CAN YOU ENTERTAIN? @oddartcircle - Tumblr Blog

Hello Halo Hello! I hope the year has been plentiful to you and all around amazing! Do you remember the request about the Twisted wonderland boys finding out reader/mc was a girl in gym class? May I ask for a continuation? If you don't mind of course!

Cracks knuckles

Oh, absolutely, darling

Ugh, I’ve been waiting forever to make this request, and honestly? I feel like this could very easily turn into a series, maybe branching into different paths. I don’t know, I’ll let you decide.

I feel like if there were a third part, it would be way more focused on Leona (I’m a massive simp for this man and I have zero shame about it) Part 1 here - Part 3 here

Anyway… I hope you enjoy it. Love yall!!!

Do you want the truth? The whole truth?

NRC exploded with the news.

There wasn’t a single corner of the school where it didn’t spread that you, the last student to enroll during the entrance ceremony, the only student without magic in a school specifically meant to train the best mages...were a girl.

The only girl in a school full of boys.

Going back to normal was a lost cause, completely impossible at this point in the semester. Even though you tried, acting as if the dorm leaders and the stupid, single-brain-cell idiots, AKA Ace and Deuce, hadn’t seen part of your underwear. Floyd made that more than impossible, and extremely annoying.

“Ne~ do you always wear the same model? Or is that the only one you’ve got?”

If it weren’t for the fear that he’d hug you so hard he’d squeeze all the stuffing out of you like a teddy bear, you would’ve bitten his hand.

“Can I see if it matches?”

Great Seven, grant me patience—because if you give me strength, I’ll cut his dick off… somehow.

You took two steps back when you felt Jade trying to move closer to continue the conversation with his twin. Survival instinct was fully switched on.

The day after the flying accident, you walked through the hallways as if nothing had happened, although NRC was not the kind of school where you could really pretend nothing ever happened. And who better to shamelessly intercept you halfway down the hall than Vil Schoenheit, proud drama queen and fashion tyrant. The same Vil who had strong fairy godmother vibes, too much aesthetic, and words loaded with threats and venom in case you didn’t follow his… advice.

“Darling, come with me. Now. I will not allow the only girl in this school to dress in used rags that are clearly not her size.”

You knew better than anyone that going against Vil was like painting a target on your back and waiting for a poisoned potion or a spell to smack you straight into the underworld. So you simply stared at him, very deliberately, and replied:

“And what’s your plan?”

Vil grabbed your hand and dragged you straight to Crewel’s office, because obviously, what better way to talk about fashion and design a new uniform for the student currently going viral at school than by combining the current and former prodigies of Pomefiore. A rather dangerous combination, if you ask me.

“We’re going to design you a new uniform, something that highlights your body and makes you actually look like a girl.” He turned to look you up and down. “And lets pretend you have a bit of class.”

“Hey!”

“Shush, potato.”

Want to know what the most surreal part of all this was? That the teaching staff—yes, even Sam—in fact gave you their full support. I’m not saying they went soft and let mistakes slide in class, or treated you like a princess. No, none of that. But they did look after you like you were under protection.

Let’s be honest for a moment: putting up with hundreds of hormonal, out-of-control boys for an entire school year gets exhausting, even for grown men. Having one student who more or less behaves, pays attention in class, and genuinely wants to survive until the end of the school year… they weren’t about to let anything bad happen to you.

And with that—divine magic.

Crewel took it upon himself to become the one in charge of your safety and well-being. You became the protected student of the Potionology professor.

Good luck.

While he and Vil worked on the design of your new uniform—which would be finished by the end of the week (and Crewel even offered to take you shopping so you’d have better clothes for your days off)—some students were desperately trying not to destroy their own brains. And by “some students,” I mean the disaster duo: ADeuce.

That walking catastrophe decided the best way to deal with the “revelation” that their best friend was actually their best girl friend… was to behave even more stupidly.

Ace, for example, wouldn’t leave you alone during class, using every possible moment to throw paper balls at you with dumb phrases written on them, or whispering in your ear while Trein wrote on the board.

“Why didn’t you ever tell us you were a girl?” he asked, sounding deeply offended—Ace-level offended.

“Because it’s none of your business!”

Which… wasn’t entirely a lie. Who cared what you had between your legs, or whether you had boobs or not? What matters is what’s inside, right? Well… Ace wasn’t convinced.

“Of course it’s my business!” Lucius, Trein’s cat, stared straight at Ace before yawning and curling back up on Trein’s desk. “Imagine if I touched you by accident.”

“And why would you touch me by accident?” You went back to taking notes when Trein glanced over his shoulder, sensing the whispers in your direction, but thank some god, he said nothing.

“I didn’t mean it like that—hey!” Deuce, hero of the moment, smacked Ace on the back of the head to shut him up.

“Shut up, idiot!”

Lucius jumped over to the three of you and lightly smacked each of you with his paw. Grim also caught one for being half asleep in your arms.

“Wh—what did I do?”

“SILENCE!!”

And that pretty much summed up the dynamic of every class with that duo and one half-asleep cat who kept getting you into trouble, despite your best efforts. Even during lessons, you could feel some students staring at you for several long seconds; and why wouldn’t they? You were the big sensation of the moment. No matter how dangerous some activities got in potion class or elsewhere—things that usually drew concern or laughter—you, on the other hand, were the first girl they’d seen in months. And that could be dangerous.

If it weren’t for two not-so-angelic angels: Riddle and Leona.

Let’s be clear: Riddle wasn’t trailing behind you like a lapdog or a blood-sucking amoeba like Ace and Deuce, who, by the way, had also turned themselves into your “bodyguards,” though they caused more trouble and detentions than anything else. No, Riddle followed you like you were just another student—except for the small difference that Riddle wasn’t used to interacting with women.

And that, my dear, showed.

“Prefect!” Riddle approached you during lunch, stopping respectfully an arm’s length from your seat. “Setting aside your…” his eyes looked anywhere but at you, “…condition…”

“Condition? Riddle, I’m a girl. I don’t have leprosy.” Please, let the redhead not be any more embarrassed than he already is.

“No! That’s not what I meant!” He was red as a tomato. “I just… mean that you shouldn’t draw more unnecessary attention than you already do.”

Okay. That did sound a little protective. Almost sweet.

“Follow the uniform rules. No alterations. No excessive makeup.”

Ah. I take it back.

“Pomefiore students wear pretty glamorous makeup, don’t they?” Your tone shifted so dramatically it sounded like you were announcing the death of a relative. “So why should I be the exception? And if I attract unnecessary attention, that’s because the boys can’t control themselves—not because I show more or less skin.”

Riddle—who hadn’t stopped shaking since you forced him to look you in the eyes while delivering that pseudo-sexist call-out—was now pale as paper. He looked like he was about to combust. Poor guy had to be guided out of the cafeteria by Trey so he could breathe and have a talk about boundaries with women.

Still, from afar—whether on the training field or in the hallways—you could always hear Riddle shouting:

“Eyes forward! Don’t be pigs!”

Leona, on the other hand… wasn’t the type to come up to you and play bodyguard lion, nor did he worry about staying close or keeping his eyes on you. No. He never needed to, and he’d never expose himself by letting others see he put effort into anything that wasn’t Magift.

He didn’t say anything about the incident in the following days. He didn’t go around telling or yelling at other students to stop staring or to keep their distance. What Leona did was this: every time you happened to end up in the same space as him by chance (far too many times, far too many coincidences), surrounded by other students—and he sensed you were being watched—Leona would open his eyes from whatever nap he was taking and pierce anyone who dared stare at you for more than two seconds with his emerald gaze.

You never caught that look yourself, but anyone else could describe it as a predator about to pounce because someone was eyeing his food.

Let’s just say that after those… insistent stares, no one wanted to get too close to you. And considering how intense testosterone and male hormones were, much more than usual, you were internally grateful not to be constantly surrounded by men.

Yes, the days had become long and complicated. Classes felt heavier, free time with friends turned into awkward moments where no one quite knew how to process you. Relationships between students and classmates became uncomfortable or nonexistent, thanks to several figures protecting you from the shadows.

But all in all, your life went on.

You kept attending class—with the same catastrophic duo who occasionally felt the need to treat you like a fragile object until you smacked them on the head to snap them out of it; with Vil, who treated you like his diamond in the rough, his favorite muse, and gave you more headaches than relief despite the uniform finally fitting your body; with Kalim inviting you to his dorm more times than you could count; and with Azul trying to rope you into a contract—which you strongly suspected contained several illegal clauses—to secure your “hospitality” at NRC.

And don’t even get started on the moment the seven dorm leaders found out that the new Ramshackle prefect was now considered a dorm leader herself… and would have to attend the same meetings.

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

Dorm leader meetings used to be a predictable event: Riddle prepared documents, Vil checked aesthetic standards, Azul searched for business opportunities, Idia mentally hid behind his floating tablet, Kalim greeted everyone with far too much energy, Leona slept, and Malleus… simply existed at a level of presence no one truly understood.

But that afternoon, when the door cracked open, routine died under suspiciously glamorous—and distinctly feminine—circumstances.

“Are you sure you’ll be fine in that meeting with the dorm leaders?” Crewel’s voice slipped in from the hallway outside, making every leader turn their head in that direction.

You opened the door a little wider, letting the corridor light sketch both your silhouette and the professor’s. “I assure you I will be, Crewel-sensei. I think the more sensible question is whether Crowley’s stability will remain intact while I’m attending these meetings.”

“Hmph. With that birdbrain, nothing is sensible.” Crewel crossed his arms and gave you one last inspection. “Excellent choice of outfit for your first meeting… try not to kill them with a heart attack.”

Why would you cause a heart attack?

That was the question forming simultaneously in the seven leaders’ heads, some more concerned, others convinced Crewel was exaggerating. Knowing his obsession with fashion, it surely couldn’t be anything outrageous.

They were very wrong.

Because the moment the door opened fully—Crewel’s footsteps fading down the hallway, leaving you alone with seven unarmed and painfully naïve men—several souls nearly left their bodies. You stepped into the Mirror Chamber with an unhurried stride, your expression carrying that shared professor–student complicity from the jab at the headmaster. You were wearing a dress that could have brought anyone who looked at you to their knees… and this was an all-boys school, with an outfit approved by one of the strictest professors alive.

From that moment on, everyone, including you, knew you were a ticking time bomb.

The dress, the reason Crewel’s taste had skyrocketed enough for him to gift it to you, was black from collar to knees, covering everything that needed to be covered, long sleeves included. But the mischievous edge lay in the bare shoulders and a gleaming gold belt etched with sun motifs that accentuated your hips and looked ready to eclipse the entire room. At first glance it seemed simple—but it shaped your figure in such a way that even the light in the room behaved differently around you.

“Hi! Sorry I’m late; Crewel couldn’t have picked a worse time to take me shopping.” You approached the table, adjusting the belt so it sat perfectly on your hips.

The silence that followed was so dense it could’ve been used to sharpen knives.

Riddle was the first to react...but not properly. Not like the Heartslabyul dorm leader, nor like the tyrant learning to loosen his rules.

No. Riddle’s reaction was to drop his folder, presumably full of important papers (to him), meeting agendas, probably several reports of students causing chaos in classes or hallways, and let it hit the table with a sharp clack.

“Y-your outfit…” he tried. Failed miserably. His face shifted from rule violation red to social panic red.

“Approved by Crewel,” you said flatly, lifting your arms so the others could get a better look.

Kalim enthusiastically extended a hand for you to sit beside him. “You look amazing! Maybe we can get you one in sun colors so it matches your belt!”

“An interesting suggestion, coming from a merchant's heir,” Vil replied, a rare softness in his voice, though he didn’t dismiss the color choice. “But yes—you finally look like a person.”

Aaah. There was the usual Vil.

Idia, meanwhile, completely stopped functioning. The tablet froze, you could hear his blue flames flaring higher as if someone had poured gasoline directly onto his soul. “…critical error… event flagged… high social threat detected…”

You sat down beside an energetic Kalim, while on your other side Leona remained half-asleep, arms behind his head, slouched back in his chair. Without sitting up, as if the situation mildly annoyed him.

“The old dog took you shopping?” He cracked one eye open and scanned you shamelessly. “Tch. He’s got good taste. Though with that belt, you’re gonna blind a few people.”

You simply blinked.

“…Is that bad?” Then you smirked. “If they go blind staring at my hips, that just means they weren’t looking me in the eyes like they should.”

Never before had a room full of dorm leaders fallen silent so fast. It was as if their vocal cords had collectively abandoned their bodies. Even Leona looked at you for a second before closing his eye again, deciding silence was preferable to provoking you further. Internally, though, he approved.

“Crewel-sensei was kind enough to buy me a proper wardrobe so I can feel more like myself,” you continued, crossing one leg over the other—and triggering another minor short-circuit in a few minds. “And, incidentally, more feminine. Instead of walking around in borrowed clothes twice my size.”

The moment the word feminine left your lips, the tension in the room became tangible; sharp enough to cut with a simple hand motion, even one utterly devoid of magical presence.

Malleus smiled calmly, as if nothing affected him, though the tips of his ears were so red they looked like rubies set in ink. “You look most appropriate to lead a dorm,” he said with an antiquated formality that caught you off guard. Having someone who actually knew how to address another being, no matter how strange or formal his phrasing was, was deeply comforting.

“Attire that elevates one’s presence is a sign of authority. You are more than suitable, and no one should say otherwise.”

He folded his hands on the table, decisively closing the topic of your outfit. With a crooked smile and a slight nod, as if tipping an imaginary hat, you thanked him for being so courteous and respectful. The others, well… remained stiff as gargoyles. Not that you cared.

You settled back into your chair properly, resting against the backrest, and finally prepared for the meeting. Your gaze swept across the table; excluding Malleus, Leona, and Idia, the others had notebooks or folders, or in Kalim’s case, a piece of paper far too ornate to have been purchased on campus, ready to jot down agenda points.

You tapped your fingers against your lap, uncomfortably aware of how unprepared you felt and of the lingering tension, though you masked it with a half-smile.

“Um… what do you usually talk about in these meetings?” You glanced sideways at Kalim for emotional support; he gave you a thumbs-up. “Or… what’s the main topic?”

Riddle cleared his throat, attempting to reclaim authority. “The main topic is… is…” His eyes flicked to the dress. The belt. The hairstyle. The exposed shoulders framed by the sleeves. His face turned completely tomato-red, but he pushed on, barely. “…is…”

Vil sighed theatrically. “Riddle, please. If you can’t speak, I’ll start.”

Azul raised a hand, composed and visibly pleased with what he was about to say. “I’d like to begin the meeting with something that could benefit our dear prefect.”

Every hair on your body stood on end.

“Like what?” If Azul couldn’t hear the tension weighing down your words, he was about to become fried octopus.

“Well…” he adjusted his glasses reflexively. “Considering you are the only female in this institution—”

“Did you just call me female?”

At the far end of the table, Idia’s floating tablet emitted a short-circuit sound followed by a low giggle.

“Shi shi shi… Azul’s in trouble.”

“I’m just saying,” Azul continued, blissfully unaware of your piercing stare and the tension visibly building in your shoulders and jaw, “that it might be wise to have… certain elements prepared for you, for any occasion.” His words began to tangle. “And Octavinelle can supply them in record time.”

You blinked once. Twice. Three times. Your expression shifted from insecure, to suspicious, to completely blank—before you replied.

“Are you trying to talk about women’s health, Azul?”

Azul and Riddle both turned red instantly, Riddle even more so; the poor thing looked seconds away from an aneurysm. Idia’s tablet rotated away, sparing you from the overheating audio as a faint wisp of smoke escaped it. Even Vil and Kalim looked tense, embarrassed.

Your breathing slowed, instinctively dropping into a dangerously calm rhythm, slow enough that Azul noticed the micro-shift and realized, far too late, that he had stepped on a minefield you had personally planted.

“Mmh.” You tilted your head like someone appraising offensive artwork. “Interesting proposal.”

Azul straightened, hopeful. The poor fool.

“So according to you,” you continued, your voice honeyed in the way it only ever was before you drove a verbal dagger home, “because I’m the only woman in an entire school of men, and I’ll require certain… specific care…” You air-quoted the words. “You—a precocious tentacled entrepreneur—are considering profiting from the fact that my existence creates extremely high demand.”

Silence crashed down so abruptly that even Idia’s tablet stopped frying, and a few brains visibly clicked as they processed the stupidity Azul had just put into words. For the first time, the shameless businessman stood before a deal everyone sensed he wouldn’t be closing.

Leona kept his eyes closed, but his tail swayed with unmistakable interest, clearly enjoying the situation.

Azul swallowed, audibly. “I… wouldn’t use those terms exactly…”

“Wouldn’t you?” You rested an elbow on the table, leaning toward him. “Because it sounds an awful lot like supply and demand, Azul. And if we follow that logic, you’re suggesting that since demand for… me is high, it’d be a waste not to capitalize on it.”

Malleus’s eyes widened, watching the scene with sharp focus, though he didn’t intervene. Kalim mouthed a silent holy shit.

“I just—” Azul started, pale as diluted ink.

“—wanted to exploit a market niche,” you finished, smiling thin enough to cut air. “A niche that just so happens to be me. And my biology. Fascinating.”

Azul blinked twice, morally defeated. “I… misspoke.”

“Yes. You spoke like a merchant spotting a gold vein” You leaned back with the elegance of someone who had just eaten an entire octopus in front of him. “But don’t worry—Octavinelle won’t collapse if you decide not to profit from my uterus this time.”

Two snorts sounded beside you, one louder than the other; Kalim let out a small laugh, turning in his chair to hide his shaking shoulders, and Leona, meanwhile, chuckled openly, thoroughly enjoying how you put the octopus in his place.

Across from you, Riddle looked seconds away from either making a desperate attempt to shut the argument down or producing a clinically concerning noise—whichever came first.

The air grew so thick it felt as though your words had enchanted the room, turning it into a remote, murky swamp where none of them dared tread, burying them in muddy water as they struggled to resurface without ruining their suits or their dignity. Though, let’s be fair: Azul was already processing his verbal defeat, mentally noting never to draft a contract involving you.

You adjusted your dress with near-scientific precision, like someone calibrating an instrument before a particularly cruel experiment. You were tired of soft comments and male stupidity.

“Since we’re on the topic…” you said softly, somehow tightening the atmosphere even more around the seven men facing you. A calm woman about to drop a devastating statement was far more terrifying than one screaming.

Six pairs of eyes, five and a half, in Leona’s case, locked onto you with the conditioned reflex of prey hearing branches crack.

“Do I have to assume,” you began, tilting your head with a smile that wasn’t a smile, “that the fact I’m a girl means all of you are going to start acting… different?”

Riddle swallowed like he’d downed an entire stone. “Different how…?” he asked, sounding like he wanted to do anything but ask that question.

“Before, you ignored me,” you continued, raising a hand and counting invisible crimes in the air, “or spoke to me without filters, without anesthesia, without caring whether you left my pride internally bruised.”

Vil opened his mouth, probably to defend himself, but you raised a warning finger, and he snapped it shut.

“But since the flying class incident…” you paused dramatically, tension so thick Idia’s systems began issuing digital alerts, “…you’ve been a little softer.”

The word softer landed heavily, and before the silence could settle like a brick sinking into water, you continued:

“Softer… or stupider.”

You crossed your arms, the gesture that disarmed them more effectively than any spell. Vil narrowed his eyes, half-offended and half-intrigued, choosing not to interfere.

“It’s not our intention to be… stupid,” Azul murmured, resigned to being the public punching bag.

“Tch. Speak for yourself,” Leona cut in without moving. “I’m not acting any different.”

You gave him a sharp smile. “Not you, Leona. You’re consistently unbearable. The stability is appreciated.” You leaned in slightly. “By the way, I still have your jacket...you still want it back?”

Leona clicked his tongue, but his tail swayed with unmistakable pride.

Malleus rested his chin on his hand, thoughtful. “It is possible,” he said in his deep voice, “that the flying incident reminded us that you are more fragile than we believed.”

“Fra—what?” Your voice jumped an octave, dangerously.

“Physical fragility,” he clarified calmly, oblivious to the verbal wildfire he’d nearly sparked. “Not spiritual, not of character. Only… your mortal body.”

You inhaled deeply, knowing that picking a fight with the horned one carried two outcomes: one, he’d make you look foolish; two, his formal speech would never end and the conversation would drag on for hours.

You exhaled just as deeply and counted to five, regaining your composure. The others waited—not out of respect, but fear.

“I’ll ask again,” you finally said, looking at them one by one. “Are you going to keep treating me differently because I’m a girl? Does equality not apply to me?”

The silence was overwhelming, even the room seemed to drop a few degrees. No one felt brave enough to answer.

You leaned back in your chair, satisfied, feeling the universe itself take note that girl or not, no one would handle you with kid gloves without consequences.

And as one heartbeat passed, then another, and another, the silence became a living thing; uncomfortable, exposed like cards laid face-up on a gambling table.

You crossed arms, staring far longer than necessary at the six leaders and the floating tablet before you: Kalim’s wide ruby eyes torn between concern and radiant kindness; Malleus’s calm electric-green gaze never leaving yours; Azul’s pale blue eyes flinching away every fraction of a second; Riddle’s silver eyes forcing themselves to hold your stare while his expression threatened combustion; Vil’s perfect violet eyes, carefully neutral; and Leona’s half-lidded emerald eyes, feigning boredom but glinting with mischief if you looked closely.

You raised an eyebrow after the pause, your patience so artificial Vil would’ve applauded and offered you a place in Pomefiore under different circumstances. That brow alone marked the ticking clock of your tolerance.

“Well,” you said, without raising your voice, yet somehow managing to make them all sit up straighter as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over their heads. “I’m waiting. I don’t like repeating myself.”

Maybe it was the way your eyebrow crept a little higher, or the way your fingers drummed against your arm, or the visible impatience in the bounce of your raised foot, but Kalim—miraculously—found the courage to be the first to speak.

“I… I don’t think I’m acting differently because you’re a girl,” he said, with a sincerity so pure it disarmed on impact. “I have a lot of sisters… I think twenty, the last time I counted” Your expression shifted from manufactured calm to something almost comically stunned.

“Ah! Yes, yes—and I have more than fifty siblings!!” Wow. Okay. That definitely threw you off a little.

“The point is—sometimes I feel like my sisters get uncomfortable with certain attitudes… and I didn’t want that to happen to you”

The tension in the room dropped by a degree. Slightly.

“Also, I wanted you to feel welcome.”

Kalim...please never change.

The fracture in your eyes must’ve been visible, the way that tight coil of tension gave way to something warmer, because the others finally started breathing normally again. And how could you not, when you had a literal ray of sunshine sitting right there? Now you even felt bad for having made him tense up so much.

Vil followed, because he would never let Kalim take full credit for calming you down.

“What you had was a dangerous accident,” he said, voice soft but with a hidden edge. “That changes how anyone gets treated, whether you’re a woman or not. Although I’ll admit some people here” his gaze slid to Riddle, Idia, and Azul with elegant judgment “don’t know how to handle a girl without sounding like they’re wearing an 1800s etiquette manual.”

“Hey!—First of all, I don’t interact with anyone” Idia’s tablet snapped, deeply offended.

That made you snort, loud.

Riddle, on the other hand, and surprisingly, took a deep breath. “I admit having a girl here isn’t common… in fact, it shouldn’t have happened in the first place,” he declared, forcing the words past his pride. “But I do want to prevent anything happening to you again. Or to anyone. And it wouldn’t be right to ignore it.”

It was obvious Riddle had changed a lot since his Overblot, though the rule-loving, order-worshipping boy was still there—especially the order part. You supposed if those rules kept you safe, you could tolerate them, even if it meant dealing with a slightly tenser Riddle. You’d just have to see what the coming months brought.

Even Leona, who hadn’t moved a muscle besides an ear, grumbled, “Hn. They’re saying it better than I would.”

And that was basically explicit support, coming from him.

For the first time since you’d walked into the room, the air stopped feeling sharp. The tension eased, the atmosphere no longer like a public trial where you were judge, jury, and executioner. You let out a brief little exhale—half huff, half reluctant approval.

“That’ll do.” You clicked your tongue, shoulders loosening just a fraction. “I guess I can let Azul’s stupidity slide if you all keep your word from now on.”

Azul made a short, offended huff and adjusted his glasses, but didn’t argue.

You rested your hands on the armrests and relaxed into your seat, a faint crooked smile appearing. “I think… we can continue the meeting, don’t you?”

A long exhale filled the room, coming from only six dorm leaders. Leona merely flicked his tail against the floor and twitched his ears.

Vil snapped his fingers, slipping back into his usual composure. “Perfect. Then let’s return to the agenda.”

The meeting regained its rhythm after the emotional mini-earthquake, though that rhythm had a strange pulse now, like everyone had shifted gears without fully understanding why. But when Riddle reached the section most of them dreaded—Magift, upcoming matches, dorm status—something in Leona stirred like a predator waking to the scent of prey.

Riddle had barely started, “Let’s move on to general athletic status-”

When Leona straightened just slightly, growled something like “finally,” and stretched his arms forward, dropping the arrogant lion act.

“The team’s stiff,” he muttered, not looking at anyone. “If they stay like that, we’ll lose the next inter-school match. Training’s gotten sloppy.”

Azul raised an eyebrow, smelling an opening to help poor unfortunate souls in need. “Perhaps Octavinelle can offer—”

“No,” Leona cut him off without letting him finish. “Keep your damn tentacles off the field.”

Azul adjusted his glasses, again, offended, again… but not surprised.

While the leaders argued, you started memorizing silences, glances, the way each of them reacted to comments thrown into the air without a direct target. Some took offense and snapped back, others debated like it was life or death. You remembered something Crewel told you in one of your first Potionology classes, right after you’d blown up a cauldron due to having exactly zero experience:

“Observation is your sharpest weapon”

He was right. If you were good at anything, it was understanding this collection of explosive personalities.

Riddle talked about equipment budgets, Vil about preventing injuries from poor posture, Kalim proposed some kind of dance before the match to boost morale, like a cheer squad, Idia muttered statistics no one understood.

Leona just rolled his eyes. “Bunch of useless idiots,” he muttered. “Half the training gets wasted because the team gets distracted. They’re worthless if they can’t keep their heads in the match.”

You raised an eyebrow at that comment, patience already gone from biting your tongue. Was this the moment?

Oh, absolutely.

And with a calm no one expected, you fired.

“And what do you expect to happen when Savannaclaw students are used to training hard and rough because their build can handle it, but the official inter-school team has different body types, heights, and physiques that require a different kind of training and effort?”

Dead silence.

So you took the liberty of continuing, drawing from sports training in your world; a world without magic, where humans had to rely on something painfully simple: their bodies, and each other, to win.

“Brute force works with the stronger beastmen in your dorm, but the official team includes people from Heartslabyul and Pomefiore—students so exhausted they can’t even read a simple play even if you draw it for them like preschoolers.”

The entire table went rigid. Six leaders stared at each other, watching the only magicless girl dismantle the Magift captain’s training philosophy and defend other dorms in two sentences.

Leona, however, slowly raised an eyebrow—like a lion who’d just been served a challenge on a silver platter.

“Excuse me?”

You kept going, ignoring Leona’s lethal stare.

“I’ve spent half the semester watching Magift practice because Grim insists on wanting to join the team someday. And yes, your style works sometimes. They’re strong, fast, capable—but when strategy gets heavy, they lose precision. You can have raw power, but if your team is dead on its feet, the enemy walks right past you”

The silence wasn’t tension anymore.

It was surprise.

Vil’s mouth parted, delighted to see Leona put in his place. “Well, well… someone came armed with a sharp tongue.”

Azul smiled, mischievous for the first time since you’d entered the room.

Idia typed something into his tablet like: “((mental note: do not underestimate))”.

Leona ran your words over in his head like a complex play unfolding in midair. Then he tilted his head—challenging.

“Since you know so much… what do you propose, Prefect?”

You didn’t back down under his scrutiny. If anything, you leaned forward even more, closing the distance until you were only inches from Leona’s body.

“Less brute training. More real simulation. Identify the opponent’s weaknesses, not your own. Your team responds well to intelligent pressure, not when you just make them fly back and forth after a disk like rabid dogs.”

Leona’s eye twitched violently, and you delivered the finishing move. “If you want to win the next match, you need brains—not just roars.”

The room erupted—though not in tension or fighting or growls. It burst into Vil’s contained laughter (which he would obviously deny with his whole soul if anyone asked later), Azul’s slack-jawed disbelief, and—

“IT’S TRUE!” from Kalim, grinning ear to ear. Out of everyone at the table, he was the one who truly saw you and listened with the respect and approval you deserved; like your personal cheerleader.

Riddle cut through Kalim’s joy, leaning back, surprised but visibly approving both your point and your delivery.

“Actually, that’s reasonable. A more tactical approach could balance the team’s energy.”

Meanwhile, Malleus watched you with expressions so subtle they were impossible to read… but there was admiration there. Quiet and deep. And Idia murmured low from his tablet, careful not to attract attention from you or Leona, something that sounded suspiciously like, “That’s exactly what high-performance teams do…”

Leona, though, kept watching you in silence. And then, the corner of his mouth lifted, just slightly.

“So you like challenges”

You smiled the same way he did. “No. I like winning”

His eyes scanned you meticulously, as if testing your determination, waiting to see if you’d hold his gaze. You did, focused, unblinking. Then he let out a low laugh, feral, satisfied.

“Fine,” he said. “I want you at Thursday practice. Let’s see if your ideas are good for anything besides filling notebooks.”

Riddle choked, pushing up from his seat so abruptly his chair scraped, and glared at Leona.

“Leona, that would be unfair to her—!”

“I said what I said,” Leona cut in, settling back with his head on his arms again, wearing a sly grin that looked like it wouldn’t fade anytime soon. “If she thinks she can survive a school full of idiots… let her prove it on the field”

You reclined like a queen, one arm draped over the table, and met the lion’s bright green eyes head-on. Two predators shoulder to shoulder.

“Perfect. I want you to design a training session that actually makes sense.”

Leona rumbled a laugh. “We’ll see.”

And even though the meeting continued after that clash—and even though the news of your true gender had already turned the school upside down—nothing in that room ever went back to how it used to be. Not Riddle’s strict authority, not Kalim’s cheerful jokes, not Azul’s strategies to squeeze profit out of everything.

Because at that table full of men, bloated egos, eternal rivalries, and magic leaking from every corner, you had proven you knew exactly where to stand, how to talk to them, and how to hit precisely where it hurt most.

And they all noticed.

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