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"There are a lot of things that can be broken in this world. Trust, promises, the occasional noble's accursed neck."

- Queen Donari Ultra, Former Queen of Resilia (deceased)

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Twenty-four-year old Novarra had taken a gap year at eighteen to piss off her father. After taking an exam to enter a private prestigious university, she had transmigrated - age didn’t equal maturity, but she was, in a sense, more mature than all of them. It was a pity her maturity couldn’t help her with decisions.

If she were with game options, she would most likely have three options floating at eye-level right now, Novarra thought with a chuckle.

[1: Find out how to get out of this world]

Condition: Change the future of this world

+Plan B (Quantity: 1)

-Time, effort, and energy (Quantity: Unknown |Likely: Great|)

+Reputation (Quantity: Unknown; Category: Unknown |Existing: Revered, Feared|)

-Enemies (Quantity: Unknown, depends on Reputation Category)

[2: Stay put and do nothing]

Condition: Nothing happens that disturbs the current world

+Peace and quiet (Duration: Unknown)

-No guarantee that the peace will last

+A turbulent political position (Category: Unknown |Existing: Mayor, Administrator|)

+Reputation (Category: Unknown)

+A home

[3: Figure out Novarra’s hidden ability]

Condition: ‘Level up’ enough to equal the power of the original ‘Evan King’ at the end of "REBUILD"

-Time, effort, and energy (Quantity: Unknown |Likely: Great|)

+Ability to protect endgame (Quantity: Great)

The easiest option - and the one Novarra decided to choose - was the third one.

Is it right to treat my future like a game?

After an hour of eating her cakes, she had decided.

“Lucia.” Since Ginna was around, Novarra addressed Belluse with her alias. “I’ve decided to go to the capital.”

Vya Academy was the most accessible way to carry out said option, or fulfill ‘Quest 3.’ Figuring out the limit of her impact on this world was crucial. Besides, nobody liked having a secret ability. Before curiosity killed the cat, she would figure out the answer.

Surprisingly, Belluse didn’t seem surprised.

“I support every one of your decisions.” The flame-haired maid-turned-boutique-owner said, calmly.

Huh.

“Thank you.” A hesitant pause, from Novarra’s side. “My ‘Omniscient’ ability is leading me to the capital. If you need anything, you can send a letter to Vya Academy. I’ll be going next week.”

“Alright. Should I help you pack?”

“No need. Could you hire a carriage?”

“Charon?”

“Wouldn’t he be too expensive?” Varra asked, frowning.

“A normal one, then.” Belluse looked relaxed.

“You aren’t surprised?”

Belluse took one of the remaining small cakes and bit into it. “Why would I be?”

Novarra didn’t like unnecessary questions, but she was curious. When her question was faced with calmness, she didn’t push further.

Belluse changed.

“I guess you shouldn’t. I’ll miss you.”

“Mmm. Me too. Want to purchase a cake?”

“Yeah sure, I’ll ask Ginna to wrap it up.”

To outsides, the relationship between them might seem cold, but both of them were aloof individuals at heart. There was no need for flowery words, as both of them knew they would sacrifice a lot - perhaps not Novarra's life, but a lot - for each other. It had been five years since the original Novarra had swapped out, but there hadn’t been any remarks about the topic.

Varra liked to assess choices, not people she trusted. Rather than worrying about whether or not she would get betrayed, she would just come up with a plan in case she was. Trust was trust, even if Novarra’s definition was a warped one.

Belluse’s personality had turned rougher around the edges, and a tad colder, but the essence of her personality hadn’t changed.

Yeah, the essence of her personality still hasn't changed. After all, it's my fault she's here in the first place, it's not a big deal...

Currently, Novarra was somewhat of an expert of her element. Her [Air Manipulation], [Air Summoning], and [Air Sensing] were honed to its peak, and she could shift parts of limbs, a beginner level in the extremely rare skill [Air Shifting]. But there was only so much Varra could learn. It was different from homeschooling - at least, in homeschooling, you would have the materials and a coach. For Novarra, she had only the materials she bought from Rook’s dingy bookshop. Her swordsmanship was undoubtedly powerful enough, but having a mentor would be a priority now that she had ‘accepted’ the ‘Quest.’

Vya Academy.

One of the Anisa continent’s four Academies, with Vya Academy producing the best and largest amount of air mages in Anisa. Although Novarra’s stats would be more than enough to apply for a teaching position in another, less well-known academy (without the fancy capital A), she knew she would be lucky to land an assistant position there.

One of Evan’s first things he did when taking over Resilia, at the end of “REBUILD,” was to reestablish Silia Academy, the source of Resilia’s esteemed reputation for producing formidable water mages. From the details that had been divulged, Novarra assumed that Silia and Vya’s systems were similar.

Varra’s somewhat simple plan - everything was better when written out:

Bring her savings and move to Vya, Elevyar’s capital. Leave Rook to the next mayor and administrator under the excuse of a two-year-break to see the world and find herself. In short, the same excuse Novarra used for her gap year. Go to Vya Academy, apply for a teaching assistant position, and make her savings last until then until receiving her salary. After learning discreetly along with the students and finding a mentor for two years, return to Rook.

Fleshing out the details of her plan, Novarra walked alongside the stream of carriages, on the sidewalk besides the cobblestone path. She passed storefronts, walking side by side silently in the town she knew every nook and cranny of with Belluse, when she spotted a familiar figure.

A handsome face.

Ah. Mavis.

Signalling for Belluse to go on, Novarra deliberately put a glazed look on her eyes. Walking towards the figure, she pretended to be daydreaming as she collided with the butcher, recovering dizzily from the contact.

Novarra preferred to dress in collared shirts and cheap pants, an affordable, fashionable choice. Mavis, on the other hand, was dressed in the same apparel, but managed to look like a model. Of course, Novarra’s current looks weren’t shoddy either; but, Mavis had that crisp, glowy, sharp-jawline, a product of either wealth or shimmering circumstance, that resembled some of the other heirs from Novarra’s past life.

Close? Not close? They knew each other for five years, so of course they were acquitances.

Not close enough for Novarra to sacrifice herself for him, though. The bumping was just an excuse to rip off the I’m-leaving band-aid as soon as possible.

It was the least she could do, and it wasn’t crossing her lines.

“Ah, Ingrid.” Mavis put a broad smile on his face. When he saw her bothered expression, though, his smile shifted into genuine concern. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, sort of.” Novarra looked up at him. “Do you have time to talk?”

“Sure, let’s walk.”

The bookshop where I buy my textbooks. The Smiths' home, the ones who offer lemonade every time I visit to bribe me to look over them bribing the post office workers. The ridiculously overcharged post office that no one ever uses except the Smiths.

Novarra distractedly noted the cluster of buildings leading to the cul-de-sac that their walk ended at, after offering a seat on the Crooked Bench, as named by the town's children.

After Novarra broke the news to him, Mavis blinked. Once. Twice.

Are you in shock…?

“Mavis, are you alright?” Placing a hand on his shoulder, Varra looked up at him in somewhat genuine worry.

“Yeah, yeah.” Mavis looked a bit surprised. “I probably should’ve known...A person like you won’t settle for a place like this…” he muttered.

Eh? Wrong genre-

Novarra blinked. “Excuse me?”

Mavis shook his head. “I mean no harm. It’s just that you’re different. You’re a noble for one-” seeing Novarra’s fake confused expression, he laughed, “-everyone knows, you did a frankly horrible job of hiding it. Nonetheless, we’ve known each other for a long time. And I can tell your personality isn’t fit for Rook, even if you’ve been an administrator. I wish you luck on your future endeavors.”

Fixing a brotherly clap on Varra’s shoulder, he smiled.

“I hope you won’t forget me. Or Rook, for that matter.”

“Ah, I think you’re misunderstanding something, Mav. I’m coming back - it’s only two years,” Novarra clarified. She returned the shoulder clap, so the scene was somewhat of an awkward bromance in a coming-of-age movie. “I’ll be back. I can promise you that.”

This was a rare time when Novarra was sincere.

She hoped it could be conveyed through her gaze.

Farewell, my friend. You will be missed.

After concluding the friendly conversation, Novarra went around the town of Rook and informed them about her departure.

Sigmud Laver was a gruff, overly familiar man, whom Varra decided to label as ‘greasy.’ Of course, she did have to give it to him that his brother, nephew, and now his sister-in-law had died, but still she disliked the man. But with the Lavers being the most influential in Rook with the Bassets moving elsewhere, Varra had to inform him of her leave.

“Ah, Ingrid.”

The creepy old man had the habit of going in for a hug every time he saw her, which Novarra usually took as a signal to pat him on the shoulder.

“Ah, Mr. Laver.” Varra smiled lightly. “I’m leaving for two years.”

“...What?”

Snake eyes. They looked reptilian, in sharp contrast to McSweeney’s leech-like ones.

Ah, McSweeney, Novarra remembered the name with a touch of schadenfreude. The McSweeneys had gone bankrupt, a few days after her graduation. Of course, it wasn't their fault. She hadn't remembered asking her father or her assistants to do anything.

But both pairs of eyes contained hunger, which was why Novarra dealt with him the same way she did with Siobhan McSweeney.

Rip off the band-aid as soon as possible.

“I’m leaving. For two years,” she repeated.

Ah, the look on your face is so satisfying~

Most would reprimand Novarra for just blatantly diving into a plan she had just come up with, but she was short on time. She wanted to solve all the quests and come back to Rook to live her peaceful life as soon as possible - reckless? Maybe.

Was she practically asking for the universe to disrupt her well-thoughout plans? Probably.

But, while conversing with Mavis, she had solidified the logistics of her plan.

Novarra wasn’t a genius. Although some claimed she was, she was just competent and believed in her own competence, somewhat. Any of her plans could go awry, so she prepared for possible contingencies, and ran away when she could.

If you murder someone, you should be prepared in case someone murders you.

If you kidnap someone, you should be prepared in case someone kidnaps you.

If you extort someone, you should be prepared in case someone extorts you.

Do not do if you cannot be done to.

Unlike those protagonists who killed people willy-nilly and was surprised when they made enemies, Novarra was a cautious person... most of the time.

Varra’s Self Preservation Rule Number 1: Do not needlessly pick fights or look for trouble, and 5: Ensure that your plans will cause minimal damage to yourself in the long run, meant that she would try to reduce the number of people running amok in the name of revenge. She really was too tired to deal with revenge-chasers - what if the revenge-chaser was even stronger than her?

Then pop would go her head.

Even though it was unlikely, it wasn’t impossible. Novarra would get crushed instantly.

However, she was, in a way, breaking Rule Number 2: Do not associate yourself with dealings amongst those more powerful than you. But this was the safest long-term option, rather than just sitting and keeping her head down with no guarantee that the peace would continue.

After shedding a few tears and spreading the rumors that she would be leaving next week for two years, she started packing.

They’ll probably assume it’s out of grief after Alessia’s death.

She cursed the System internally.

The damn bastard. Always making me move.

Well, technically, another part of her reprimanded, Systems can't be born out of-

Grumbling, she took her clothes from the cupboard and folded them into a nearby trunk, a piece of luggage that she had brought from Resilia. After getting rid of the telltale Resilian markings on the wood with ink, Novarra fleshed out her plans, calculating her savings. After investing in the Lavers’ expanding merchant business as well as other promising companies, she had received a stock yield of around a hundred gold. After adding that to her administrator salary of ten years, it would be around two hundred.

Elevyarian currency wasn’t that different from Resilia, but Elevyar used gold, silver, and copper, instead of Resilian gemstones. An apple was around three copper, while a mid-sized house was around twenty gold. A meal would be around five copper, while monthly board at a small inn was around one silver.

Ten coppers were one silver, and five silver equaled one gold.

Two years here equaled twenty-four months, which meant cheap board would be four gold, four silver. Three meals a day would be seventy three gold for meals for two years.

Ai...I'm spending too much.

She needed sword appliances and magic books, too.

One meal a day?

Additionally, in order to not get bothered, the best thing would be to seem intimidating. Digging deeper into the trunk, Novarra felt her hands meet a cold surface.

It’s nice to see you again.

She pulled out the full face-covering mask that she had worn on the way to Elevyar. It would somewhat attract attention, along with the robe, so Varra drew her cheap sword out of her scabbard and slashed the long robe into a more casual style, cutting it above the waist but leaving the hood.

Novarra muttered internally as she contemplated the next step. Shit…

This part would hurt. If she did it later, it would seem like a fresh wound, which would be less significant. A battle-hardened veteran? Would that be her image?

She placed the blade against her fingers, testing its sharpness. It drew blood. Good.

Placing the weapon against her temple, she slashed, drawing a long, somewhat deep cut from her eyebrow to the back of her neck.

Fu...

It hurt.

A searing pain alongside the injury, severe enough to leave a scar. Blood dripped from it, staining her face. Novarra had originally planned to somewhat mangle her ear, but that would mean a sensory disadvantage.

She fumbled for the wine jar by her bedside, uncorking it and spreading it over her scar. The raw alcohol made the pain sharper, but it would - hopefully? - defend it from infection.

It hurt more.

If she got the position, she could hide it underneath her hair.

Even though the scar didn’t prove much, Novarra didn’t want to look like a physically easy target. Coupled with a nice-enough sword, her image hopefully would warrant enough fear to not be followed, since if citizens saw a scarred, masked figure with a sword in their hand, most of them would steer clear.

Should she make it deeper?

After deciding against it, she sheathed her sword, and cleaned off the blood. Finishing packing, she rearranged her hair strands and collar so they covered up the scar, heading towards Rook’s shops for a new sword.

Preparation…

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