Chapter 1: Being a maid? Me?

Leon’s life ended in a way that was utterly unremarkable, even somewhat pathetic.

He didn’t die heroically in a battle against a world-destroying demon king, nor did he go down shouting bold proclamations like “For humanity!” on the bridge of an interstellar warship.

It was just a sunny afternoon when he jumped into the water to save a drowning child, only to cramp up and sink to the bottom himself.

When his consciousness cleared again, he was no longer Leon, but Alya.

An ordinary girl living in the Kingdom of Tartalia, the daughter of a baker’s family.

Reincarnation, huh? So be it.

Though her starting point was merely a commoner, with the knowledge in her head—centuries ahead of this era—she could revolutionize bread fermentation techniques, employ hunger marketing, or introduce a membership points system… Becoming a business tycoon and living a happy life seemed well within reach.

Alya stood on the bustling main street of her hometown, the sun shining brightly, the air filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread and a faint whiff of horse manure.

She clenched her fists, her heart ablaze with determination.

“My wonderful new life begins today…”

Before she could finish, her vision went dark.

A rough sack, reeking of burlap and mold, was suddenly yanked over her head.

Before she could let out a proper scream, a pair of strong arms hoisted her up by the waist and roughly shoved her into a jolting, swaying space.

…Begins, my foot!

What kind of dramatic plot twist was this?!

Kidnapped? Why?

For money? My family has nothing but flour!

For looks? My underdeveloped bean-sprout figure has nothing to offer!

After what felt like an eternity of stomach-churning jolts, Alya was dragged out and dumped somewhere.

The sack was ripped off her head, and blinding light forced her to squint.

She found herself tightly bound to a cold wooden chair, unable to move.

The room was pitch black, the only light coming from a flickering bulb above her head, dangling like a solitary eye, coldly staring down at her.

“Alya Winster, sixteen years old, born in a border town of the kingdom. Father, John, a baker. Mother, Mary. No magical talent, utterly ordinary, with a peculiar hobby of hiding behind the bakery to read lowbrow knight novels…”

A clear, melodious, yet emotionless female voice echoed in the darkness, reciting her life story as if reading a report, down to the exact number of copper coins in the little stash she hid under her bed.

Hey, what about personal privacy?

And “lowbrow knight novels”? Those are treasures of the human spirit, okay!

“…Yesterday, in the town square, she declared she would begin her ‘wonderful new life.’”

The voice paused, carrying a faint, almost imperceptible mockery.

A sheet of paper floated out from the darkness, landing at the edge of the light above her.

In elegant handwriting, it detailed everything the voice had just recited.

Tap, tap, tap…

The crisp sound of high heels approached, unhurried, each step resonating with Alya’s heartbeat.

A pair of exquisite black high heels, adorned with tiny mana crystal shards, stepped into the light.

Then, the figure of a young girl emerged fully into view.

She seemed around Alya’s age, perhaps slightly older.

Her silver hair, soft as moonlight, was neatly pinned up, with a few strands delicately framing her ears.

Her skin was so fair it was almost translucent, her features like a divine sculptor’s masterpiece, flawless in every way.

Her violet eyes were deep as the starry sky yet cold as the purest gemstone, devoid of any warmth or impurity.

She wore a tailored dark riding outfit—not a school uniform, yet more regal than any uniform could ever be.

A thin leather belt cinched her slender waist.

She wore no excessive jewelry, but her mere presence outshone any gem. Standing there, her fingers idly brushing a silver button on her sleeve, her innate elegance and overwhelming aura made the room’s air feel frozen.

My goodness… what kind of mythical beauty is this? Wait, is this really the time to admire her? I’m a kidnapped hostage!

But… she’s really stunning.

“Alya Winster.”

The girl’s lips parted slightly, her voice the same cold tone from before.

She tilted her head, her violet eyes finally reflecting Alya’s image.

“Your parents, addicted to gambling, owe the Winter family a substantial debt.”

She raised a slender finger, her gesture as graceful as conducting a symphony.

“No more, no less—exactly ten million gold coins.”

Alya’s brain buzzed and crashed.

“T-Ten million? Gold coins?! Are you kidding me? You could sell me by the pound and not even cover a fraction of that! Did my deadbeat parents gamble away the kingdom’s treasury?!”

“Regrettably, they fled last night.”

The girl’s tone was flat, as if commenting on pleasant weather.

“So, naturally, their debt falls to you—their only daughter.”

She took a step closer, the click of her heels tightening Alya’s chest.

Looking down at her, the girl’s eyes gleamed with a hint of cat-and-mouse amusement.

“Now, you have two choices.”

“First, be sent to the mana crystal mines in the north. Your flesh would make a fine snack for the hungry mana worms.”

Mana worms? Sounds like bad news! Feed me to bugs? No way!

“Second…”

“I choose the second!”

Alya practically shouted, her survival instincts overriding all thought.

The girl seemed amused by her urgency, the corner of her mouth twitching into a fleeting, barely noticeable smile.

“The second choice,” she paused, clearly savoring Alya’s tension, “is to attend Saint Freya Academy for Girls.”

Saint Freya Academy for Girls—the most prestigious, dragon-scaringly expensive noble magic academy in the Kingdom of Tartalia.

What kind of plot twist is this? Does she see some rare magical talent in me and wants to sponsor my education?

“…As my personal maid.”

I knew it couldn’t be that good!

Alya’s mind was screaming complaints, but her face could only muster a smile uglier than a sob.

“So… the second choice is to work off the debt while attending school?”

“School?”

The girl, Lillian, laughed softly as if she’d heard the funniest joke. Her laugh was as crisp as ice, and just as cold.

“I think you misunderstand. You, Alya Winster, will accompany me, Lillian von Winter, to Saint Freya Academy for Girls as my maid. Your role is solely that of a servant.”

She leaned down, her face drawing close to Alya’s.

A faint, crisp scent, like a pine forest after snow, filled Alya’s nose.

Her face was so close that Alya could see her long, thick lashes and her own small, panicked reflection in those deep purple eyes.

“Of course, in my benevolence, I’ll allow you to audit some classes—ones your limited intellect can handle—after you’ve completed all your duties.”

Her voice was low, laced with a dangerous, almost seductive magnetism.

“After all, an overly dim servant might dampen her master’s mood, don’t you think?”

At that moment, the distance between them felt intimate, yet the atmosphere was colder than a Siberian frost.

Her breath brushed Alya’s cheek, sending a shiver through her.

This wasn’t some romantic moment—it was blatant intimidation and dominance!

Damn this wicked noble girl! So beautiful, yet so cruel! And her lashes are so long…

No! Not the time for that!

“Here’s the contract.”

Lillian straightened up, producing a faintly glowing parchment from nowhere and unrolling it before Alya.

Written in ancient script, it was filled with dense clauses, and at the bottom were the signatures of her irresponsible parents.

“Sign it, Alya,” Lillian said, her voice returning to its cold tone. “Your new life is about to begin.”

What choice did Alya have?

Compared to being eaten by bugs, serving a beautiful but vicious noble girl seemed… not entirely unbearable.

With trembling hands, she signed her name on the contract.

The moment her fingers touched the parchment, a red light flashed, and the contract dissolved into a stream of light, sinking into the back of her hand and leaving a faint, intricate, and ornate mark.

When Alya was “dropped off” at home, she was greeted by an empty bakery.

The cashbox on the counter had been pried open, completely empty.

Upstairs, her parents’ room was a mess—clothes and valuables gone, leaving only chaos, as if mocking her naivety.

They really had fled.

After the initial shock, anger, and a touch of sadness, Alya—a reincarnated soul from the 21st century—quickly accepted reality.

Weeks later, she arrived in the capital, dragging a battered suitcase containing a few servant uniforms and some travel money grudgingly provided by the Winter family’s butler.

Now, she stood before the legendary Saint Freya Academy for Girls.

The massive archway, built from pure white stone, was adorned with intricate, sacred carvings.

Two enormous black iron gates, inlaid with golden runes, stood open like the maw of a giant beast.

Through the gates, she glimpsed a campus as vast as a forest, with towering Gothic spires piercing the sky and castle-like buildings gleaming in the sunlight.

Students moved about in groups, their exquisite uniforms radiating confidence and pride.

Each one seemed to belong to a world entirely separate from Alya’s.

She glanced down at her plain, almost shabby gray skirt, then up at the gates, grander than a king’s castle.

So… I’m really going to “attend” school here?