There was no separate place inside the academy prepared for servants to wash their bodies.
That meant they couldn't even set foot in the elegant bathrooms equipped with plumbing.
In the end, Siwoo squatted by the well, shivering as he poured ice-cold groundwater over himself.
Every time the dried mud pack clinging to his skin turned into filthy sludge, his bones ached fiercely.
If he'd had just a little more time, he could've lit a fire under the nearby cauldron for hot water.
Realizing all this was Amelia's way of venting made his teeth grind.
"Fucking cold, shit!"
Five years since Gehenna captured him and turned him into a slave.
To explain this irrational city, one couldn't skip over the witches.
Through books in the library and years rubbing shoulders with them, Siwoo had learned what they were down to his bones.
Witches were arrogant, dangerous, selfish, and gripped by madness.
But that was just Siwoo's personal take—far from any real definition or concept.
Setting aside his feelings for a more objective view:
A witch was someone with a Stigma etched into their body who could wield magic.
The slave trader who'd kidnapped him and dragged him to Gehenna had been the first to explain it.
His face scarred with thick gashes, the trader had given Siwoo what passed for advice.
'If you want to keep your life, never defy a witch.'
Looking back now, it was absurdly ridiculous.
The guy had snatched him mid-normal life, then parroted buyer advice like it was wisdom.
Still, Siwoo vividly recalled the raw, instinctive terror etched on the trader's face.
Five years since the slave auction, sold to a city hall official and assigned as Trinity Academy's caretaker.
Eavesdropping on Amelia's lectures and poring over library books, he'd finally understood the trader's words.
The fear of witches wasn't just their magic.
What made them truly terrifying was their goals—and how they pursued them.
Every witch lived to chase the great magic of the Creation Witch.
For those seeking ever-higher paths of sorcery, ethics or morality were afterthoughts.
Private slaves—not city hall ones—faced brutal forced labor, sometimes dying in secret human experiments.
Maybe he'd overcomplicated it.
In one word: magic-crazed bitches who lost their minds over spells.
Middle-aged men hunting stamina pills had nothing on a witch's obsession.
"Crazy bitches..."
What if the city hall official hadn't bought him at auction?
That thought sent chills down his spine every time.
He'd wasted too much time.
He roughly toweled his hair with a rag worn through with three holes from over three years' use, skipped underwear, and threw on baggy white clothes.
Stiff fabric, no synthetics, designed like a barely-there dress.
Dubbed "experimental uniforms" in Trinity Academy, they suited "clean sackcloth" better than "clothes."
Just flicking up the skirt-like hem exposed everything down there.
Never getting used to the damn thing, Siwoo headed straight for the Second School Building.
2.
Trinity Academy sat in Lenormand Town.
Here, apprentice witches trained, and full witches researched.
The campus buildings formed a cross aligned to the cardinal directions—stone structures blending 17th-century Baroque with Gehenna's unique style.
The newest, the northern Second School Building, evoked Versailles Palace in its lavish, ornate glory.
Siwoo loathed Gehenna's class system, regime, and history—but these aesthetic marvels drew pure awe every time.
Through corridors snaking like veins across every building, he entered the Second School Building's hall.
Crystal chandeliers, softly flickering candelabras, and ceiling frescoes lauding magic's mysteries and beauty greeted him.
There stood Amelia Merrygold, gaze lowered deep in thought.
She'd zone out alone like that sometimes.
Pointed Fullene shoes, a mermaid dress hugging her silhouette just so, cape draped over her shoulders.
All in black.
Formal uniform for apprentice classes—fussy to don or doff.
Inherited from the prior "Merrygold," every piece dwarfed her frame.
Clutching a tome half her torso's size, brow faintly furrowed, she looked tiny.
"..."
For a moment, Siwoo forgot himself, staring at her profile like a man entranced.
He hated witches—but had to admit they were all beautiful.
Lush golden hair spilling over her black cape, lips red as forbidden fruit, soft curves peeking through her garb.
Dazzling, inhumanly so.
Amelia melted into the hall's opulent glow like living sculpture.
"Associate Professor."
At his call, Amelia blinked languidly.
Under five seconds, she turned with a frosty glare.
Pocket watch from her cape—time check.
"Noon plus three minutes. Do I look that free?"
"I arrived on the dot. You seemed lost in profound meditation on magic's truths—I didn't want to interrupt."
Truth: he'd been ogling her profile dumbly. Bad call.
"Wrong. Don't loiter—announce yourself. Confirmation time's three minutes past appointment: you're late. Without my notice, no way to verify if you're tardy or punctual, right?"
"Sorry."
Siwoo's apology was instant. He'd been burned on these nitpicks before.
Amelia acted ravenous, but a quick sorry usually shut her up.
Probably figured sniping a lowly slave cheapened her dignity.
"Whatever. Expecting wisdom from you? I'd sooner teach lab mice."
"Truly sorry."
But today her scolding dragged on.
Her sharp words drilled into his bowed head.
"I've overlooked plenty of your caretaker blunders. You repeat obvious ones because no fitting punishment."
Ominous.
"Next week: clean my research annex after afternoon duties."
"Pardon?"
Blatant bullying.
Her magic? Spotless in three minutes. Him, a mere human? Three-plus hours in that maze.
Three-minute delay earned twelve-hour days plus three-hour overtime.
"Broke the appointment—now balking this too?"
Siwoo was speechless.
Amelia shut down debate with action: hurled the massive book at his chest, strode to the stairs.
He nearly cursed aloud at the excess—but swallowed it.
Her too-long cape dragged the floor as she climbed; her back taunted him.
Stomp it, trip her flat. Easy. But the fallout? No thanks.
Shoulders twice burdened, Siwoo trailed her.
3.
"Sit."
Amelia's greeting-free opener upon entering the lecture hall.
Gloomy skies outside, the room still radiated refined poise: tiered desks arrayed around a vast blackboard.
Large-lecture layout, but cozy—twenty max.
No issue.
Only two apprentice witches waited.
Clinging like conjoined twins, they flashed Siwoo wolfish grins before claiming a table.
Chatty vibe lingered, like gossip mid-sentence.
Siwoo thudded the heavy book on the podium, stood by Amelia.
Purple eyes bored into him—he flinched.
Identical as copy-paste, they'd fixated on him since her entrance.
Odette and Odile.
Sole apprentices in Trinity classes these two years.
Jet-black hair, gleaming violet eyes.
Innocent-seeming perch, world-naive. But Siwoo knew better.
Innocence didn't equal goodness.
Kids squished ants with cherubic smiles.
These twins' brand? That same primal savagery.
"Professor Amelia! Class with assistant Shin Siwoo today?"
"Professor Amelia! Assistant joining today's lesson?"
Chirps overlapped, birdlike and shrill—near simultaneity.
Voices eerily matched; without lip-reading, speakers blurred.
"Yes."
Amelia's weary sigh clashed with their mirror giggles—uncanny valley chills.
"What experiment today?"
Amelia Merrygold: Trinity associate professor, 22-path savant, fifteenth generation.
Rare witch nobility: baroness.
Fledglings chattering at her? Audacious.
And she wasn't some patient saint.
"Male bodily fluids and..."
"Kyaa! So indecent!"
"Kyaa! Utterly vulgar!"
Mid-sentence fuss from Odile and Odette.
Amelia's bitten lip? Siwoo savored rare glee.
Her flustered face? Twin-exclusive.
How raw rookies drew that? Mystery.
Still, world-conqueror Amelia squirming? Spectacle.
"...male interpersonal dynamics."
"Strip inspection?"
"Nude exam again?"
"Correct."
Glee faded fast.
Amelia's tough customers meant his tightrope walk.
Humiliating antics before them—yesterday, today, tomorrow.
Till he fled this hellhole city.
"But first: check Odette's and Odile's lesson grasp."
"Theory's dull though?"
"Yeah! Witch Gemernai says unpracticed theory's worthless."
Amelia didn't always bend, though.
Associate prof authority kicked in; twins complied when she seized control.
Ignoring whines, podium smack.
"Submit last class's homework."
"Yes!"
"Yes, Professor."
Sly glance, then obedient handover—like good girls.
Naive or not, apprentice witches.
Quick scan: dense magic arrays, equations—dozens of pages.
Curiosity piqued, Siwoo leaned for a peek—froze.
Their stares pinned him still.