Staring at the classroom door, I couldn't help but sigh.
[A20]
The letter A marked the floor—one of five, ranging from A to E—while the number 20 indicated the class itself.
Such a simple label.
And yet, it carried a weight that made my chest feel oddly tight.
There was a reason for that sigh.
I knew this class.
Of course I did. I knew it better than most people ever would. This was the very classroom where the protagonist and the majority of the main cast spent nearly half of the game's runtime. A place that looked ordinary at first glance, yet served as the breeding ground for countless schemes, rivalries, and hidden conflicts born from jealousy and ambition.
Alliances were formed here—some genuine, most temporary.Reputations were built here, only to be shattered without warning.And more than a few so-called "insignificant" characters had quietly disappeared here as well, erased without ceremony once their roles were finished.
No dramatic deaths.No heroic last stands.
Just… gone.
I didn't want anything to do with it.
I never did.
And yet, despite all my careful planning, despite my attempts to stay on the edges of the story, fate—or rather, the plot itself—had dropped me squarely into the center of it.
No matter how much I wanted to remain uninvolved, the moment my name was assigned to this class, that wish became nothing more than wishful thinking. Whether I liked it or not, I would be swept along by the current.
"…Damn it."
I took a slow breath, steadying myself, and was just about to step inside when—
"Yo, are you going in or not?"
The voice was rough. Casual. Unmistakably feminine.
It snapped me out of my thoughts like a slap to the face.
I turned my head—
And froze.
Beautiful would have been an understatement once again.
Standing just beside the door was a young woman whose presence alone seemed to bend attention toward her. Long jet-black hair flowed smoothly down her back, catching the light with every slight movement. It framed a face that was both sharp and elegant, her features perfectly balanced in a way that felt almost unfair.
Her pale skin contrasted strikingly with her dark hair, naturally drawing the eye upward—toward calm, observant eyes that missed nothing. Those eyes carried a quiet depth, the kind that made it feel as though she was constantly evaluating her surroundings… and the people within them.
Me included.
Her figure was slender, yet unmistakably well-proportioned. Not flashy. Not exaggerated. Just… right. Every movement she made was controlled and deliberate, her posture straight, her steps confident. There was an air of natural nobility about her that couldn't be imitated, something that came not from status alone, but from certainty.
Unlike blatant arrogance, her charm lay in her composed confidence.
She didn't demand attention.
—but attention found her anyway.
At the moment, however, her lips were parted in an irritated pout, her brows slightly furrowed as she stared at me like I was an obstacle in her way.
Which, apparently, I was.
"Move it."
Before I could even form a proper response, she shoved past me with a light but firm push, clicking her tongue in annoyance as she entered the classroom without sparing me another glance.
I stumbled half a step to the side, more surprised than hurt.
Watching her disappear through the doorway, I let out a quiet, bitter laugh.
"…That's Freya for you."
One of the main heroines of the story.
Freya Ashton.
Daughter of Ashton City's mayor—who also happened to serve as the Vice-Director of the Union. An S-rank warrior whose strength alone placed her among the most dangerous individuals in the human domain. Politically influential. Militarily terrifying. And narratively indispensable.
In other words, someone I should stay as far away from as possible.
When I had designed her character back when this was still just a game, I had deliberately given her a tomboyish personality. Blunt, impatient, and often rude on the surface—but undeniably kind once you looked past that exterior. She wasn't the type to sugarcoat her words, yet she never turned away from someone who genuinely needed help.
That contrast was exactly why she had become one of my favorite characters.
Still…
I had expected her to be beautiful.
I just hadn't expected this.
The moment I laid eyes on her, I was genuinely stunned. Even in my previous world, I had never seen someone who could match her presence. Her beauty wasn't merely physical—it was overwhelming, almost unreal, as if she didn't quite belong in the same space as everyone else.
Watching her figure move deeper into the classroom, I couldn't help but admire her in silence.
Even the famous actresses I'd seen on television would pale in comparison. Standing next to her, they would look ordinary. Forgettable.
It took me a few seconds to collect myself before letting out another quiet sigh, the corners of my lips curling into a bitter smile.
…And that was precisely the problem.
People like her were never safe to be around.
Especially for someone like me.
Straightening my posture, I forced my thoughts back into order and stepped toward the classroom, reaffirming the rules I had carved into my mind since the moment I realized where I was.
Do not get involved.Do not stand out.Survive.
Even if the story itself tried to drag me in kicking and screaming.
Still…
What the hell was wrong with me?
A twenty-nine-year-old man getting momentarily mesmerized by a sixteen-year-old girl?
The thought made me grimace.
I was starting to sympathize with all those isekai protagonists I used to judge so harshly. Experiencing something and reading about it were two very different things.
Since I had reincarnated into a younger body—one still firmly in its teenage years—I couldn't deny that my reactions didn't always align with my mental age. Biology wasn't something that could be overridden by willpower alone.
I think the biggest misconception readers had about isekai protagonists was assuming that being mentally older automatically turned someone into an emotionless sage.
That wasn't how humans worked.
Older people didn't lose desire because they gained wisdom—they lost it because their bodies aged. It had nothing to do with mentality.
Put anyone into a body brimming with hormones, sharpened senses, and heightened instincts, and reactions like mine became inevitable.
My response was understandable.
Still, that didn't mean I was in love with Freya.
Not even close.
I was simply stunned by her beauty—that was all. Nothing more, nothing less.
For one thing, she was sixteen, which alone made any thought beyond admiration a complete non-starter for me. And secondly, she was one of the main protagonists, someone who would eventually fall in love with the actual hero of the story.
Why would someone like her ever be interested in someone like me?
I had no outstanding talent.No destined role.No narrative protection.
Just an extra trying not to die.
"Huuu…"
Letting out a slow breath, I finally opened the door and entered the classroom.
The interior was just as I remembered.
Spotless to the point that it almost sparkled, as though cleanliness itself was part of the academy's prestige. The air felt crisp, faintly scented with polish and paper.
The classroom was structured into two descending rows, each fitted with retractable seats that curved gently inward toward the center. The layout resembled a lecture hall more than a traditional classroom—designed not only for learning, but for scrutiny.
I could already feel eyes on me.
Some curious.Some indifferent.Some quietly assessing.
Students had begun to fill the seats, small groups forming here and there. Laughter mixed with hushed whispers, while a few individuals sat alone, their presence heavy enough to discourage conversation.
Familiar faces surfaced one by one.
Future elite.Tragic casualty.Antagonist in waiting.
The protagonist wasn't here yet.
That, at least, bought me a little time.
Swallowing lightly, I scanned the room once more.
"…Where should I sit?"
In a place like this, even choosing a seat could alter the flow of events.
And I couldn't afford that.