Time]: 08:20 AM

  [Location]: The Balcony

  Hathaway stepped out onto the wide balcony. The air was crisp and sweet, carrying the scent of the millions of flowers blooming across the district.

  "Transport," she muttered.

  She walked to the railing and looked down at the street level far below.

  She could see the Griffin Carriages—gold and white chariots pulled by majestic beasts. They were fast—Griffins are predators, after all—but the ride was stiff, formal, and pompous. It felt like a parade float for a Milan'thir.

  Hathaway didn't want a chauffeur today. She wanted to drive.

  She turned her head and saw a Dragon Bus gliding past on Route 66. It was an exquisite Triangular-Sail Skiff, pulled smoothly by a Medium-sized Wind Dragon. Inside the open cabin, she could see students lounging in velvet booths, reading books while alchemy robotic arms poured them unlimited refills of iced lemon tea.

  It was comfortable. It was civilized. It was the perfect place to listen to a waltz and relax.

  But today?

  Hathaway looked at her gloved hands. She didn't want civilized. She didn't want comfort. She didn't want to sip tea. She wanted the wind in her face and the roar of an engine.

  Her eyes drifted to the corner of the balcony, where a long, slender object had been leaning against the wall for a month, wrapped in protective velvet. It was the original Hathaway's personal broom. A birthday gift from her parents that had barely been touched before the soul swap.

  Hathaway walked over and pulled the velvet cloth away.

  Swish.

  The sunlight hit the object, and it gleamed with a predatory, aggressive shine.

  It wasn't subtle. It was painted a deep, lustrous Candy-Apple Red. The handle was carved from a single piece of polished Mahogany from the Elven Forests, smooth as glass and warm to the touch. Gold filigree traced intricate wind-runes along the shaft, pulsing faintly with latent power. The tail twigs were perfectly aligned, bound with genuine Griffin leather that smelled of expensive adventure.

  [The Scarlet-Valkyrie GT]

  It wasn't just a broom. It was a piece of art. It was a luxury touring sports model. High-torque mana engine. Anti-gravity stabilizers. The kind of broom that screamed, "I am rich, I am fast, and I regard speed limits as mere suggestions."

  Hathaway ran her hand along the shaft. A thrill, electric and primal, shot up her arm.

  For a month, she had been buried in books. She had been a scholar, a prisoner of logic. But today? Today she needed speed.

  She mounted the broom. It hummed instantly between her legs, vibrating with a low, throaty purr. It felt alive. It felt like a wild animal waiting for the leash to snap.

  "Let's see what you can do," Hathaway whispered.

  She kicked off the railing.

  "Fly."

  BOOM.

  There was no gradual lift-off. No clumsy hovering. The Scarlet-Valkyrie GT didn't fly; it rejected the concept of gravity.

  In a heartbeat, the balcony was gone. The dormitory was a speck behind her.

  "Whoaaaa!" Hathaway let out a sound that was half-scream, half-laughter.

  The wind roared, but the broom’s passive [Aegis Shield] activated instantly, forming an invisible tear-drop bubble around her. The gale that should have ripped her clothes off was transformed into a gentle, refreshing breeze that merely ruffled her silver hair.

  She leaned forward, merging her silhouette with the crimson broom. The speed was intoxicating. She wasn't just moving; she was tearing through the sky.

  Below her, the White City unfolded like a dream. She saw the familiar floating islands, but at this speed, they were just blurs of white marble and green foliage. She blasted past a Griffin Carriage, leaving the startled beasts squawking in her wake as a red streak overtook them.

  And then, she looked up.

  Her breath hitched.

  The sky was alive. It wasn't just her.

  Countless streaks of light crisscrossed the azure void. Witches. Thousands of them.

  She saw them soaring in the distance, tiny specks of light against the blue. Some flew on standard-issue academy brooms, moving in orderly lines like schools of fish. Some drifted on flying carpets, sipping coffee as they commuted. Some—the powerful ones—flew without any tools at all, their bodies wrapped in glowing auras of violet, gold, and azure, tearing through the clouds like comets.

  Hathaway felt a sudden, overwhelming surge of emotion.

  It wasn't just excitement. It was Belonging.

  On Earth, she had been alone. A grey figure in a grey subway car, surrounded by tired faces, disconnected and weary.

  But here?

  She looked at the Witch flying parallel to her, a hundred meters away—a girl with green hair riding a giant floating leaf. The girl noticed Hathaway, grinned, and waved.

  Hathaway waved back.

  I am one of them, she thought, the realization hitting her harder than the wind. I am not an impostor anymore. I am a sister of the sky. I am a godling in a city of gods, soaring through the heavens at Mach 2 on a stick of enchanted wood.

  This world was more magnificent than any game texture, more vibrant than any fantasy she had ever dreamed of in her cubicle. And it was real. And it was hers.

  She banked hard to the left, diving through a cloud bank, feeling the cool mist kiss her cheeks, then pulled up sharply, soaring towards the massive structure dominating the center of the district.

  The Central Examination Institute.

  It loomed ahead, a massive Silver Inverted Pyramid floating three kilometers above the main island, rotating slowly. It refracted the cold sunlight, casting prismatic rainbows over the waiting area below.

  Hathaway slowed down, her heart still pounding with the rhythm of the flight. She descended gracefully, the [Scarlet-Valkyrie] coming to a halt just inches above the marble plaza.

  She dismounted, smoothing her skirt, her face returning to its mask of calm indifference. But her hands were trembling slightly. Not from fear.

  From the sheer joy of existence.