The room was quiet, filled with the soft rustle of fabric.
And the occasional click of a needle pushing through thick cloth.
Sunlight streamed in from the large window, casting a golden glow over the shelves lined with spools of thread, folded fabric, sewing kits, and mannequins dressed in half-finished garments.
The space smelled like old cotton, lavender sachets, and the faint trace of iron from tools long used.
It was a club room—but not just any club.
It was the Tailoring and Embroidery Club at the Velorian Imperial Academy.
And right now, it was just the two of them.
The girl sat on a stool near the long worktable, wearing the academy's signature uniform—
A clean blue blazer, crisp white shirt, and neatly pleated blue skirt.
Over it, she wore a worn apron, smudged with chalk and thread bits.
Her pink hair was tied in a messy bun, strands slipping out over her face.
A sewing needle was tucked between her fingers as she watched the boy beside her.
He sat quietly, focused, his black hair falling over his forehead, almost covering the slight frown on his brow.
His yellow eyes were calm, trained on the white blazer in his lap.
The needle slipped in and out through the fabric with practiced grace as he attached the tassels on the shoulder, placing each strand just right—carefully, precisely.
She watched him in silence, her heart doing something odd.
It had been almost a semester since she met him.
Back then, she was just the countryside girl who barely knew how to hold a needle.
She had started the club to find a new hobby—maybe even make something of herself.
Tailoring sounded elegant.
Noble.
She never imagined it would bring someone like him into her life.
A boy from one of the Saint Households.
A noble.
Refined, polite, and always a little too perfect for her to understand.
And yet… here he was, beside her, week after week, patiently showing her how to sew.
She had learned a lot.
But what she treasured more than the lessons… was him.
Her hands clutched the sides of her apron as she stared at his side profile.
How could someone like him even be friends with someone like her...?
She thought, her cheeks turning red.
We're from different worlds...
And yet… for some reason, he had stayed.
At least until now.
This was the last lesson.
After this, he would probably leave.
And she would return to this room alone, with half-finished fabrics and quiet afternoons.
She felt a pang in her chest.
Still… she smiled.
A small, bittersweet thing.
At least they had shared time together.
That mattered.
She turned away quickly, pressing her hands to her cheeks and puffing them out in frustration.
Her fingers squeezed her face as she pouted.
What do I do now...?
What if he never comes back...?!
She peeked at him through her fingers.
Still sewing. Still calm.
Maybe I should say something... but what...?
Before she could decide, he gave a small breath, tied off the thread, and stood.
He held up the finished white blazer, now complete with gold accents, delicate embroidery on the sleeves, and tassels perfectly arranged on the shoulders.
Even the buttons gleamed in the light.
It was beautiful.
She took it with both hands, slowly, gently—clutching the fabric tightly as she stared down at it.
Her lips trembled.
She looked up.
"...Will you leave the club?"
Silence.
He didn't answer.
Her eyes searched his.
They were hidden a little beneath his silky black hair, unreadable, guarded.
He said nothing.
Just reached up and untied the apron from his waist.
It was white—simple, but worn at the edges.
He folded it, then walked to the other side of the room where his black bag rested.
He rummaged for a moment… then turned and walked back toward her.
He handed her something.
She blinked.
A… doll?
It was a plush doll, small and soft.
Its eyes were made of two bright blue buttons, stitched neatly.
A pink, smiling mouth was sewed on gently with care.
It wore a tiny blue uniform, just like hers.
Its hair—woolen and pink—was puffed and tied into a bun on its large, adorable head.
She froze.
Was this… her?
It was. It had to be. The pink hair alone gave it away.
He made this… for her?
He finally spoke, voice quiet, but clear.
"…A gift. For being the most attentive pupil."
Then he turned away, walked back to the drawers, placed the tools inside carefully, and zipped up his bag.
She didn't stop him.
She couldn't.
Her heart was loud in her chest as her hands tightened around the doll.
He left the room without a word more.
The girl stood in place, face still messy with scattered strands and a faint red hue dusting her cheeks, but her expression soft.
She turned slowly, walking to the window as the last sunlight of the afternoon slanted in.
She lifted the doll in front of her, angling it toward the light.
It looked almost alive in the sun.
She smiled.
A small, warm, trembling smile.
Because even if he left…
He had seen her.
And that was enough.
***
---
Noel was walking calmly through the cobblestone paths of the Imperial Academy campus.
Hands tucked into the pockets of his coat.
His golden-eyed gaze wandered across the scenery, taking in everything in silent awe.
The Central Dominion — the very heart of the Empire — was a place known for its unmatched luxury.
Not just in wealth, but in beauty.
Even the simplest benches or lampposts looked like they had been crafted by the most skilled artisans.
Statues lined the stone paths, trimmed hedges curled in swirling patterns, and the air smelled faintly of flowers despite the season.
And the Velorian Imperial Academy? Of course it stood out too.
It had to.
Being the most prestigious educational institution in all three continents, it wouldn't settle for anything less.
Noel glanced up at the massive building structure, its high towers catching the sun, almost blinding with their polished white stone and gold-rimmed banners.
His boots tapped lightly against the walkway as he kept walking, thinking quietly to himself.
"The devs really went all out with this."
His thoughts lingered.
Being inside the game world now… some things were too detailed.
Too alive.
The way shadows fell just right between pillars.
The textures of the marble.
The faint birdsong in the distance.
He had to give credit where it was due.
They hadn't made a half-baked world.
They had poured everything into it.
He passed by a few students, scattered across the open courtyard.
Some carried books, others laughed lightly, a few were in uniformed clubs, heading toward the training fields or the conservatory garden.
It wasn't crowded — most students were probably still in class or at lectures, or maybe partaking in their own academy-sponsored activities.
And then there was him.
Other instructors had rooms and spaces inside the campus, the Instructor Quarters —
But Noel?
He chose otherwise.
Was it to reduce interactions?
Avoid drama?
He wasn't going to lie.
He would do the same again.
Now that he was him, he saw no point in living in the middle of everything.
Commuting wasn't so bad.
Especially when he got to enjoy the luxurious car he was driven in.
Leather seats. Private driver. Curtains that shielded him from the sun.
Something he didn't even get close to in his past life.
Even though he wasn't the one driving... it felt like the first time he had something that belonged to power.
He was heading toward his office first, then to the Headmaster's tower.
His steps slowed when he saw a group coming from the opposite direction.
People dressed in long black robes, flowing behind them with a silent weight.
They looked like clergy members.
No… they were priests.
Four of them in black.
And one man, walking ahead of them, dressed in white.
His robe was pristine and long, lined with delicate gold threads that shimmered subtly when he walked.
On his chest, stitched in silver and gold, was a sun-shaped insignia — a large, radiant sunburst with a chalice in its center, pouring light upwards —
Intricate embroidery, weaving holy scripture in an old, sacred tongue.
His gloves were white, and his long boots had the same sigil on the outer ankles.
A soft white glow even seemed to cling to the fabric.
His hair was pale, almost white with hints of yellow, flowing softly past his shoulders.
And his eyes — golden.
Sharp and clear like the sun itself.
Then came the familiar sting in Noel's stomach.
Not pain. Just that creeping, unnatural pressure.
The man in white looked familiar.
From the game?
Or from Noel's fragmented memories?
The group stopped before him.
The priests bowed slightly in respect.
The man in white didn't bow — he simply stared at Noel.
Their eyes locked.
Noel's trait — [Calm Demeanor] — kept his breath steady.
His heart did not race.
His face did not flinch.
But deep down, his organs felt cold.
The man in white smiled faintly.
He closed his eyes — or at least, seemed to.
A fox-eyed character?
"I see you're doing well, Manager…" he said softly.
'Manager?'
Noel blinked.
So they knew each other.
The man tilted his head, voice still gentle.
"…Oh? What's this? You act like we don't know each other…"
He placed one gloved hand over his heart, smiling with eyes half-lidded in a theatrical pout.
He looked almost sad.
Not in the way a child would cry — but the way a saint might weep for lost innocence.
"I feel a little heartbroken now… to be looked at in such a cold way…"
He cleared his throat softly.
His expression stayed innocent — as if he didn't mean anything by it.
Noel was thinking hard.
The memories.
They were failing him again.
They were there… but broken.
Shattered like glass. Some were missing pieces.
Others, he couldn't even see clearly.
He'd realized something strange.
Some characters were clear in his memories.
Others? Completely fragmented.
Did it mean something?
Were these only the people the original Noel had deep ties with?
Deep history?
Important characters?
"…Would you mind reminding me your name?"
Noel asked calmly.
The silence that followed was thick.
The priests around the white-robed man looked baffled.
Shocked, even.
Noel noticed the looks.
This man was known.
Well known.
Then one by one, they spoke — their voices humble, almost trembling:
"...You stand before the pride of the Empire…"
"...The Holy Knight and Saint Candidate of the Church of Lumin…"
"…Honorable First Son of House Redwyne…"
The white-robed man smiled as the priests quieted.
He raised a single white-gloved finger to his lips.
The priests stopped talking.
"…Terrible memory still, I see… no matter," the man whispered.
He stepped forward, smiling brighter now.
"I am Adel Saint Redwynne."
Noel's eyes widened.
Claire had spoken of him.
Their meeting had originally been because of her.
Claire… who had some kind of connection with this man.
And this man…
This man had saved him.
Prevented Noel from looping again from the very start.
Noel swallowed.
He could almost hear it.
The sound of the train whistle — not in his ear, but in his soul.
Adel stood before him, hands now joined together in a quiet prayer gesture.
'He is… one of the strongest Holy Knights…'
The symbol on his white robe glinted softly.
'The Holy Grail Faction...'
"I sincerely thank you… for saving everyone at the ISD-Obsidian," Noel said calmly.
"Including me…"
He bowed lightly.
But the trait [Calm Demeanor] made it look like he and Adel were equals.
Tch.
What a joke.
He was broken.
Mentally and physically.
Compared to Adel… he was nothing.
Adel chuckled lightly, waving a hand.
"Oh no no… I simply arrived at the end. You had already dealt with the attack…
Claire made sure I arrived in time.
I didn't do much," he said, his voice playful, like he was talking about the weather.
Noel looked at him.
He wanted to ask or rather speak...
Speak about his deaths. His regressions.
But he couldn't.
It was too dangerous.
Even Adel — a powerful, major character — acted like everything was okay.
Was that the world's design?
The happy setting the game forced on them?
"…What happened to that woman from the Wretched Faith who attacked?"
Noel asked, carefully.
Adel's smile slightly twitched.
His golden eyes opened.
Sharp. Cold.
"…False alarm. She was dealt with. And the rest of that blasphemous faction is in the process of being eradicated."
There it was.
Real hatred.
Noel could feel the anger behind those words.
Should he push further?
…No.
It wasn't time.
"Very well. Thank you again," Noel said with a slight nod.
Adel smiled once more.
"Same to you… Manager Instructor Noel. May your full transfer to the Imperial Academy be smooth… and may the light of the Divine watch over you…"
Adel pressed his hands together in one last prayer gesture.
"…I've heard quite a bit about you… from my sibling…"
He turned and left, the other priests following him like silent shadows.
Noel watched them go.
His heartbeat steady… but his thoughts spiraled.
***
Noel continued walking, his steps calm, but his mind far from it.
The quiet breeze passed by him, brushing the trees and finely trimmed hedges along the stone paths of the campus.
The sunlight glittered off marble walls and golden ornaments.
Still, all Noel could think of was Adel.
There was something… off.
His expression. His tone. The way he avoided the question.
Was it hesitation? Or was it something more?
He clenched his fist slightly.
That aside—he hadn't been able to check Adel's character profile at all.
[ Error????]
The notification had flashed for only a second, but the moment had been enough to rattle him.
Just what kind of person was Adel Saint Redwynne?
Noel didn't like walking blind. Especially not around someone that powerful.
He exhaled, his breath long and slow.
For now, he'd have to focus on recovering his own memories.
The gaps were costing him far too much. Time. Information. Peace of mind.
He figured the best place to start was with the world itself.
Geography. Culture. Names. History.
Maybe… just maybe, a few of them might ignite something in his fragmented mind.
And then he could work on broken interactions and relationships...
"Starting with her..."
He thought of someone.
"Sigh..."
If his sister Hana were here, she'd have figured everything out by now.
She was the true veteran player of this game.
"...Tch," Noel sighed, placing a hand in his pocket.
Even her annoying rants would've helped now.
Eventually, after passing through the quieter administrative halls of the academy, Noel reached his office.
A heavy darkwood door with golden lining and a small engraved plaque that read:
[Instructor - Noel Saint Grenn ]
He stopped in front of it.
"…Why is it unlocked?" he muttered, narrowing his eyes.
The handle turned without resistance.
He opened the door and stepped in.
There, standing in front of his desk, was a woman.
She had light brown hair that curled softly at the ends and warm eyes the color of honey. She wore the academy's formal assistant uniform—neatly ironed and fitted, with her ID badge clipped to the hem.
She looked up at him and smiled.
"Oh, Manager… you're here."
Noel blinked once.
"…Claire?" he muttered.