How to Look Fancy While Being Poor
Akira Kurusu stepped through the grand gates of Lunarveil Academy, his long black coat trailing behind him like a shadow. It was his first day, and already, he stuck out like a sore thumb. The noble students glided through the pristine courtyards in their perfectly tailored uniforms—navy, gold-trimmed, and undoubtedly expensive—while he looked like a dramatic protagonist who had wandered in from another story entirely.
The academy itself was overwhelming. Towering spires stretched into the sky, their tips disappearing into the clouds like something straight out of a fantasy novel. Pathways of polished marble shimmered with embedded enchantments, glowing faintly under the afternoon sun. Floating lanterns bobbed lazily along the corridors, and somewhere in the distance, an entire bridge decided to shift positions with a low, grinding hum.
He pretended not to be impressed.
Keeping his expression cool, he walked through the courtyard, ignoring the hushed whispers that followed in his wake. He could already hear the speculation:
"Is that the new scholarship student?"
"He transferred in halfway through the semester? How smart is he?"
"Why does he look like he’s about to start a revolution?"
He sighed through his nose. He already remembered the school's map, but going straight to the teacher’s office without hesitation would definitely raise some eyebrows. No normal transfer student would navigate a huge-ass academy like this on their first day without getting lost at least once. Better to ask someone for directions and play it natural.
His gaze landed on a girl standing nearby, books stacked neatly in her arms. She looked responsible. Harmless. Definitely someone who wouldn’t run away screaming.
Or so he thought.
“Excuse me, could you tell me where—”
Before he could finish, the girl made a strangled noise, her face turning the color of a ripe tomato. Then, with the grace of a startled deer, she bolted, her books teetering dangerously in her arms as she disappeared around the corner at warp speed.
Akira blinked.
…Well. That didn’t help.
Did he say something weird? Was there an unspoken rule against talking to strangers in this place? Or—oh no—was this his so-called charm aura at work again? Back in his hometown, girls had a tendency to react… strongly. He had been hoping the effect would wear off now that he was in a completely different setting, but apparently not.
Suppressing a sigh, he turned to the next available option—a guy leaning against a pillar, looking vaguely disinterested.
“Teacher’s office?” Akira asked, keeping his request simple, in case this one also decided to sprint away like he had just proposed marriage.
The guy gave him a once-over, his gaze lingering on Akira’s coat before he shrugged. “Left, right, left, left, right, straight, under the archway, then you’ll see a big oak door.”
Akira stared.
“...Are you messing with me?”
The boy grinned. “Guess you’ll find out.”
Akira debated his life choices for a moment before deciding that, worst-case scenario, he’d get a little extra walking in today. With a nod of thanks, he followed the ridiculously convoluted set of directions, weaving through the academy’s maze-like corridors. Along the way, he passed a moving staircase (not even going to question that), a group of students practicing spell formations (one of whom nearly set his own sleeve on fire), and a very determined-looking professor chasing after a floating stack of papers.
Eventually, he arrived beneath the archway, which was covered in so many glowing runes that it had to be important. The moment he stepped under it, a tingling sensation ran along his skin—proof of some sort of enchantment at work.
And, to his mild surprise, there it was.
A big oak door.
He exhaled in relief. At least the guy hadn’t been lying.
Pushing open the door, he stepped into the faculty office, a cluttered space lined with towering bookshelves and desks buried under mountains of parchment. Ink bottles, quills, and half-finished reports were scattered across the tables in what could only be described as organized chaos.
At one particularly overwhelmed-looking desk sat a woman with her head in her hands, her messy bun barely holding together. The dark bags under her eyes spoke of someone who had long since given up on things like "a good night’s sleep" or "personal time."
Kawakami, he assumed.
She barely looked up as he approached, sliding a folded piece of parchment toward him with the energy of someone who had long stopped caring.
“Class number, timetable,” she muttered, voice heavy with exhaustion. “Don’t get into trouble.”
Akira accepted the parchment, glancing over his schedule.
“I’ll do my best,” he said, his tone completely neutral.
Kawakami snorted but didn’t respond.
Taking that as his cue to leave, he turned on his heel and stepped back out into the grand halls of Lunarveil, his new life as a student officially beginning.
And if he got lost again, well… he’d just have to hope the next person he asked wouldn’t run away screaming.
Stepping into Class 2D, Akira immediately noticed the unfair treatment. His seat was tucked away in the back, a clear divide separating him from the rest of the noble students, who clustered together in their fine uniforms, whispering among themselves. The placement wasn’t surprising—scholarship students were always treated as outsiders. It was practically an unspoken rule in stories like this.
He let out a silent sigh and walked to his assigned seat without complaint. He wasn’t here to start a rebellion. Yet.
As he settled in, he felt a presence beside him. Turning slightly, he saw Yuuki Mishima, another commoner student, already watching him with quiet curiosity. Mishima, unlike Akira, had been at Lunarveil from the start of the year. Though also a scholarship student, he had earned his place through intellect rather than combat ability, having been privately funded by a scientist he once assisted.
Mishima’s reputation was interesting. Unlike most commoners, he seemed respected by nobles—not entirely accepted, but tolerated. In the otome game’s fandom, he had been known for his unwavering loyalty to the protagonist, even in the light novel adaptation. A minor character in the main routes, yet a fan-favorite due to his fierce devotion.
“Yo,” Mishima greeted, pushing up his glasses. “Didn’t think I’d see another scholarship student this year. You’re the transfer, right?”
Akira nodded. “Kurusu Akira.”
“Mishima Yuuki. And… good luck. The nobles aren’t exactly friendly at first.”
Akira hummed, already feeling the stares digging into him like needles. He didn’t have to wait long for the inevitable.
A noble student turned in his seat, his expression a perfect mixture of arrogance and condescension. “So, the new transfer student got in on a scholarship?”
Akira’s sharp gaze flicked toward him, already unimpressed.
“Barely got in, I bet,” another noble chimed in. “You must’ve studied your commoner books so diligently.”
Akira gave them a slow, lazy smile. “Oh, it wasn’t that difficult. I finished the entrance exam in half the allotted time.”
The first noble scoffed. “Doubtful.”
“Maybe for you.”
A small chorus of snickers rippled through the class. The two nobles bristled, clearly unprepared for resistance.
Akira tilted his head. “Didn’t you get question six wrong on today’s spell theory quiz? It was a basic energy equation. I hear even commoners can solve those.”
Silence.
Two girls sitting nearby giggled behind their hands, eyes sparkling with amusement every time Akira shut them down. One even muttered, “He’s sharper than I expected.”
Mishima barely contained a smirk as he whispered, “That was brutal.”
Akira just shrugged. If they wanted to test him, they’d have to try a little harder than that.
When the lunch bell rang, Mishima excused himself to go to the library, leaving Akira alone.
Unbothered, he unwrapped his meal—a surprisingly American-looking lunch with some slight regional alterations. The academy’s catering must have tried to accommodate different backgrounds, though he wasn’t sure if a sandwich shaped like a magic sigil really made it taste better. Maybe if he chanted over it, it would unlock a hidden flavor buff.
He was halfway through debating whether to test that theory when movement in the courtyard caught his eye.
A small commotion had broken out.
Three noble students had surrounded a single figure—a blonde-haired boy with sharp, foxlike eyes and a scowl that could probably shatter glass. His posture was defiant, shoulders squared as he glared at them, clearly unafraid despite being outnumbered.
Akira let out a slow breath through his nose. Well, that’s familiar.
He stood up, making his way toward the scene. Sliding into the gap between them, he smiled, all charm and mischief.
“Three against one? You nobles sure love a fair fight.”
The bullies turned their attention to him, irritation flickering in their eyes. “Stay out of this, transfer student.”
Akira tilted his head, voice light but cutting. “Or what? You’ll embarrass yourselves even more?”
One of them clenched his fists, looking ready to respond—until the blonde beside him suddenly burst out laughing.
“Man, I like you already.”
The tension immediately shifted. The nobles, realizing they weren’t getting anywhere, huffed and walked away, muttering to themselves.
Akira turned to the blonde, amused. “You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Would’ve decked ‘em myself if ya didn’t show up.”
Akira smirked. “I believe that.”
Ryuji gave a sharp grin. “Damn right. One good hit, and those rich boys would’ve been eatin’ dirt.”
“With your temper, probably.”
“Hey! I’m not that bad.”
Akira gave him a pointed look.
“…Okay, maybe I’m a little bad.”
With the situation diffused, Akira led Ryuji to a quieter spot where they could eat in peace. They found a bench under the shade of a sprawling tree, where the hum of the academy seemed just distant enough to feel like their own little world.
Ryuji glanced at Akira’s meal and whistled. “Man, that’s some fancy-lookin’ food. You always eat like that, or is it a ‘new kid’ special?”
Akira studied the sandwich, then shrugged. “Not sure. I think they just wanted to make it look magical.”
Ryuji snorted. “Yeah? You think if we chant some spell, it’ll taste better?”
“Already considered it.” Akira deadpanned. “Didn’t get far before you distracted me.”
Ryuji barked out a laugh. “Damn, I like you more by the second.”
They fell into a comfortable rhythm as they ate, conversation flowing with surprising ease. Ryuji was blunt but genuine, the kind of person who didn’t hold back his thoughts, which made talking to him refreshing.
“So,” Ryuji said between bites, “what’s your deal? Most transfer kids keep their heads down at first, but you? You jumped straight into the mess like you been here for years.”
Akira raised a brow. “You saying I should’ve let them hassle you?”
“Nah, man, I appreciate it.” Ryuji grinned. “Just curious. You some kinda hero type?”
Akira considered that for a moment, then smirked. “Let’s just say I don’t like unfair fights.”
Ryuji leaned back, eyes scanning Akira like he was trying to figure him out. “Huh. Guess we got that in common.”
Akira tilted his head. “You get into trouble often?”
“Pfft, all the time.” Ryuji waved a hand. “Not ‘cause I start it, though. People just got a problem with guys like me.”
“Like you?”
“You know. Loud, not from some big-shot family, don’t kiss up to nobles.” He scoffed. “They think they can push me around just ‘cause I don’t give ‘em the respect they think they deserve.”
Akira hummed. “And do you ever let them?”
Ryuji snorted. “Hell no.”
Akira chuckled. “Didn’t think so.”
They lapsed into a brief silence, the wind rustling the leaves overhead. Then Ryuji stretched, letting out a sigh.
“So, where you from, anyway? You don’t talk like a noble.”
“Small town, nowhere fancy.” Akira smiled slightly. “What about you?”
“Same. Grew up outside the capital. Ain’t got a big name or a fancy title, so people assume I’m trouble.” He clicked his tongue. “Guess they ain’t wrong, technically.”
Akira smirked. “Do I even want to ask?”
Ryuji laughed. “Probably not.”
Here’s the expanded version without any mention of magic:
As Akira and Ryuji sat in their quiet corner, the warmth of the afternoon sun casting soft shadows over the courtyard, footsteps approached them.
Ann Takamaki, her golden hair catching the light, walked over with a confident stride. She looked exactly like how Akira remembered her from the game—elegant yet approachable, effortlessly drawing attention. While she had been a romance option, in every playthrough she had always been an invaluable ally, her friendship unwavering no matter the route.
She greeted Ryuji with a smirk. “Picking fights already?”
Ryuji scoffed. “What, ya think I go lookin’ for trouble?”
Ann gave him an exaggerated once-over. “You? Never.”
Akira watched their interaction with mild amusement. They clearly knew each other well, their banter carrying the ease of long familiarity. It was strange, seeing characters he had once only known through a screen now laughing and teasing in front of him.
Ann then turned her attention to him, her blue eyes sharp with interest. “And you—you’re the transfer student everyone’s talking about.”
Akira lifted a brow. “That depends. What exactly are they saying?”
“That you made a bunch of nobles eat their own words in class,” she said, grinning. “And then again just now.”
Ryuji barked out a laugh. “Oh yeah, it was great. Dude didn’t even break a sweat.”
Ann gave him an approving nod. “Nice work. You should’ve seen their faces after you shut them down earlier. Pretty sure one of ‘em was about to cry.”
Akira smirked. “I do what I can.”
Ryuji, still grinning, leaned back on his hands. “Man, I didn’t know you were in Ann’s class.”
Akira glanced at Ann. “Looks like it.”
Ryuji’s eyes widened. “Wait, for real? You’re in 2D?”
“Yeah.”
Ryuji let out a groan, shaking his head. “Aw, man! I’m stuck in 2E.”
Ann snickered. “Sucks to be you.”
“Hey, that means you two get to team up and flex on all the stuck-up nobles,” Ryuji said, pointing between them.
Akira chuckled. “I’ll consider it.”
Ann tilted her head. “So, where’d you transfer from, anyway?”
Akira hesitated for only a fraction of a second before answering smoothly. “A smaller school. Nothing like this place.”
“Figures.” Ann hummed, resting her hands on her hips. “You don’t really have the whole ‘noble’ attitude. Not that I’m complaining.”
“Yeah, you’re actually normal,” Ryuji added. “Which, lemme tell ya, is rare around here.”
Akira smirked. “That bad?”
“You don’t even know, man,” Ryuji said, shaking his head. “Some of these guys act like their family name gives ‘em the right to treat everyone else like dirt.”
Ann rolled her eyes. “Like that guy from history class.”
“Oh, don’t get me started,” Ryuji groaned. “Dude thinks he’s the second coming of some legendary hero just ‘cause his great-grandpa was in some war.”
Akira chuckled. “Sounds exhausting.”
“You get used to it,” Ann said, then paused. “Actually, no. No, you don’t. It just gets more annoying.”
Their conversation drifted into easier topics—backgrounds, first impressions of the academy, the sheer ridiculousness of some of the noble students. Ryuji was easy to get along with, his bluntness refreshing, while Ann had a natural charm that made her presence feel welcoming. The three of them fell into an effortless rhythm, a camaraderie forming over shared experiences and mutual grievances against the elitism that seemed to permeate the school.
At some point, Ann glanced at Akira. “So, what’s your deal? You don’t seem like the type to just sit back and let things slide.”
Akira shrugged. “I just don’t like watching people get walked over.”
Ryuji grinned. “Hell yeah. That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”
Ann studied him for a second, then nodded approvingly. “Good. We need more people like that around here.”
It was an easy moment, lighthearted in a way that felt rare in this academy.
Then Kamoshida’s name came up.
It wasn’t intentional—Ryuji had only mentioned him in passing, a throwaway remark about certain teachers playing favorites. But that was enough.
Ann’s expression darkened in an instant. Her easygoing demeanor vanished, replaced by something colder—tense shoulders, clenched fists, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes.
Then, without a word, she stood up and walked away.
Akira watched her go, silent for a moment before turning to Ryuji.
Ryuji exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his head. “Yeah… that’s a whole mess.”
Akira studied him before offering a small, reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You’ll figure it out.”
Ryuji gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Hope so, man.”
The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch.
With a sigh, Ryuji stretched before getting to his feet. “Welp. Guess we’re back to sufferin’ through classes.”
Akira stood as well, tucking his hands into his coat pockets. “See you around.”
Ryuji grinned. “Oh, you’re stuck with me now. No takin’ that back.”
With that, they parted ways, heading to their respective classrooms. Akira returned to 2D, thoughts lingering on Ann’s reaction.
It seemed he had a lot more to learn about this world.
Practical magic class was already a pain in the ass, but pretending to be bad at it? Excruciating.
Akira stood among his classmates, hands in his pockets, watching as everyone took turns hurling fire, ice, wind, and whatever else at their training dummies. He was supposed to be struggling to learn the basics, since he transferred in late and technically missed the introductory lessons.
Except he already knew all this.
Like, all of this.
Still, he had to keep up the act. He was about to throw out a convincingly mediocre fire spell when—
WHAM.
A rogue gust of wind magic came out of nowhere and smacked him right in the face. Hard.
His glasses? Gone.
They flew off like they had just been exorcised, twirling through the air in a perfect arc before landing somewhere in the grass.
Dead silence.
Then—
“Oh my god,” someone whispered.
“Wait, WAIT.”
“No way.”
Another girl audibly gasped like she had just seen a divine being descend from the heavens.
Akira, blinking, glanced around. Everyone was staring at him.
One guy from the back whistled. “Damn, you’ve been hiding under those glasses?”
A girl actually clutched her chest. “He’s beautiful.”
Another one dramatically fanned herself. “I—I need a moment.”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Mishima, meanwhile, had turned a color best described as Mishima Blue Screen of Death. He scrambled forward, snatching up the fallen glasses like they were some kind of lost artifact. His hands were shaking.
“Akira—here—” He held them out like he was presenting a royal crown.
Akira had had enough. Muttering a spell, he flicked his fingers. His glasses flew back to his face, snapping perfectly into place.
Instantly, the spell was broken.
The girls let out disappointed sighs. The guys all visibly relaxed. Balance was restored to the universe.
The teacher, who had been watching this circus unfold with the energy of a woman who had seen too much, sighed. “Yeah, no. You’re not a beginner. You’re practicing with everyone else.”
Akira exhaled slowly. So much for keeping a low profile.
The moment class ended, Akira barely took two steps outside before—
“Akira, please accept this!”
A girl shoved a letter into his hands and ran off like her life depended on it.
Then another.
And another.
And another.
By the time he made it to the courtyard, he had an entire stack of love letters.
Mishima stood beside him, staring at the pile with the empty expression of a man who had just witnessed a miracle and hated it. “Dude.”
Akira sighed. “Yeah.”
Meanwhile—
“HE GOT HOW MANY?!” Ann practically choked, gripping Shiho’s arm in disbelief as they watched from across the courtyard.
Shiho, ever calm, nodded sagely. “Seventeen so far.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Ann pointed an accusing finger. “He didn’t even do anything!”
Shiho shrugged. “I mean… he did get hit in the face.”
Ann groaned. “I got hit in the face before! Where’s my fan club?!”
Shiho patted her back with an exaggerated sigh. “You’re already hot, Ann. He had the nerd-glasses reveal.”
Ann scowled. “That’s so unfair. He didn’t even look nerdy, just mysterious. That’s cheating.”
Shiho hummed, tilting her head. “If it makes you feel better, you’ll always be my number one.”
Ann snorted, bumping Shiho’s hip with her own. “Please, you just like me for my looks.”
Shiho gasped, placing a dramatic hand over her heart. “How dare you accuse me of being so shallow.” She leaned in slightly, voice teasing. “I like you for your personality, too.”
Ann rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her grin. “Yeah, yeah. Keep sweet-talking me, maybe I’ll consider promoting you to number one fan.”
Shiho smirked. “Oh? I wasn’t already?”
Ann opened her mouth, then closed it, suddenly flustered. “…Shut up.”
Back to Akira—he absently flipped through the letters. But as he skimmed them, he realized something.
No letter from Akechi Goro.
…
Damn it.