I left the infirmary with a small satchel of basics—tonic bottle, a folded uniform shirt, and my bookbag. Most of my things had already been sent to my dorm.
The campus stretched wide and clean beneath a crisp sky. Stone paths cut across lawns and courtyards, each lined with rune-lamps that hummed softly, even in daylight.
I followed the signs toward the dormitories, then further, and further still. Unfortunately, it seemed like the E Dorms were set near the edge of the campus grounds—the furthest cluster from everything else. It made a certain kind of sense. E was the lowest rank, keeping the rabble at the perimeter while encouraging them to work harder.
As I walked, I tried to sift through what belonged to me and what belonged to Remina. Memories were the most useful tool I had currently, and because of how foggy they were, I couldn't just instantly recall them.
A gate, a hand on my shoulder, a voice like gravel speaking.
"Just pass. I don't care if it's by a hair."
My father, I thought. Well, not mine but hers. Now he was mine, I suppose.
A fountain, sunlight on water, laughter catching in my chest because two girls called my name and I didn't expect it. Her friends, who seemed young, must have been when she was a child.
I didn't know their names; the memory ended right before it would have told me.
A testing hall, a wand with a faint ribbon on the grip, a proctor marking down borderline wind. I felt the old panic throb in my palm. Barely passing still counted; she'd been happy anyway.
My own memories pushed back with coffee breath and fluorescent light and the tap-tap of keys, page after page after page. Red-pen notes stacked in my head like cards—trim this, move that, why does this motivation wobble here—until the edges of everything fuzzed.
I tried to remember who taught me to love clean sentences. I tried to remember the apartment I went home to. Blank—the harder I pushed, the more the headache rose like a tide.
"Fine, can't even remember my own life."
I sighed, but I put it aside. What's the point in forcing it, right?
I swapped to practical thoughts rather than trying to remember memories; I can do those whenever I can.
Early chapters, that's what mattered now. In the book, the academy arc started with the first day of classes. Safety briefing. Elemental fundamentals and the introduction to the classes. The MC made a small spectacle in the first week, but nothing major happened on day one.
I didn't need to be memorable; I didn't need to be invisible. I just needed to survive, show up, take notes, and not fail anything public.
Short-term goal: survive until the first arc is over. Plan: keep edits to a minimum until I understand the cost. Avoid trouble, avoid unneeded attention.
And most importantly, stay away from plot.
The exact details of the first arc were blurry; it had been so long since I edited it that I couldn't remember all the details, but I do remember that the villain of it attacked during a school outing; the target was one of the heroines, and the MC saved her.
The dorm gate creaked when I pushed it. E-Dorm was a squat L-shaped building with narrow windows and neat paint. Inside, the corridor smelled faintly of lavender polish and old paper.
My room number was burned into a brass plate screwed to the door: E-3-17. There was no key but rather a finger scanner; I pressed my finger against it and, click, the door swung inward on a room so simple it might have been sketched.
One bed, one desk, one chair. A short wardrobe with two hangers. A shelf nailed to the wall. A small square window with a view of the inner fence and a slice of sky—on the desk a simple laptop.
No roommate—there were no roommates here. Privacy for study and growth; the Academy was popular and rich enough to do that anyway.
Most of my things had been set in tidy stacks on the shelf. A uniform folded with more care than I'd give it, a pair of slippers still wrapped in paper, a bar of soap. The wind workbook waited on the desk beside my old laptop.
I set the satchel down and stood for a moment, palms flat on the desk, breathing. The room felt small but that didn't really matter to me—it was mine, for now. I could work with that.
I pulled up the panel.
[STATUS]
Name: Remina Solace
Rank: F-
HP: 108 / 120
MP: 26 / 50
Strength: F-
Agility: F+
Vitality: F+
Affinity: Wind (Unstable)
Traits: Quick Thinker, Editor's Insight
Unstable. That was the problem; classes started tomorrow. They wouldn't ask for anything big on the first day, but if I couldn't even summon a breeze, I'd trip my own flag before the plot had a chance to.
"Basics, start with basics."
I rolled my shoulders and sat cross-legged on the floor, spine straight, hands resting on my knees. The breathing pattern came from the workbook and from memory—a four-count inhale, gather at the core, guide along the meridians, exhale through the palms. Wind wasn't fire; it didn't leap. It slid along the edges of things and coaxed, not forced.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
Nothing.
I adjusted posture. Inhale. Hold.
A prickle climbed my fingers, slow and not-wind. The air near my palms seemed heavier, not lighter, as if something sank instead of stirring. I stopped at once; it didn't feel right.
I stood and cracked the window. Outside, the fence cut a clean line against the grass. A bird perched on the wire for a heartbeat and then darted off toward the main campus.
After a few breaths of fresh air, I tried again, a smaller attempt, as gentle as I could make it.
My hair lay heavy down my back, yet nothing, nothing stirred, no wind moved.
"Okay, books then."
I took the workbook to the bed and flipped it open. The first chapters were simple: focal points, breathing diagrams, common mistakes. Someone—past Remina—had written notes in the margins in small, neat letters.
Anchor in the chest, not the throat. Don't rush, don't force. Ask, don't force. She'd underlined that twice; it seemed like she cared a lot; she tried her hardest to grow.
So many notes, so much care put into it, yet she was only an E-rank.