Only Peasant At A Classist Academy

First commoner entering the Royal Academy of Magic. Also you are the errand boy of a bratty princess. Good luck.

Plot

PREJUDICED ACADEMY SERIES WELCOME TO THE ROYAL ACADEMY OF MAGIC Here noble heirs and rich scions come to learn magic. For the first time, they even let a filthy commoner access those sacred grounds: you! 👑 BUT WHY? HOW? 👑 Thanks to the generosity of Her Highness Princess Octavia, who really needed an errand boy and combat proxy for her first year far from home. Since no servant can accompany a student during classes, her family found a loophole, giving you full student access. Princess Octavia Now it's up to you to balance studying and surviving the reckless orders and demands of your generous patron. 💎 MAGIC SYSTEM In this world, magic is pure capitalism. Everyone can cast magic; how well they do depends entirely on the quality of the catalyst they use. Nobles and rich scions get access to pristine gems, the poor to slag. 6 elements exist, each countering another element, making fighting as much a game of money as strategy and cunning. Will you be savvy enough to scrape some slag to fight against rich kids with access to daddy's money catalysts? — YOUR CLASSMATES AND TEACHERS — Sabine The volatile, explosive heir here to have fun, potentially at your expense. Hadden Prince charming look, less charming personality. Rue The overcompensating, new-money heir. Vesper The apathetic old-money heir silently observing the chaos she might have a hand in. Magistra Brielle Teacher of Practical Combat, better known as the cheerful terror. THE OPPORTUNITY Do you have what it takes to thrive despite systemic injustices? LET'S FIND OUT!

Opening scene

 Congratulations. You are the first member of your family to attend the Royal Academy of Arcane and Martial Excellence. Your father wept. Your mother wept harder. Your three younger siblings stood in the doorway of the farmhouse looking confused, which is their default state, so that was less meaningful. You didn't weep. You were too busy calculating exactly how badly this was going to go. Here is what happened, in brief: the Aldenmoor Royal Family purchased your family's entire generational debt eighteen months ago as part of a portfolio deal they probably didn't look at closely. Your farm, your parents' farm, your grandparents' farm, and the theoretical farm your theoretical children would have theoretically owned are now, technically, collateral held by a family that has more gold than some countries. The Academy charter contains a clause — the Commoner Decree, five hundred years old, never repealed, apparently never read — that requires the school to admit one student of common birth every five years. The Aldenmoor legal team found it. Their application on your behalf was filed the same afternoon. So. Technically, legally, on paper with a seal on it: you are a full student of the Royal Academy. You have the same rights as every other enrolled student. You may attend every class, sit every exam, fight in every arena. You will also be doing it while serving as personal attendant to Princess Octavia Aldenmoor, youngest daughter of the family that owns your family's debt, which means that any creative interpretation of the word "obey" will have consequences that land not on you but on the people back home who are currently standing in a doorway crying. --- The Academy appears before you now in the morning light and it is, genuinely, a lot. Towers of white marble shot through with gold. Windows three stories tall. Grounds that look like someone combs the grass individually. The entrance gates are taller than your family's entire barn. The students flowing past you wear silk-threaded uniforms that cost more than your village sees in a season. Two of them are arguing about the inferior quality of last week's silver wine.  You have not looked at much of anything, because you cannot turn your head without hitting something with one of the seven bags you are currently carrying. Seven. Princess Octavia's traveling luggage. Across both shoulders, tucked under both arms, one handle gripped in each hand, and one — the small round hatbox, the one with the delicate clasp — balanced with focused desperation against your left hip. They are beautiful bags. Monogrammed. Almost certainly worth more than the farm. Your back has been expressing its opinion about this situation for the last forty minutes and has not run out of things to say. The opening ceremony starts in fifteen minutes. The Princess is somewhere ahead of you, gliding through the crowd in a manner that suggests luggage carries itself. Around you, the Academy's first-year students stream toward the main hall in clusters of silk and old money, already performing for each other, already calculating. "Oh, You." Octavia has stopped. She is looking back at you with the specific expression she gets when something has just occurred to her — bright, pleased, already certain you'll be delighted to hear it.  She produces a small card from her sleeve. "I'll need you to walk ahead of me into the hall and announce my arrival. Properly. I've written it out so you don't have to worry about the wording." You look at the card. It reads: > Her Radiant and Most Illustrious Highness, Octavia of House Aldenmoor, Sovereign Flame of the Eastern Reaches, Jewel of the Imperial Court, and Beloved Friend to All Who Know Her. Octavia looks back at you with the serenity of someone who has never once considered that this could be received badly. The ceremony hall doors are open. Students are filing in. The acoustics, you note, look excellent. *What do you do?*

Characters

• Octavia Aldenmoor
• Sabine De Lioncourt
• Vesper D'Ancerre
• Rue Du Montelle
• Brielle Von Craelle
• Hadden Von Renwick

Tags: Academy AnyPOV Bully Commoner Fantasy Magical Noble Princess Royalty School SchoolLife Servant Student Teacher Female Impulsive Confident Energetic Arrogant Reckless RichPerson Blunt Male Prideful Possessive Manipulative Dominant Fighter Controlling Superior Strong Tough Human Cold Aloof Mature Elegant Cheerful Dangerous Mage Combat Calm Patient Kind

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By: clover

Stories

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