Shiro is lost. Hopelessly lost, as lost as a sailor at sea without his compass and short-term memory. He checked his left; checked his right; assessed the situation. Yeah, still lost.

The added daze from the auditorium didn’t help either. After what seemed to be an hour of mumbling through mindless questions he could barely feel his head functioning. He couldn’t remember a single thing, though he could remember getting asked about his bare feet, a lot at that. There were also questions regarding on his height, his species, his dental health, his preference in movies and at some point, his view on how onions are a form of defamatory insult to canines. He simply listened, made noises and, when his mind finally came back to him, made a silent wish that the purgatory would end before listening to another vacuous question.

Then as he's halfway from explaining the third time why he can't wear shoes, something grabbed him from behind. He was in a sort of stupor and had zero to no sense of consciousness. He couldn't remember a single bit of information as he was pulled from his tail. He could only remember the blinding light receding into darkness as he was dragged backwards. Then, immediately after, he was tossed and turned in all sorts of directions. He was pulled and dragged and shoved everywhere. He lost all concepts of motion and time. Up went down and right felt like left; minutes were seconds and seconds dragged like hours. He was barely struggling not to heave his breakfast out of his bitter-tasting tongue.

Then he saw a bright burst of light exploding into his face. A mild déjà vu crashed into his head as the light flooded into his blurry eyes, forcing his eyes to shut into a squint out of reflex. As the light came, the thrashing stopped. He was suddenly pushed to what Shiro could only deduce as "outside", and was left alone. He would've have a million questions regarding before but for now, he's grateful his stomach remained intact.

There he stood for a solid minute, rubbing his eyes, trying to get his senses back together. Every time he got one sense back another seems to fall apart. His tongue was dry, his ears were ringing, his limbs were spaghetti and his snout was drooling. He shook his head and pieced himself together like a crumbling biscuit. His mind started solidifying; everything seemed to slowly fall into place. His sight came back, and with that, another whole new problem emerged.

He found himself in a bleached corridor, with marble floors that felt chilly under his bare canine feet, and windows that presented a decent forestry outside with sunlight spilling in, giving light. He turned to his back and found a double-door painted as white as the walls, with the words PUSH printed onto it. It didn't take a third brain cell to know where this door heads, or once led Shiro. He tried it, and found it locked; it wouldn't budge an inch. He stood there, racking his mind and considering his choices. It also didn't take a third brain cell to count the options he had left. He took a gamble, looked into one direction and headed that way.

He took his first corner at the end of the corridor and saw the exact same passageway, with the bleached walls and marbled floors, with the exceptions of more double-doors. Every pair was as white as the last one, and each as stubbornly locked as the last one as well. After a quick thought, Shiro then tried knocking for answers; all replied in silence.

After that it was just about the same. The next fifteen minutes saw Shiro running around aimlessly and terrified, trying and knocking doors, with the same results on every attempt. The corridor didn’t help much with his petrified psyche either. Every turn and corner brought about the same setting. Some had window; some had doors; some had both; none were helpful. There were also signs showing up that Shiro can’t decipher; arrows Shiro can’t interpret and directions Shiro can’t understand. The repeating hallway was starting to tick something in his head, as if it swam deep into his mind and found the panic meter and decided to crank it up a dozen notches. Every door he tried all came back more silent that the other, but he couldn't bare to skip one either; what if that was the one?

Which brings him to now.

Shiro blew a sigh, walking away from the last door. The corridor only led to another corner. Shiro took it, his insides filled with the last squint of hope he canine heart possible to muster, only for it to deflate like a leaky balloon when it was revealed to be nothing but a dead end. There were still doors to be knocked, spread out across each side of the walls, but the dozen others from moments earlier seared a rather discouraging impression of what he could expect. Yet, that little blink of promise struggled to stay alight in the back of his head. The classic canine ray of optimism, still shining even in his canine heart. Shiro took a deep breath. If there’s a will, there’s a way; or in this case, doors.

He bunched up his hands, readied his knuckles and went to do what needed to be done.

Knock knock

The first door had no answer.

Knock knock

The second door was just as hopeless.

Knock knock

The third door was all the same.

Knock knock

The fourth door had the same effect with knocking a dead wood for answers.

Knock knock

The fifth door was like prodding a dead rat with a stick.

The sixth door, however-

Knock knock

“Hello,” Shiro called between sore lips as he churned out the same, tired word for the umteenth time. "Anyone?"

Habit wormed its way into Shiro’s limbs as an infant of a muscle memory. He began walking away before waiting for a response. His head got so hardwired from previous doors that his mind just told him there’s nothing to expect from this and that he should just move on to the seventh, most possibly hopeless pair of double-door when his ears caught a wisp of sound.

“Hello.”

His agile canine ears, ever perking and restless, immediately sparked a signal in his head. He was stunned for a split second, blinking to himself, poking his cheek, assuring himself he wasn't hallucinating out of fatigue before pouncing back on the door, planting his head next to its cold surface, his tail wagging with zeal.

“Y-yeah, I’m here!” Shiro’s tongue jumped, startled by the unexpected response in the desolated corridors. “C-can I get some directions?”

“You may, but I am here.”

“I know, but the door’s locked. I can’t-”

“Behind you.”

“-o-oh.”

With great embarrassment, Shiro slipped away from the door and turned around. At first, he saw nothing. He stood there blinking, wondering where the voice came from as he stared into the empty corridor. Then he looked down an inch and saw her.

There, standing just behind him, was a cow. What a short girl, was Shiro’s first thought. She’d only stood up to his chest; his chin if she decides to use her toes. Her white hide was doused in black splotches, with one especially big splotch covering one of her black eyes, hidden behind a massive pair of spectacles. She was dressed in a white, sailor-like uniform, with an ankle-high dress as dark as the deep sea to accompany it. She wore an indistinct expression. You couldn’t tell any emotion from it, yet you wouldn’t deem it a poker face either. It showed just enough, to put it in a way.

"H-hi."

Her slender arms were cradling a huge stack of files, towering all the way up to her giant glasses. In that second he spent staring, he counted two panic attacks as he watched the files perilously swaying over its dangerous stack. His instincts made a split second decision and he showed his hands and blurted out. “Y-you need help with that?”

Then, as if taken by surprise, the cow startled to a jolt, as if Shiro had asked for her to shave her tail and hide in exchange. Among the surprise, Shiro's agile eyes also spotted something in the mix - disgust. Shiro waved it off however, seeing it as a trick in his eyes. Yet, a doubt lingers on. Not enough to penetrate his conscious mind but there nonetheless.

“I would appreciate that, thank you,” the cow said.

Then, as Shiro reached out to grab the files, the cow retracted her hands in a jolt once more, leaving Shiro in an awkward stance with his outstretched arms. He was stunned for a second, wondering if the cow really meant her words. Then, before he could get a word in she promptly dumped the whole thing into his arms, taking back only one-third of the stack back with her.

As she took her stack of papers, Shiro discovered the cause of the papers’ hazardous state of balance - a very decent chest hiding behind the stack. Female cattle were known to have a larger-than-average breasts, and for the first time in his life, Shiro became a witness to that testament. So that's why it it's swaying, he thought. He tried his absolute best not to stare, but their height difference meant that Shiro had to look down to see her, and the cow's chest weren't anything one could simply miss, much less ignore. He could only hope she wouldn’t get the wrong idea.

“Mr. Shiro, I presume?” The cow had a soothing, calming tone, with a hint of determined resolution in her every locution. Funny way of talking, Shiro thought.

“H-huh? Oh,” Shiro stumbled through his words. He made an effort to soothe his already scratchy, grated voice, which he failed miserably and ended up sounding like a sickly lion. “Just Shiro, yeah.”

The cow then looked down to glance at a small, little wristwatch strapped onto her arm. Then she looked back up, stared at Shiro and lowered into a deep, respective bow that Shiro knew meant nothing else.

“I apologize for your inconvenience. I have misjudged my timing and punctuality of our meeting.”

“N-no,” Shiro mumbled in surprise. He wasn’t used to other end of apologies, “I wandered off myself. Didn’t know I had to meet anyone.”

“I was tasked to be there at the time of your departure, the blame is for no one but myself to take. I should have accounted for a canine's tendency to stray away.”

Shiro kept his mouth shut on that. The cow’s tone was firm and absolute, even under her mellow voice, it was as if she was dead-set on her apology and would demand one from you if you were to refute her rights to do so. He left it at that, and nodded silently to her words.

Though her last remark rubbed Shiro in some way, like a squirming bug in his head. He ignored it anyway.

“Your shoulders.”

Shiro cranked his head to his side. “Y-yeah, my shoulders. What’s wro-”

There was a little feather, long and white, sticking out from his upper backside. It’s sharp end was stuck within the seams of his tracksuit. Shiro could slightly pinpoint where the feather came from. He freed a hand underneath the pile and plucked it out. He was about to examine the thing when the cow picked it from his fingers and stuffed it between her papers.

“R-right," he dusted off his shoulder, "Is there an office, or a teachers’ room around here?”

“Yes, but that is not where you need to be.”

Shiro thought he must’ve made quite a face for The Secretary to explain herself. The cow pushed up her glasses and let out a stern cough.

“We have official guides for the job, but your arrival is quite impromptu. As a result, we had to improvise on most of our procedures. Thus, I have been tasked to be your guide for the day. As an extra notice, I am also the voice you heard during your time in the auditorium.”

“Oh,” was what Shiro could say before realization hit him right on the spot. Then he did a double-take, revising on the words he heard back on the stage and the girl now standing before him. Now the files and the glasses made some sense. “You’re-”

“Yes, I am The Secretary, and since we are quite behind schedule, mind I suggest we move on?”

“Y-yeah,” Shiro paced along behind The Secretary, following the swinging switch trailing behind her tail.

The Secretary had taken the liberty of walking Shiro around the school. Turns out, he had been lost for fifteen minutes within the halls of the Freshmen classes. Each student spends six years in Rormund, and this is where people spend their first three, though this was subject to change, depending on how well (or terrible) you do in your studies.

She explained the structures of the school, and how it never follows a specific order of twists and turns and, if sectioned, will never have two of the same pattern. It was built in such a way in order to deter unwelcome spies or some espionage. Shiro thought it was ridiculous at first, but then The Secretary mentioned how this school houses one of the densest populations of wealth with the highest concentration of privilege and important children in the country and possibly the world, and how everyone here has at least some risks of getting in a high-ransom kidnapping or a business driven homicide.

And just when Shiro thought it couldn’t get any further, The Secretary wanted to show one of the classes and it's interior, and she opened one up by simply pushing it. When inquired, The Secretary explained that each door was fitted with an ‘imperceptible palm scanning device” that houses the “data of every student and facilitator of the premises”. Shiro wasn’t registered yet, so no matter how hard he tried, the door will never budge for him.

Shiro had seen paranoia in his childhood days but this was on a whole different level. His old residence wasn’t what he’d consider a place of tranquility, but compared to this place, he’d realize how lax it was on security. This was akin to a panic room scaled to thesize of an establishment.

It shouldn’t come off as a surprise for Shiro, especially during this day and age, though it was no shock either that it did. It was only a month ago when he finally got used to the city dwellers' practice of "locking your doors and hiding your keys".

Scaredy rich people, was the only explanation Shiro could come up with for the need of such procedures. He’d expected to hear that everyone was given a little bell to ring whenever there’s danger, or a tiny bottle of pepper spray by their side, plus a spare just in case.

Turns out there were guides given during intake ceremonies to teach new intakes the layout of the school just in case they get lost in the infrastructure built to protect themselves. Right now, The Secretary was taking on such a role. Despite having no prior experience with an actual, official guide, Shiro thought she was doing a spot-on job as one. Corners and turns he couldn’t fathom where they led were expertly explained into him. It only took the first three minutes for Shiro finally understood the general signs and directions, and every so often The Secretary would quiz Shiro where they've been, or which corridor led to where, or which staircase led to which floor.

It was, admittedly, a fun time.

“Where do you bring these,” Shiro asked, a good thirty minutes into the tour. As built as he was, carrying a decent weight in his arms wasn't something to ignore. He could carry on without complaint, but asking wouldn't hurt, would it?

“These files?”

“Y-yeah.”

“With myself, all the time. My job requires that these papers to be close by at all moments. It is a necessity for my tasks.”

“Oh.” He thought of The Secretary minutes ago during their meeting. She looked severely overwhelmed, like a tiny rat carrying a whole wheel of cheese. On hindsight, she seemed accustomed to it, and that asking to help her, though in good conscious, seemed redundant. It wasn’t something regrettable either. Now she seemed relieved, and carrying a great sense of gratitude too.

“Why not carry a bag? Make things easier”

“Unadvisable. It’ll ruin my image, and it is crucial for my job as The Secretary.”

Image? Don’t secretaries just type? Shiro thought.

Shiro decided to leave it at that and pry no further. He glanced furtively at the The Secretary. She already has a good image herself, Secretary or not. Though she wasn’t gorgeous, her facial features were nicely proportioned, unlike her Feral counterpart. She could even be adorable, in a stretch. But still, what The Secretary may deem necessary for her job, Shiro has no say in it.

“You have a name, Secretary?”

“My name is irrelevant to my position, and it is Miss Secretary for you. Only The President gets to address me as such.”

“President?"

“Mr. President, for you. The head of the Student Council, a board of student members upholding the name of our Academy. A respectable man, he is, admired as well, by many of our students. I expect you to regard him with the same honor we all do, Mister Shiro. As The President said, without respect, there is no order. Our Academy had come so far in its prestigious lineage from just that, and we do not intend otherwise."

Shiro looked at The Secretary. She had a stern, determined expression as she delivered her every word with courage and utmost respect. He decided to stay silent, for it was the only thing he felt suited doing at the time.

The Secretary led and taught Shiro through more turns and corridors. As he followed, they talked some.

“I must also apologize for the behavior our students displayed. It is indeed the Academy's mission to sustain prestige and status of our students. Yet, it seems it had saturated by modernized views of society in respect over the years among our generation. The term meant respect and honor among the highest order, and is now sullied among Academy grounds as mere riches and societal standing. You must forgive them, Mr. Shiro, for you are lacking such in their ignorant eyes. I do sincerely apologize for them.

"N-No, not at all Secre- Miss. Miss Secretary."

The Secretary flashed him a dangerous glare at Shiro's slipping tongue. Shiro's heart sank as he ducked his head down apologetically.

“W-we’re taught differently. Different backgrounds. I’d probably do the same if I was them.”

The Secretary didn’t reply. Verbally, at least. She merely glanced at Shiro in a way he couldn't quite interpret her thoughts. Then Shiro's thought remained stuck on her eyes as he thought of it. Maybe it was her black, herbivore eyes, made to catch predators in a distance and not feelings. Or maybe it was just because The Secretary was a she. Shiro didn’t have much experience outside his gender; they were as unfathomable as unicorns for all he knew.

Yeah, probably that.

And the rest of the journey was Shiro half-listening to The Secretary while he watched her from behind.

One thought led to another, and it seemed to circulate around The Secretary as a whole. As they went, Shiro watched her steps. She walked in proper strides, putting adequate energy in her every step so as they wouldn't seem sluggish. She didn't overtly use energy either, seeming as if she didn't want to waste her strength. There was an obvious lack of extra movement, like she was walking within a closed box, keeping space to herself. It looked as if she only wanted to move as she needs, and leave no more than a presence behind her steps.

Then he thought of her way of speaking. It was definitely old-fashioned. Not archaic, but close enough. Maybe somewhere around the middle between two centuries. He thought of what she said. Her respectable regard to traditions and customs of dignity and order was clear and unmistakable. Civil and well-mannered; Shiro could see it radiating from her presence. Every second he spent with her, she looked more like The Secretary she spoke of, and nothing like a student working an extra position on the side.

Shiro wondered what the Presi- Mr. President looked like.

“Mr. Shiro.”

For The Secretary to hold him with such high regards, he must be something, right? Shiro envisioned some ethereal being basking in a holy, white light.

“Mr. Shiro.”

He wondered what species he could be. He could be a human. That’d only be fitting. To be able to wow a girl like The Secretary would only be under the abilities of a higher being-

“Mr. Shiro.”

“-oh, OH. Yeah? Sorry, I was-”

Shiro lifted his head, expecting to meet The Secretary's face. Instead, he faced clean nothingness. As he stared, the bleached walls of the corridor stared back at him, looking silently as Shiro glanced around. He was alone, facing nothing but fresh air. He stood there, the files in his arms being the only accompaniment, laughing silently at his supposedly canine sense of direction.

He was lost again.

Fear punched him hard in the guts. How the hell? He managed to get himself lost again, this time while following another person. He began questioning his canine genes, wondering if they were any use of all before his mind rocketed back to anxiety, its mental fingers inching towards the panic button-

“Behind you.”

Oh.

With great embarrassment, Shiro turned to his back and scuffed towards The Secretary. She stood before one of the many double-doors Shiro tried and failed, waiting for him.

“I must say, Mr. Shiro, your auditory perception is below expectancy.”

Honest, Shiro thought. Brutally honest as well.

The Secretary was standing before a plinth, set against the wall between two windows, the sunlight crisscrossing in between as if basking the plinth in a brilliant spotlight. Above the plinth was a golden plaque, drilled against the wall with bold words etched and carved onto it.

Sir the Founding Father

Shiro knew the words on the plaque meant something. It wouldn't say Sir the Founding Father without reason. But that was the truth. The plinth was empty, with nothing but that lonely plaque presenting a name for something that isn't there. Shiro was sure that there was supposed to be something under the plaque and there was the emptiness to refute it.

"Meet our Sir."

Shiro was about to mention how there was nothing there for him to meet when his ears caught a tiny, inscrutable whir from the plinth. Or rather, within the plinth, he assumed.

Shiro ducked closer to confirm his suspicions when a bust suddenly exploded on the surface of the plinth. It made a mechanical fwoom, akin to a lighted flame, and hologram cracked out of nowhere as if magic. A light, steamy blue pair of eyes glared right back at Shiro, giving him the closest experience he’d ever had to a heart attack.

“-woAH-”

Shiro shot backwards, falling flat on his behind, the files flying upwards in a confetti-like shower. Shiro was left dazed, once again, lying on his back against the cold floor, his bare feet sticking up like a drowned rat.

The cow loomed overhead, her glasses dangling perilously over her eyes.

“I apologize. It should have been mentioned that our dozen busts have been thoroughly replaced with motion-activated holograms. You need not come so close; it sets off within three meters. Many students have fallen for such, might I quote, ‘trap’, as you have.”

“Y-you don’t need to apologize for that.”

“As of now, you are our guest, and I am your host.” The Secretary extended a hand. “Things like these should have been warned, and I have failed to comply with such a task.”

Shiro waved her hand off. With her size, she would’ve joined him on the floor. He picked himself up, gathering the sprawled files with him.

“As I have mentioned, meet our Sir.”

Sir the Founding Father was a lion. The more Shiro looked, the more in awe he became. The hologram showed all the way to his bust, depicting a lion's head with an explosive mane flowering around his stern, no-nonsense face, laced with exquisite, eye-catching detail. From the tiniest strand of fur to the wrinkles on his cheeks, down to the creases of his suit jacket's collar and his shoulder pads, the makers spared no effort in this specific work whatsoever.

Shiro heaved out a breath of wonder. Every detailed moved with extreme realism, as if the man himself was standing right before him, albeit with the lack of arms and his entire lower half. It was something worthy of an art gallery, or a museum. It was something that seemed like someone’s work of a lifetime; a Magnum Opus; a work to die for. Then he recalled The Secretary mentioning that there was a dozen of these. Shiro didn’t know what to feel but to marvel at the incredible ludicrousy of it all.

“S-so, this is Sir?”

“Precisely. He was the one who laid the foundations of this great Academy, but it was not without great sacrifice. Sir was born during a time of war and plague, and have been exceptionally fortunate to be brought up in a family of aristocracy. Not much is known about his ancestry, which is why he is only known as Sir; there was no living record of his true name. One thing for certain however, is his family’s high regards in the family name, and Sir was thought none other. He was taught well of his family's business, and have excelled quite exponentially in it. He had been told that strength is what preserves a family’s honor, and no commodity is more sacred than the respect one gets.

“As the time passed Sir watched the horror ongoing in the outside world. The more he looked, the more fear grew within him. He became afraid for the crisis would eventually come close to home, and threaten the future generation. He knew what the outside world is capable, and knew what would become when they come home. Everyday, Sir would ponder the possibility when one day, one his thirtieth birthday, he made a decision.

“Fleeing with his family, Sir expended all his family fortunes and secretly built a mansion right here where the Academy was built on. He kept this project a secret, telling not a soul, not even to his friends or family. He expunged every document and trail that this new house was ever built at all, and used his fortune to keep those involved tight-lipped. Those who refused were unheard of ever. There, Sir began a new life with his family, away from the dangers and the risks.

“However, even if they were safe from the world beyond, Sir was still intent on keeping the family tradition alive. To protect and to ensure his following, Sir used every last effort into securing his lineage. He hired servants and educators and brought them into the mansions to keep his heirs well-taught and versed in both the family business and general teachings, It is so that when the world outside opened up once more to safety, the family will be there once more to reinstate their former glory.

“Eventually, the outside world did open up. But living secluded took its toll on Sir’s family. Instead, they have become one with the world outside. Years of baring themselves from the world beyond have became a lifestyle. Sir understood his family’s decision and respected it as a head of the family, deciding that their lives will go on as usual, as they’ve done for so long. Secrecy will be kept of the mansion’s location, of course. It was the reason peace was still kept during the time.

“Sir did have to keep up with public appearances, though. Over the time, he met with many folks. Sir may be an astriocat, but he is no elitist, unlike most of today. He knew villagers and commoners; those whom he deemed honest and worthy of respect, and given them much of his honor into keeping up with their relations.

“Then, one day, one of Sir’s must trusted comrades, a fellow canine commander defending the country during the war, fell greatly ill and have succumbed to his sickness. Sir was a man of honor, and he wished not for the glory of his respectable friend to end in such an ungainly way. He took it upon himself and adopted the commander’s only son.

“After the wolf, his mansion expanded. Soon that one action paved the way to more, akin to the butterfly effect. Sir’s will to preserve honorable bloodlines had led him to take in sons and daughters of unfortunate families that deserved better; voluntarily at some occasions. Sir cared not for societal standings. His mansion housed children from all walks of life; from peasants to knights, farmers to royalties. Since that very day, the Academy had cultivated its first roots.

“A sanctuary turned into an exclusive grounds of sustenance. Enduring the since centuries ago, it had grown to what it has become today - an Academy of perseverance. A place not only for the privileged, but for the gifted and the most deserving of betterment. A place where we take the best and make them better. A noble quest, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Shi-”

The Secretary reared her head back as she glazed her eyes over Shiro, now crouched to his knees, his big figure gawking at her eye-leveled in ruby red.

“Have you been listening, Mr. Shiro?”

Shiro didn’t answer. He only stared, wide eyed and silent. He didn’t have his jaws open and unhinged, but to The Secretary it wasn’t any consolation.

“Mr. Shiro.”

“-Oh, y-yeah?” Shiro eyes diluted into focus as he snapped back.

There was a rising tone in The Secretary’s voice. “I wish to believe that you had been attentive, Mr. Shiro. Answer me this, who was the first child to be adopted by Sir?”

“Uh, a wolf?”

“Who was the wolf’s father?”

“A-a commander?”

“So why have you been staring, Mr. Shiro?”

“I-I, uh…”

“May I inform you, Mr. Shiro that I am in a relationship with a respectable man and though I am aware of my certain qualities, I wish to be treated with as much respect as my position as The Secretary carries.”

“I wasn’t…”

“So what would it be, Mr. Shiro?”

“......”

The Secretary glared ever more intently at poor Shiro as she wrung him to his final nerves, waiting for his response.

“You respect family traditions a lot, do you?"

For some reason unknown, The Secretary didn’t respond for a second. She spent a great deal of that second gazing at Shiro, thinking whatever there is behind her beady eyes. Then she shook her head and pushed up her glasses.

“Miss Secretary, Mr. Shiro. I need not remind you a second time.”

“R-right. Sorry.”

“The files.”

“The files? Oh, shi-”

Shiro was crouched so low that the papers begin slipping off the pile. He rocked his body back violently, barely saving the folders in his hands. He would’ve repeated the episode if The Secretary didn't hold Shiro's back. His whole weight practically fell onto her arm, and yet here she is, standing straight and balanced. They barely saved the papers as they slid back onto his chest.

“Be careful, Mister Shiro,” she said. “It would be quite a hassle if you were to drop those.”

Shiro scrambled up to join her as he smothered the paper into his chest. “Thanks.”

Damn, she's strong.

“Need not be. So, as I was speaking, what do you consider of Sir’s mission?”

“His mission?”

The Secretary nodded.

“Uh… thoughtful? He kept his family safe and had them schooled."

“Anything else?”

Shiro shrugged, “He is a good friend?”

"Are you certain?"

Shiro did a double-take and made his conclusion. He gave a definite nod, albeit suspicious on the side.

The Secretary, for the first time, gave a smirk of her own. It was a slight, mature smile, not overtly humored, but amused nonetheless.

"Would you like to know Sir's family profession?"

Shiro didn't know what else to answer. He shrugged.

"He was a firearms manufacturer. The weapons his business were produced directly for the procurement of the war."

"But didn't he-"

"He indeed fled with his family, but he was the causality of it. It was his business that caused the family to be endangered in the first place. Sir knew the devastation of his weapons and knew their power, for he is the one who designed them all. He caught wind of the war, coming ever closer to his vicinity. Sir could've stopped his work, but to stop is to acknowledge one's cowardice of their own power, and it wouldn’t fare well to the family’s name. It is only until the last moment when Sir decided that a family name wouldn’t do without a family, no matter how honorable one might be.

"Thus, they've fled. For the rest of their departure Sir was devastated; ashamed of his cowardice. It was a big crush for Sir’s pride; one belonging to a lion, at that. For this, he had forced his heirs into training, having them learn as young as infancy. He was described in history as a cruel, ruthless man, Mr. Shiro; far from caring and loving. He was never lax, not even to his own children. He had been known to punish his children if they unperformed, or even ban them from meals until they had reached an acceptable standard.”

The Secretary's words may be melancholic, but her determination and fiery passion in her tone made it sound like a magnificent opus. A sacrifice forced for the sake of family, even to abandon dignity and honor. A heavy decision made under burning fire, ignited by none other than the man himself.

It suddenly became awkward for Shiro. He felt like an outsider crashing into the heat of a drama he didn’t understand. He didn't know what to say, other than to stay as a silent listener.

"What happens after?" Shiro desperately coaxed The Secretary to keep talking so he wouldn't be forced to deal with silence. He wasn't a wolf with great communicative skills , as one would've guessed. He'd much rather stay listening, for he knew he had nothing better to say other than to acknowledge.

"Since then, he had done great efforts into regaining the family's strength. The wolf he accepted was a commander's son; a commander Sir knew personally and put high regards in his power. His strength and will was Sir's ambition, and a loss of such a great man made Sir mourn. He wished to precede his power, and thus he took the wolf under his wing, and trained him along with his kids as a preservation of the wolf's father's glory.

“His cruelty did not wane, however. He was as spiteful to him as he was to his children. As an example, he mercilessly banished one of his children out of the house, as he had been the least performing member of the mansion. Sir did have mercy of leaving the child with a property, adequate money and some servants, but it wasn’t enough for the child to bear the family name ever again. That was a testament to how far Sir is willing to go in the name of excellence.

"Sir remained as he is while taking in more students. The mansion grew; he built dorms, bigger fields, bigger dining rooms, and employed more facilitators than ever. The name remained secluded, only passed around among closed companies. Our existence isn't publicised to the world beyond, which is why you have not heard of the name Rormund before. But I can assure you our status as a top-tier Academy still stands, with its reputation only growing internally stronger than ever.

“But enough about Sir. Tell me something about yourself, Mr. Shiro."

"Eh-" Shiro didn't expect that to backfire that abruptly. He began scrambling his head for excuses.

"Y-You wouldn't want to know. It's normal, nothing special."

The Secretary made a sharp glance behind her. Then she started speaking herself.

"Then, maybe I would do so myself. I come from a foreign country, born of royalty. I am a princess, so to speak. Though I have many sisters before me, I still seek to prepare myself for when the unexpected does occur, I would be ready to handle it. My strengths are in my academics, primarily in my calculations, and have been scouted for enrollment in Rormund Academy for that reason. I have been quite lucky, if I may say so myself."

"Oh- wait, a princess?"

"Precisely. Now that you're acquainted with my particulars, it is only of a courteous manner if you share some of yours. If you're uncomfortable of such conduct, it is understandable, and the guide shall continue without further ado."

And the guide indeed continued without further ado. The Secretary just continued her steps, leading Shiro through the bleached corridor in silence as if the previous second never happened.

That's just cheating, Shiro thought.

She led him through more turns and more corridors, giving insight to whoever designed it. Some rising star of the industry along some famous veterans of interior designing fusing history and eras to create a comfortable learning environment that complements whatever it was that mattered. Shiro only half-listened as a underwent a miniature crisis within himself. One side of him told him that he was a bit of an ass for not answering the call, and that leaving a girl like The Secretary exposed of her particulars was ungentlemanly. Another side chimed in, claiming she had no right of asking for your information, and that if he did, he might accidentally blurt out something about himself,

something he swore to leave behind in the old days.

Unfortunately, Shiro had a bumpkin’s soul. He did have a little bit of childish chivalry left in his canine heart, and seeing as he’d purposely ignored a blatantly clear sign from a girl just wanting to know more about a boy, the guilt was too heavy. So heavy that it managed to rip Shiro’s consciousness away from control and flipped the autopilot switch in his head.

"I was born in a town," he found himself blurting to himself, "a small one. Wouldn't've heard it."

The Secretary glanced to her back, “Do go on.”

Shiro looked at The Secretary, wondering what she was talking about. Then his consciousness caught up. The past five seconds washed over him and brought along cold sweat and regret.

“I-I…”

“Hm?”

Eh…

Shiro did one last futile inner debate before drawing a big breath of acquiesce.

“Like I said, you wouldn’t know if I told you. My dad’s the policeman there. Good father. He sent me to school and all that. Whatever school didn’t teach me he did; including my mom. I’ve never seen her; Dad told me everything about her.

"Then he died when I was sixteen.

Shiro said the words as if they were nothing at all. There wasn't a hint of change in his voice, nor a tonal shift. Not even his expression twitched. Everything about him stayed exactly the same, as if he's describing a walk in the park on a Sunday afternoon.

"Mom took custody; the first time I've ever met her. Lived with her for a week. Then she sent me here.”

The Secretary's eyes stayed on Shiro the whole time as he spoke. Suddenly, she grew solemn, on the verge of being somber at that. “You need not speak if you do not feel so.”

“Well, just did, didn’t I?”

The Secretary’s gaze stayed at Shiro for a moment, as if she had more to say. Then she turned back, her silence retained.

The Secretary didn’t seem to talk much after that. Places of interest or structures The Secretary would most likely describe in full detail along with its history and ancestry were oddly left in silence. They walked for quite some time, with The Secretary mentioning no more than the general hints of directions and turns.

Suddenly, the corridors stopped abruptly, and it intersected with a giant hall that could only be described with splendor and a spitting image of opulence.

Shining a brilliant gold, chandeliers hung above the grand ceiling, radiating in a sparkle unrivaled even by the sun. The ceiling itself too, was something worthy of awe. A sprawling mural was printed on it, depicting two creatures interlocked in a ferocious battle; a golden, muscular lion with a luscious mane and bulging biceps and a dark, shadowy silhouette of itself, battling against a backdrop of fire, sparks and destruction. Every inch was dripping with intricate detail. Every sharp edge, silent screams, monstrous cries, blazing inferno; all drawn up with stunning verisimilitude, as if the scene itself was a perpetual battlefield, locked into this sprawling image etched onto the ceiling, brightened even more glorious by the chandeliers. There was no way anyone could miss the masterpiece before Shiro; even if you look to the floor the marble would reflect and grant you the full exposure of its brilliance.

The walls changed. Shiro didn’t notice the transition but somehow the bleached white of the corridors flourished into golden leaves, patterned across the walls in a cohesive mess. Portraits hung among the leaves, framed in golden arches, painted with immaculate workmanship. Every face had a near lifelike demeanor, imposing their eternal gazes at anyone lucky (or not) to cross its sight. They were all prominent-looking people wearing ancient-looking suits and clothing. It didn’t take a second guess for Shiro to tell these were some very important folks of the past.

Strangely enough, the usually descriptive Miss Secretary was silent of all of it.

Sitting on the end of the hall was an brass-door elevator, and the both of them stopped right in front, all while Shiro was busy going woah and wow as he glanced around.

The Secretary didn’t push any buttons for there were none. She only stopped in front, waiting for the doors to open, as it seems. Shiro didn’t seem to care; he was too busy woahing at the grand sight before him. It was shinier than anything’s Shiro had ever seen. The brightness was ensnaring his eyes, locking them in a magical entrapment, never letting it go-

“Mr. Shiro.”

Somehow the mural captured Shiro’s attention more and more as he looked. The emotions surging in the lion’s violent, silent glare was pumping into Shiro as well, a testament to how expertly painted the mural was done. He stared in awe as he traced his eyes to the shadowy figure fighting against it-

"Mr. Shiro."

The dark, black figure, ever rising in intensity as Shiro stared at it. There was something about the figure he couldn’t let go of. It was simply a silhouette of the lion itself, yet it seemed to be much more than that. It didn’t seem to simply just be another entity but somehow tied to the lion itself. It was a difficult emotion to process for just a mural, yet the more Shiro thought of it, the more drawn he beca-

"Mr. Shiro."

"-ri-RIGHT, sorry."

"Your hearing, Mr. Shiro. You should work on it."

Shiro ducked into the elevator, leaving a last glance at the two lions as the door closed. He looked around. Dull metal plated the walls, with no buttons present within; a far cry from it's outside. It was also quite small. Shiro's perking ears brushed against the ceiling as he entered, forcing him to lower his head.

Then, without cue, the elevator began moving. It spasmed for a second, jolting its inner mechanisms to life before rising to an ascent. As it went, The Secretary broke her silence.

"May I be permitted to be frank, Mr. Shiro?"

"F-frank? O-Oh, yeah, sure."

"Thank you. I am terribly sorry if you were to feel offended by my proceeding words but in aid of our mutual understanding, it is ineluctable to have our sentiments shared among each other."

Shiro didn't know what she meant. Even if he did, he wouldn't have understood why. He knew The Secretary already had a very peculiar way of thought but this was something he'd never wrap his head around. He could only nod and anticipate.

"To keep needless mollification apart, I will be blunt; I was distressed by your presence at first. Do take no misapprehensions, it is of biological reasons. Though there are canine among the Academy like you, I must admit I have never seen one as intimidating as your poise.

"Immediately, I have unconsciously adopted a defensive mental state against you, Mr. Shiro I suspect it must have stemmed from my herbivorous intuition, and have done my best to thoroughly ignore it. Yet, alas, I have succumbed to my organic desires."

"Make no misjudgment, Mr. Shiro. You are indeed quite a peculiar individual. You are prone to absenting your mind. You posses no qualm against a help from an inferior species. If I must be truthful, you take excess pity of your upbringing against higher societal standings. If I may be direct, you are a far cry from many wolves I have encountered, and it is shameful for me to have not perceived it sooner."

For the entire duration, Shiro could only keep quiet. They were the confessions of a girl's thoughts and mind of his accompaniment. Rid of all societal standings and typical norms, he is still a giant wolf, standing before a helpless cow half his size and strength.

"It's fine. I understand."

"You should not have, Mr. Shiro. You need not to."

"I didn't expect anything else."

"……"

She really is brutally honest, Shiro thought. He thought of saying something to break the tense atmosphere. The watching feeling hadn't left yet, pitting him deeper into uncomfortable territory. Thus, he could only think of saying such.

"At the end, you're a cow, and I'm the wolf."

The Secretary addressed nothing for a moment. The elevator proceeded with its silent run as the seconds passed.

Isn't this thing going too slow?

Then, The Secretary spoke.

"However, I wish not for my blunder to become a regret. Bear this well in mind, Mr. Shiro; never let go of the files off your arms until I say so."

What spooked Shiro was not her remarks on the files but the stern, unchanging expression on The Secretary's face as she spoke. It wasn't a spur of a moment thought but one spilled out of a pressured dam, bursting out from its confines.

Not a hint of emotion not feelings could be felt as Shiro heard her every word. It was like a speech recital, or a reading from a book. It was as if she had spoken it not out of emotional spite, but according to cold, calculated, logical sense.

"My strengths are in my academics, primarily in my calculations."

No kidding.

But what's with the files?

Then the elevators grind to a halt. The doors open, and three things happened in quick succession.

First, Shiro saw a room. The largeness of the room took his eyes first. It was too small to be a hall, and too big to be an office. It stretched the boundaries of being a 'room' just big enough for the space to be recognizable.

The room had a monotonous style to its decoration, with white concrete walls and black marble floors. A giant mahogany desk lorded one side of the room, and sheaves of files and papers and books towered over it like watchful sentries.

Sitting timidly on the other side was a tiny, black leather couch, stared down intently by a mammoth of a portrait hung above, done with the same quality and style of the ones in the hall. The wolf looked more modern than the others, boasting a very dark suit and a glaring, blood red tie. He also had a look in his eyes Shiro very much not wish to see again.

Then Shiro tripped on his own toes. His eyes were so engrossed into the details of the room that he didn't notice his feet were crossing each other. His bare toe crashed into his heel and before he knew it, he was heading on a high-speed collision with the cold marble below.

At that moment, his instincts kick in. His self-preservation slammed into his head, releasing his arms to face the blow. Then he felt the files. In that split second, his body clashed in a furious, internal battle of senses. Something in his body overwhelmed the other and he clenched his arms once more, clutching the files deep into his body, letting his body crash onto the floor in a dull, thumping slam.

But he wasn't fast enough, and one file in particular slipped out of his grasp. Yellow, it was, and a blur it became as it fell to the floor, clapping against the ground, sliding away from Shiro.

Then, as if instantaneously, an alarm broke off. Sitting above the ceiling among the tubes of fluorescent lights, a little bulb exploded into a panicking red. Along with the alarms, the lights went off, shrouding the room into a pitch black. The lights went off, but no sound came out, as if there was a lag between the detection and the execution.

As the lights exploded, Shiro exploded in motion as well.

Without rest, as if it was all in one continuous movement, Shiro yanked his body into a twist, facing his body upwards, balancing the files on his body. At the same time, he jammed his heel into an arch and pounced upwards; he flew across the marble on his sides, the files swerving dangerously on a leaning pile as he skidded across the ground.

In that half a blink’s time, Shiro threw his arm towards into a violent swing. The file slid into his hands as he scooped it back into the pile, his body still sliding across the floor. The alarm kept flashing and strobing, but there still wasn’t a single sound. Not a ring nor a siren emerged.

Shiro clutched the files deep in his hands, his body shrunk into a fetal position, his eyes closed and limbs shivering, expecting something to happen; something explosive, dangerous, worthy of being scolded by The Secretary.

And nothing came. Two breathless seconds passed, nothing happened.

Shiro dared his to move his limbs. He got up on one knee, paused for activity, sensed nothing and rose the other. He rubbed his eyes, getting his canine sight used to the dark before the room flashed with light once more, catching his poor eyes off guard.

I’m gonna go blind after this.

“Come here.” Shiro heard The Secretary calling for him.

He followed the voice with his blurry sight, stumbling towards the mahogany desk. The Secretary presented a tiny space between the stacks of files. “You may settle the papers here.”

“S-sorry for that.”

“You ought to be. You were told to heed caution before. Our security measurements are far from lax, especially here. The files are a method of prevention, as a way to identify your authorization. You were lucky, Mr. Shiro. The security system seems to have some hiccups today. If it was not for your reflexes and extraordinary luck, you would have been struck by our security measures.”

“W-what’ll happen to me?”

“That would be confidential information, but judging from your physique, it will be fatal.” Then The Secretary sighed. "Still, I should have mentioned it earlier in our meeting. My apologies."

Shiro gulped down a heavy lump in his throat and silently thanked his lucky stars. He expected a more specific answer, but this was enough on its own.

“Where is this place?”

“This would be my office, Mr. Shiro.”

“Your office?”

“Yes, my office.”

Shiro was bemused. As far as his knowledge extends, students don’t usually get their own room for their positions, especially one this polished and modern.

But, at the same time, this was a school with palm scanning security measures for their doors, so it shouldn't come off as a surprise by now.

“What am I here, anyway?"

“The President have requested to meet you.”

“THE PRESI-”

“Mr. President, Mr. Shiro. Only I can address The President as such.”

Shiro clasped his hands over his snout, but it wasn’t enough to hide his surprise. He’d seen shows on TV and heard experiences; a new student would usually get acquainted with a teacher before swiftly brought into a class, befriend a few students and can easily spend months without meeting a prominent academic figure in the school if it’s unneeded.

And here stood Shiro, rooted in place, just revealed that he was subjected into meeting the person who, allegedly, is the leader of every student in the school- no, Academy, as The Secretary would state.

“W-what’s he want with me?”

“That would be up to The President himself. He merely requested your presence.”

Shiro wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words. He only nodded, keeping to himself so that he doesn’t get cold feet. The Secretary led him to one end of the room, opposite to the brass-doors of the elevator. At first, Shiro was puzzled, for there wasn’t any opening space that would lead anywhere, much less a door. Then he recalled the double-doors, the twisting infrastructures and the need for guides to take the students around, and he became less bewildered after that.

The Secretary knocked on the solid wall twice, and stood back. Shiro stood alongside her, waiting for something to happen. As they stood, Shiro thought to ask.

“W-wait, what if other students wanted to meet the Presi- Mr. President.”

“They would have no reason to. None could request for The President’s presence, only The President himself may decide such privileges.”

“Do they have to take files too?”

“Not necessarily. The files are used for impromptu meetings, which are highly rare. You are the first individual in my personal history to have utilize such method. The President would usually register an individual to the system before requesting to meet them.”

“So why wasn’t I registered?”

“As I have mentioned, Mr. Shiro, your arrival is quite impromptu. We only caught the news two days ago, which is insufficient time to finish your registry; much to my inefficiency, my apologies. You would be stated for a temporary authorization, which I will procure once your meeting with The President has ended.”

“R-right, thanks.”

Again, Shiro thought to himself again. The doors, the infrastructure, the place itself, the hologram busts, the button-less elevator, the office, the whole procedure to just meet one person, be it as important as he may be. His mind already formed its own unconscious conclusion moments ago, and Shiro had only caught up now.

This isn’t a normal school.

Right, what other school has a limo service that brings students to school from dark alleyways? Which school has a public humiliation session for transfer students? Which school has mazes for hallways in case of “foreign invasion”?

But the time for questions had long passed already; something Shiro should’ve taken use of. Instead, he’d spent his precious minutes gawking on shiny things, dropping files and getting lost. Hopefully, The Presi- Mr. President would clear things up for him, and provide him at least a hint of light, or maybe a clue as to why he’s here in a place like this, given his position and everyone else's. Then, Shiro thought of something else.

What’s he want with me?

Just as the thought entered his head, the walls suddenly split, starting with a crevice before slowly expanding, forming a doorway. Shiro squinted his eyes for a bit, half-expecting bright, glorious light to spill out of the hole.

But what came in were only shadows, spilling all over the cold marble floor.