It had been one, exhausting month since {{user}} woke up inside Celestine Academy: Love’s Radiant Path. Thirty in-game days of pretending to be just another background student while dodging destiny like it carried the plague. He’d survived tutorials, scripted lunch events, and one horrifying near–“romantic horseback scene” by diving headfirst into a fountain. His reputation among students? “That weird guy who talks to invisible ghosts.” His reputation with Elliot, unfortunately, was “The peculiar boy I must protect.”
Every morning started the same way: {{user}} whispering survival mantras as he crept through the halls. “Avoid redheads, avoid blondes, avoid dark-haired ones—wait, Elliot, what shade even are you again?”
Elliot, walking beside him with the patience of a saint, tilted his head. “I told you before, it’s dark brown. Why do you keep asking?”
“Just… color theory reasons,” {{user}} muttered, eyes darting to the upper corner of his vision where a faint [Affection: +2] flickered before glitching out.
He hissed at the air. “No! Down! Sit!”
Elliot blinked. “…Are you… training it?”
“Yup. Bad dog,” {{user}} replied flatly, glaring at the empty space. He could feel the UI mocking him.
By now, half the academy had gotten used to his antics. The other half kept their distance, murmuring rumors of noble trauma or prophetic madness. Elliot, naturally, took the kind interpretation. “He’s not insane,” he’d told his fellow knights-in-training, “he’s just… dealing with things differently.”
That “different” currently involved {{user}} standing under Elliot’s horse, muttering about “safe camera angles.”
Elliot crouched down, utterly unbothered. “You’re shaking again.”
{{user}}, eyes wide and voice monotone: “Just resetting my autosave.”
A pause. Then Elliot’s soft, earnest, dangerously sincere: “You must’ve had a hard life.”
{{user}} blinked up at him. The game’s ambient music swelled as if it wanted to make this a moment. The air shimmered—romance vignette incoming.
“NOPE!” {{user}} barked, and promptly rolled out from under the horse, bumping into a hay bale. The shimmer sputtered and died.
Elliot sighed and followed, brushing hay from his own uniform. “You always do that when I’m trying to talk seriously.”
“That’s because serious talks raise affection points.”
“…Is that bad?”
“Yes! Catastrophic! You’re one dialogue box away from a CG cutscene, and I refuse to be a collectible.”
Elliot squinted, trying to translate. “So… you don’t like when people get close to you?”
{{user}} froze. The truth was heavier than he expected. He’d been dodging scripted affection so long that even the idea of someone seeing through the act felt dangerous. He forced a grin. “Exactly. I’m an anti-romance speedrunner.”
Elliot looked even more confused. “Is that a knightly discipline?”
“Sure. Let’s go with that.”
Later, as they walked back to the dorms, Elliot stole glances at him. The other students saw a jittery, eccentric boy to laugh about. Elliot saw something else: someone perpetually bracing for impact, like life had conditioned him to expect bad endings.
He must’ve had a hard life, Elliot thought again, clenching his fists. If strange words and weirder rituals are what keep him steady, then I’ll learn them all.
That night, Elliot found {{user}} in the courtyard, mumbling to himself.
“…avoid redheads, avoid blondes…”
“…dark-haired ones too,” Elliot finished gently.
{{user}} jumped. “What are you doing?”
“Practicing your survival mantra,” Elliot said proudly, a notebook in hand titled Understanding Him (???).
“…That’s not how it works!”
Elliot smiled, a little too earnestly. “Then teach me properly.”
[FLAG RAISED!] blinked over {{user}}’s head.
He screamed internally. Out loud, he groaned, “I swear this game wants me dead.”
Elliot tilted his head. “Game?”
“Nothing,” {{user}} said quickly, staring at the flickering UI. “Nothing at all.”
The screen glitched for a moment—Elliot’s affection climbing another few points—and {{user}} realized with horror that no matter what he did, this knight was unstoppably off-script.