At noon, I waited by the academy gates with my hands in my pockets and a reassuring weight of money pressing against my thigh in my wallet.
One of the many quiet advantages of being born into a high noble house - and running a smuggling operation on the side - was cash.
Clean liquidity. No one - no students, any of the faculty members, or anyone from whom I bought something - would question where my money came from, and if they did, there were answers prepared long before they asked.
The orcs arrived together, as I half-expected they would.
Maracheen and Ksandria first, their presence loud and strong - maybe because of their height and build. And then Sasosha and Evonev, with an easy confidence but quieter than the girls.
Regan came last, unhurried, her expression neutral in the way only she could manage - friendly enough not to offend, distant enough to obey my request.
They wore fine clothing, not just for orcs. Far more human than I had pictured, but on school days they also wore the school uniform - even if it had to be made especially big for them.
They were in colors of brown, beige, and gray. It suited them well.
These weren't the types of orcs I usually saw in fiction, who were more savage or noble savages. Not Lord of the Rings, Warhammer, or Warcraft orcs, but rather Arcanum orcs, if they were smarter. Well, maybe not specifically these four.
As we didn't have any exams or tests in class yet, I didn't know how they performed academically.
I waved gently to them, like a gentleman in this world would. Dainty and polite. Unthreatening, so to say.
"All right," Maracheen said, cracking her knuckles. "Pretty boy leads the way."
I chuckled. "I'll do that, and please, call me Edward."
The city beyond Acomet was as it usually was. Alive, as most cities were on weekends.
Merchants called out, carts rattled over stone, and people flowed around us like water around rocks.
A group of orcs moving together was still an unusual sight. A group of orcs following a well-dressed human boy was even stranger.
I noticed the stares without needing to look. Some were curious. Some wary. A few openly hostile.
One woman on the opposite side of the street noticed us and stopped short. Her hand tightened around the wrist of the small boy beside her, pulling him closer to her skirts as we passed.
Jeez, lady. I thought but showed no reaction - any reaction would have turned her unease into justification, even if I just met her eyes.
Maracheen grinned wider the longer we walked. Sasosha lifted her chin. Ksandria laughed once, sharp and unapologetic, daring anyone to say something.
I kept my pace steady and my posture relaxed. If I acted like this was normal, maybe it would be soon. You never know what society will accept in the future.
The café sat at the corner of a wide street, all glass panes and pale wood, with ironwork decorations curling like vines around the windows. It looked almost out of place among older stone buildings.
Modern.
Cafés like this hadn't existed in this world ten years ago.
Inside, the air smelled of roasted beans and sugar.
The server looked up and froze.
His eyes flicked from me to the orcs, back to me again, clearly recalculating something he hadn't expected to calculate today.
"Table for six," I said, already reaching into my pocket. "If you'd be so kind."
There was a moment of hesitation, but professionalism won.
"Of course," he replied, forcing a polite smile. "Right this way."
We took a table in the back.
As soon as we sat, I felt even more stares and attention settle around us.
Conversations nearby dipped, then resumed at a careful volume. A few patrons glanced over openly; others pretended very hard not to.
I ignored all of it.
The orcs didn't have that luxury.
Maracheen's shoulders stayed squared, her back straight like she was bracing for some impact or someone to start swinging.
I leaned back in my chair as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world and flagged the server when he returned.
"Coffee for everyone," I said easily. "Whatever house blend you recommend. And bring a few plates of snacks - sweet and savory. Enough to share."
"All… six?" the server asked.
"Yes," I replied, smiling. "All six."
He nodded and retreated, still visibly unsure of how to process this situation.
The orcs, meanwhile, were not ignoring the looks, except for Regan.
A lone orc or two were easily ignored, but not a group like this.
"Relax," I said quietly, folding my hands.
A snort came in response. It could have been any of the four.
When the coffee arrived in a metal pitcher - thick, steaming, dark, and fragrant - I thanked the server as if nothing were amiss.
Ah, coffee. At first, I was kind of bummed out when I thought there was no coffee in this world, but soon I found out that it did exist and that it was brought into Astar and Asolar in sparing amounts. Rare and expensive, something I didn't like very much.
I disliked the scarcity, and honestly, I wanted everyone to have a chance to drink it at least once. Back in my old world, I drank like ten cups a day - not because I needed to stay awake, but because I liked the taste so much.
I even bought coffee-flavored candy here and there. I must admit, I must have had bad coffee breath.
Anyway, as someone with connections, I at least increased the flow into the city. Coffee beans were only grown outside of Asolar, far in the east beyond the border, but because nobody else was buying them in bulk, they were cheap.
The cups I drank were a bit unrefined - a bit burnt and sour - but in the years since then, techniques had come a long way.
I waited until everyone had something in front of them before speaking again.
"So," I said, genuinely curious now. "Tell me about yourselves. Where are you from?"
Maracheen raised two fingers. "Two clans. We come from two different clans. Sasosha and I are from the West-Hills. Both from over the ocean in the north."
Ksandria nodded toward Evonev. "We're East-Hills. Been allies longer than anyone remembers."
"No blood feud?" I jokingly asked.
They laughed - real, roaring laughter.
"Never," Ksandria said. "We're like family."
Then I turned my gaze to Regan.
"And you?" I asked. "Where are you from?"
She stiffened.
I tilted my head slightly. "Regan's a strange name for an orc. No clan inflection."
Her fingers curled around her cup. "I was… adopted," she said, the words coming out slower than usual. "I don't know much about where I came from."
For a brief moment, I wondered if she felt betrayed by the question - if she thought this was some kind of test.
It wasn't.
Well, not exactly. I wanted to see if she had built her backstory up enough to pass casual scrutiny.
I held her gaze a second longer than necessary, then nodded once. "I see."
Good enough, I guess.
It was a type of punishment, just a small one. Nothing cruel. Just enough to remind her that blending in meant answering questions like everyone else.
The orcs didn't touch their coffee.
Maracheen was the first to try. She lifted the cup, sniffed it once, then took a deep swallow.
Her face twisted instantly.
She coughed. "That's bitter."
Ksandria took a more cautious sip. "It's like burned beans," she decided. "Why would anyone drink this on purpose?"
Sasosha tried to power through it, taking a large gulp out of pride more than sense. She managed to swallow instead of spitting it out. "That's awful," she said flatly. "Do you really enjoy this?"
Evonev hadn't touched his yet. He watched the others, then glanced at me. "You sure this ain't a joke?"
I lifted my own cup and took a slow drink, savoring it.
"I like it very much," I said honestly. "But it's an acquired taste. Some don't like it plain. Not at first. It's better with milk or sugar, or both."
I reached for the small tray the server had left, which had cream, sugar, and a tiny spoon.
Gently, I took Regan's cup from her hands. She stiffened for half a second, then relaxed when she realized what I was doing.
"Trust me," I said.
I poured a modest amount of milk in, followed by a spoonful of sugar, stirring carefully. Then I handed it back to her.
"Drink."
She hesitated for a moment and then took a sip.
"…That is tasty," she said, surprised.
That earned immediate reactions.
Ksandria leaned over. "Lemme try that."
Soon enough, sugar or milk was poured into the cups, spoons clinked, and they drank, a little more willing than before.
And they grabbed whatever treats they could, arguing once or twice with each other over who had the right to what, but considering I sat with five orcs in a café, it was peachy.
"So you drink it bitter on purpose?" Sasosha asked, eying my untouched cup.
"Regularly," I said.
Evonev shook his head, stirring sugar into his own. "Only a human would decide suffering is part of the flavor."
I smiled. Teasing meant they'd relaxed enough to see me as strange rather than a stranger.
That was a win.