Unlike most of my new classmates, I didn't go exploring the academy grounds. I didn't want to run into upperclassmen—let alone anyone from the elite division. And there was something else I couldn't ignore: Theodore was studying here too, in his final year.
Hopefully, I wouldn't have to see him often.
"Hey, Alan, where do you think you're going?" Alma caught up to me and hooked her arm through mine.
"I was going to get some rest. It's a free day anyway."
"Aren't you hungry? It's lunchtime. Come on—I'm dying to see what they feed people like us."
Lunch.
Which meant everyone would be there.
Exactly what I didn't want.
But I couldn't avoid food forever.
I sighed and let her drag me along. She smiled brightly and leaned closer against me as we walked.
We made our way to the first floor. I didn't know where the cafeteria was, but Alma clearly did, and I didn't argue.
We stepped into a large hall on the aristocratic side.
The dining area was shared—but split across two levels.
On the ground floor, long rows of tables stretched out, and a line of students with trays had already formed at the serving counter.
I couldn't see the second floor, but I had no doubt the elite students weren't standing in line for their meals.
We joined the queue at the back.
Thankfully, no one paid me any attention.
So far, so good.
We moved forward, grabbed trays, and started picking food.
Simple—but decent.
Several soups. Mashed potatoes, rice, pasta. Nuggets, meat in sauce, vegetable stew. Fresh vegetables, bread, flatbread. Drinks. Pudding.
I took mashed potatoes with gravy, a fresh cucumber, a few slices of bread, pudding, and coffee.
Then paused—and added a bowl of vegetable soup.
This body might be weak, but it needed way more food than mine ever did.
"Let's sit over there," Alma said, pointing to a table with several upperclassmen.
"I'd rather sit there," I said, nodding toward a nearly empty table in the corner.
"Don't be ridiculous," she said seriously. "If you keep avoiding everyone, you'll end up an outcast."
"I think if I keep drawing attention, I might end up dead—or crippled."
"You're afraid of them?" she asked. "You're from high society. I've heard things about you."
She leaned closer.
"And what I see right now doesn't match the arrogant jerk who looks down on everyone."
"Where did you hear that?" I asked, surprised.
"I talked to a few first-years from the elite class. And some upperclassmen from our side too. None of them had anything nice to say about you."
"Yeah. I'm popular."
"Care to explain why what people say doesn't match who you actually are?" she asked, sitting across from me.
I took a spoonful of soup.
From what I understood, no one knew yet that Alan had lost his memory.
Should I tell her?
I took another spoonful and looked at Alma.
Despite the fading bruises on her face and arms, she was pretty.
Large brown eyes. Neat brows. Full lips, slightly marred by a healing cut. Her black hair looked dry and messy now, but with a bit of care it would shine.
When I first saw her, I thought she was about sixteen.
Now—
Tight jeans. A fitted top.
She looked older than I'd first thought.
"How old are you?" I asked.
"I turned eighteen last month," she said, surprised. "Are you going to satisfy my curiosity now?"
"Then tell me first—why are you talking to me, knowing who I am?"
"Why not?" she shrugged. "You're good-looking, rich, and I was curious. That's enough reason for me."
"I don't remember anything at all."
"…What?"
"A few weeks ago, I somehow fell into a pond on our estate. When they pulled me out, I couldn't remember anything."
"You mean you don't remember how you fell?"
"I don't remember anything. Not my life. Not who I was. Nothing before the accident."
"You're serious? Nothing at all?"
"When I woke up, I asked my mother who she was," I said with a grimace. "Then suggested she must've mistaken me for someone else."
"That's… not what I expected," Alma exhaled.
"So your personality changed because you don't remember who you used to be? Is that even possible?"
"Maybe you're right. I don't understand it myself," I admitted. "It's like I started over from scratch. But…"
"But what?" she pressed.
"When I learned what I used to be like… it made me sick," I said quietly. "I don't know why I was like that. What drove me. What I wanted."
"But I realized one thing."
"I don't want to be that person anymore."
"And your family didn't try to fix it?" she asked. "They're rich. They could've hired some world-famous doctor—or, I don't know… a magician."
"A magician?" I snorted softly. "Of course my father couldn't let this affect the family image. He found a specialist."
"A gifted one. Someone who treats the soul, not the body."
"But I didn't want to remember anything."
"So that's why you're here?"
"Partly. My former teacher accidentally discovered I had abilities. He said it was my chance to save myself."
"That's a strange way to save yourself," Alma said. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you're not exactly safe here."
"Yeah… not my best decision," I admitted. "But at least no one can drag me out of here by force."
"Once you're enrolled, you're under the director's protection until graduation."
"Already read the rules?" she smirked.
"Skimmed them."
"So what's your plan?"
"Try not to die," I said lightly, taking another spoonful of lukewarm soup.
"I'm serious," she said. "That's it? No ambition?"
"You're practically a rebel. An aristocrat who chose to become a servant."
"Don't disappoint me."
"Don't disappoint you?" I echoed, glancing toward the nearby table.
They weren't even hiding it anymore—staring, whispering, pointing.
"What exactly do you gain from talking to me?" I asked quietly. "You'll end up an outcast too."
I focused on my food.
The sooner I finished, the sooner I could disappear back to my room.