Chapter 24: No Save Points Left

We both stepped inside.

And… holy shit.

The inside of the Student Affairs and Assignment Division was way bigger than the outside had any right to be.

From the narrow hallway entrance, you'd expect a compact office with maybe a few desks and a bunch of bored staff behind them, pushing paperwork and sipping overpriced tea.

Instead?

Vaulted ceilings, polished white marble floors laced with silver veins, and floating crystal lanterns that hovered midair, casting a soft glow over everything.

Pillars shaped like coiling dragons spiraled up from the corners, their eyes glowing faintly blue as if watching every step.

Rows of seats lined the sides like a lounge, except the furniture looked way too expensive to actually sit on.

Everything shimmered slightly, like the room itself was breathing—alive with some ancient enchantment.

Spatial manipulation magic. Just great.

"It's like walking into a palace disguised as a janitor's closet," I muttered.

{Typical high-tier academy move. Flashy magic just to flex.}

"Right. Because normal buildings just casually ignore physics now."

Echo didn't respond. She was too busy being smug in silence.

Ahead of us, behind a wide crescent-shaped silverwood desk, stood a tall, slender elf—midway through organizing a stack of floating files that glowed faintly in different hues.

His white-blond hair was braided neatly over one shoulder, his long ears studded with opalescent rings.

He wore a charcoal grey waistcoat over a midnight blue shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal a hint of elegant silver tattoos running along his forearms.

His skin was pale—almost luminous—and his eyes? Sea-glass green. Sharp. Calculating.

A small plaque on the desk read:

Renlor Vynes – Student Affairs Officer

Without looking up, he gestured casually.

"Please, have a seat. I'll be with you in just a moment."

His voice was smooth and bored. Classic elf.

We sat. Well, Cassia practically floated into her seat with that infuriatingly graceful vampire poise.

I slumped into mine like I was bracing for a dentist appointment.

Renlor gathered the last few files, muttered something in Elvish, and the stack vanished in a shimmer of blue light.

"My assistant will be with you shortly. She'll walk you through everything. I have to attend to something urgent."

And without another word, he turned and walked out the side door, coat swaying behind him like he was on some high-fantasy runway.

"I don't like this," I said flatly.

{You're right not to.}

Cassia turned to me, smile still pinned to her lips like it was sewn there.

That smile could peel wallpaper.

"We haven't really introduced ourselves properly yet," she said, resting her chin on her hand, elbow on the desk. Her ruby-red eyes shimmered with mischief.

I hated where this was going.

{Tell her you're married. To Glory. Just to scare her off.}

"I'm Cassia Virelle Duskmoor," she purred, "youngest daughter of House Duskmoor.

One of the oldest bloodlines in the vampire hierarchy. Surely you've heard of us?"

Oh, I'd heard. Everyone had. The Duskmoors were elite—and terrifying. And Cassia? Yeah, she had a reputation. None of it good.

I knew if I ignored her, she'd only get more curious. The more I avoided her, the more interesting she'd find me.

So I sighed.

"Eden Prairie," I said. "Twin to Glory Prairie."

{That's all you got? Really? Not even a dramatic pause? A flourish? A monologue?}

Cassia grinned like I'd just made her birthday list.

"Well then," she said, offering her hand across the desk. I hesitated, but eventually took it.

Mistake.

She tugged me closer, her lips brushing my ear.

"If not for that little stunt you pulled back in the arena," she whispered, "I would've gotten the chance to have beaten that bitch.

But now? That window's closed. So… you'll have to compensate me."

A chill ran down my spine.

Yup. Screwed.

Just then, the door swung open behind us.

A girl stepped in. No older than twenty, dressed in the Silver Mist Academy uniform—a sleek, navy-blue long coat with platinum lining, fitted slacks, and a black-gold badge stitched on her collar that marked her as a sophomore.

Her name tag read:

Miris Elowen Harthgrave

Chestnut hair flowed down her back in soft waves, her skin slightly freckled and kissed by the sun.

But what stood out most were her ears—fluffy, alert, and twitching slightly atop her head.

Her arms were lightly dusted with silvery hair, not enough to look odd—just… striking.

Beautiful, in a wild sort of way.

Definitely a werewolf. And from the smell? Strong bloodline too.

She looked... familiar.

Wait—

{Idiot. That's the girl you ditched at the elevator.}

Oh. Shit.

I looked down at the obsidian ring still stuck on my finger.

Yep. Definitely cursed.

{It's not cursed. You're just socially deficient.}

The girl—Miris—had a polite smile when she entered.

But as soon as her eyes landed on me, it vanished like a soap bubble under a hammer.

Cassia turned slightly toward me, whispering again, "Hasn't even been a week and you're already breaking hearts. Impressive."

I rubbed my temple.

This school was going to kill me—and not in the metaphorical sense.

"I apologize for being late," the girl—Miris—said as she stepped fully into the room, her voice smooth but clipped, like she was trying her best to stay professional.

Then she saw me again.

Her eyes narrowed, ever so slightly, like someone who just remembered where they last buried a grudge.

Her gaze lingered on me for half a second too long, then she blinked, cleared her throat, and turned away.

Seriously?

It wasn't my fault she was late.

I didn't force her to miss the elevator. I just… didn't help.

{Classic villain behavior. First the elevator. Now this. I'm so proud.}

"Would you prefer coffee or tea?" she asked, turning to Cassia with a suddenly softer, more pleasant tone—like she'd just switched into fairy princess mode.

Her voice dipped into something warm and lilting.

Cassia, of course, beamed. "Tea, darling. Jasmine, if you've got it."

Did she just purr?

Miris nodded once and moved like she was on rails—smooth, practiced, quick.

She walked over to the corner where a small preparation nook stood—complete with glowing orbs that acted as magical heating units and labeled jars of fancy blends.

Her hands moved fast, precise.

I didn't even see her pour hot water, and yet, somehow, boom, two cups appeared on a tray before I could process my next thought.

Cassia's tea was served in a pristine white cup with golden trim.

Steam curled from the surface like it was blessed by moonlight.

Miris handed it to her with both hands and a bow that would've made a royal butler nod in approval.

Then came mine.

The coffee was handed to me like she was slapping down a bill I refused to pay.

In a plain grey mug. No saucer. No smile.

I took it slowly, unsure if she'd spit in it—or worse, hexed it.

"Thanks?" I offered, voice flat.

"Mm-hm," she hummed back, then immediately turned to her files like I wasn't there.

I looked at the mug again. There was a tiny chip at the rim.

Of course.

"So," she said after a beat, flipping through a small stack of glowing key cards, "you're here to collect your residential keys, correct?"

She barely waited for an answer before pulling a glowing key card from a slotted drawer under the desk.

A quick scan across the reader, and the label glowed soft green.

"For you, Miss Duskmoor," she said with an almost reverent tone, sliding the key card to Cassia.

"Dorm Sector Nine, Building D. Top-floor room, south wing. It's one of the quieter ones, nice view of the courtyard. You'll like it."

Cassia took it with a delighted little hum and looked at me over the rim of her cup.

"So thoughtful," she murmured. "I feel so taken care of."

Then came my turn.

Miris adjusted her stance, flipped another panel, then another.

Her fingers hovered over my name. I could see it, right there on the display.

But she didn't pull a key card.

Instead, she clicked her tongue softly. "Hmm. Still looking for yours."

I blinked. "Still looking? You just passed it."

"No I didn't," she said flatly.

I leaned forward. "Yes. You did. It said Prairie, Eden. Right there."

She scrolled past it again, on purpose.

"Hmm. Must've been a glitch."

I stared at her. "A glitch?"

"Yes," she said, utterly deadpan. "A very specific glitch."

I opened my mouth to argue—then it hit me.

"Oh come on," I said. "You're still mad about the elevator thing?"

Cassia sipped her tea, visibly enjoying the show. "What elevator thing?" she asked, too sweetly.

Miris smiled—tight, professional.

"I'm not mad. It's protocol. If someone's not courteous enough to hold a lift, maybe the system just needs a little extra time to find his room assignment."

"Wow," I muttered. "Petty and powerful. That's dangerous."

Cassia suddenly stood, turned to me with that slow, serpentine grace of hers, and—before I could even react—kissed me on the cheek.

A feather-light, lingering kiss that burned hotter than the stupid coffee in my hand.

"See you later, Baby Boy," she whispered, her lips brushing my skin just a second longer than necessary.

Then she whispered again, lower this time against my skin:

"Don't keep me waiting too long. You owe me, remember?

Then she turned, dropped her tea down on the saucer, waved at Miris politely, and sashayed out the door like she was walking a red carpet draped in starlight.

I sat frozen, blinking.

Miris… stared.

Like she was trying to figure out what kind of twisted rom-com she'd just walked into.

I turned back to her slowly.

"This is not what it looks like," I said.

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? So she calls every guy she meets Baby Boy?"

"…Yes?"

{That was pathetic. Even for you.}

Miris exhaled sharply and muttered something under her breath I knew I wasn't supposed to hear.

She tapped a final command on her holo-screen and gave me a look.

Not the usual "sorry for the inconvenience" look you'd expect from someone who just refused to do their literal job. No.

This was a calculated smirk—like she was halfway through a rom-com rivalry montage and already two sabotage schemes ahead of me.

"Well then," she said brightly, "if you're going to just sit there, why not be useful?"

Uh-oh.

She reached under the counter and pulled out a thick manila folder—except it wasn't manila or even a folder.

This thing looked like it had absorbed ten different magical auras and now held the secrets to the universe and three unpaid parking fines.

"Could you please deliver this to the Alchemical Hazard Oversight Division on the fourth floor?"

I blinked. "The what?"

"It's in the east wing. Can't miss it—smells like burnt hair and regret."

My eye twitched.

I stared at her. "You're asking me to run errands?"

She tilted her head, smile syrupy-sweet. "Asking is a strong word."

{Oh, this is beautiful,} Echo said, somewhere in the corner of my mind.

{A humble start for our great anti-hero: delivering documents for the girl he elevator-ditched. Poetic cinema.}

'I didn't ditch her! I snapped mentally. I just... closed the door. With purpose.'

{Yeah, and now that door has reopened. With vengeance.}

I grabbed the folder with a grunt and the kind of irritation that should've set something on fire.

"Fourth floor," I repeated through clenched teeth.

"Mhm," she replied without even turning, already back to her screen.

"Follow the smell of burnt hair and broken promises."

I took a breath. A long, soul-steadying breath. Then looked at the files again.

I'm in a magical academy, in a game world I used to play, being bossed around by a fluffy-eared second-year who thinks she's winning something.

{You are holding the evidence of your defeat in both hands. That's... iconic, honestly.}

I stared at her. She just smiled. Innocent. Triumphant.

A vein popped on my forehead.

"You guys really want to push me into becoming a villain, huh?"

"I think you'd make a lovely one," she said sweetly.

"Now run along. I'm sure the glitch will resolve itself while you're gone."

With gritted teeth and my soul actively exiting my body, I took the cursed files.

She hummed behind me. Hummed. Like she just won an interdimensional chess match and I was the final piece getting knocked off the board.

I turned to go, muttering under my breath.

"This school is ridiculous."

{Correction} Echo replied, smug. {This world is ridiculous. And you, my friend, are the crown prince of unfortunate timing.}

As I stepped out, burdened with files I had zero emotional connection to, I muttered under my breath again, "Yep… this is how villains are made."

They weren't heavy, not really. But carrying them felt like a personal attack on my existence.

I didn't even know where this so-called department was.

Alchemical Hazard and Oversight Division? What the hell did that even mean?

{Sounds like a place where people accidentally blow themselves up}

Echo chimed in, the glee in her voice irritatingly tangible.

{You'll fit right in.}

You do realize we don't even know the way, right?

"You know you can just ask around right?

Now lift those knees, champ. Make it dramatic.}

I sighed and started walking, clutching the stack like it owed me an apology.

The hallways of Silver Mist Academy twisted with architectural arrogance, shifting dimensions in a way that made even my seasoned gamer senses reel.

Hovering platforms drifted silently overhead, each carrying students wrapped in cloaks of drifting flame or shimmering crystal.

The moment I stepped past the hallway's rune-carved archway, the flickering light from the hovering crystal sconces overhead cast faint pulses of magic over the marbled floor.

There was no mistaking it—Silver Mist Academy was every bit the fever dream it had been in the game.

Paintings blinked as I passed. One whispered something like "He's not like the others."

I didn't slow my pace. Floating tables coasted by on their own errands.

Some students teleported with shimmering pops mid-stride, arriving in bursts of fog and sparkle like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Then came Echo's systematic voice. Soft, wry, and impossible to ignore.

{So, how does it feel, walking through the very same game you played?}

"Strange," I muttered under my breath, adjusting the files in my hand. 'Surreal. All this… felt easier from a monitor.'

{Surreal is one way to put it. You've got giggling girls two steps behind you and three death stares flanking your left.}

I tilted my head slightly. True to her word, two girls were whispering with flushed cheeks, occasionally daring glances in my direction.

Meanwhile, a tall upperclassman near a stairwell looked like he was considering whether my face deserved punching or setting on fire.

I sighed. I knew I was good-looking, but come on.

There had to be someone else around here who ranked higher in the face department.

[Narcissistic.]

'You're one to talk,' I muttered.

{But really, how was the game, Eden? You never did finish it}

A sigh left me as I kept walking.

'It had seven arcs,' I murmured under my breath.

'Each arc—except the fifth and seventh—had twelve chapters, and each chapter had at least five major events.

The fifth and seventh had only nine chapters each, but the events there?' I shook my head.

'Mentally derailing. No joke.'

{And how far did you get before rage-quitting like a toddler denied his toy?}

'Arc Six. Chapter Seven. Right before the Seraphic Fall sequence.

Lost my entire progress because I failed the final condition.

And of course, the brilliant developers thought checkpoints were too generous.

No save files—just a cursed restart of the whole arc if you die.'

{Sounds efficient. And soul-crushing.}

'You don't say.'

My footsteps echoed faintly through the corridors, though I wasn't the only one walking.

A group of girls passed to my left—one of them glanced my way, nudged her friend, and giggled like I'd whispered a pick-up line.

Her friend stared openly. The guy with them? Full-on glare mode.

Jaw clenched, fists tight. Like I just stepped out of his girlfriend's dreams.

{Breaking hearts already? Stealing someone's girl again, are we?}

'Please. I'm just walking.'

{Sure. But with that face, even existing is a declaration of war.}

I glanced at my reflection in the tall glass pane beside a shifting rune-door. Okay, yeah, I was drop dead gorgeous.

{Narcissistic.}

I rolled my eyes.

I passed a staircase that bent impossibly to the left, and just above it, glowing text shimmered midair:

"The wise shall rise, the proud shall fall. Speak your truth, and the stairs shall listen."

"Pass."

The runes shimmered dimly in protest.

I sighed again. The reality of walking through places I'd once explored with a keyboard and mouse hadn't worn off.

Still doesn't feel real.

This place. This body.

The fact that I was once playing this game on a screen and now breathing the air of its world. If immersion had a cruel punchline, this was it.

It was still surreal. Still weird. My skin tingled with every anomaly I passed—like the atmosphere itself didn't know whether it was a school or a sentient prank.

A tug on my mental map reminded me of where I was headed: Academical Hazard Oversight Division. Whatever that meant. Apparently, some student practical record update nonsense.

I stopped at a split in the hallway, trying to decipher the direction tags floating overhead.

"Lower South Spiral – Divisions & Records," one read.

The other blinked twice, glitching between "Enchantments" and "Observatory."

"Ugh."

"Need help?"

The voice was warm, smooth, and surprisingly close.

I turned.

An elf girl stood beside me. Her school uniform had tasteful designs embroidered in silver thread, subtle but elegant, and her skirt?

Just high enough to skirt regulation. Not that I was looking—okay, maybe I was for a second—but I caught myself before my brain went full perv mode.

Damn it.

She had striking lavender eyes, long platinum-blonde hair like Cassia's, tied up into a sleek tail, and an effortless confidence to the way she tilted her head.

"I'm Velaria," she said, offering a soft smile. "Third year.

You look like you're either completely lost or pretending not to be."

"I'm both." I kept my expression neutral.

"Looking for the Academical Hazard Oversight Division."

"Oh, lucky. I'm heading that way too. I'll walk with you."

"That's… convenient."

She grinned. "Or fate."

We walked side-by-side. Her steps were light, almost silent, while mine echoed just slightly.

The hallway curved downward into a tunnel of soft lights and whispering runes.

"So," she said after a moment, glancing at me from the corner of her eye. "First year?"

"Unfortunately"

She laughed—a soft, airy sound.

"Don't worry. First year just means you haven't seen all the madness yet. Some of the best students in this place started rough."

"You saying I look rough?"

She smirked. "I'm saying you look like someone who has stories. I like stories."

I gave a noncommittal shrug.

"You don't talk much, do you?"

"Not unless I need to."

She let out a quiet laugh.

"Mysterious. Brooding. You'll be a hit with the first-year girls."

"Not my intention."

"Doesn't need to be."

More giggles from a passing group followed us. Eyes glanced.

Whispers spread. It was subtle, but noticeable.

{Another one. You didn't even say anything this time.}

'Just breathing is enough, I guess.'

We passed a hallway where the walls rearranged their shape into stairways, and one painting of a forest fox turned its head and winked.

"So… what's your class?" Velaria asked casually.

I kept my expression steady. "Complicated."

She raised a brow but didn't push. "You'll fit right in."

That's the problem, I don't want to fit in. I just want to get out of here.

Damnation!!