I hated ties.Not in a philosophical way—just the literal, physical kind.The long strip of starched fabric that strangled my neck every morning, daring me to look like I belonged here.

  Rosenwald Academy’s uniform code didn’t care about personal comfort. It didn’t care that I’d grown up in Nyoria, where the sun beat down hard and clothes were loose, breathable, and sane. Here, the tie was sacred. Straight. Tight. Symbolic of discipline.

  And I… well, I sucked at it.

  “Damn it,” I muttered under my breath, staring at my reflection in the dormitory’s communal mirror.

  Technically, this was the shared bathroom at the end of the boys’ hall—marble-tiled and spotless, with enough shine to reflect every single mistake in your outfit. I stood alone in front of the sink, tugging at the knot like I was wrestling a snake.

  To my left, the showers steamed faintly from someone else’s early rise. To my right, the door creaked slightly—open just enough to remind me that anyone could walk in and see me like this.

  Clumsy. Frustrated. Foreign.

  "sigh~..."

  I sighed, letting go of the tie, which now hung in a crooked noose around my collar.

  Back home, I never wore anything like this. Not even on ceremonial days. My uncle, who helped raise me after my parents passed, always said a man should dress with dignity—but also with sense. "Don’t let clothes turn you into someone you're not," he'd say.

  ...I wondered what he’d say now if he saw me struggling like this.

  Then came the voice. Soft. Proper. Distinct.

  “Still at war with the cravat, I see?”

  I flinched slightly and turned—there she was, leaning casually against the doorframe like she owned the hallway.

  Liliane von Glanzheim.

  Perfect posture, long blonde hair cascading over one shoulder, crisp uniform flawless as always. She wasn’t supposed to be in the boys’ wing—girls had their own tower, with a curfew and all—but Liliane didn’t care much for rules if they got in the way of her… well, Liliane-ness.

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  "Gulp!"

  I cleared my throat, fumbling to tighten the tie, hoping she hadn't seen how pathetic I looked a moment ago.

  “You know this is the boys’ dorm, right?”

  She gave a playful shrug and stepped inside, ignoring the “No Girls Beyond This Point” plaque on the wall like it was decorative art.

  “Technically, this is the communal washroom. It's neutral territory during morning prep hours. Article Six of the student code, subsection three.”

  Of course she memorized the rulebook!

  Before I could think of a snarky comeback, she was already in front of me!

  I froze as she reached up—lightly, deliberately—and took the tie into her hands. Her fingers brushed against my chest, and just like that, my heartbeat jumped to somewhere near my ears.

  “You really should ask for help, Zuberi,” she murmured, looping the tie with practiced grace.

  “You’ll strangle yourself one of these days.”

  “I’ve almost accepted that fate,” I said dryly, trying not to show how tense I’d gone.

  She smirked but didn’t reply.

  Her focus was on the tie. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and I could smell something floral and expensive drifting off her. Peonies? Lilac? I never bothered learning the names of perfume, but hers always hit different.

  “There,” she finally said, stepping back.

  The knot was perfect—symmetrical, crisp, not too tight. “Now you look less like a panicked transfer student and more like someone who belongs.”

  I looked away, hiding a smile I didn’t mean to wear.

  “Thanks... Liliane.”

  ".........."

  A beat of silence followed. She didn’t move toward the door. I glanced up and found her staring at me, head tilted. Her expression wasn’t teasing now. It was… thoughtful.

  “I don’t mind helping, you know,” she said. “Even if it’s every morning.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  She didn’t answer directly. Instead, she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a thin blue ribbon—the kind the girls at the academy wore around their hair or pinned to their breast pocket. Gently, she reached up and slipped it around the base of my tie, tying it in a clean, simple bow.

  “There,” she whispered. “Now it’s ours.”

  I blinked. “Ours?”

  “A secret little rebellion. Boys wear their house crests. Girls wear ribbons. But you? You wear both.”

  I looked down at it, confused but strangely honored. It was a small, simple thing—but also completely against uniform regulations.

  “Won’t people talk?” I asked quietly.

  “They already do,” she replied. “Let them talk.”

  Before I could ask her what that meant—what we meant—she turned and walked toward the door, her shoes clicking softly on the tiles.

  “Oh,” she called over her shoulder, “by the way, you’ve got History of Statecraft with me today. Don’t be late again. You snore when you nap.”

  “I don’t snore~,” I muttered.

  But she was already gone.

  I stood alone in front of the mirror, staring at the ribbon she’d tied beneath my throat. It was strange, the way it looked—out of place, yet deliberate.

  Like someone had claimed a piece of me in a language I didn’t yet understand.

  Maybe that’s what she wanted. Or maybe it was something more dangerous than I could guess?

  But either way...

  I didn’t fix it. I left the ribbon on.