Chapter 1: The Transfer Witch

People are loud.

Not just with their voices, though that’s certainly part of it, but with everything. Their footsteps, their opinions, their drama. Their need to be seen. Heard. Noticed. It’s like being surrounded by peacocks in a school uniform.

I, on the other hand, prefer silence.

“Mio-chan! You’re amazing as always!”
“Mio-senpai, are you free after class?”
“Mio-san, could you please help me with the notes?”

Smile. Nod. Politely decline. Repeat.

They call me perfect. Graceful. Reliable. I don’t bother correcting them. What would be the point?

None of them realize I’m bored out of my mind.

I’d like to say I’m above it all, but the truth is, I observe people's foolish actions. It’s the only entertainment I have. Like flipping through a dull magazine. You don’t care about the content, but it passes the time.

That’s why the announcement during homeroom piqued my interest.

“We have a new student joining us today,” the teacher chirped. “Reina-chan, come in!”

She entered like a breeze caught in a bottle, soft swirls of energy wrapped in a school uniform. Red hair with lavender tips, bright green eyes that scanned the classroom, and in an instant, the chatter died. Every head turned toward her, like she’d pulled the room's attention with some invisible string. She smiled, confident and effortless. I noticed how the air around her seemed to shimmer slightly. That’s when I realized: she wasn’t just drawing attention; she was making it happen.

Not that anyone else noticed. The girls were already whispering, the boys leaning forward. But me? I stared a little longer than I should’ve.

“Mio,” the teacher said, “please show Reina around today. I know we can count on you.”

Of course. Smile. Nod. Accept the burden.

xXx

Lunch break. She’s walking beside me, rambling about how the cafeteria food smells “different from her last school.” I wonder if she’s pretending to be normal or if she’s just bad at it. Either way, her energy is erratic, like sparks trying to stay hidden under wet leaves.

We started with the basics. The hallway that connected the main building to the science wing.

“This is where the first-years usually get lost,” I said, gesturing to the left turn most people miss. “Don’t follow them. It’s a trap.”

Reina laughed. “A trap? What happens if I do?”

“You’ll end up in the supply closet. It smells like wet mop and despair.”

She chuckled again, and I noticed something. The way her laugh wasn’t forced. Not the usual polite giggle I’d grown used to from classmates trying to impress me. It was real. Unpolished.

Next was the library. I opened the door just enough for her to peek inside. Rows of shelves, dusty light filtering through high windows, and a librarian who could shush you with a single glance.

“Impressive,” she murmured. “It looks like a cathedral of boredom.”

“It is,” I replied. “But the chairs are comfortable enough to nap in.”

She gave me a thumbs up like that was the best thing she’d heard all day.

We passed the club bulletin board next, where dozens of flyers flapped under the breeze of passing students.

“This is where people try to find themselves,” I explained. “Or force others to join their hobbies.”

She scanned the papers. “Any cults?”

“Three,” I said, shrugging. “But they’re all about the ‘we’re just here for the snacks’ vibe.”

Reina snorted.

The last stop was the rooftop. Technically off-limits. Practically? Open, if you knew which window latch to loosen. I pushed it open and let her climb through first. She looked around, her eyes wide as the wind caught her hair.

“It’s beautiful up here.”

I nodded. “Hardly anyone comes up. Too far from the vending machines.”

“Which means you come here often.”

She wasn’t asking. Just stating.

I didn’t answer.

She turned to me, smiling that same easy, unreadable smile. “Thanks for the tour, Mio.”

She paused, for a brief moment, before continuing, “You’re kinda mysterious, you know?”

I blink. “Am I?”

“Yup. You’ve got those ‘I’ve seen everything and don’t care anymore’ vibes.”

She’s not wrong.

xXx

We parted ways after class, and her words rang in my head longer than I’d like to admit. I spent the rest of the evening on autopilot. Dinner, a bit of homework, the usual routine. Until I opened my bag and realized something was missing.

My literature textbook.
Of course.

Tomorrow was our mock exam. A test that could affect my class ranking. And while I had no real love for competition, my grades were part of the image—flawless, dependable, the perfect model student. Slipping even a little would raise questions. I couldn’t afford that.

I needed that book.

So, against all reason, I slipped on my hoodie, grabbed my keys, and quietly left the apartment.

The school gates were locked, but the side fence near the gym had a loose panel. I’d discovered it last year during a rainy-day wander. It groaned faintly as I pushed it open and slipped through.

The campus felt different at night. Not eerie—just... hushed. As if the walls were holding their breath. The usual buzz of daytime chaos was gone, replaced with still air and faint echoes of my own footsteps.

I made my way to the second floor. Classroom 2-B. The hallway lights were dim, casting long shadows across the floor. My shoes clicked softly against the tiles as I approached the door.

And then I felt it.

A shift in the air.

I froze.

Someone, or something, was here.

Logic told me to grab my textbook and leave. But curiosity had other plans.

Silently, I followed the disturbance. It drifted like a whisper, leading me past the classrooms, down the stairs, and out toward the back of the school. Past the flower beds and the rusted bike racks. All the way to the old greenhouse.

That’s when I heard her voice.

Reina.

I ducked behind a wall, peeking just enough to see without being seen.

She stood in the clearing, backlit by the faint moonlight, talking to herself—or someone invisible. Her voice was low, sharp.

“I told you to wait until nightfall. If someone sees you, it’s over.”

Her fingers moved through the air with practiced precision, drawing shapes that shimmered faintly before vanishing. Runes? Symbols? Whatever they were, they weren’t normal.

Then—poof. A wisp of purple smoke spiraled upward from her palms, twisting like it had a mind of its own before dissipating into the night.

I didn’t know what I was seeing.
But one thing was certain:

Reina wasn’t pretending to be strange.

She was strange.

And I couldn’t look away.