Chapter 1: The Transfer Witch

People are loud.

Not just their voices, though that’s bad enough, but everything else that comes with them. Their footsteps. Their laughter. Their need to be seen. Heard. Acknowledged.

It’s like being trapped in a room full of peacocks wearing school uniforms.

They call it “being social.” To me, it’s just noise. I stay out of it.

“Mio-chan! You’re amazing as always!”
“Mio-senpai, can you help me after class?”
“Mio-san, could I borrow your notes?”

Smile. Nod. Decline.

Repeat.

They call me reliable. Graceful. Perfect.

I don’t correct them.

It’s easier that way.

Truth is, I’m just… bored.

Observing people helps. Watching how they talk, how they react, how they pretend. It’s like flipping through a magazine you don’t care about. You’re not interested, but it fills the time.

Most days, that’s enough.

Today wasn’t most days.

“We have a transfer student joining us,” the teacher announced, far too cheerful for a Monday morning. “Reina-chan, come in.”

The door slid open.

And the room changed instantly.

Every head turned at once. Like something had pulled them.

That was the first thing I noticed.

The second was her.

Red hair, tipped faintly with lavender. Bright green eyes. A uniform that fit just a little too perfectly, like it had been adjusted with more precision than necessary.

She stepped inside like she belonged here.

No hesitation. No awkwardness.

Just confidence.

The kind you don’t fake.

She smiled.

And the room stayed quiet.

Not because she was pretty—though she was—but because something about her… held attention.

Too clean. Too sharp.

Too meticulous.

“Mio,” the teacher said, snapping me out of it, “please show her around later.”

Of course.

Smile. Nod. Accept the burden.

xXx

Lunch break.

She walked beside me, talking.

Not to impress. Not to fill the silence.

Just… talking.

“The cafeteria smells different from my last school,” she said, looking ahead thoughtfully. “Not bad. Just different.”

“Different how?”

“Like… less despair.”

“…That doesn't make any sense.”

She laughed.

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.

The school gates were locked, obviously, because normal students went home and stayed there instead of breaking back into campus at night for a stupid textbook.

Unfortunately for the school’s security standards, the side fence near the gym had a loose panel. I’d noticed it earlier that term during one of those rainy afternoons where wandering around campus felt easier than going straight home. It groaned faintly when I pushed it aside, just enough to sound disapproving before letting me slip through.

The school felt different at night. Not haunted. Not yet. Just... hushed. Like the whole campus had gone still and was waiting for something. The noise of the day was gone, leaving behind only stale air, long shadows, and the faint click of my own shoes against the floor.

I made my way to the first floor. Classroom 1-B. The hallway lights were dim, stretching thin bands of pale light across 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.