Miss Witch Doesn’t Want to Become a Songstress

The carefree chime of the bell signaled the end of class. In the classroom, the teacher paused briefly, made a summary of the lesson, and then dismissed the students.

The students began packing up their belongings—some left immediately, while others made plans to grab a meal together.

“Thilan, want to join me for lunch?” Dolores invited the girl. Today, Dolores was dressed, as usual, in an elegant and slightly lavish lace dress. Her natural grace made her attire feel perfectly suited, avoiding any sense of pretentiousness.

“Sure,” Hestia agreed, rising to accompany Dolores toward the cafeteria.

Today, they went to the Sky Restaurant on the southern side of Edess Academy. The restaurant offered stunning views, with its circular outer walls entirely made of glass, seamlessly joined without any obstructive frames or bars. It was a single, continuous pane of glass that made for an extraordinary sight.

Sitting by the glass wall, the two could clearly see the blue sky and white clouds overhead. The restaurant was spacious, and the occasional sound of clinking plates or murmured conversation from other students added a touch of life without breaking the serene ambiance.

Dolores had a preference for light and mildly sweet dishes, avoiding anything too greasy or strongly flavored. Her plate often included a selection of fresh fruits—never overly sweet but perfectly palatable. Her daily attire was always tasteful and refined, highlighting her elegant figure. Although she was not particularly sociable, there was no shortage of talk about Dolores among the students.

As the new students settled into their routines, some began compiling unofficial rankings based on appearance or popularity. Among the top five most beautiful girls, two were first-years: Dolores and Evony. To avoid disputes over hierarchy, the list was left unordered. However, Hestia was not included in the rankings—not because she was less attractive than Dolores or Evony, but because her inclusion was considered controversial. Ultimately, the list creators chose to give her a special mention instead.

Hestia, a first-year student from an ordinary family with decent but unremarkable grades, had gained attention due to her speech at the new student orientation. Some admired her, while others believed the school had selected her as a neutral representative to avoid potential conflicts among influential families. Her striking looks often went unnoticed at first glance, though photos and videos revealed her undeniable beauty. Outside the first-year class, Hestia’s presence was even less prominent among the older students. Her low profile and lack of influential background made her easy to overlook.

During meals, Dolores observed impeccable etiquette, rarely speaking while eating—a habit Hestia shared. When dining together, their mutual silence often gave outsiders the impression that they were at odds or in the midst of a disagreement.

In truth, the two were deeply in sync, understanding each other’s thoughts with minimal words. Their quiet companionship was a rare and treasured friendship.

After finishing their meal, they let an automated cleaning unit clear their table and remained seated by the glass wall, admiring the scenery. Occasionally, a spacecraft would glide across the sky.

As they talked, the conversation turned to recent events in their lives. Dolores shared anecdotes about her family and her long-haired calico cat. She seemed uninterested in external distractions, preferring a simple life sheltered from the chaos of the outside world.

When Hestia brought up current news, Dolores would sometimes make an effort to stay informed, though she otherwise avoided such topics.

“There’s too much noise and attention-grabbing nonsense in the news. I usually stick to company briefs that cover industry updates and federation policy changes,” Dolores explained.

“Do you ever watch movies or play games?” Hestia asked, curious.

“Not really. Occasionally, I’ll read a book,” Dolores replied. “Sometimes my father recommends something, but I usually don’t bother with his suggestions,” she added.

“You really are a unique kind of lady,” Hestia remarked softly. Having met many students from prominent backgrounds at Edess Academy, she found Dolores to be the only one who embodied such tranquility and simplicity.

As they spoke, several hovercars landed consecutively in the open plaza below the restaurant. All the vehicles were of the same model. Shortly after, a boy stepped out of one of the cars, a cigarette dangling from his lips. A group of followers quickly gathered around him as they made their way toward the restaurant.

“That’s Jinzerk from Class B,” Dolores said, uncharacteristically offering an introduction.

She shared what she knew about him. Even someone as reclusive as Dolores had heard of Jinzerk’s reputation. Arrogant and domineering, he enjoyed provoking others, reveling in their anger before throwing money at them and watching them grovel in reluctant submission.

“If you see him around school, it’s best to avoid him,” Dolores advised.

“Understood,” Hestia nodded.

Their conversation had barely ended when Jinzerk appeared in the restaurant. Wearing open-toed slippers, he stepped out of the elevator, sunglasses perched on his nose as he scanned the room. Spotting Dolores and Hestia in a corner, he grinned and strolled over.

“Well, well, long time no see, Cousin Dolores,” he said, pulling out a chair and sitting beside them. His entourage followed suit, taking nearby seats.

Dolores frowned slightly but didn’t respond. Jinzerk didn’t seem to mind. Though they were distant relatives, he was well aware of her reserved nature.

“Don’t be so standoffish, Cousin. Are you still upset about that flower lamp I broke when we were kids?”

Their mothers hailed from the same family, but the blood relation was weak. The two had only met once or twice as children and didn’t keep in touch.

“Fine, let’s skip the old stories. How about something more interesting…” Jinzerk leaned back, taking off his sunglasses and tossing them to one of his lackeys.

“Like last night’s incident at Dragon’s Nest Bar, involving some of our first-year classmates,” he said, grabbing the large drink that a waiter had just brought him.

The drink, served in a glass larger than two fists, sparkled with an amber liquid bubbling around a miniature white sailboat that floated inside. The intricately crafted sailboat swayed and rippled, its sails occasionally billowing as if animated.

This visually striking drink, priced at a minimum of 70,000 Federation credits, was considered high-end even among T3-grade beverages. Jinzerk casually sipped through a straw, the image of indulgence, as he launched into an animated retelling of the previous night’s events.

Bit by bit, the students in the restaurant learned about the drama that had unfolded at the Dragon’s Nest Bar on Pilgrimage Avenue in Southern 1st District.