Actually, there wasn't much I needed to do at the Hidden Piece location I was planning to check today.
When I arrived, the spot was already empty—either looted by someone else or simply not manifested yet due to dimensional timing. It was frustrating but not unexpected given my new understanding of how these items appeared in the world.
'At least I confirmed my theory has merit. The dimensional rifts are unpredictable.'
I headed back toward the main Academy grounds before the ceremony concluded, but I deliberately avoided going inside. There were practical reasons for this.
First, there were limitations on movement if I didn't maintain some independence. Having Lilline spot me would inevitably lead to more concerned lectures about my life choices.
Second, and more importantly, I noticed that Lilline attracted far more attention than expected when we were together. Her natural beauty and the elegant suit she wore drew eyes constantly. People would remember seeing us together, which wasn't ideal for someone trying to maintain a low profile while planning to bend Academy rules.
'The guards are at least doing the bare minimum,' I observed as I circled the Academy's outer perimeter.
Knights with stern expressions were stationed at regular intervals throughout the grounds, standing at attention with hands resting on sword hilts. Mages in Academy robes patrolled in pairs, their eyes sharp and alert, occasionally casting detection spells to scan for threats. Regular guards maintained constant movement patterns, overlapping their routes to ensure no area went unwatched for long.
The security was impressive—far tighter than I expected for what was ostensibly a public celebration.
It made sense, though. The Academy clearly put considerable effort into security after deciding to make what was traditionally an internal event open to ordinary citizens. This was a calculated risk on their part, a public relations move to rebuild trust after the Third Prince incident.
And realistically, it was rare for so many self-proclaimed "blue bloods"—the cream of imperial nobility—to gather in one location outside of major royal banquets or border campaign sendoffs.
If anyone was planning to cause trouble, to make a statement against the Empire or settle old grudges, this would be the perfect opportunity. A terrorist attack here could decapitate an entire generation of noble leadership in one stroke.
The security forces understood this. Hence the heavy presence.
As I completed my circuit and approached one of the side entrances to the main Academy building, I noticed the ceremonial music that had been audible from outside had stopped playing.
'The ceremony must be halfway through by now.'
I leisurely entered through a servant's entrance—the guards there recognized me from Doran's given description and waved me through without challenge—and made my way through the corridors toward the Grand Auditorium.
The interior hallways were surprisingly empty. Everyone was either at the ceremony or manning security posts. My footsteps echoed off marble floors as I climbed the stairs toward the upper observation gallery.
I had specifically asked Doran about the layout beforehand. The Grand Auditorium had several levels of seating—the main floor for students and their families, mid-level boxes for faculty and distinguished guests, and an upper gallery that was technically for overflow seating but rarely used.
Perfect for someone who wanted to observe without being observed.
As I reached the highest floor and found a shadowed corner near a support pillar, Doran's voice reached my ears, amplified by magic to fill the entire auditorium.
<—And so!! My expectations for this batch of cadets are truly immense! Following His Majesty the Emperor's command to prevent such a mishap from ever happening again, I have personally devised groundbreaking classes that will forge the students into true warriors…>
Listening to him, I couldn't tell if this was supposed to be an inspirational entrance ceremony speech or an aggressive lecture.
Doran was pounding the podium with his left hand—his remaining hand—delivering what could only be described as a tirade. Each word seemed to carry the weight of his resentment and determination, echoing through the cavernous space.
'Where did his "cool and reserved" persona go?'
To my eyes, he looked like a man finally given permission to spew out all the pent-up frustration he was holding inside since losing his arm. Every sentence dripped with barely controlled emotion.
The faculty members seated behind him looked vaguely uncomfortable, shifting in their seats. A few of the noble parents in attendance had expressions ranging from concern to outright alarm.
But no one interrupted. No one dared. Because Doran kept invoking the Emperor's name, making it clear that objecting to his new curriculum would be tantamount to defying imperial decree.
I turned my attention away from Doran's increasingly flushed face—I could actually see the veins bulging on his forehead even from this distance—and began scanning the assembled new students seated in neat rows below.
The visual impact was striking. Unlike in my previous life, where humans came in relatively limited variations, the people of this world were a riot of colors, bursting with individuality.
Hair in shades ranging from pure white to midnight black, with every conceivable color in between. Eyes that gleamed gold, silver, emerald, sapphire, ruby—an entire jeweler's palette. Some students had features that suggested elven ancestry, others showed hints of northern giant bloodlines.
It was overwhelming at first glance, but my eyes quickly adapted, filtering through the visual noise to find what I was searching for.
'There he is.'
Robert Bolt.
The protagonist. The playable character. The fellow transmigrated soul, wearing a nobleman's face.
He sat in the Knight Department section—I could tell by the red-trimmed uniforms the students wore to denote their department choice. He was tall, easily one of the tallest students present, with blonde hair that caught the light like spun gold and handsome features that probably made many noble ladies wet.
In the game, his dialogue options had mostly leaned toward choices I mentally categorized as "What is acceptable for one person should be acceptable for another—even if their situations or identities differ"—a kind of pragmatic equality that sometimes bordered on ruthlessness. It had always made me question the developers' own moral tendencies.
I always hoped other playable characters would appear as the game progressed, offering different perspectives and playstyles. But that never happened. Robert was the sole protagonist, for better or worse.
As the information guild had confirmed in their reports, he chose the Knight Department despite—or perhaps because of—the recent scandal. The figures standing around him were familiar from the game's character profiles.
Beauties of a level rarely seen anywhere in the real world were scattered around the protagonist like decorative pebbles, each one claiming the role of a potential heroine. Their character illustrations from the game kept flashing through my memory, overlaying the real people before me.
But my interest lay elsewhere.
I followed the protagonist's gaze, tracking where his attention kept drifting despite the ongoing ceremony.
There.
The unfulfilled first love of the soul who had transmigrated into Robert Bolt's body.
'Rike Skadi…'
According to the backstory revealed through various game events, Robert and Rike's parents had verbally arranged their engagement when both children were very young—the kind of noble arrangement made over wine and handshakes, binding families together for political benefit.
Right after the engagement was formalized, when they were both still in their "snot-nosed childhood days" as the game text had colorfully described it, Rike's family had fallen into ruin. Bankruptcy, scandal, exile from their territory—the full catastrophic collapse that occasionally befell noble houses.
By all rights, Robert's family should have dissolved the engagement immediately. Alliances with disgraced houses brought no benefit and considerable social stigma.
But it was the protagonist's stubbornness that had kept the engagement nominally intact until now. He apparently argued with his parents for years, refusing to let them formally break the arrangement.
'She is pretty, though.'
Even from this distance, even though her condition was obviously poor at first glance, she retained the beauty befitting a heroine.
Rike had black hair, cut in a practical bob that framed her face, and eyes the color of deep purple amethyst—the kind of striking appearance that should have made her the center of attention wherever she went.
But her expression was completely devoid of life. Her eyes, despite their beautiful color, were dark and dull, like windows of an abandoned house. There was no light behind them, no spark of the person she must have once been.
What drew my attention most, however, was the scar.
A cross-shaped mark marred the left side of her face, running from her temple down across her cheek. The kind of injury that suggested violence, deliberate harm. It was unbelievable for a noble lady to bear such a mark—noble women were sheltered, protected, their faces considered precious assets in the marriage market.
Despite her outstanding natural looks, the combination of her air of carrying a complicated past and that adventurer-worthy scar meant no other cadets approached her. No one attempted casual conversation or tried to befriend her.
Those who knew her before her family's fall—who remembered her from social events and childhood parties—wouldn't have approached her anyway. The social stigma of associating with fallen nobility was too strong.
If anything, hearing her name might have made them flee in greater shock, worried that her misfortune was somehow contagious.
'Judging by the line she's standing in, she chose the Swordsmanship Department.'
Not the Knight Department where Robert had enrolled…. Interesting.
In the game, this had been presented as an optional choice—whether Rike joined the same department as the protagonist or chose differently affected various storyline branches and progression.
Everything I was seeing existed within the scope of my knowledge from the game. The familiar faces, the expected department choices, the setup for the plotlines.
It felt like a blockage in my chest that I didn't even fully recognized was there, had suddenly cleared. The anxiety that had been building—the fear that I misremembered or that this world would deviate wildly from the game—began to dissipate.
'The fundamentals are the same. I can work with this.'