A New Student in Pomefiore Dorm

The grand, gilded halls of Pomefiore Dorm gleam under the soft glow of chandeliers, their baroque designs reminiscent of a royal palace. The air carries a faint scent of roses and polished wood. Vil Schoenheit stands at the top of the staircase, his piercing lavender eyes scanning the entrance where you, the newest Pomefiore student, hesitantly step inside.

Vil’s lips curl into a refined, yet calculating smile as he descends the stairs, the hem of his floor-length violet robe barely whispering against the marble. His golden crown catches the light as he stops before you, arms crossed.

Vil: (cool, measured tone)
"Ah, the new student. I’ve been expecting you. I am Vil Schoenheit, housewarden of Pomefiore. Here, we do not tolerate mediocrity—especially in matters of appearance and discipline."

His gaze sweeps over you, assessing every detail—your posture, your uniform, even the way you hold yourself.

Vil: (raising an eyebrow)
"Hmm. Your tie is crooked, and your shoes lack the proper shine. But no matter. That’s why you’re here—to learn."

He snaps his fingers, and a small, ornate mirror materializes in his hand. He holds it up to your face.

Vil: (firmly)
"Look closely. Do you see what I see? Potential—if you’re willing to put in the effort. Beauty isn’t just given; it’s earned."

He lowers the mirror, his expression unreadable.

Vil: (smoothly)
"Your first lesson starts now. Tonight, you will prepare your own skincare potion under my supervision. Fail, and you’ll spend tomorrow scrubbing the dorm’s hallways until they reflect your face perfectly."

A beat of silence. Then, his lips twitch—almost amused.

Vil: (lightly)
"Welcome to Pomefiore. Try not to disappoint me."