018 Her Luck - Part 1 - Mark’s POV

I facepalmed, resisting the urge to reprimand Mirai.

What was her problem? Picking a fight with the professor?

I mean, I admired her bravery—Reina’s crazy index was around my mom’s level, so I had zero intention of pissing her off. But Mirai? She went right in, guns blazing.

Reina had let it slide—this time.

But the real problem wasn’t Reina.

It was Elena.

Mirai had really ticked her off.

What could I say? Just her luck.

I sighed, rubbing my temple. Of course, I knew Elena. She was a named character—the only daughter of the archduke. She wasn’t the main villainess of the story or anything. If anything, she was just cannon fodder, a minor antagonist at best.

So, a question then.

Why was she so harsh on Mirai?

Number one: Mirai being a commoner.

Mirai probably didn’t know it, but… she was the only person in the Pioneer Class who wasn’t from nobility.

The Pioneer Class was a special program. It was meant for elites—the best of the best. And in this world, “best” usually meant “born with status.” Most of the students here were nobles, some with centuries of lineage backing them.

And then there was Mirai.

A commoner.

A total black sheep.

I could already see the issue. She had no idea she was stepping on toes just by existing.

I leaned back in my seat, glancing at Mirai. She was still fuming, arms crossed, muttering under her breath about how unfair the match was. Meanwhile, Elena sat a few rows away, cool and composed, like she hadn’t just made it her personal mission to humiliate Mirai.

Great.

Just great.

I could step in. Try to smooth things over. Maybe get Mirai to realize she was swimming with sharks.

But…

I hesitated.

Mirai wasn’t the type to take warnings well. She was the type to charge in, consequences be damned.

Would she even listen to me?

The next professor walked in—a bald man with a confident stride.

I recognized him immediately.

Brady Collins.

He was the bald guy from the entrance exam. The one who could fly. I still wasn’t sure how he pulled it off, but considering the absurdity of ESP, I wasn’t ruling anything out.

Collins stopped at the front of the classroom and clapped his hands together.

"Alright, class! Name’s Brady Collins, and I’ll be your instructor for Survival & Field Operations." He grinned, scanning the room. "Which means it’s my job to make sure you don’t die out there."

Straight to the point. I could respect that.

I summoned my armchair from my ring and moved to a different spot, settling in before the lecture began.

Mirai dragged her chair right next to mine.

Ron, of course, followed.

I sighed.

This guy was really persistent.

I glanced around the room. Only five students had managed to retrieve an armchair after Reina’s stunt from earlier—me, Elena, Ron, Matt, and Mirai. Everyone else had to stand or lean against desks.

Collins didn’t seem to care.

He rolled his shoulders and grinned again.

"Now then—let’s talk about survival, shall we?"

Professor Collins paced at the front of the classroom, arms crossed, radiating the kind of energy that made me think he enjoyed making people uncomfortable.

"Alright, listen up," he began. "Survival & Field Operations isn’t just some theory class where you write essays and take tests. This is about staying alive in the field. Because guess what? ESP isn’t a magical ‘I win’ button. If you’re stupid, you’ll still die."

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Blunt. I liked that.

I leaned back in my chair, only half-listening as he went on about the course structure. Something about wilderness survival, combat scenarios, cryptid classifications, and real-world operations. Important stuff, but not exactly new to me.

Instead, I let my gaze wander across the classroom.

I wasn’t just here to play student—I had a mission. A goal. A script to follow.

And part of that meant keeping tabs on the key players.

So far, three of the five love interests had made their appearance: Ron, Matt, and Karl. That left two more.

One of them, I knew, was absent today.

The other?

A transfer student who hadn’t appeared yet.

Classes ended without much trouble.

Professor Collins had gone easy on us, probably because it was the first day. He dismissed us with a casual wave, telling us to be ready for some "real work" next time.

Fine by me.

I stretched as I stood up, already thinking about lunch. The smart move was to head back to Northstar House—my dorm. Free food, decent quality, and no need to spend a dime.

But then there was Mirai.

And Ron.

Ron turned to her, flashing a princely smile. "Mirai, would you like to have lunch at my place? My attendants prepare excellent dishes, and I’m sure you’d enjoy—"

"N-no thanks," Mirai cut in, looking nervous. "I, uh… already have plans!"

Ron raised a brow, clearly not buying it, but he didn’t push.

I followed her gaze.

Matt was hovering nearby, obviously wanting to say something.

Sorry, pal. I couldn’t let that happen.

This was where Strategy No. 3: Exclusive Lunch came into play.

According to Mom, having private lunches with the heroine was an effective way to "raise affection points." She insisted I prepare a bento always, insisting that bento culture was a "big deal" in otome games. I had no idea what she meant, but she was the expert on this stuff.

Most of the time, Matt was the one who had lunch with the heroine, according to Mom’s strange foresight.

So, I had to cut him off.

I activated Nth Person at maximum power, controlling it with precision. To everyone else in the room, I vanished.

Only Matt could see me.

I stepped in front of Mirai, holding out my hand toward her in a way that, from Matt’s perspective, probably looked like a hug.

His expression immediately shifted.

Misunderstanding? Achieved.

Matt sighed, clenched his fists, then turned around and walked off toward the door.

Yep.

I knew I was being a creep and a jerk—but if I wanted to stomp the competition, this was the way to do it.

Mom’s orders.

Mirai walked off, dragging her bag behind her like she was in a hurry.

I already knew why.

According to Mom, Mirai preferred eating alone. It wasn’t because she was shy or unsociable—no, it was because she hated the idea of people judging her by her lunch.

So, what did I do?

I stalked her.

Yep.

I had officially become a creep.

Ugh.

I trailed after her, still using Nth Person to stay unnoticed. She took a few turns, making sure she was completely alone.

That’s when I made my move.

I undid my invisibility and casually stepped up beside her.

She yelped, nearly jumping out of her skin.

“What the hell—?!” She whipped her head toward me, eyes wide. “What is wrong with you?!”

I gave her my best innocent expression. "What are you talking about?"

She exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples. “Mark… Where are you even going?”

“Lunch.”

She blinked, then pointed over her shoulder. “The cafeteria’s that way.”

I shrugged. “I wanted to eat with you.”

She eyed me suspiciously, like I was pulling some kind of elaborate trick. I unzipped my bag, pulled out a plain-looking lunchbox, and held it up.

“See?” I said. “Totally normal.”

Mirai’s eyes darted between the lunchbox and my face. She hesitated, then huffed, turning on her heel.

“Fine,” she said begrudgingly, walking ahead.

Mission accomplished.

We reached the rooftop and settled near the partition wall, away from prying eyes. The wind was cool up here, carrying the faint chatter of students from the courtyard below.

I placed my lunchbox on the table. Mirai did the same.

Then, she just… stared at me.

“…What?” I asked.

She crossed her arms. “Open yours first.”

I sighed and flicked open the lid.

Inside, there was only rice.

Just plain, white rice.

Mirai blinked. Then, slowly, she turned her head to look at me.

“…That’s it?”

I shrugged.

She let out a deep, suffering sigh. “Fine. Just this once, I’ll share my side dishes.” She picked up a small container from her lunchbox and slid it toward me. “You better be grateful.”

I peered into her lunchbox. Scrambled eggs, hotdogs, and rice. Simple, but decent.

Food was food. I wasn’t picky.

But honestly, we could do better.

“Thanks, but I think you misunderstood,” I said, pushing her container back.

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

I pulled out a second lunchbox from my bag.

Mirai’s eyes widened.

I flipped it open, revealing its contents—a perfectly arranged assortment of food.

Grilled salmon with crispy, golden skin. Stir-fried vegetables with glossy soy glaze. Tamagoyaki, neatly sliced into thick, even pieces. A small serving of karaage, deep-fried and perfectly crunchy. And on the side, pickled radish and miso-glazed eggplant, tucked neatly into compartments.

Mirai stared.

“Of course, I wasn’t bringing just rice,” I said, smirking. “That’d be sad.”

Mirai let out a slow, defeated sigh and took out her chopsticks.

I swore, for a moment, it looked like she was about to cry.

Okay. Maybe I went a little too far.

Sure, I had a mischievous streak, but this felt almost cruel.

She sniffed dramatically. “You are mean.”

I chuckled. “Hey, I’m willing to share.”

Her entire mood did a 180. She practically beamed at me.

“…So easy,” I muttered under my breath.

She ignored that, happily reaching for a piece of karaage.

We ate like that, exchanging jokes and making fun of each other between bites.

I stole a bit of her eggs. Not bad, honestly. A little too salty, but edible.

Meanwhile, Mirai acted like she’d just tasted the food of the gods.

"This—this is incredible,” she declared, eyes practically sparkling as she took another bite of my karaage. “The crispy exterior, the juicy tenderness inside, the perfect balance of seasoning—truly, a work of art!"

I blinked. "It's just fried chicken."

She ignored me, moving on to the tamagoyaki. “And this egg! Soft, fluffy, lightly sweet but with a depth of umami—”

“…I bought it,” I interrupted. “And the eggs you are munching on, is yours.”

She stopped mid-chew and stared at me. Then, without missing a beat, she switched gears. "Ah, the selection! The discerning taste! To choose the best bento available, truly a skill all on its own!"

I squinted at her. “You are so full of it.”

She grinned and kept eating.

Yeah. No way was I telling her I actually made that bento myself.

It had taken some effort to sneak into Northstar House’s kitchen, swipe a few ingredients, and cook something passable. But whatever. Let her think I just had good taste.