Emily At An All Boys Werewolf Academy!

Young master?

Emily’s pov

I had arrived. It took nearly four hours after the train ride and the automobile journey to reach the academy, nestled in the depths of Scotland. The sun had been high in the sky when I first set off, but now, it was nearing sunset. I hate to admit it, but the details of the journey left me feeling frustrated. The roofless automobile was a crude move by the elders. After all, I’m a woman, and while I don’t mind a bit of discomfort, this was pure torture. The sun's heat burned mercilessly as I tried to focus on the destination ahead.

As we arrived at the gates of the academy, the large iron doors closed behind us. A group of good looking gods—students or perhaps guards—rushed out, dressed in blue and black uniforms. They quickly searched the car, assessed my royal pass, and then led me through. As the vehicle rolled over the gravel and wide-petaled stones, I couldn’t help but marvel at the academy's well-maintained buildings, set in the middle of a vast courtyard.

The majestic stone structures stood proudly in the middle of a perfectly manicured courtyard. The architecture was impressive—these buildings were constructed from the finest stone, honed and polished to perfection over the course of two hundred years. The history and prestige of the Academy could be felt in the air, almost as if the very walls whispered secrets of generations past.

At the entrance, a grand statue caught my attention—standing tall at the heart of the courtyard. It was a man, carved in a gold-tinged style, his arm raised high as if reaching toward the heavens. But what stood out were the claws growing from his hand, fierce and powerful, and his eyes—gleaming a deep, unsettling red. It was an unmistakable symbol of the power of werewolves, a reminder of the strength we carried within us. But I couldn't help the roll of my eyes. In my mind, this statue was a representation of male-dominated power, a monument to the very idea that werewolf strength belonged solely to men.

The car finally came to a stop near the statue, and I couldn’t deny the irritation that flared within me. I fought not to glare at the driver, who was blissfully unaware of my internal thoughts. “Thank you,” I said politely as I opened the door.

As I stepped out, several servants emerged from the building, forming a line near the vehicle. They bowed as I walked past them, their heads low. “Good day, young master,” they said, addressing me as though I were a man.

I bristled at the title. My lips twitched in irritation. Despite being dressed in my academy uniform, adorned with the shining metals from my brother's previous achievements, it was clear that I was a woman. My facial features, undeniably feminine, made their address feel like an insult.

“Do you wish to pick a servant?” another servant spoke up.

Oh? So this is how it worked? The academy didn’t allow personal servants from our households. Instead, they offered their own trained people to work under us.

“You,” I said randomly, pointing at a boy who looked to be around 16 years of age, but very skinny. The boy stepped forward, eyes wide with nervousness.

“Thank you, and have a pleasant stay going forward,” the other servants said, bowing before disappearing into the building from which they came.

“What’s your name?” I asked, wanting to confirm his identity.

“R-Reo,” the boy stammered, sounding much more nervous than I had expected. Why was he afraid?

“Alright, Reo? I’m Emily Taylor. You can take some of these and help me take them to my dorm, alright?” I said with a smile, trying to soothe the poor guy.

He looked shocked at my smile but nodded vigorously, a tinge of a blush creeping up his cheeks. I watched him hurry up and down, taking my moderately packed luggage to my assigned unit. I tried to help, but he refused, insisting that I stay put and rest my feet after the long journey. So now, here I was, leaning against the last few crates of luggage, when it hit me. Wasn’t there supposed to be an academy representative to come and welcome me?