The Gacha Addict of the Academy

“Unbelievable,” I muttered angrily as soon as I stepped outside.

We almost died in a place meant for learning, yet instead of dealing with it, we were threatened into silence. I never thought the people in charge here could be so careless.

I was so angry that I could barely speak.

Still, talking to that professor wouldn’t change anything. Complaining to a professor, no matter how much I ranted, wouldn’t help.
It would just be complaining for the sake of complaining.

And even then, my real anger wasn’t with the professor—it was with the academy itself.

After a while, I managed to calm down and looked around.

There was Kang Ji Hyuk, who had introduced himself earlier, the girl who had been rescued from the monster, and the small white-haired girl who had protected her. She was surprisingly short—tall for a girl her age, but still a full head shorter than most people.
From a distance, she seemed small, but up close, it was even more obvious.

She could easily be mistaken for a younger child.

And yet, despite her small size…

“…Ah.”

I shook off my thoughts and asked a question to focus myself.
“What do you all plan to do now?”

Since the incident hadn’t turned into anything official, we were expected to return to class.
Most of them said it would be best to keep quiet about the incident, following the professor’s instructions. I expected these overly kind people to say something like that, but I didn’t expect them to repeat it exactly.

“Wow, you’re all something else. I’m still furious—aren’t you even a little mad?”

They should be angry.

We almost died before we could even begin to grow into our potential, yet their reactions were so calm.
If anything, they seemed relieved, as if this was the best outcome. They were so kind—or maybe naive—that it was hard to see them as normal people.

Or maybe they were just pushovers.

My question hung in the air.

The girls avoided answering, bowing their heads, but Ji Hyuk looked at me with a serious expression and said, “Don’t be too hard on them. The academy must have its reasons for handling things this way.”

“They have their reasons.”
I didn’t disagree.

I could understand the reasoning. If word got out, it could cause chaos, ruin the mood, and make the students afraid.
And for a teacher, managing students in that kind of environment would be impossible.

If the danger came from an outside attack, not something the academy created, it might even be better to teach nothing at all.
Teaching in a place filled with fear and unfairness is already a failure.
At least, that’s how I saw it.

I’m not saying I’m always right, but it seems like common sense to me. The students deserved to know the truth about what happened and to be reassured that such events wouldn’t happen again.

The academy should have shown the students that they could trust them, focusing on their learning and growth.

But instead, this so-called “best academy in the world” hid the incident, focused on keeping secrets, and even threatened the people who were directly affected. No proper apology, no recognition of their failure—just cowardice and cover-ups.
It was disgusting.

What they deserved wasn’t protection, but criticism. Yet here they were, hiding their mistakes, too blind to see their responsibilities.
They could see what was in front of them, but not what was beyond that.

Even though I was a first-year student, barely older than the rest, I felt sorry for Ji Hyuk.

He was incredibly strong, but still so young—too naive to notice the problems with the system.
Maybe I was disappointed in him.

Or maybe I could see his point: hiding the incident and fixing the defenses might work. If nothing else happens, maybe it will be okay.
But would the academy really act that way?

I let out a bitter smile before turning to glare at Ji Hyuk, who was still looking at me.

“Let’s go back,” I said coldly and walked toward the classroom without waiting for a reply. Back in the classroom, a question lingered in my mind:

Do I even belong at this academy?

My father had insisted that I enroll here, saying it was for my future. All he cared about was his company and the family’s reputation.
With bloodshot eyes, he would demand that I elevate our family’s status.

“Be the best at everything.”

That was the only way to survive.
“Haa…”
I sighed deeply.

I thought being at the top of the academy wouldn’t be a problem, but maybe it won’t be as easy as I imagined.
Dealing with him was manageable.

I stopped thinking of that man as my father a long time ago.

To him, I was nothing more than a tool—a means to elevate the family’s status.
But that story no longer mattered to me.

“Uh… Miss Spellrud?”

Someone called out to me again.

I didn’t feel like responding. I had no desire to converse with these people—people who only cared about their own safety and future, completely oblivious to what it truly means to be a hero.
I wasn’t expecting them to live with unwavering noble ideals, but at the very least, they should reflect on their goals and the effort it takes to achieve them. If they could manage even that much, it would’ve been enough.
But these people couldn’t even do that.

Wait…
“You’re…”

“Oh, finally acknowledging me?”

It was that girl from earlier.

Her voice sounded familiar, but otherwise, she seemed no different from the others. Her casual demeanor and relaxed tone prompted me to ask what she wanted. She didn’t seem fazed by my sharpness, instead flashing a carefree smile before asking,
“Wanna have dinner together?”

“Huh?”
Dinner?

Her invitation shattered the mask I’d been carefully maintaining, leaving me visibly dumbfounded. Seeing my puzzled expression, she asked if there was a problem.
Was there a problem?

Maybe.

This was the first time in my life someone had invited me to share a meal. I didn’t know how to refuse without sounding harsh. Telling her outright to leave me alone seemed… excessive.

As aloof as I am, I’m not the kind of person who hurls insults to someone’s face.

Most of the rumors about me circulating around the academy are exaggerated anyway. I’m not the heartless monster people make me out to be.

It stings a little every time I hear someone misuse the title “Ice Witch.”

“Fine. Who’s eating with us?” I asked, deciding to at least figure out who else would be there.
“Uh… the kids who got dragged into the incident earlier.”

“…”

We’re meeting again?

I wasn’t sure if this was the best idea, but part of me wanted to see them again.

More specifically, I wanted to meet that shining girl—who risked her life to protect the other student—one more time.
And I had things to discuss with that guy as well.

There were questions about the power he’d shown earlier and the events that might unfold going forward. While I could probably address these separately, the truth is, I was most curious about the girl.
I wanted to talk to her, even if I didn’t have anything specific in mind. I just felt the urge to get to know her better.

Though, based on her personality, it might not be easy.
She seemed painfully shy. Given my title as the Ice Witch, there’s even a chance she might faint if I approached her.
Maybe I should try being kind, at least to her.

“Alright, let’s go.”

Her face lit up, and she let out a sigh of relief, as if my agreement had lifted a heavy weight off her shoulders.
The fact that she felt that relieved was puzzling, but since I didn’t understand her at all, I decided not to dwell on it.

To be honest, I’ve never been close to anyone. I don’t really understand how people think.

I’ve unintentionally hurt others with my words before, so I usually keep to myself.

But this girl—this strange girl—approached me, completely unbothered by my reputation. Not only that, but she even invited me to dinner.
It was baffling.

Still, I didn’t dislike it.

I wasn’t sure what I’d say once I got there, but maybe I could start by learning how to speak without hurting others.
For the first time in a long while, I found myself looking forward to what lay ahead.

Dinner might not be so bad after all.