Soren walked down the academy halls with his hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes unfocused as he tried to line up the pieces Felix had thrown at him.
The more he rolled it around in his head, the less it made sense.
If what Felix said was true, that people found him attractive, then why did everyone avoid him?
Even accounting for jealousy, intimidation, and the weird social gravity nobles seemed to have, surely someone would have at least spoken to him by now, even if only out of obligation, even if only to test whether he would bite.
But no one had.
Not once.
Not a single "good morning," not a single smile, not even the polite nothing of a nod in passing.
Nothing.
'But why..?'
He stopped mid-step, the question snagging hard enough to halt him, and for a second he just stood there, breath quiet, the walkway's distant chatter flowing around him like water around a rock.
"…Wait. Am I actually stupid?"
The answer hit him in the same instant, sharp and obvious in retrospect, like a door he had been leaning against without noticing.
"Freya Arden."
He whispered the name under his breath, as if saying it aloud would lock it into place, as if the sound itself carried the weight of the explanation.
That was it.
That was the missing piece.
The answer had been right in front of him, and he had simply… walked past it.
A few months before the academy's entrance ceremony, Freya Arden, one of the greatest prodigies in the kingdom, had died in battle.
Her weapon was sitting in his dorm.
The axe, heavy, expensive, and clearly meant to be held by someone with far more strength than a first-year Class F student should reasonably have, its presence in his room like an accusation and a memorial at the same time.
And the fact that the weapon hadn't been returned to the main house meant something, because noble families didn't leave relics lying around without reason.
It meant Soren, the original one, had probably been close to her, close enough that even the family allowed him to keep it, or close enough that no one had been willing or able to take it from him.
He must have held onto it as something precious, maybe as a memento, maybe as the only thing that made the grief bearable.
And when he came to Stellaris Academy, he brought nothing else.
No decorations.
No personal trinkets.
No little comforts or reminders of home.
Just her weapon.
Soren exhaled slowly, a chill settling in his chest as the image formed clearly in his mind, too easy to imagine.
'Of course everyone avoids me.'
He could picture it without effort now, because the world loved patterns, and grief had its own recognisable shape.
A boy dragging his late sister's axe to school, eyes empty, shoulders tense, walking like he was balancing on the edge of something, not meeting anyone's gaze, snapping at anyone who got too close, or worse, not reacting at all.
Unstable.
Dangerous.
Someone you left alone, not because you hated him, but because you were afraid you would make it worse, or afraid he would break and you would be the one standing there when it happened.
'They must've thought it was best to leave him alone.'
And since Freya was a public figure, famous enough that even country bumpkins had probably heard her name, everyone would have understood the situation, or at least thought they did, and stayed away out of pity, discomfort, or that selfish instinct to avoid sadness because it might rub off.
Soren's throat felt tight for a moment, not because he cared about Freya in the way the original Soren must have, he couldn't, he didn't have those memories, but because he understood the shape of it anyway.
'...I can understand him.'
He knew what it was like to push people away when you were drowning, to choose isolation because it was easier than trusting someone with your ugliness, to decide that if you kept everyone at arm's length then they couldn't see the cracks, couldn't step on them, couldn't turn your pain into gossip.
The original Soren must have just… never stopped.
And now, weeks later, everyone still assumed he wanted to be left alone, because first impressions were sticky, and no one wanted to be the first person to test whether the grieving boy had become safe.
'So that's it, huh?'
A small, humourless laugh slipped out, more breath than sound.
'People saw a grieving kid and thought, better not bother him, and others saw that same kid and felt jealous anyway because of his face.'
He clicked his tongue, irritation rising again, because the logic was understandable and still infuriating.
"People really are trash."
Still, it was a relief to finally understand, because uncertainty had a way of chewing at him until it left nothing but raw nerves behind.
'So the fix is simple enough. Just show people I'm fine now.'
A few small changes, an occasional greeting, a casual smile, something that signalled he wasn't fragile glass waiting to shatter, something that told the room he wasn't a bomb.
Of course, that immediately raised another problem.
'Do I even want to fix it?'
The less attention he got, the easier it was to live peacefully.
That was the whole point, wasn't it?
The whole reason he had clung to the idea of being a background character the moment he realised Alex existed.
The whole reason he had exhaled that day like he had been given permission to live.
Thanks to the protagonist's existence, he could live quite freely, but Soren still worried that if he drew too many eyes, too much interest, he might get dragged into the story anyway.
Sure, being in Class F made that worry feel almost ridiculous, like worrying about being recruited into the royal guard when you couldn't even run a lap without wheezing, but after hearing what Felix said, he couldn't just shake it off.
In a world filled with narcissistic nobles who cared far too much about vanity, there was always a chance that appearances alone could open doors he didn't want opened, doors that led straight into trouble, expectations, and the kind of responsibility he had already spent one lifetime drowning under.
He groaned softly, dragging a hand down his face.
"It's all so tedious…"
All he wanted was to live a happy, comfortable life in this world, to eat, sleep, learn enough to survive, and stay far away from anything that smelled like trouble.
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
When Soren pushed open the bathroom door in his dorm room, he felt an odd sense of anticipation, as if he was approaching something he had been avoiding on purpose.
The room was quiet, the air cool, the faint scent of soap and clean water hanging around the sink, and the mirror on the wall reflected the doorway like a flat, waiting surface.
'Why was I never curious before?'
It had been a little over a week since transmigrating, and he still hadn't properly looked at himself, not once, not even in passing, and now that he thought about it, the fact felt strangely unsettling, like leaving a page blank in a book you were supposed to be living inside.
'Then again… I stopped caring about that kind of thing long ago.'
Back on Earth, he had gone months without bothering, not because he had been above it, but because it hadn't felt worth the effort.
Because when you were exhausted all the time, survival took priority over presentation, and the version of himself he had been then had learned to minimise everything that invited attention.
Maybe that habit had simply carried over.
He took a slow breath, as if steadying himself for something more serious than a mirror, and stepped up to it.
The moment he raised his head, he froze.
His breath caught, sharp in his throat, the sight landing like a physical blow.
The person staring back at him wasn't just handsome.
He was otherworldly.
Snow-white hair fell to his shoulders, silky and soft, strands catching the light in a way that looked almost deliberate, as if someone had designed it to be noticed.
His skin was smooth and pale, not sickly, not washed out, but luminous under the bathroom's lighting, like there was a faint glow sitting just beneath the surface.
Scarlet eyes stared back at him, sharp, vivid, framed by long lashes that softened the intensity just enough to make it worse, because it created that contradictory impression of danger and warmth layered together.
Two beauty marks stood out clearly, one beneath his eye, another below his lip, small details that somehow made the face feel even more… intentional, as though it had been crafted, not born.
His lips were faintly red, his features balanced with a precision that bordered on unreal, leaning more feminine than masculine in a way that didn't look awkward or fragile; it looked like an expensive aesthetic choice.
Breathtaking.
That was the only word that came to mind.
Even the way he held himself, shoulders slightly drawn, posture careful, made him look delicate, almost breakable, the kind of person strangers would want to protect or possess, depending on what kind of stranger they were.
Soren slowly raised a hand, fingers hovering for half a second before touching the mirror's surface, as if he needed the cold feeling to confirm the reflection wasn't a trick.
"This is… insane…" he muttered aloud, disbelief heavy in his voice.
The almost S-rank Charm stat suddenly made sense, the ridiculous number no longer abstract, because now he could see the result in front of him, every feature working together to create a beautiful, delicate appearance that would be impossible to ignore in a place like this.
'I take back what I said earlier. No wonder people were envious, I can't even call them trash anymore.'
He stared for a long moment, eyes narrowing slightly as he compared the reflection to the memory of his old face back on Earth, androgynous then, yes, but nothing like this.
He let out a resigned sigh, the kind that came from accepting a problem you couldn't solve by punching it.
'Is this really a guy?'
The question didn't even feel like vanity; it felt like logistics, like trying to figure out what kind of trouble the universe had decided to gift him.
He groaned quietly, rubbing his temples as if he could physically push the headache away before it arrived.
"I can already feel the future headaches…"
————「❤︎」————