The Royal Magic Academy had three houses for their students to live in, a sort of community. Classes usually had to do with your house as well, so these were the students you would be around most of the time. Erik had gotten into the House of Mischief. During the first day, there was a welcoming trial to make sure everyone felt right at home.

None of the people Erik had become proper acquaintances so far were in this house, unfortunately. Sure, the boy wanted to be away from Eleanor, but someone like the princess or the two girls he barely knew wouldn’t have been too bad to be around. Arthur was a weird one, but maybe Erik could get him to drink and loosen up a bit.

This meant that this party was his chance to meet people, though.

“Come on, drink a bit more~,” said a blond guy, holding a cup of ale in front of Erik. He was Kyle, a fourth-year—so this was his penultimate year. Erik had heard from a few broken conversations here and there that Kyle was the best student of his third year, so he was an interesting character.

Someone Erik would like to fight sometime perhaps, but that would not be today.

He had more important things, after all.

“Alright, gimme that, you bostard—” Erik slurred, reaching for the cup but missing. His hand wavered as if moving through water, and his legs faltered, sending him tumbling into Kyle.

“Whoa there, champion. If you’re at your limit, it’s better to rest,” the older student said, gripping Erik’s shoulders to steady him.

Erik squinted up at Kyle, his vision swimming. “Why are there two of you… doesn’t matter. I’ll get it.”

Erik finally managed to grab the cup, raising it in triumph before draining it with a crooked grin. His hand trembled as he set the cup back down with a clink.

“Wow, that first year is holding up well,” someone called, though Erik barely caught it over the muddled hum of voices.

The boy’s focus drifted as he continued drinking, the room spinning faster with each gulp. Erik had never drunk before, but this only meant his downfall to alcoholism would be swift. He was sure to be the best drinker of today and become a famous name in his house.

He took a drink. Then another one. And another one. And—

—his stomach rebelled.

The world tilted, the room spinning like a twisted carnival ride. Faces around him blurred into a kaleidoscope of mismatched features. The glow of nearby lanterns burned too brightly, their light stabbing into his skull.

“Ghrrr,” he groaned, clutching his stomach as nausea clawed its way up.

“Bucket! Get the bucket!” someone shouted, and a large wooden bucket appeared in front of him just in time.

Erik collapsed to his knees, emptying his stomach into the bucket with a gut-wrenching sound. Cheers and laughter erupted around him, though they sounded muffled and distant as if coming from another world.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the bitter taste lingering. When he tried to stand, his legs gave in, and he fell on his butt.

“Here, here, it’s better if you rest a bit,” a voice said. Strong arms hoisted him upright and guided him to a nearby chair.

Erik slumped into the seat, his body heavy and uncooperative. The room swayed as he tried to focus on anything but the lingering churn in his stomach.

One of the older students patted him on the back. “Welcome to the House of Mischief, Erik. You’ve passed the first trial… sort of.”

“Thanks,” Erik muttered, his voice thick and uneven. He gave a wobbly thumbs-up before dragging himself to a stool near the bar.

A barman stood behind the counter, his face neutral as he wiped a glass. Erik squinted at him, the man’s features swimming in and out of focus, threatening to become something unrecognizable.

‘Weird… guy…’

Beside him, Erik noticed a girl with an unusual aura. Her curly hair was as pink as fluffy sunset clouds, cascading in soft waves on the sides of her face. She clutched an oversized pillow close to her, her body leaning into it. Her eyes were closed, her face serene in sleep.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

‘Damn, I’m so fucked I’m… seeing a weird girl… she’s pretty, though,’ with that last thought, Erik knew he had but one mission—go talk to her right now.

“Hey, y-you right there,” Erik slurred, waving at her. When she didn’t respond and instead mumbled something in her sleep, Erik walked to her, nearly tripping over himself as he touched her shoulder to rouse her.

“Uhh?” she grumbled, her pale pink eyes fluttering open. She blinked at him, her expression unfocused. “What do you want?” Drool glistened at the corner of her mouth as she reached for a drink ahead of her. It was dark brown, almost earthy in color.

“What… drinking, you are? Cow shit?” Erik asked, his gaze trying to focus on the wavering liquid but miserably failing.

She strained her face for a moment, perhaps looking at him with disgust.

‘Wow, I think she liked my question.’

“It's… chocolate milk,” she mumbled, not sparing him another glance as she took a sip and buried her face back into her pillow.

The word puzzled Erik. He knew milk, but the idea of chocolate being mixed into it was foreign.

“How does it taste?”

Her expression softened, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Like… sweet clouds. Warm, creamy… it makes everything feel soft.”

“Sweet and creamy?” Erik repeated, his tongue fumbling over the words. “Sounds like shit.”

Her shoulders trembled, her sharp gaze sliding over him. “That’s… close enough. Now, what do you want?”

Erik leaned closer, gripping the edge of the table as his body swayed. “Think I… try yours?” he asked, a smile spreading across his face.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, her grip tightening on the cup. “You want my chocolate milk?” she asked, clutching her pillow as though he’d demanded her most prized possession. Maybe it was because an annoying drunk dude who couldn’t even talk properly kept bothering her, though.

“Yeah,” Erik said, nodding exaggeratedly. “You make it sound like it’s sacred or something.”

She sighed, her resistance crumbling. “Fine. You Draac guys are so insistent.”

Ignoring the jab, Erik accepted the cup. He held it cautiously, the ceramic warm against his fingers. Bringing it to his nose, he inhaled deeply, the aroma both sweet and comforting. Swallowing his nerves, he took a sip.

The taste unfolded on his tongue—smooth, rich, and with a sweetness that wrapped around him like a blanket. His eyes widened as he lowered the cup, staring at it as though it contained a secret spell.

“This is… cozy,” he murmured, the word slipping out unbidden.

The girl smirked as she reclaimed her drink. “Better than whatever you’re drinking, right?”

Erik opened his mouth to protest but was interrupted by the sound of another freshman vomiting into a bucket. A senior calmly walked to a chalkboard and added the student’s name to a growing list.

“The pain… makes it… fuck what am I talked about,” Erik conceded before slumping his head forward.

She twisted the cup in her hands. “That’s what I thought.”

Erik leaned closer again, his curiosity outweighing his balance. “So, you seem… mysterious. Tell me, who are you?”

The girl’s lips curved into a faint smile. “I’m Emilia Suncrest,” she said, her voice carrying a playful note. “A princess from the southern lands.” She hugged her pillow tighter as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “And this? It’s an artifact blessed by the god of pillows.”

Erik blinked, his expression blank for a moment before he burst into laughter. “A god of pillows…?” he managed, his voice rasping from the effort.

Emilia nodded without hesitation. “Blessings for comfort and good dreams. Can’t beat that.”

He laughed again, the sound rough and uneven. “Right. So, what other enchanted things do you have? A crown that puts you to sleep? A blanket that flies?”

She shrugged, her composure unshaken. “Not really, but the pillow’s enough.” She tossed it lightly into the air, and it floated, shifting shapes before settling back in her arms.

“Right…” Erik muttered, shaking his head. She was strange, but a princess blessed by a god? What kind of joke was that? She must have been abusing his alcoholic state all this time to prank him.

That girl couldn’t be trusted, she was evil.

One just had to look at her white pajamas and pink slippers that seemed out of place to think that. No princess would wear that. No one would wear that at a prestigious school—even though Erik wished there weren’t assigned uniforms.

“Anything else I should know?” he asked, tilting his head.

A sparkle of mischief appeared in her eyes. “You’ll just have to wait and see.” Then, as if the conversation had sapped the last of her energy, she nestled into her pillow and drifted back to sleep.

Erik stared at her, unsure whether to laugh or sigh before a tap on his shoulder drew his attention.

“Hey, Erik! Are you up for the post-drunken throwing game? It’s another rite of passage around here,” said Kyle.

Erik’s ears perked up. “Damn… I think I’m good—,” before even finishing his sentence, he slumped to the side, nearly falling toward another student.

“Oh, maybe you shouldn’t do it then. Was just going to say that the winner gets 1,500 points—”

Before Kyle could finish, Erik clapped a hand on his shoulder, his eyes flaming with determination. “Just hand me the money now. I’m winning.”

For the rest of the night, Erik played and drank with his new classmates. He attempted to flirt with a few girls, only to be met with drinks thrown in his face. Luck was not on his side tonight.