Signing the deal with the devil definitely ain’t a bad thing.
Especially when the devil in question is a 5’4 feet tall, slim, sexy, platinum-haired beauty named Nancy Lopez.
After I agreed to her ’request’, she leaned closer, her shoulder brushing against mine, and whispered a few tips on how to deal with the attendance issue. Her voice was low, casual, almost bored—like this wasn’t the first time she had helped someone lie their way out of trouble.
According to her humble suggestions, I could simply tell Mrs. Clint that I was working on an indie music project while doing internships during college hours. Apparently, it was common enough to not raise eyebrows, especially in a music department where half the students were doing something "creative" outside class.
If Mrs. Clint pressed for details, I could use the name of a music production startup Nancy had connections with.
She even assured me that getting a fake internship certificate wouldn’t be an issue if things went south.
Though, according to her, Mrs. Clint wouldn’t bother going that far.
Still, I wasn’t stupid enough to rely entirely on confidence. Confidence works until someone decides to poke holes in it.
Thanks to my earlier conversation with Ruby, I knew I at least had some surface-level familiarity with guitar. Enough to nod along in conversations and not look completely lost.
Enough to pass casual scrutiny.
Not enough to survive an actual test.
I’d need to fix that in my free time.
Putting those thoughts aside, I lowered my head and began writing the application on the sheet Nancy had handed me, the paper feeling oddly familiar between my fingers.
Strangely enough, most things in this world were quite similar to Earth. Despite labyrinths, mana, magic, and floating status screens, the lives of lower-level people remained painfully ordinary. Paperwork, deadlines, authority figures—same shit, different universe.
I glanced forward.
Mrs. Clint sat on her chair once again, legs crossed neatly, posture straight like she was carved into the seat itself. A translucent, round pair of spectacles rested on the bridge of her nose as she skimmed through papers with practiced indifference, fingers turning pages at a steady, unhurried pace.
Lavender eyes moved calmly behind the lenses.
Focused. Sharp.
Dangerous.
The classroom felt quieter with her like that, even the faint sounds of pens scratching paper seeming too loud.
I leaned slightly toward Nancy’s side, careful not to make it obvious, copying the application format line by line. Better safe than sorry.
Who knew if they had a different format here?
// To, Mrs ClintClass TeacherAM-A, 4th YearGlacienow University, School Of Music25AM1065
Date: 11/29/25
Subject: Regarding attendance.
Ma’am,
I am Nancy Lo—
"Is there something particularly fascinating about Ms. Lopez’s paper, Mr. Cross?"
Mrs. Clint’s voice cut cleanly through the silence, smooth but heavy, like a blade sliding out of its sheath.
I snapped my gaze up instantly.
Holy shit.
That tone alone was enough to make my spine straighten, my shoulders pulling back before I even realized it.
"I’m sorry, ma’am," I said, clearing my throat, forcing calm into my voice. "I was just confirming the date format."
Nancy let out the faintest amused breath beside me, barely more than air through her nose.
On the platform, Mrs. Clint removed her spectacles slowly, folding them between her fingers as she looked directly at me.
Unimpressed.
Unmoved.
Those eyes felt like they were peeling layers off me, searching for something underneath.
"I see," she said flatly, before placing the specs back on. "Then you won’t need to write the application at all. I already know why your attendance is low."
The sarcasm was sharp enough to draw blood.
Nancy’s shoulders trembled beside me, her lips pressed together, struggling to hold back laughter.
I slid my hand off the desk and pinched her thigh lightly in retaliation, more annoyed than playful.
"Ow—wait—" she hissed, then scoffed, slapping my arm away as if it was an annoying mosquito.
Bitch.
I’ll get revenge later.
"Finish quickly," Mrs. Clint said without looking up, already returning to her papers. "I don’t intend to waste my time on students who can’t take responsibility for their own futures."
Her words landed colder than the room itself.
They seemed to sting only one person—the guy seated between two girls. His ears flushed red as he hunched over his paper and began writing furiously, pen scratching like his life depended on it.
Serious about the future?
I suppressed a scoff.
Studying music in a world filled with monsters, power, levels, and magic hardly screamed practical to me. That mindset suited people content with living quietly under protection, happy as long as tomorrow looked like today.
Not me.
Ever since arriving here, I had no intention of living the same dull life I left behind on Earth.
I copied Nancy’s format neatly, changing only the roll number to 25AM1001.
I had no idea what the date format truly meant, but—
When in Rome, do as the Romans do.
I kept the application simple. Apologetic. Formal.
I deliberately removed the indie project excuse Nancy had suggested.
It was an amazing suggestion, but if Mrs. Clint asked even one technical question, I’d be dead on the spot.
After all, I knew jackshit about guitar.
Better to appear boring than suspicious.
Five minutes later, the boy finished first, walking up to the platform with stiff movements and submitting his application.
Mrs. Clint asked him a few questions—her voice low, controlled—before dismissing him quickly.
I nudged Nancy lightly.
From my experience, going in the middle was the best.
She understood the signal easily, pausing for a moment before giving a small nod.
Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she stood and walked toward the platform with practiced confidence.
I followed, placing my application on Mrs. Clint’s desk.
Her scent hit me immediately.
Matching the attractive colour of her eyes, the flowery, natural scent of lavenders—clean, subtle, but persistent.
It rushed through me faster than I expected, warmth pooling low in my gut, blood following it like a traitor.
Haah... playing around with Nancy in AM-B earlier was a bad idea. Especially with this kind of sensory assault happening right now.
But despite the edge Nancy had left me on, Mrs. Clint’s charm felt... different.
Sharper. Heavier.
Almost unnatural.
Before I could think further, her voice pulled me back.
"Internship, huh?" she said, eyes scanning my paper. "Tell me, Mr. Cross."
She looked up.
Smiled.
"What exactly was your internship about?"
Motherfu***.