Mikayla’s jaw fell open, unable to help staring at the sea of nigh-identical faces, each one a near-perfect match for Nya.

Not all of them were the same as the Nya she'd been talking to. There were differences. Imperfections. Some were older, some were younger. One had horns that had visibly been painted orange-gold. One’s skin colour was the wrong shade of pink. One pair of eyebrows were too thick, one chin was too sharp, one had visibly and imperfectly dyed their hair.

But all of them had the same haircut, the same uniform. They all had the same green eyes, which seemed implausible until she spotted one fiddling with a contact lens.

And then she saw the painting. The painting of the woman that had those same horns, same rich pink skin, same green eyes, sneering at the room as though disgusted by the man whom she had modelled for. The painting that looked exactly like every one of the girls in the lounge. The painting whose plaque was so large and fancy that even from the hallway she could read the words; ‘THE ROSEBUSH HUNTRESS’ DISPLEASURE’.

It was undeniable. It was obvious. Yevgenia. Yevgenia, the Rosebush Huntress. They were all emulating her. All descended from her? No, that was implausible, it had been two hundred years. This looked more like some kind of mass cloning operation.

The Yevgenias were starting to notice her, and Mikayla realised belatedly that she was staring.

Nya dragged her back into the corridor before anyone could say anything, hissing, “What did I just tell you about not embarrassing us?”

“Do you have, like, twenty identical sisters?!” Mikayla spluttered.

“What? Don’t be absurd. They’re simply all also attempting to become Yevgenia’s successor. None of them are as qualified as me, of course,” Nya smugly insisted.

“Yeah, no, back up. I really need an explanation for this whole ‘Yevgenia’s successor’ thing now,” Mikayla insisted. “You’re all, what, clones of her?”

Footsteps approached from the common area, and Nya hissed, “Not here,” Dragging Mikayla by the wrist, she did her very best to look completely composed as they walked past the doorway, and Mikayla caught only a glimpse of another Yevgenia that had been about to accost them before Nya all but dragged her down the corridor.

“Really? What, are you going to be humiliated to have to explain this?” Mikayla sarcastically asked as they ascended the stairs.

“Yes!” Nya hissed. “Maybe? I don’t know! You’re associated with me, you can’t look stupid! It’s not worth the risk!”

Mikayla raised an incredulous eyebrow, but decided not to push it.

Once they were on the top floor, Nya breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that there was no one around. “Alright. We are in the clear,”

“Are you going to explain now?” Mikayla was more baffled than anything. What was going on with her new tutor?

Nya paused, gathering her thoughts. “Alright, alright. Apologies, this is foundational knowledge and it slipped my mind that . .,” she muttered in what could possibly be construed as an apology.

Mikayla just folded her arms, expectant.

“Ahem. So. You need to understand that Yevgenia was the greatest. Every yaoguai in the City of Roses owes her everything. Probably all of Guili, too. She was the greatest fighter the world ever knew,” Nya’s tone had abruptly flipped over to a sort of religious awe. “But she had no one to carry on her lineage. She never taught anyone her techniques, never had a child or even an apprentice. So when she died, she was just . . gone. Can you imagine what that’s like? Our saviour, our hero, just washing her hands of us? Just going and dying and leaving us with nothing?”

Mikayla didn’t like where this was going.

“It was unacceptable. So the emerging ruling families of the City of Roses came together and created The Template,” Mikayla could hear the capital letters. “It was everything they could piece together about Yevgenia. Her stats, her Techniques, her equipment, her training methods. Even her blood,” Nya hesitated. “This is a complicated scientific principle, but someone’s blood contains a sort of set of instructions that -“

“I know what DNA is,” Mikayla stopped her. “You mean, you’re all clones of her?”

Nya pursed her lips. “I don’t know what that word means,” she denied. “My ancestors, they developed a method to alter the blood of a baby before they’re born. To change the instructions and cause the baby to inherit Yevgenia’s traits more closely than those of their actual parents. It doesn’t always work, and when it does there are varying degrees of success,” Mikayla considered the slight differences she’d noticed between the clones. “But it was enough. Every family of even minor means in the City of Roses wants the next Yevgenia to be born to them, to elevate their line to greatness,”

“That . . that’s insane,” Mikayla murmured. She could barely comprehend the sheer fanaticism that would be needed just to create this sort of culture.

“Being a Yevgenia is a point of pride, it makes us better than the rabble. Only those with greater than 95% accuracy to the template are allowed to be christened with the honoured name. But that’s nothing, compared to me,” Nya preened, spreading her arms and making sure the light caught her face. “Behold. You are looking at a one-in-a-million critical success. With ninety-nine point seven percent accuracy to The Template. I was born with only one flaw, and we corrected it with surgery years ago. I am the most perfect successor to Yevgenia in two hundred years. The one destined to succeed her legacy as the hero of the City of Roses,”

“Oh my god,” Apropros of nothing, Mikayla flashed back to the jokes she’d traded with Asika only a couple of hours ago, about how she wouldn’t be able to handle the pressure of being the one whom everyone was counting on to save the world. “I’m not the Chosen One. You are,”

“Chosen One . . yes! I like that!” Nya agreed, oblivious to the context.

“I . . I see,” Mikayla finally murmured. This was crazy. It sounded like a cult. Hero-worship taken to an absurd degree. There was a lot to unpack here.

Firstly; feudalism. She’d suspected from Nocturnus’ testimony, but Nya’s discussion of noble and prestigious families confirmed it; the nation of Guili was still full of medieval sensibilities. It didn’t sound like there was just one ruling family in the City of Roses, though. She needed more information.

Secondly; it sounded like ‘the Yevgenias’ had become some kind of genetic oligarchy? A homo superior, culturally believed to be fundamentally better than ordinary people. Magneto, eat your heart out. Then there was the niggling affair of pureblood and mixblood Yaoguai. It all sounded almost like a caste system; Yevgenias on top, purebloods as the upper middle class, and mixbloods at the bottom of the heap. From a historical and anthropological perspective, she was fascinated. But this was the kind of history she’d always been relieved not to have had to live through, and now here she was.

“I hope that means you understand,” Nya regarded her, features firming up. “I am the best, and have been since the day I was born. Which means it is my duty to continue being the best. Under any and all circumstances,” It was almost chilling, how she said such things as though they were simple and inherent facts of he world; water was wet, the sky was blue, Nya was the best.

“That . . sounds like a lot of pressure,” Mikayla winced. Expectations like that - had Nya been living like that her whole life? Had her parents encouraged that? If they’d given a seven-year-old surgery just to make her look more accurate to this Template of Yevgenia, then she could only imagine what Nya’s home life was like.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“It is well within my abilities, and nothing less is expected of anyone who would claim to truly be the Reborn Rose,” Nya brushed her concern off. “But that brings us to you,”

“What do you mean?” Mikayla tilted her head.

“For some reason, in his infinite wisdom, Dean Wujing has seen fit to assign me as your tutor,” Nya’s sarcasm had a biting edge. “I suspect he was trying to do me a favour. Historically speaking, Stranded people who end up at Cloudscraper tend to be some of the most driven and focused students the Academy has ever seen. I would prefer to have a roommate and teammate who fits that description. But I am not so foolish as to presume. So, answer me now, Mikayla Aiadon. Will you aid me in living up to the legacy of the Rosebush Huntress, or will you be a hindrance?”

Nya’s eyes were burning with determination, oozing complete and utter confidence. This was a challenge, Mikayla realised, the defining moment that would set the tone for their relationship across the next three years and beyond. And, honestly, it was so dramatic. Did Nya really need to be so anime about it?

Well, fine. Mikayla could be anime too.

“To be perfectly honest? I don’t give a damn about any of that,” she declared, folding her arms and tilting her head in a way that she hoped made her look imposing. “Because I’ve got goals of my own. I’m going to find a way back to my world, even if I have to invent a whole new field of physics and build a magic portal by hand. And apparently this world is so screwed up that I need to get really starring good at killing monsters to even start on that. So you’ve got some nerve, acting like your Reborn Rose shtick is what matters here. Will I hold you back? That’s the wrong question. What you should be asking is, can you keep up?”

For a long moment, the two teenagers stared each other down.

Nya’s lips finally split into a smile. “I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship,”

She led Mikayla to a large set of doors and swept them open. “Behold, our accommodations,”

The room was the size of a decent soccer pitch, with floor-to-ceiling windows and a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Two egregiously huge four-poster beds dominated opposite corners, but other than that the left half of the room was barren. The right half, though, was arranged into a lavish sitting area, with couches, armhairs and a coffee table that looked like they were each worth millions, all inlaid with gold thread and carved reliefs of roses and blades. Behind that was a study area set up with huge mahogany bookshelves framing a centralised writing desk, each containing just as many valuable-looking trinkets and decorations as books. There was a seal carved from stone that depicted an alien glyph, but the System translated a couple of seconds after she focused on it, revealing it read 'SUPERIORITY'. A three-foot marble statue of Yevgenia wielding a kusarigama rested on a plinth at the heart of it all. Mikayla barely dared to breathe in the general direction of any of the furniture, it was all far too expensive for her sensibilities.

“I do apologise that it’s not much. Cloudscraper insists on a degree of utilitarianism, and there’s only so much I can have done to spruce up the place,” Nya trailed off, taking in Mikayla’s awed expression.

“. . I’m pretty sure this room is larger than my whole house,”

“Ah, of course. I suppose you would have more lax standards than I,” Nya murmured.

Mikayla wandered around the room, looking over Nya’s ornate furnishings and mentally mapping out how to arrange her own. “So, this is gonna be home for the next three years,”

“Apologies for the sparse decor. In this dormitory, it’s generally expected that students will bring their own furniture rather than settle for standard fare,” Nya pursed her lips. “We can have the servants send up some temporary furnishings to make do for tonight, and go shopping on the morrow?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve got some furniture,” Mikayla off-handedly assured her, gesturing to her backpack.

“Ah, yes, Kaiju-leather bags. You came from the Kaiju Coast, I should have guessed it would be easier to procure those up there,” Nya admonished herself.

While Mikayla unfolded the doorway into the dimensional space of her backpack, Nya had found a piece of paper to offer to her. “Here, this is our class schedule,”

Unfolding the paper revealed a simple schedule of two classes per day, with the exception of Friday, which was entirely devoted to a Combat Exercise. Subjects such as Survivalism, Kaiju Studies, Practical Training and Weapons Training were all well within her expectations. Strategy & Tactics, as well as History, a pleasant surprise. Then there was the enigmatically named 'Developments' class, and lastly Political Studies. Was it too implausible to hope that it was historical politics and not 'how to navigate the backwards parody of medieval China'?

“There’s no Maths, or Literature?”

“You’re at the wrong school if you desire to learn things that are unrelated to killing Kaijus,” Nya reminded her. “Also, it’s not listed on the schedule, but every morning before class or breakfast we’re expected to attend morning workouts. It’s to make sure students don’t get fat and lazy. Even if we're already fit as a flying Dahu, we’ll be in trouble if we don’t attend,”

Mikayla looked down at herself. She was very much still on the lean side. “Actually, building up some muscle would probably help. In my old life, my old world, being intellectual was much more prized than being athletic. Three weeks hasn’t been enough time for me to change course,”

“I see,” Nya hummed thoughtfully. “Oh, on that topic. I was told you need tutoring in controlling your vital energies properly?”

“Oh yeah,” Mikayla had almost forgotten about the ‘penalty’ Asika sworn her to in exchange for clearing the First Schema Lock early. “Yes please,”

“We’ll hold regular practice sessions after class and on the weekends until your proficiency is acceptable,”

Mikayla had a sneaking suspicion that Nya’s idea of ‘acceptable’ was closer to any other person’s idea of ‘perfect’ . . but then, was that a bad thing? She was at school, after all, might as well put her all into learning. “Alright, looking forward to it,”

She cast another glance at the timetable, and realised the days were labelled Monday through Friday, just like on Earth. “Do the days of the week actually have the same names as in my world, or is that the System translating?”

No answer was forthcoming, so Mikayla put the timetable aside and decided to start unpacking. She unfolded her backpack into a fabric doorway which opened into an impossible spatially-expanded cavern, marvelling once again at how easy it was to transport things with Kaiju-leather bags.

“Hey, give me a hand moving some of my furniture out?” she asked, stepping inside and picking up the bedside table she’d stolen from Astralia’s Spear. The bed, closet, desk and Engraver were all too heavy and unwieldy for her to move by herself.

“I’ll have to inspect it first. Make sure it shan’t embarrass me when we host guests,” the Yaoguai asserted, flicking her tail in a very catty manner. Mikayla noticed out of the corner of her eye and had to stifle a squee at the cuteness.

Once the bedside table was in place, she joined Nya, who had frozen in the doorway, mouth agape. “Something wrong?”

“That’s an antique Mana Engraving Array,” Nya breathlessly pointed at the Engraving Table that Mikayla had taken from Astralia’s quarters during her first week in this world.

“Yup. We stole it from Astralia’s Spear in the ruins of Balmwind - uh, recovered. I mean recovered. If the signs were accurate, this used to belong to Astralia herself,”

Nya raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment on her slip. “Surely you jest. You mean to tell me that this is Astralia’s lost personal Engraving Array? Do you have any idea how much this is worth?”

“Uh, no. Is it a lot?”

“Is it a lot? If you sold this to the White Skies Institute, you could buy yourself a noble title and accompanying mansion!” Nya exclaimed. “. . not that that would be a smart use of money, but you could!”

“I dunno. I’d like a mansion,” Mikayla mused. “Actually, most of this came from Astralia’s Spear, in her personal quarters. There was some kind of stasis field, but it collapsed. Seemed like a shame to leave all this to rot,”

Nya was still staring, slack-jawed. “We’re going to have to invite everyone to our room, as frequently as possible,” she finally resolved.

“What? Why?!”

“Antique furniture is one thing. That’s to be expected. But pristine relics recovered from the personal chambers of Astralia herself?!” Nya laughed. “I was expecting to have to spend thousands of silfs just to make your part of our dwelling at all presentable. And here you are with furnishings of greater pedigree than every other student put together!” She let out an incredulous laugh.

“. . do people really care that much about where someone’s furniture came from around here?” Mikayla grimaced.

“Prestige is everything. You’ll grow accustomed to it,” Nya primly assured her.

“If you say so . . oh, what about this?" She ducked back into the bag and gestured.

Nya, following her, made a face. "It's hideous. What is it?"

"A generator. It's to charge my laptop and my phone,"

"Can it do that while remaining inside the bag?"

Mikayla blinked. It actually hadn't occured to her until just now that Kaiju leather plus modern technology equalled the ultimate portable charger. "Maybe? Eh, I won't need it anymore when I get a Technique that lets me conjure lightning,"

"I'm relieved to hear it,"