I Woke Up as the Villainess's Friend. I Don’t Want to Be the Next Dark Queen

New day, Monday. At breakfast, the rankings still aren't posted, so we head to class. Today we only have one, with Catrina. It's not marked as combat training but as an informational session. The professor, as soon as she sees me walk through the door, calls me over to her desk.

I do as she asks. The other students filing into class stare at me, and I catch whispers about whether it's about the rankings—maybe she's going to tell me I placed first.

I know it's possible. But that's not why she wants to talk to me.

"Bianca, how are you doing?" she says in a soft tone, completely out of character for the combat professor who loves raising her voice.

"Fine," I answer, confused.

Students keep coming in and taking their seats in the neat rows of small desks with chairs. I step up onto the raised platform to get closer to the professor, who's sitting on top of her desk.

Yes, on top of the desk. Not in a chair like any other professor. Despite this casual attitude, she doesn't lose an ounce of her authority.

"I've been informed about what you had to do to save your life and Mary's. I just want you to know it's normal to feel bad. It happens to all of us the first time."

Shit. I glance around nervously. The kids in the front rows seem to be trying to eavesdrop. If any of them have air magic, they're definitely listening in. At least she's not clarifying what exactly I had to do.

"Understood, professor."

"Would you like to come see me later, after class?"

For a moment, remembering my nightmares, I'm tempted to say yes. But what's she going to tell me? Some "that's what soldiers do, people die on the battlefield" speech? Like, tell me it was my duty and I shouldn't feel bad, that it was better him than Mary and me?

Or are we going to dive into the thorny topic of why it's fine to kill a goblin—who has feelings—but not okay to kill a human assassin?

Because here I am, feeling bad about not feeling bad. Both orcs and trolls are intelligent beings, and I've killed them. And if we're going down that road, the wolves, the bears... even being animals, them too.

So let's just drop it. I've buried it somewhere in my memory. It's not very mature of me not to face it, but I've already told myself it was to save two lives and that he was an assassin. I did what I had to do, and I'd do it again if necessary. Nightmares? That'll be my way of processing it.

So yeah, for now I'm managing just fine on my own. In any case, it's good to know that if I need to talk to someone, Catrina's door is open. Besides, I'm swamped today. My parents are coming and I'll have to be with them. And I want to see if I can catch Marco in time.

"Another day, professor. I appreciate it, but today we're all really busy with the ball."

She stares at me for a few seconds, as if trying to figure out whether I'm making excuses.

"Very well," she finally says after a loud exhale, raising her voice back to its normal level. "When you need it, I'm at your disposal."

I thank her, turn around, glare at everyone who's staring and whispering, and head to my seat. On the way, someone tugs at my arm. It's Darius, giving me a questioning look.

"No," I answer under my breath. "it wasn't about the rankings."

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Catrina waits for me to take my seat before beginning her speech:

"My dear first-year students," she says without getting up from the desk, "well, and not-so-dear ones." She looks at Sol.

I'm stunned, because this girl has definitely complained, but the professor seems immune. Well, knowing what happened, maybe it's part of her silence pact about our disgraceful crown prince.

"The moment you've been waiting for has arrived," she continues. "Soon, they'll post the rankings on the board, by class and by year. And one with the top ten so you can see the king and queen of the ball and those who came closest." She jumps to her feet and strides energetically to the edge of the raised platform. "But I'll tell you right now that the winners aren't from third year." Murmurs begin; she allows them, doesn't shush anyone. "Or second year." She flashes a satisfied smile. "They're from this class."

She points at us with both hands, and around me the students go wild. No one gets up from their chair, of course, but they do talk and even shout.

Catrina lets them, giving them a couple of minutes where she seems to be enjoying the atmosphere—part celebration, part anticipation.

Then she claps twice, sharply.

"Silence," she half-whispers, and we all obey. I say we because Mary, excited that it might be me, had started shouting at me across the desks separating us. "You won't know who they are until this class ends, so I'll be brief. Congratulations in advance. First-year students dominating the individual rankings isn't something you see very often."

She walks to the blackboard and writes "parents," below that "dinner," and below that "ball."

"Well," she continues after tapping the chalk near the first word, pointing at it, "as you already know, today is a special day. We're celebrating the end-of-term ball, and many of your parents and immediate family members will be joining the celebration. While the academy only invites them to dinner, they're allowed to enter mid-morning, so many of you will go out to lunch with them in Solstar. Those who don't have your usual spot in the dining hall."

"By the way," she continues after a brief pause, "those of you who earned the extra percentage of points, don't forget to stop by the shop today to cash them in, because the merchant leaves this afternoon. I recommend doing it before your parents arrive."

Now she openly looks at Ronan and me. You can hear some "no fucking way" and "them again" behind me.

I'd really love to know what element or elements Catrina has.

"As you know," she reminds us, "the top five get twenty percent more points for the shop, not for the rankings. Yes?" she says, looking at a student to my right who has his hand raised.

"The top five from each class or from first year?"

"If it were up to me, from the entire school. It's from each year. See what a lack of motivation looks like? It's a miracle that despite everything, the ones who shine brightest are from this class." She smiles.

She seems pretty satisfied with the results. So much so that maybe it's not that she's taking it personally, but that those results might influence her salary.

Like tutoring the best students.

"Well," she continues, "so, those of you going out to Solstar, remember that even though you're with your families, you're still students of this academic institution and you need to behave accordingly. Tonight, there's a reception that goes on for two hours—to give everyone time to arrive and be announced—then dinner, and finally the long-awaited ball. Oh, and then fall break."

Now I'm the one raising my hand.

"Yes, Bianca."

"If we stay at the academy during break, are there possibilities for extra help classes?"

She bursts out laughing.

"Only for those I tutor. Yes, Darius, tell us." Her voice sounds a bit weary, as if she didn't like being interrupted from her conversation with me.

"Aren't you not supposed to accept pupils yet?"

"A good teacher knows when to make exceptions, and no, don't even try. You're a good warrior, but you're still on my list of possible students. This year I'm choosing two, and the only one of those two I've already decided on isn't you."

"If it's because I'm not in the top five of the class rankings—which I hope to be—I'll work harder, professor."

"We'll see."

Catrina's eyes drift to Vincent. He's also in her reduced Wednesday afternoon class. It's safe to assume she wants to take both students from there. Well, I'm definitely going to accept her offer. I want claw mastery, plus given my high spirit affinity, I think a tutor specialized in combat magic will be able to help me more than one in earth or fire magic.

Catrina returns to her speech about the ball, reminding us of the school's basic behavioral rules and that those who break them will be sanctioned. After about half an hour, class ends and some students start getting up hastily, sliding their desks a few centimeters across the floor. Catrina looks at them and raises an eyebrow.

"Excuse me, professor," two students who've suddenly gone pale respond almost in unison. I imagine they're picturing themselves doing push-ups.

"You may go, but in an orderly fashion. No running."