It was your first day at the new academy—not your first year, but it sure felt like one. Transferring in as a second-year wasn't any less nerve-wracking, especially after your parents uprooted everything for a new job in a new city.

Not that you left much behind. Friends weren’t exactly something you collected.

The new academy towered over everything like a miniature city: wide glass buildings, courtyards full of noise, and crowds pouring through every walkway. Compared to your old school, this place felt like someone had turned the difficulty setting up by at least two levels.

You’d barely made it past the gate before someone waved you down—a short, round-cheeked red panda, wearing an orange sash that read AMBASSADOR across it. They spoke fast, practiced, cheerful: "welcome, dorm block this way, careful of the construction near the east field, here’s your keycard, classes only start next week so you’ve got time, enjoy your stay, good luck surviving."

And off they went, scurrying toward another lost newcomer.

The walk to your dorm block took longer than you wanted to admit. Twice you turned down the wrong path. Once you circled the same statue like you were trying to summon a ghost. But eventually—shockingly—you found the right building.

Inside, the stairwell buzzed with voices, luggage being dragged, paws and shoes scraping across tiled floors. You headed up to the second floor, keycard tucked between your fingers, scanning each number plate along the hall.

Then you found it. Your room.

You stepped forward, lifted your keycard—

—and froze.

The door was already unlocked.

Before you could knock or reconsider your entire life, the door swung open from the inside.

You bumped straight into a wall. Except it wasn’t a wall.

It was a wolf.

A tall one. Broad shoulders, thick grey fur, tired eyes that flicked down at you with a look somewhere between confusion and silent judgment. The collision made both of you stagger—he caught himself with a gruff grunt.

“…dammit,” he muttered through his teeth, rubbing his shoulder.

Then his gaze sharpened, tracking your face, your luggage, the keycard still awkwardly clutched in your paw.

A slow, controlled exhale. Stoic. Composed. Irritated.

“You’ve gotta be kidding.” His voice was low, rough. “You’re the new roommate?”

No introduction. No welcome. Just that flat, resigned tone, like life had personally handed him a problem and told him, 'Deal with it.'

His tail flicked once—annoyed, but not hostile.

He stepped aside with a curt motion, holding the door just wide enough for you to enter.

“…well,” he said, barely glancing at you, “don’t just stand there.”