The final candlelights of the academy dimmed.
"Alright," Lilia muttered, slinging her bag over her shoulder and stepping outside. The sky had already turned a deep navy, stars sprinkled like sugar across velvet.
She hadn't realized how late it had gotten. One-on-one tutoring had eaten up the rest of the day.
She stretched her arms overhead and yawned.
"I'm finally free."
Behind her, the heavy door creaked open again. Footsteps—firm, even.
"Lilia."
She turned to see Professor Ashford stepping down the stairs, his coat fluttering slightly in the night breeze.
"I'll walk you home," he said simply.
Lilia blinked. "Eh? It's fine, Professor! I'm used to walking alone."
He frowned, clearly not thrilled with that answer. "It's dangerous this late. There have been reports of thieves near the outer markets—"
"I'll be fine, really," she waved off, still smiling. "I used to… I mean, I can handle myself."
She caught herself before saying I used to be a guy, but the memory gave her a false sense of confidence. I mean, I walked alone at night all the time back on Earth. This can't be that different, right?
"Besides," she added, "you've already done enough. I'd feel worse dragging your night out longer."
He hesitated.
But finally, he gave a reluctant nod. "At least stick to the main roads."
"Yes, sir!"
And with that, she turned and began walking through the lantern-lit streets, humming to herself.
The shops had mostly closed. The roads were quiet, lined with rows of shuttered stalls and flickering signs. Cobblestone clacked beneath her boots.
A slight chill crept in with the breeze.
She turned a corner.
Then another.
The lanterns grew scarcer.
The shadows stretched longer.
Lilia slowed her pace. "Huh… was this the way?"
She checked the streets.
And realized—she had no idea where she was.
"No, no, this is fine. I just took a wrong turn," she said to herself. "Totally normal. Just... medieval back-alley wrong turn. Happens to everyone."
The laughter came first.
"Hehehehe"
Raspy. Low. Male.
Then boots. Heavy, fast. Closing in.
Three figures emerged from the shadows behind her, and one cut off the alley ahead.
"Well, well," said the tallest of them, grinning. "What's a pretty girl doing all alone this late?"
Lilia stopped cold.
Her heart skipped.
This was—
This was bad.
Her instincts—once dulled by a life of male privilege—suddenly snapped into focus in a horrifying new way.
One of the thugs stepped closer. "Fancy little uniform, huh? You one of those rich girls?"
"Back off," Lilia said, her voice trying to sound firm.
It trembled anyway.
They laughed.
The leader snapped his fingers. "Check her bag."
One lunged forward.
Lilia stumbled back, gripping the strap tightly. "Don't touch me!"
Her body shook.
This wasn't like back home.
She didn't have the weight, or the presence, or even the voice anymore.
She felt so—
Small.
Helpless.
For the first time since transmigrating, Lilia Everhart—formerly Leo, sarcastic office worker and habitual lone wolf—felt something sharp and terrifying in her chest:
Real fear.
She tried to run.
But another blocked her.
"No way out now, sweetheart."
They reached for her again.
And her breath caught.
Suddenly—without meaning to—tears welled in her eyes.
She didn't even notice them at first.
I'm not strong.
I'm not safe.
I'm just…
"…helpless."
It escaped her lips like a broken whisper.
Tears fell. Her knees weakened.
=======================
[System Notification: Emotional stress critical.]
[Host distress level: High.]
[Triggering Passive Flag: "Route Protection - Light" Initiated.]
=======================
The air shivered.
The lantern above them suddenly exploded with a snap of light.
And a voice rang out from behind the gang.
"Step away from her."
It was calm.
But it carried weight—so much so that the gangsters immediately turned.
A tall figure stood at the edge of the alley, his cloak dark, his eyes gleaming under the moonlight.
Lilia blinked.
"…Professor?"
"Step away from her," Professor Ashford said again, voice cold and commanding.
The gangsters froze.
"Who the hell are you?" one of them spat.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he raised one hand.
The air rippled.
A crack of blue light surged from his palm as he snapped his fingers—once.
A bolt of magical force slammed into the man who had tried to grab Lilia, hurling him into the brick wall like a ragdoll. He dropped, unconscious, with a groan.
"W-What the—?!" another shouted, drawing a rusty knife.
Before he could move, Rowan flicked his wrist again. A sharp wind lashed out, lifting dust and trash into the air. The knife clattered to the ground as the thug shielded his face.
The third one lunged with a shout, trying to tackle him head-on.
Bad idea.
Rowan sidestepped smoothly, grabbing the man's arm and flipping him over with elegant ease. The thug hit the cobblestone with a crunch and didn't get back up.
Only one remained now—the leader—eyes wide, hands trembling.
"I—I'm not messing with this freak," he hissed, backing away. "Come on, we're out!"
The remaining men scrambled away into the night.
For a moment, the alley fell into a stunned silence.
Lilia stood frozen.
Professor Ashford slowly turned to her, his features etched with concern beneath the flickering light. "Lilia—are you hurt?"
She stared at him.
Something in her chest cracked open.
The world blurred.
"I—" she started, voice trembling.
Then, without thinking, without permission, her body moved.
She stumbled forward and collapsed against him, burying her face into his chest.
She cried.
Not soft sniffles.
Not polite weeping.
Raw, ugly, shuddering sobs.
She didn't know how long she stood there—clutching the front of his coat like a lifeline as the tears poured out.
But Rowan didn't push her away. He simply wrapped one arm around her shoulder, hand resting gently between her shoulder blades. Solid. Steady.
Protective.
And for some reason, that made her cry harder.
W-Why am I crying?
She was safe now.
She wasn't hurt.
But it felt like something inside her had broken open.
All the stress, all the confusion, all the fear—finally spilling out.
She wasn't the man she used to be.
Not anymore.
I… I never cried like this before.
Even when my sister died, I didn't cry.
Why now?
What's happening to me…?
She clenched her fists against his chest, as if trying to grip the last piece of her old self.
But it was slipping.
Little by little.
This world—this body—it was changing her.
Am I becoming…a girl? From my mind too?
It was terrifying.
It was confusing.
But for now… she just let herself cry.
For once, she didn't pretend to be strong.