The entire classroom had gone silent. You could've heard a pin drop. Every single face, from the front row to the top seats, was frozen somewhere between awe, confusion, and the kind of mild fear that really shouldn't make me as proud as it did.

I nodded to myself, satisfied. Perfect execution.

The timing, the slam, the dramatic fog… chef's kiss. I could practically hear the collective gasp of admiration.

'Nice work, Sacha,' I thought, smirking. The little tiger perched on my shoulder flicked her tail smugly.

"Sacha told you, Papa," she purred softly, "mist makes everything cooler."

"And it did," I muttered under my breath, pretending to dust off my coat. "You've got a real flair for drama."

Her chest puffed up. "Sacha learned from you!"

I was about to say something witty when my eyes finally landed on the person standing at the front of the room.

My confidence, my entire ego, hit the brakes so hard I could almost hear the screech.

Long black hair. Blindfold. Black and gold uniform.

No. Way.

My mouth fell open.

Standing there, staring straight in my direction, or at least, facing me with an unnerving calm, was none other than Belle Ardent.

Of all the classrooms in this entire academy… why did she have to be my teacher?

Belle tilted her head slightly, that ever-so-serene smile spreading across her lips. "Sebastian," she said, voice calm and deceptively gentle, "why did you come late… when you left so early?"

The room was dead quiet. Every student leaned forward, waiting for the inevitable explosion or execution whichever came first.

I blinked once. Twice. Then, just like that, my composure slid back into place. The shock melted off my face, replaced by the kind of grin that could only mean trouble.

"Well," I began, clasping my hands behind my back, "it's really quite simple, Professor Ardent."

Belle raised an eyebrow or at least, I assumed she did under that blindfold.

"In every great story," I continued, my tone suddenly serious, "the protagonist always arrives late on the first day. It's tradition, an artistic statement."

A few students in the front row exchanged bewildered glances. Someone coughed.

"So," I said, shrugging with practiced nonchalance, "since I am the protagonist, I figured I'd better stick to the script. I realized I left too early, so I… improvised."

"Papa wandered around for ten minutes doing nothing," Sacha announced proudly from my shoulder, tail flicking.

"Research," I corrected smoothly. "I was conducting research on the narrative impact of punctuality."

Belle's smile twitched, the faintest curve of disbelief mixed with something that looked dangerously like amusement.

A few students tried to hold back their laughter. Most failed miserably.

Belle exhaled slowly, a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. "So… you were late because you thought it would be cinematic?"

"Exactly," I said brightly. "And if I'm being honest, I think it worked beautifully. The fog, the timing flawless."

Sacha nodded solemnly. "Papa is very dramatic."

"I prefer theatrical," I corrected again.

Belle pinched the bridge of her nose under her blindfold, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer for patience.

Meanwhile, I was already mentally giving myself a ten out of ten for presentation.

I tilted my head, still half-grinning, half-suspicious. "Wait a second," I said slowly, looking at Belle. "Why are you teaching this class?"

I could've sworn Professor Kane was supposed to be our homeroom and combat instructor.

Belle didn't answer right away. She just gave one of those cryptic smiles of hers, the kind that said you don't need to know, but I'll enjoy watching you suffer because of it.

I stared at her for a few seconds before sighing inwardly.Alright… this isn't right. Kane's supposed to be here. So why...

My thought cut off mid-way as I caught myself, a faint grin tugging at my lips. Oh, right. You're probably wondering how I even know that.

I almost laughed aloud. Of course, anyone listening in on my thoughts, hypothetical or otherwise, would be confused.

Well, I thought drily, unlike those overpowered, cliché novel protagonists with their perfect memory recall and annoying inner narration, I'm not that blessed. I don't remember the exact shade of the sky from three timelines ago, or what flavor of tea the headmaster was drinking in the year 3475.

My gaze flicked across the stunned students, then back to Belle, still standing effortlessly poised at the front. But… I admitted to myself, I wanted that kind of memory. Just once.

So, I did what any reasonable, half-mad person would do.

I made Bastard tinker with my soul.

The words echoed in my mind like a guilty confession. It wasn't exactly something you tell people out loud, not unless you want them to call exorcists. I'd forced him to dig through the mess that was my soul, to rewire whatever fragment of it handled memory. It worked. Mostly.

I could remember things with eerie precision now, pieces of a life that wasn't supposed to be remembered.

But it came at a price.

That's also why he's been quiet these past few days, I thought, expression flattening slightly. His… whatever he's got body, mind, soul, or whatever eldritch goo he's made of is probably still recovering. Messing with someone's soul isn't exactly light work, even for him.

I exhaled softly through my nose, a faint curl of frost following the breath. The classroom was silent, everyone was still frozen in surprise.

Heh, I mused inwardly, eyes glinting gold as I stepped forward, guess I really do know too much for someone who's "new" here.

Belle's voice broke through my thoughts like a blade slicing clean through fog.

"Are you done with your inner monologue, Sebastian?" she asked, her tone deceptively calm, the kind of calm that made your instincts scream run. "Or should we wait until you're finished narrating your tragic backstory to yourself?"

My brain stuttered. Wait, she heard that?

A few muffled snickers rippled through the class. My eyes flicked toward Belle, who was now smiling sweetly, far too sweetly.

"I didn't hear anything; it was just written all over your face," she continued, folding her arms behind her back. "Since you're with us again, perhaps we should discuss your punishment for being late?"

I blinked once, the faint grin slipping off my face. "…Wait. What?"

Her smile didn't waver.

The classroom went completely silent, the tension so thick it might as well have been tangible.

And just like that, I realized that the day had only just begun.

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