The Art of the Outlier

As soon as news of the Princess’s return broke, the first-years were summoned immediately, starting from that very night.

But it wasn’t just us. Every student in the Imperial Class—except for the fourth-years—gathered on the campus grounds under the moonlight. Some ladies looked like they had been dragged straight out of bed.

“Ariang Aosta. Further back, please.”

“Understood.”

The formations varied by student number and rank, but today, they told me to go to the very back. I followed the order without a word. Other tall students were funneled to the rear with me. Are we taking a group photo? There are no cameras here.

Under the direction of the three Duchesses, the first-years lined up. Sienna Colmar and her two friends stood on the platform. And then, they were struck.

“Who told you to wear formal dress?”

“I… I did.”

“I believe I said to wear school uniforms. Did I stutter? Are your ears ringing because you’ve been hit too much?”

The sight of the “Trio of Duchesses” getting slapped had become routine. Now I understood why that senior who introduced us on the first day had such sturdy cheeks. At this Academy, they turn noble ladies into “Anpanman” before sending them out. If your skin isn’t thick, you won’t survive. Or rather, they force it to become thick.

“Ack! Aaaagh!”

“I told you not to scream. Is swallowing a cry that difficult for you?”

They were taken down and kicked in the stomach. How are they supposed to stay silent? Do they expect them to master abdominal breathing just to suppress a scream?

Tonight, the blows were particularly heavy. While Sienna endured it well, the other two Duchesses looked like they were on the verge of tears before a follow-up strike cut them short. Sienna’s toughened up, I thought. Think of my slap as your vaccination.

“Since the Class President and the Section Heads take all the hits, I suppose the rest of you feel no tension.”

I hadn’t heard the news, but apparently, those three had been appointed as class representatives.

“Everyone, hands behind your backs. Heads down.”

“Lower! Now!”

That was the signal. They were going to start hitting the rest of us and didn’t want us seeing who got struck or how. It wasn’t intentional, but until now, I had never been subjected to group corporal punishment at Sky Castle. Rene had acted like a guardian deity, pulling me out at just the right moments. But it seemed my luck had run out.

I’ve been hit by sharpened axes and iron maces in my time; a “maiden’s hand” didn’t scare me. Of course, being hit for such a stupid reason was frustrating, but I’d memorize the faces of those who struck without cause. I’d peel their skin and pluck their bones later.

“Ack!”

“Mmph!”

“I said no screaming!”

Anyone who made a sound was trampled. Usually, this kind of hazing involves a lot of swearing, but here, they hit you while using “pretty” words. Finally, it was my turn.

The senior in front of me paused, surprised by my height and frame. Then, she clapped her hands.

“Oh? Our Lady Knight from the Knight Department? I haven’t seen much of you.”

I guess word had traveled.

“A lot of people are sharpening their blades for you, so be careful. Do well. Work hard, okay?”

With a comment that was half-warning and half-sarcasm, she raised her hand to swing. I straightened my knees—which I had been keeping bent to appear shorter. The sudden change in height caused her swing to miss completely, slicing through the air.

“Did… did you dodge…?”

“No.”

I hadn’t tilted my head or even blinked. The senior knew it, so she didn’t blame me. Instead, she raised her left hand, went up on her tiptoes to reach my cheek, and swung again.

She overextended. Her hand missed, she lost her balance, and she began to tumble forward.

“Whoa?!”

“Are you alright, Senior?”

As she fell toward me, I caught her by the back, leaning forward to stabilize her and prevent her from hitting the ground.

“Wait, ah?!”

“Please tell me you are unhurt first.”

We were close—close enough that our noses nearly touched. It looked like the climax of a ballroom dance where the lead brings the partner in as tight as possible. I didn’t have a mirror, but I imagined that’s how it looked.

“Uh… ah…”

I locked my eyes onto hers. Honestly, I was just trying to mess with her for trying to hit me, but the look in this second-year’s eyes was… unusual. I decided to put this face to use. I’m a spy, after all. If a honey trap works, I’ll use it.

It’s a bit funny using a “woman’s” charm on another woman, but female-to-female admiration is common—and often more socially acceptable than the alternative. Whether in the idol world or here, it’s a thing. The “Ariang Aosta” persona had both beauty and martial prowess. It was a viable strategy.

“N-no, I’m fine… let go, please…”

I broke eye contact, pulled her back to a standing position, and released her. Leaving the blushing, stuttering second-year behind, I dropped back into a deep crouch to lower my height.

Dodging was good, but let’s try a different kind of “consideration.”

“I should have done this sooner. My apologies. I will accept my punishment humbly.”

The second-year senior, her face beet red, just shook her head and stammered.

Wow, it really works. This face is a cheat code. Even the girls can’t help but like it.

“It’s… it’s fine. Just do better next time.”

“If you do not strike me, won’t you be reprimanded by the third-years? I am worried for you.”

“I said it’s fine!”

I intentionally made my voice a bit deeper. I’d been told before that while my voice is feminine, it has a certain “depth” or “resonance” that feels mysterious.

“I am not fine with it.”

“What are you do—”

I grabbed the senior’s wrist and guided her hand to strike my own cheek with a sharp crack.

“Ack?! Why did you do that?!”

“So you don’t get in trouble.”

“I said I was fine! Why… my hand stings…”

I bet it does.

“Who told you to look?!” a voice barked from elsewhere.

I was worried our little drama would draw attention, but the seniors were too busy beating the other first-years. The girls to my left and right were staring at the ground, occasionally getting kicked. If anyone tried to peek, they were forced down and struck.

When the “slapping harvest” finally ended, the first-years had to stand like prisoners, hands behind their backs and heads bowed.

“Alright, everyone, look up. We didn’t gather you here just to punish you. We hit you because you were asking for it. But now, our first-years and the entire Imperial Class have something we need to practice urgently. Second-years, front and center!”

A third-year acted as the master of ceremonies. The second-years stepped forward and began to demonstrate a synchronized routine. It was a mass game—essentially a group performance. An initiation rite for the first-years. They wanted us to perform a military-style dance praising the rise of the Empire and the Imperial Family.

“I’m sure you find this sudden requirement for dance and movement strange or undesirable. But we are those who have sworn loyalty to the Princess and the Empire—a loyalty that can be unreasonable at times.”

“Yes, that is correct!”

Once again, I was the only one who answered. Loudly, too. No matter how much they yelled, the other first-years wouldn’t respond, so these seniors actually started smiling at me whenever I spoke up.

“Indeed. Loyalty sometimes means taking on tasks you dislike or that seem useless. It is for the nation and the Princess. Therefore, we hope to demonstrate our loyalty through this practice.”

Isn’t that just the definition of being a sycophant? I thought. True loyalty is being willing to risk your life to give advice when the path is wrong. That felt more like the real deal.

“So, I want the first-years to show unity, as if your bodies were one. Let’s prove that this first-year class is the best in history. Everyone, the sooner you reach perfection, the sooner you sleep. Watch the second-years and follow along!”

The dialogue was so similar to things I’d heard in my past life that I got goosebumps. But despite the promise of sleep, the practice continued into the early hours of the morning. At first, the first-years improved quickly because of the threat of violence, but then…

“Second-years, do it again. These girls are being sloppy.”

The second-years were impressively good. The “perfection” the first-years felt they had achieved wasn’t enough; we were forced to continue until we matched the seniors.

“Ah… someone’s collapsed!”

As dawn approached, one of the first-years fainted from exhaustion.

“She collapsed? Wake her up. Is there a strong student among the first-years? Can someone fetch some water?”

“Yes!”

The moment I heard “strong,” I knew it was me. I bolted. If it’s a strength task, I might as well handle it.

The water for the Imperial Class is brought up by maids in the morning and evening. Since it was the crack of dawn—just before the maids started their shift—and many people had been drinking throughout the night, there wasn’t much left. The fountain wasn’t far, but filling a bucket normally takes time.

I ducked out of sight, pulled out a container of melted glacial water from my Inventory, and poured it into the bucket. Splash. I was back in an instant.

“I figured no one would want to move, but you’re fast… Wait, what?!”

“I have brought the water.”

The senior in charge looked stunned. Based on her earlier comment, she probably expected the noble ladies to complain about doing “maid’s work” and use that as an excuse to scream at them more. I had effectively cut her off.

“That was fast… It usually takes a while to draw water.”

“I ran.”

“We’re tired, but the first-years must be exhausted…”

“I am fine.”

“Should we pour it on her?” the second-years asked, coming to take the bucket from me. The first-years were all panting, unable to even sit, leaning on their knees in agony.

The third-year leading the drill looked at the exhausted girls, the unconscious lady, and then at me. She shook her head.

“No, that’s enough. First-years, drink some water and take a short break. You can even sleep here for a bit. Don’t worry about decorum.”

I would have preferred to be the only one standing while everyone else was dead on their feet, but I don’t hate resting. I sat down as instructed.

What kind of crazy school is this? Where are the professors? The Student Council acts like they own the place just because they’re nobles. It was a good thing I had experience with group living and knew how to handle being both the “boss” and the “underling.” For noble ladies who came here expecting Hogwarts, this must be a nightmare. I wondered if the Kingdom Class or the others were like this. My brothers’ letters were always full of stories about how everyone “adored” them because of me.

“Alright, back up! No one goes to the dorms until this is perfect!”

The break was short-lived. The seniors weren’t letting us go. Except for the one who fainted, the practice continued. The sun began to rise. These girls have no middle ground. Do they think we’ll just endure this? Or are they trying to break our pride by making us sleep on the floor of the Great Hall?

“Whoa, what’s this?”

“Senior Havre is here.”

“You’re pushing them this hard? Haven’t they slept?”

“We can’t let them sleep if they can’t do it! They have no will, no passion. We weren’t like this back in our day.”

“There are still a few days left. Let them rest and then push them again.”

“They’re in a position where they need to stand out more than the second-years, but look at them. They think we’re doing this for fun.”

The seniors were probably tired from supervising all night, but surely not as tired as the first-years who were actually doing the work.

“Is that one good?” Rene asked, pointing at me.

“Ariang? She’s great. Oh, are you going to take her away again?”

“That’s the plan. Why? Is that a problem?”

Rene locked eyes with the third-year from the Student Council. Hearing this, the half-conscious first-years all looked at me. Once again, I was being singled out for special treatment for no apparent reason.

“Well, I was thinking of having her hold the banner as the anchor, so I’m a bit hesitant to let her go… but since it’s you, Senior, you can take her.”

“Is that so? Ariang, did you hear that? Come to the dueling hall.”

Rene once told me to make friends. Does she really think I can just walk away from this and stay on good terms with them?

“I am fine here.”

“Fine?”