The campus was massive.
So much so that every building—though marked with distinct purposes—looked nearly identical at first glance.
If it weren't for my memory, I would've been wandering in circles like a lost tourist.
But thanks to the fragmented pieces of Noah's retained knowledge, I managed to navigate the sprawling layout and find the Magic Engineering Tower, or the ME Tower, where the Magic Engineering Department (MED) was located.
The tower stood proudly on the eastern edge of the campus grounds, slightly tucked away from the main academic buildings.
Just like everything else in this world, its architecture exuded a fantastical blend of Victorian grandeur and historical fantasy—tall spires, steep slate roofs, intricate iron filigree around the windows, and a set of double-arched oak doors etched with alchemical runes and glowing magical sigils that shimmered faintly in the sunlight.
Unlike the rest of the buildings on campus, which gleamed in pristine shades of white and marble, the ME Tower was constructed entirely from ash-grey stone, giving it a solemn, almost brooding atmosphere.
The stone was cold to the touch, even under the afternoon sun, and seemed to hum with residual mana—no doubt from years of experimental enchantments and engineering trials conducted within its walls.
It made sense, really.
Magic Engineering wasn't about elegance or tradition—it was about raw functionality, invention, and dangerous innovation.
The grey was fitting.
A symbol of machinery, alloy, steel, and smoke.
The ground floor was abuzz with quiet activity, containing hybrid rooms that served as both lecture halls and engineering workshops.
The walls were lined with chalkboards, metallic conduits pulsing with energy, and workbenches cluttered with unfinished devices, crystal cores, and brass mechanisms.
Each room felt alive, charged with purpose and the sound of gears turning, mana crackling, and pens scribbling notes in the margins of blueprints.
The first floor housed something rare—an in-built library, a feature no other department had save for the prestigious Saint Luka Library itself.
But unlike Saint Luka's marble-floored grandeur, this one had an academic austerity to it.
Towering shelves crammed with tomes on elemental convergence, schematic theory, rune calibration, and countless volumes of magical physics lined the arched room.
Glass-domed lanterns hovered in the air, casting a steady light over long reading tables worn smooth by generations of students.
I hadn't ventured to the top two floors, but I knew enough.
Most likely, they held faculty offices, personal research quarters, storerooms, and perhaps even a few restricted laboratories for experiments too dangerous to conduct in public areas.
And as I stood in the main corridor, absorbing the heavy scent of old parchment, molten steel, and dusted magic, a voice broke through the moment.
"Oh, Senior Professor Noah… What a pleasant surprise meeting you here."
I turned my head.
A man approached—dressed in an immaculate black trench coat, gloves to match, and thin-rimmed glasses perched delicately on his nose.
His hair was slicked back in a swoop almost identical to mine—too perfect, like he woke up and immediately wanted to prove a point.
So much so that it was weird...as if I was looking at myself.
"I thought the classes begin tomorrow…" he said, his smile all politeness, eyes sharp with layered intent.
I met his gaze coolly.
"Do I need a reason to visit the ME Tower as its Senior Instructor?"
My voice was flat.
Blunt.
"Still as cold as ever," he murmured with a mock sigh, before continuing.
"I also heard that your course this year will be a combination of different year students… An unconventional change."
His tone was syrupy sweet.
The kind that made you itch.
"I do hope," he added, "you're able to manage—and thrive—with the sudden shift."
His words painted as encouragement, but everything in his demeanor prayed for my failure.
I could feel it.
And by the cold stiffness in my chest, so could this body.
Scholar rivals, maybe.
No. Definitely.
"I also look forward to seeing what research you'll present at The Summit," he said before pivoting on his heel and strolling down the corridor like a man on stage.
Professor Brael Von Kaelyn.
That was his name.
Even as Ju-Won, I could immediately tell—he was a bastard.
The disgusting, cunning kind.
One who wore civility like armor and manipulation like perfume.
I exhaled deeply, shaking my head.
"I already have too much on my plate," I muttered under my breath.
"I won't engage in his bickers and provocations."
I couldn't afford to.
I could barely map out my own survival.
But regardless… I'd keep him in mind.
A roadblock.
And more importantly, a potential death variable.
Eventually, I found my designated workshop:
[WS 1-8]
It was… cleaner than I expected.
The room carried the sterile scent of polished steel and treated wood, with a strange undercurrent of burnt crystal—a scent unique to failed mana-core experiments.
The podium stood near the front, elevated slightly and fashioned from reinforced metal.
On it, a plaque embedded with the emblem of the department: three interlocking magical gears, etched into the surface, and behind them, the letters MET, stylized to resemble a rising tower.
A symbol of progress, structure, and innovation.
The desks were aligned in ascending rows, almost like an amphitheater, allowing every student a clear view of the board and the podium.
Each desk was long, fitted with storage compartments beneath, and enchanted with safety runes in case of accidents.
I noticed several still had tools tucked underneath—mana drivers, gear extractors, crystal testers.
At the corners of the room, large windows framed the outside.
They were tall and arched, wide enough to let in fresh air—and likely designed to allow swift ventilation in case of smoke or magical backlash.
Safety by design.
Behind the final row of desks, lining the back wall, were tall shelves filled with books and guides.
I wandered over, running my fingers along the spines.
Beginner-level engineering theory, spell-infused gear design, manuals for mana-conversion arrays, dissertations on machine-rune interactions, blueprints from past projects across years.
The selection was surprisingly robust.
And interesting.
"From a Korean corporate office worker to an instructor in magic…"
I muttered, letting out a small laugh.
The absurdity was still fresh.
I passed a few more desks, glancing at the tools, mentally cataloguing them.
Then back to the books. This room wasn't just a classroom. It was a workshop, a lab, a testing ground.
It was where future Magitech Engineers were made.
And now I was supposed to teach them?
All of them?
Teaching was one thing.
But now that I'd been told different years would be mixed into a single class, it felt like a whole different challenge.
And worst of all, the other instructors were expecting me to be some sort of prodigy. A well of infinite knowledge.
But strangely enough… there was enough I did know.
Thanks to this body.
Thanks to Noah's residual memories.
Maybe, just maybe, I could wing it.
Tomorrow would be the first test.
To see what the students knew.
To see what I could pull off.
I'm still Ju-Won, even if I wear Noah's face.
I have to prepare.
There's only so much a person can change—
Even when switching bodies.
***
After checking out the workshop and mentally taking note of its layout and resources, I decided it was time to head back to my office.
With tomorrow's classes approaching, I thought about discussing the curriculum and the mix of year levels with Clara—there were bound to be complications, and her insight could help.
The hallways were quieter now, the echoes of distant footsteps bouncing faintly against the grey stone walls and arched ceilings.
I turned a corner, my mind still lost in logistical concerns, when someone suddenly barreled into me.
Everything the person had been carrying toppled into the air—small, colorful items spinning in a chaotic arc before falling to the floor with soft thuds.
One particular item landed squarely on my face, momentarily obscuring my vision.
I slowly peeled it off and looked at it.
It was a blazer.
White, smooth to the touch, with golden linings that traced its edges delicately.
The buttons were polished gold, ornate and regal, and the cufflinks shimmered like miniature emblems.
It looked hand-tailored, ceremonial almost—similar to the outfit I'd worn to my Welcome Party, though arguably more refined.
"...This looks good..."
I murmured under my breath, running a thumb along one of the gold trims.
Scattered around my feet were more embroidery materials—threads, folded cloth, thimbles, delicate needles in small wooden cases, and even a sketchbook partially open, revealing design patterns.
That's when I finally looked down to see who I had collided with.
She was on the floor, rubbing her head and sitting amid the chaos like a character straight out of a visual novel—because she was.
My eyes widened.
The face before me was unmistakable.
One I'd seen countless times on splash screens, event banners, and dialogue scenes.
It was a face I was more familiar with than most others in this world.
Light pink hair tied into two messy buns, strands falling out and giving her a slightly clumsy yet endearing look.
Bright blue eyes—wide with panic and concern—met mine.
"Oh my gosh… I'm so sorryyyy!"
She yelped, quickly grabbing the blazer from my hands with a flustered expression.
"I didn't mean to bump into anyone—my arms were full and—and I was just trying to get to the club room before—"
She trailed off as she began scrambling on the floor, trying to gather the spilled items while mumbling more apologies under her breath.
Watching her panic, I couldn't help but think.
if my sister Hana ever saw this, or even if I told her about it—she wouldn't believe me.
Her favorite character in the entire romance fantasy game… was talking to me.
Interacting with me like I was just part of her everyday world.
I silently crouched down and began helping her pick up the items.
She paused for a second, blinking, then offered a sheepish smile.
"Thank you… I was actually waiting for a friend to help me move these to the club room..."
She said, voice tinged with a mix of gratitude and nervousness.
"But she's late... and I thought I could do it myself, but... clearly not."
I didn't say much.
Just helped.
Folded some of the softer cloth pieces and stacked them carefully.
Once I'd gathered a small bundle in my arms, she looked at me again, clearly still a bit embarrassed but thankful.
"Um… do you mind carrying them with me?"
I nodded.
We made our way through the hall, and she led me to a door with a small engraved sign reading Creative Stitching and Design Club.
When she pushed it open, I could already tell by the colorful fabrics hanging on the walls, the mannequins dressed in half-complete outfits, and the tables scattered with scissors and pins—this was definitely a room for embroidery or creative arts.
I set the items down on a large table, placing the folded cloths gently beside the thread boxes.
She followed behind, arranging things neatly and muttering to herself as she sorted them.
Then, she turned to thank me.
But her expression shifted mid-sentence into one of visible shock.
I followed her gaze down—first to the mirror behind her, then to my reflection.
The crisp white shirt I was wearing had a dark, ugly blotch seeping down from the collar—a bottle of black ink must've burst open during the collision and splashed onto me.
"Oh no—! I'm so sorry again!"
She gasped, running up to me, her hands flailing in panic as she searched for tissues or a cloth.
I didn't move.
I simply raised a hand, gently patting her on the head as I finally spoke for the first time since we met.
"It's okay," I said calmly.
"I'll clean it."
She nodded slowly, clearly still feeling bad, but I gave her a light look—enough to keep her from apologizing again.
Without another word, I turned and stepped out of the club room, leaving behind the warm smell of fabric and the slightly stunned heroine still standing by the table.
"...looks like this world isn't going to stop surprising me anytime soon."
***
The peaceful hum of fabric and the soft rustling of threads in the club room was abruptly interrupted as the door burst open with a thud.
"Lumi! I'm so, so sorry I'm late!!" a voice cried out.
A girl with short chestnut-brown hair hurried inside, nearly tripping over her own feet as she stumbled past a half-unpacked roll of fabric.
A satchel swung at her side, a few embroidery patterns poking out of the top like crumpled feathers.
Her cheeks were slightly red from running, and she still had a half-eaten taiyaki pastry clamped in one hand.
Lumi, who had just finished neatly arranging a box of gold-thread spools, turned at the commotion.
She tucked a pink strand of hair behind one ear, puffed up her cheeks, and gave an exaggerated little "hmph", complete with a perfectly executed pout.
The brown-haired girl—clearly unfazed—giggled and slid up beside her, wrapping one arm around Lumi in a quick side-hug.
"Forgive me, pleaaase?"
She said in a drawn-out whine.
"I'll get you strawberry pancakes from that café near the library—extra syrup."
Lumi's pout wavered for a mere second.
"...Fine."
"Yay!!"
With that crisis resolved through the irresistible power of pancakes, the brown-haired girl plopped down beside Lumi, brushing a few pins and swatches aside with a lazy flick.
"Anyway... what happened to you? You look like a hot mess."
Lumi looked down at herself—wrinkled skirt, a faint ink stain on her fingers, and a bit of thread stuck to her sleeve.
She let out a small groan and leaned back.
"I fell down carrying all the supplies earlier," she said with a dramatic sigh.
"I ran into someone—like literally.
He helped me carry everything here after I spilled it everywhere.
I felt awful... Especially since ink ended up spilling on his pristine white collar."
The girl blinked.
"Wait, wait. Who helped you?"
"I don't know. I've never seen him before..."
Lumi said, tapping a finger to her chin.
"He had really nice black silk hair—pushed back with a few strands falling down from the sides?
And these amber eyes that kind of... glowed when he looked at you.
Oh—and his long blazer had a badge with, like... gears or something on it?"
She turned to her friend, only to find her sitting frozen with her mouth wide open.
"What's wrong?"
Lumi asked, leaning in slightly.
The girl didn't respond right away, just pointed with her mouth still hanging ajar.
Lumi sighed and gently pushed up her friend's lower jaw with one finger.
"If you're going to stare, at least close your mouth."
Her friend snapped out of it.
"Lumi..."
"Yeah?"
"You bumped into the Senior Professor of the Magic Engineering Tower… the head… Senior Instructor Noel."
Lumi tilted her head.
"Oh, so that's who he was?"
She said with an impish grin, spinning a spool of thread between her fingers.
Her friend stared harder.
"What's with that expression?!
Something I should know?"
Lumi just hummed and leaned back against the table, smug and playful.
"Lumi."
"Yeeeaaahhh?"
"That man's known for being ruthless and cold—like demon cold.
Like, 'If-you-turn-in-a-project-five-minutes-late-he-might-drop-you-in-a-rift' cold!
Commoners say he speaks in equations and drinks molten mana for breakfast.
Do you know he failed a whole class once for asking him to fix a lamp?"
Lumi blinked.
Slowly, her mouth opened in realization—wide enough to match her friend's earlier expression.
"Oh noooo… I'm definitely in his bad books," she groaned, her voice small as she sunk behind a stack of cloth.
"He's going to vaporize me... I'm going to be turned into extra thread."
Just as the dramatics began to peak, the door to the club room swung open once more with a quiet creak.
Both girls turned.
A woman stepped into the room, graceful and commanding, her heels barely making a sound on the wooden floor.
"Oh! Good evening, club patron," the brown-haired girl said quickly, hopping up with a nervous smile.
She had silky white hair that shimmered under the warm light, cascading down her back in straight sheets.
Her red eyes swept the room like polished rubies.
She wore a white, form-fitting dress that flared like a bell at the ankles, paired with a crisp white shirt and a small tailored blazer that buttoned neatly at the waist.
Her very presence was like winter elegance made human.
Lumi, still half-collapsed behind a cloth bundle, stared from the floor.