At least, that was the closest word her brain could find to describe whatever this was.
Falling implied direction. Gravity. A mutual agreement between body and universe that down existed and would eventually be reached.
None of that was happening.
"Okay—no—this is wrong—this is very wrong—!"
Her body slammed into something invisible.
It didn't feel like hitting a wall.
It felt like the world itself had rejected her.
BOING.
She shot sideways.
Not diagonally. Not downward. Just—sideways. Like someone had grabbed the concept of physics and thrown it out the window.
"WHAT—?!"
Her arms flailed instinctively, fingers grasping at empty space that refused to behave like space. Her stomach dropped, flipped, and then seemed to forget what gravity even meant.
"Where is the ground?!" she demanded, twisting midair. "Where is anything—?!"
No answer.
Only fragments.
The void around her flickered, unstable, like a broken screen struggling to load reality properly.
For a fraction of a second, she saw a hallway—long, polished, real.
Then it shattered.
A forest replaced it. Dark, dense, breathing.
Gone.
A ceiling.
Gone.
Nothing again.
"Oh, this is great," Nathalie muttered, her voice echoing strangely in the emptiness. "I've officially lost my mind. This is how it happens. Fantastic."
BOING.
This time, she hit face-first.
"OW—!"
Pain shot through her nose as she bounced backward, spinning upside down before she could even process what direction she was supposed to be in.
Her hair whipped across her face. Her lungs struggled to catch up with her panic.
"Okay. Think. Think, Nathalie. You've handled worse. Probably. Maybe."
Another flicker.
Another shift.
Her body twisted midair again—and then—
A name surfaced.
Andrew.
It didn't come gently.
It hit.
Sharp. Sudden. Anchoring.
"Andrew—"
Everything stuttered.
The void hesitated.
Like reality itself had paused to listen.
Nathalie didn't notice.
Because the next second—
Something beneath her gave way.
And suddenly—
Air.
Real air.
It hit her like a slap.
Wind rushed past her ears, loud and overwhelming, dragging a startled gasp from her throat as gravity—real, actual gravity—finally decided to participate.
"Oh—oh thank God—"
Relief lasted exactly one second.
Then she looked down.
"…Oh no."
Far below her stretched a campus that looked like it had been designed by someone obsessed with perfection.
White stone buildings gleamed under soft sunlight. Tall windows reflected the sky like polished glass. Pathways curved elegantly through manicured gardens where students walked in calm, orderly lines.
Everything about it was serene.
Controlled.
Perfect.
Which made what was about to happen significantly worse.
"MOVE—!!"
Her voice tore through the air seconds before she did.
She crashed straight through a decorative stone arch.
The impact exploded outward in a spray of shattered fragments.
CRASH.
Students screamed.
Books slipped from hands.
Something that looked like a tray of glowing pastries flipped dramatically into the air.
Nathalie braced for impact—
—and bounced.
"NO—NO—NOT AGAIN—!"
The invisible force hit her again, launching her sideways like a misfired projectile.
She had just enough time to register a fountain—
—and then she hit it.
Water erupted upward in a perfect, cinematic arc.
For a brief, almost ridiculous moment, it looked intentional.
Then Nathalie resurfaced, coughing violently, soaked from head to toe.
"I AM A PERSON—!" she shouted, dragging in air between coughs. "NOT—WHATEVER THAT WAS—!"
Silence answered her.
She blinked water out of her eyes and pushed her hair back, only to realize—
Everyone was staring.
Not casually.
Not curiously.
Intensely.
"…Okay," she muttered under her breath. "That's not unsettling at all."
She planted her hands on the fountain's edge and tried to climb out.
Her foot slipped.
She went right back in with a splash.
"…Great. Perfect. Exactly how I wanted this to go."
On her second attempt, she managed to pull herself out, dripping and increasingly annoyed. Water clung to her clothes, heavy and uncomfortable, trailing behind her as she stepped onto the pristine stone.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
They just watched her like she had personally offended reality.
"…Where am I?" she asked, glancing around.
The answer came in whispers.
"She came out of nowhere—"
"That wasn't a proper entry—"
"Is she registered?"
"Why does she look like that?"
Nathalie turned toward the nearest voice. "Like what?"
The whispers died instantly.
And then someone stepped forward.
The girl was… flawless.
There was no other way to describe it. Every detail—from the way she stood to the way her uniform fell perfectly into place—looked deliberate. Controlled.
Manufactured, almost.
"You are disrupting order," the girl said calmly.
Nathalie stared at her.
"…Do you always talk like a rulebook, or is this a special occasion?"
A ripple of gasps spread through the crowd.
The girl didn't react—at least not visibly. But something in her posture sharpened slightly.
"You are in the Academy," she continued. "There are rules."
"Fantastic." Nathalie gestured vaguely at the broken arch behind her. "Big fan of rules. Huge supporter. Can someone explain why I just got attacked by gravity?"
"…Gravity?" someone echoed faintly.
"Yes. You know. Falling. Downward motion. Very traditional concept."
They stared at her like she had just invented something illegal.
"…She's strange," someone whispered.
"No kidding," Nathalie shot back.
She dragged a hand through her wet hair, exhaling sharply. "Okay. New plan. Stay calm. Blend in. Be normal."
She took a step forward.
Then another.
She forced a polite smile at the nearest student. "Hi. I'm not a threat."
The boy blinked at her.
For a brief moment, everything seemed fine.
Then his sleeve caught fire.
Nathalie froze.
"…Oh."
The flame spread instantly.
"OH MY—!" she yelped. "WHY ARE YOU BURNING—?!"
"I'M ON FIRE—!" the boy screamed, flailing wildly.
Chaos erupted.
"Water—! Someone—!"
A splash flew through the air—completely missing him and hitting someone else.
"STOP MOVING—!"
"I'M ON FIRE—OF COURSE I'M MOVING—!"
Nathalie stumbled backward, hands raised defensively. "I didn't do that—!"
Except—
Her palms tingled.
The air around her felt… charged.
"…Oh no."
"You."
The voice cut cleanly through the noise.
Nathalie turned.
A tall student approached, his composure almost unsettling in contrast to the chaos around him. His gaze swept over her once, sharp and assessing.
"You are unclassified."
"…That's not a reassuring sentence."
"You entered without registration. Your behavior is irregular."
"That's a polite way to describe it."
He didn't react.
"There are two divisions in this Academy."
"Okay…"
"Feminine. And Masculine."
Nathalie blinked.
"…I'm sorry—what?"
"Each student is assigned based on nature, behavior, and alignment."
She stared at him for a long second.
Then let out a short, incredulous laugh.
"That is the dumbest system I have ever heard."
Silence dropped like a stone.
Gasps followed immediately.
"You will be evaluated," he continued, completely unfazed. "You will likely be assigned to Feminine."
Nathalie smiled.
Slowly.
"Oh, you are going to regret that assumption."
—
She didn't get much say in what happened next.
They guided her—firmly, politely, and with a level of determination that felt suspiciously like control—into one of the buildings.
"This feels like a kidnapping," she said as they walked.
"It is a procedure."
"Those are not the same thing."
They ignored her.
Of course they did.
Five minutes later, Nathalie found herself standing in front of a full-length mirror.
And wearing something that should not legally qualify as clothing.
"…No."
"Yes."
"I said no."
"Raise your arms."
"I will not—"
They lifted her arms anyway.
"This is a violation of my rights—!"
"You have no registered rights yet."
"…I really hate this place."
Fabric layered over her shoulders. Ribbons tightened. Something sparkled unnecessarily near her collar.
Nathalie stared at her reflection.
And slowly—
Her expression changed.
The sarcasm faded.
"…That's not me."
Her voice came out quieter than she expected.
The girl in the mirror looked composed. Controlled. Soft in all the ways Nathalie had never been.
Wrong.
"I don't look like this," she said, almost to herself.
No one responded.
Because to them—
There was nothing wrong.
—
When they brought her back outside, the reaction was immediate.
Heads turned.
Whispers returned.
"That's her—"
"She looks… different—"
"Still strange—"
Nathalie tugged at the fabric, walking stiffly. "I can't breathe in this thing."
"Posture," someone corrected.
"I will posture you into the ground."
"Smile."
"I am smiling."
"You look aggressive."
"…I am aggressive."
They led her toward a seat.
"Sit."
She sat.
The chair broke.
Not cracked.
Not shifted.
Broke.
CRACK.
Wood splintered beneath her as if it had simply decided it no longer wished to exist.
Silence hit instantly.
Nathalie blinked.
"…I didn't even do anything."
"She broke reinforced seating…"
"That's not possible…"
Nathalie slowly stood, stepping out of the wreckage. "Okay. That one might be on me."
The whispers came back, louder now.
"Problematic."
"Unstable."
"Definitely misclassified—"
"She's not Feminine—"
Nathalie raised a hand slightly. "Cool. Great. Love the feedback. Can I go now?"
No one answered.
At the far edge of the courtyard, someone watched.
Still.
Quiet.
Observing.
Nathalie didn't notice.
She was too busy muttering under her breath as she brushed dust from her dress.
"I just got here and I already broke reality, a fountain, and a chair."
She exhaled slowly.
"…Andrew, wherever you are—this is your fault."
The words slipped out without thinking.
And somewhere—
Something shifted.
Not loudly.
Not visibly.
Just enough to matter.
As if the world had heard her.
And was about to answer.
END OF CHAPTER 1