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Chapter Text

The first sensation was not one of falling, but of an abrupt and silent transition. One moment, Albedo stood within the hallowed, stone-carved halls of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, the air thick with the scent of aged power and unwavering loyalty. The next, she was elsewhere. The silence was the first violation, a profound emptiness where the subtle, ever-present hum of Nazarick’s magical defenses should have been.

Her golden eyes, sharp and predatory, snapped open, and for a moment, the sheer, unadulterated assault of color forced them shut again. It was a visual scream, a cacophony of hues so intense it felt physical. When she dared to look again, she found herself in a chamber that could only be described as an explosion in a rainbow factory.

The walls were a pristine, gleaming white, but they served only as a canvas for the chaos that adorned them. Bolts of fabric in every conceivable shade were draped over chairs and stacked in teetering towers,fuchsia, cerulean, emerald, canary yellow, and sunset orange all vied for dominance. Mannequins, sleek and stylized, wore half-finished garments: a jacket made of iridescent sequins, a skirt that shimmered with the color spectrum of an oil slick, and a gown that looked as though it were spun from literal sunshine. A massive circular rug on the floor was a swirl of every color, and even the furniture—beanbags, sleek modern chairs, and work tables—was rendered in eye-watering bright plastics and metals. The air smelled not of power, but of something floral, sweet, and faintly chemical, like perfume and heated plastic.

Albedo stood perfectly still, a slash of monochrome perfection in a world of riotous pigment. Her elegant white gown, a divine creation gifted by her beloved Supreme Being, felt alien here. Her horns, curving majestically from her temples, and the feathered black wings folded regally at her waist, seemed to absorb the light, creating a void in the room's relentless cheer.

“A trap,” she breathed, her voice a low, melodic whisper that was utterly at odds with the environment. Her mind, a brilliant and strategic instrument honed for the defense of Nazarick, raced through possibilities. An illusion spell? A powerful one, to be sure. The detail was immaculate, if absurd. She could feel the soft pile of the rug beneath her heels and smell the strange, cloying scents. She extended a hand, her long, sharp nails pausing just before a bolt of shockingly pink tulle. No tremor, no shimmer. If it was an illusion, it was flawless.

But who would create such a bizarre prison? The Slane Theocracy lacked this… garish subtlety. The Dragon Lords preferred displays of raw, destructive power. This was something else entirely. It was an assault on the senses, a psychological gambit designed to disorient and confuse. Was the goal to drive her mad with its saccharine intensity? She strained her senses, searching for any trace of hostile intent, any magical signature that could be tracked back to an enemy. There was nothing. Only a profound, unnerving mundanity.

Her hand flew to the Ginnungagap, the World Item she wielded. Its cosmic power was a comforting, familiar weight against her palm. If this was a trap, she would unmake it. If it was a prison, she would shatter its walls. Loyalty to her creator, the Supreme One, Ainz Ooal Gown, burned in her heart, a pure, white-hot flame that no amount of colorful nonsense could ever extinguish. She would endure this indignity and return to his side.

Just as she was steeling her resolve, the sound of laughter and chattering voices echoed from beyond the room’s single door. It was light, carefree, and utterly devoid of the fear and reverence she was accustomed to hearing. The door swung open, and three figures entered, their forms as vibrant as the room itself.

One had hair of brilliant crimson, pulled back in a sporty but chic ponytail. Another’s was the color of a fresh orange, and the third’s was a cascade of sunny, daffodil yellow. They were dressed in equally colorful attire, their faces bright with youth and excitement. They stopped dead in their tracks the moment they saw her.

For a heartbeat, there was silence. Albedo drew herself up to her full, imposing height, her expression shifting from confusion to one of imperious authority. These must be the architects of her confinement, or at least their servants. They were human, by the looks of it, though their garishly colored hair gave her pause. Perhaps some strange regional trait or a low-level glamour.

"You," Albedo's voice resonated with power, cutting through the room's cheerful ambiance like a shard of obsidian. "Explain this place. Where am I, and by whose authority am I held here?"

The three girls stared, their eyes wide. Then, the one with the sunny yellow hair, Sunny Madison, broke into a slow, awestruck smile. "Whoa..." she whispered.

"Ruby, is this your new design?" the orange-haired one, Poppy Rowan, asked, her gaze sweeping over Albedo's form. "The detail is insane. It's like, beyond couture."

The red-haired girl, Ruby Anderson, shook her head, her eyes glued to Albedo. "It's not mine. I... I've never seen her before." She took a hesitant step forward. "Okay, I have to say, that is the most incredible cosplay I have ever seen in my life. Seriously. Are you a new student? Major in costume design?"

Albedo's brow furrowed. Cosplay? The word was unfamiliar, a meaningless sound. Was it a code? A local term for a magically gifted individual? Her attempt at intimidation had failed utterly, replaced by… admiration?

"I am Albedo," she declared, her tone laced with a dangerous edge of impatience. "I am the Overseer of the Guardians of the Great Tomb of Nazarick. I serve the Supreme One, Ainz Ooal Gown. I am not a 'student'."

Sunny clapped her hands together, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, you're in character! I love it! 'The Great Tomb of Nazarick,' that's so cool and dramatic! Where is that from? A new game? A webcomic?"

Albedo’s jaw tightened. They were mocking her. They had to be. This was part of the psychological torment, to treat her, a being of immense power and station, as a child playing dress-up.

Ruby moved closer, her designer’s eye consuming every detail. She circled Albedo slowly, her expression one of professional reverence. "Okay, no, for real. How did you do the horns? They're seamlessly blended. There's no headband, no spirit gum line... it's flawless. And the texture looks so real! Is it a lightweight resin? 3D printed and then hand-painted?" She leaned in, squinting at the base of Albedo’s left horn.

"My wings are a part of my being. My horns are a mark of my station," Albedo said slowly, enunciating each word with cold fury. "They are not 'made'."

Albedo flinched back instinctively, a low growl rumbling in her throat. The sheer audacity of this creature, to approach her so casually, to scrutinize her person as if she were an object on display.

Poppy was focused on her wings. "And the wings! The articulation is amazing! They look so soft, but there has to be a wire armature in there, right? How did you get the feathers to lay so perfectly? And how are they attached? I don't see a harness. It’s gotta be under the dress, right? That is some next-level engineering!"

The Overseer of the Guardians stood frozen, caught in a crossfire of bewildering technical questions. Armature? Resin? Harness? These words meant nothing to her. She was a demon of the highest order, a creature of pure magic and divine creation. Her horns were bone. Her wings were flesh and feather. The concept that they could be fabricated was so alien, so fundamentally wrong, that her brilliant mind struggled to process it.

"What... is going on?" Albedo whispered, the question directed more at herself than at the bafflingly cheerful humans before her. Her anger was beginning to curdle into a profound and unsettling confusion. The foundations of her reality were cracking. Power, authority, fear, the pillars of her existence, had no currency here. In this room, she was not a terrifyingly powerful Guardian. She was a curiosity. A piece of art. A puzzle to be deconstructed not with magic or might, but with questions about fabric, paint, and engineering. For the first time since the departure of the Supreme Beings, Albedo felt utterly, terrifyingly lost.

Chapter Text

The air in the rainbow-hued room crackled with a tension only Albedo could feel. The three humans before her continued their baffling interrogation, their words a stream of meaningless jargon that chipped away at her composure. ‘Resin.’ ‘Harness.’ ‘Cosplay.’ Each term was a tiny, infuriating dismissal of her reality, of her very identity. They were not her inquisitors; they were her critics, reviewing her existence as if it were a student art project.

A cold fire, born of pure indignation, began to smolder in the pit of her stomach. This was an intolerable insult. Not just to her, but to the glorious name of Nazarick and the Supreme Being she adored above all else. They looked upon a Guardian Overseer, a being of catastrophic power, and saw only a clever costume. They gazed upon the divine craftsmanship of Tabula Smaragdina, one of the 41 Supreme Beings, and speculated about its construction with plastic and wire.

Her smile, which had been a mask of strained patience, melted away, replaced by an expression of cold, aristocratic fury. Her golden eyes, which had been wide with confusion, narrowed into predatory slits. The temperature in the room seemed to drop by several degrees.

"You do not listen," she said, her voice dropping to a dangerously low pitch that vibrated with suppressed power. "You prattle on with your meaningless words, your ignorant assumptions. You believe what you see before you is a trick? An illusion of 'costume design'?"

The girls finally fell silent, sensing the dramatic shift in her tone. The playful, curious energy in the room evaporated, replaced by something heavy and ancient. Ruby took an involuntary step back, her designer's eye now registering the raw menace radiating from the woman in white.

"I will not be mocked," Albedo continued, stepping forward. A faint, dark aura began to bleed from her form, a visible distortion in the air. "I have tried to explain my station through words, a courtesy I would not extend to most lesser lifeforms. But you are deaf to reason. Very well. If it is a demonstration you require, then a demonstration you shall have."

She raised a single, elegant hand, her sharp black nails looking like talons in the vibrant light. "Behold a fraction of the power of the Great Tomb of Nazarick!"

Albedo unleashed her magic. It was not a flamboyant fireball or a crackle of lightning; it was something far more insidious. Shadows erupted from the floor beneath her, not as mere absences of light, but as tangible things, flowing like black ink in water. They surged across the rainbow-swirled rug, and as they touched it, the brilliant colors vanished, devoured by the encroaching darkness. The soft pile stiffened and cooled, transforming into polished obsidian tiles that reflected the room’s new, dim light in cold, hard glints.

The girls gasped, stumbling backward. Poppy let out a small squeak. The walls, once a sterile white, were now being consumed by the creeping transformation. The paint bubbled and peeled away to reveal dark, gothic stonework, intricately carved with motifs of suffering and skeletal figures. The cheerful beanbags and plastic chairs twisted and morphed, their bright colors sizzling out of existence as they reshaped themselves into high-backed, throne-like chairs of dark, carved wood and wrought iron.

The towers of vibrant fabric met a similar fate. The fuchsia silk became heavy black velvet. The cerulean satin turned to silver brocade, woven with thorny patterns. The canary yellow chiffon dissolved into delicate, spidery lace the color of midnight. The sweet, floral scent of the room was replaced by the smell of cold stone, ancient dust, and a hint of burning incense. The single light fixture flickered, and when it stabilized, it cast a dim, moody glow, as if from unseen candelabras.

In less than ten seconds, the explosion in a rainbow factory was gone. In its place stood a chamber of solemn, gothic grandeur—a miniature throne room worthy of a lesser lord of Nazarick. Albedo stood at its center, her dark wings and horns no longer a strange contrast but a perfect centerpiece. Her power washed over the room, an oppressive, terrifying majesty.

She lowered her hand, her expression one of utter triumph. She looked at the three humans, expecting to see them on their knees. She anticipated screams, pleas for mercy, the delicious, satisfying terror that was her due.

Instead, she saw three pairs of wide, sparkling eyes. Their mouths were agape, but not in fear. It was awe. Raw, unfiltered, creative awe.

Sunny was the first to speak, her voice a breathless whisper. "Whoa... So the magic... it's real. Like, real real."

"The material transformation..." Ruby breathed, taking a hesitant step forward onto the new obsidian floor. She ran her hand along the back of one of the newly formed wrought-iron chairs. It was cold, solid. "There was no heat distortion, no residual energy. It just... changed. The integrity of the new materials is perfect. This is impossible."

Poppy nodded, her orange hair a slash of rebellious color in the gloom. "The vibe shift is insane. We went from 'pop-art party' to 'vampire queen's study' in five seconds. The acoustics in here even changed. It's... amazing."

Albedo stared, her triumphant smirk faltering. Their reaction was all wrong. This was not the response of terrified mortals confronted by a superior being. This was the response of artisans witnessing a new, revolutionary technique. They were analyzing her display of world-altering power as if she were a new special effects technology.

"You... you are not afraid?" Albedo asked, the words feeling strange on her tongue.

Ruby turned to her, her eyes shining with an intensity Albedo had completely misinterpreted. It wasn't fear; it was inspiration. "Afraid? I'm... I'm blown away! This changes everything!"

Albedo drew herself up. "It should. Now you understand your place. You will kneel and—"

"Okay, okay, wait," Ruby interrupted, holding up her hands, her mind clearly racing a mile a minute. The initial shock had worn off, replaced by a torrent of creative possibilities. "The room is amazing, 10 out of 10, no notes. But that magic you did, changing the fabric?"

She pointed a manicured finger at the bolt of newly formed black velvet. "You just created that. From a bolt of cheap silk. The texture, the weight, the color saturation... it's perfect. So I have to ask..."

Ruby took a deep breath, her eyes locking onto Albedo's with a desperate, hopeful gleam. "Can you do that with clothes? Like, on a mannequin? Or... on a person? Can you take a basic dress and just... magically transform it into a runway-ready haute couture gown? Can you create embellishments out of thin air? Change the cut, the fabric, the silhouette, all with your magic?"

Albedo simply stared. Her mind, capable of managing the complex defenses and legions of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, ground to a complete halt. She had shown them a power that could bring nations to their knees, a sliver of the might that could unmake the world. She had expected to be feared as a goddess of death.

And they were asking her if she could be their magic sewing machine.

In this strange, vibrant world, her power was not a weapon of conquest. It was not a tool of intimidation. To these bizarre humans, the ultimate expression of her demonic might, the very essence of Nazarick's authority, was apparently the greatest fashion accessory they had ever seen.

The last vestiges of her anger evaporated, replaced by a sense of vertigo so profound she felt the stone floor tilt beneath her feet. "What... what are you people?" she whispered, her confusion now absolute.

Chapter Text

Albedo sank into one of the imposing, throne-like chairs her magic had wrought from cheap plastic. The wrought iron was cold and unyielding against her back, a familiar sensation that did little to comfort her. She rested her elbow on the armrest, propping her chin on her knuckles as she surveyed the three baffling humans before her. Her grand display of power, a gambit that should have ended with cowering, terrified subjects, had failed in the most spectacular and unforeseen way imaginable.

They weren't screaming. They weren't begging for their lives. They were… brainstorming.

"Think of the runway possibilities!" Ruby was saying, pacing back and forth on the new obsidian floor, her red sneakers a defiant splash of color against the gloom. "No more sewing prototypes! You could just visualize a design and poof, there it is! We could do a whole show where every model's outfit transforms as they walk the catwalk!"

"O-M-G, the special effects budget would be, like, zero!" Poppy chimed in, her eyes wide with the fiscal implications. "And think of the music videos! We could change outfits and sets in a single, continuous shot! It would be legendary!"

Albedo listened, her brilliant mind struggling to keep up with their rapid-fire chatter. They spoke of 'runways' and 'music videos' with the same reverence a paladin might speak of his god. She had reshaped reality, twisting the very fabric of the material plane to her will, an act that would have been hailed as a miracle or a cataclysm in her world. Here, it was a production value.

This was absurd. Her magic was a gift from the Supreme Beings, a tool of overwhelming force meant to crush enemies and defend the sacred halls of Nazarick. She could summon forth legions of the undead, call down meteors of apocalyptic scale, and weave defensive spells of impenetrable complexity. Her power was a statement of superiority, an instrument of fear and dominion. It was not meant for… accessorizing.

The very idea was so profoundly insulting, so fundamentally demeaning, that she felt a fresh wave of anger rise within her. But it was an impotent anger, because how could she punish them? They weren't being defiant; they were utterly, blissfully ignorant. They were like ants admiring the intricate pattern on the boot that was about to crush them, completely unaware of its true purpose.

With a sigh of deep, weary frustration, Albedo decided she couldn't stand to look at her failed intimidation tactic any longer. The gothic splendor of the room now felt like a monument to her own folly.

She lifted her head and, without a word, snapped her fingers.

The effect was instantaneous and just as seamless as the transformation. The oppressive shadows receded as if swallowed by the floor. The cold obsidian tiles warmed and softened, their dark sheen dissolving back into the riotously colored rug. The stone walls shimmered and paled, becoming pristine white once more. The heavy, dark furniture twisted and shrank, their wrought iron and carved wood melting away to be replaced by the sleek, vibrant plastics of before. In a silent, dizzying rush, all the colors came flooding back into the room. The smell of cold incense was once again replaced by the faint, sweet scent of perfume.

The girls, who had been deep in their creative discussion, let out a collective gasp. They spun around, taking in the restored room.

"It's back!" Sunny chirped, clapping her hands.

Ruby rushed over to the wall and ran her hand across its smooth, white surface. "Incredible. No residue, no warping. It's like it never happened. The magical control is just… flawless. The reversal is just as clean as the application!" She looked at Albedo, her eyes gleaming with even more fervor than before. "Okay, so you are definitely the most talented person to ever walk into this school."

Albedo’s shoulders slumped. It was hopeless. Absolutely hopeless. Every demonstration of her terrifying power only served to deepen their delusion that she was some kind of avant-garde performance artist.

An idea, born of pure scientific curiosity and a sliver of malice, began to form in her mind. They refused to be intimidated. They refused to see her power for what it was. Very well. If they were so obsessed with 'fashion,' she would give them a taste of Nazarick's aesthetics directly. She would inflict true, undeniable terror upon them, not by changing the room, but by changing them.

Her gaze fell upon Sunny Madison. The girl was a living embodiment of everything this world seemed to represent: bright, cheerful, and unapologetically yellow. She was the perfect canvas.

"You," Albedo said, her voice flat. She pointed a single, imperious finger at Sunny. "You wish to see my magic applied to clothing? Stand still."

Sunny’s eyes lit up. "Really? You'll do it? A custom Albedo original?"

Albedo didn't answer. She focused her will, drawing upon a sliver of her power. She envisioned an outfit that would be suitable for a high-ranking courtier in Nazarick, something that conveyed elegance, status, and a subtle undercurrent of deadly threat.

Dark energy, looking like coiling wisps of black smoke, flowed from Albedo’s fingertip and shot across the room. It enveloped Sunny in a swirling vortex of shadow. The girl let out a small yelp of surprise, but not fear. The shadows clung to her form, not burning or harming her, but sinking into the fabric of her cheerful yellow jacket and skirt.

The bright canary yellow bled away, replaced by the deepest, most absolute black. The simple cut of her jacket twisted and elongated, becoming a form-fitting bolero with elegant puffed shoulders and intricate silver fastenings shaped like tiny, ornate spiderwebs. The collar climbed high up her neck, edged with delicate, stiff black lace. Her simple top underneath morphed into a corset-style bodice of dark grey satin, tightly laced with a silver cord. Her skirt lengthened into a multi-tiered creation of black lace and chiffon, giving it volume and a dramatic, sweeping silhouette reminiscent of Albedo’s own gown. Even her bright yellow boots were not spared, the material darkening and reshaping into elegant, knee-high lace-up boots with small, silver heels.

The vortex of shadow dissipated, leaving Sunny standing in the middle of the room, clad in a masterpiece of gothic design. The outfit was undeniably beautiful, a stunning piece of craftsmanship that spoke of dark royalty and somber power. To Albedo, it was a clear statement: this is the garb of the powerful, the aesthetic of fear and respect. Anyone in her world would see this and understand the wearer was not to be trifled with.

Ruby and Poppy stared, their jaws on the floor.

"Sunny..." Ruby whispered, her voice filled with reverence. "Turn around. Slowly."

Sunny looked down at herself, her eyes wide. She walked over to a large, full-length mirror leaning against one wall and gasped. She took in the intricate lace, the perfect fit of the bodice, the dramatic sweep of the skirt. Albedo watched her, a cruel smile playing on her lips, waiting for the girl's bright demeanor to shatter. She expected tears, panic, a plea to be changed back to her ridiculous yellow clothes.

"Wow," Sunny said, turning side to side, watching how the layers of the skirt moved. "The detail on this is absolutely unreal. The lace feels so soft! And these little spiderweb clasps? Genius." She looked over her shoulder at the others. "It's incredible. So dark and moody and elegant."

Then she paused, tilting her head and frowning slightly at her own reflection.

"But... it's not me at all," Sunny concluded, with the simple finality of a seasoned fashionista. "The color just washes me out. I need something bright to go with my hair and personality, you know?"

She turned away from the mirror to face Albedo, a bright, thoughtful smile on her face.

"You know who would love this, though?" she said enthusiastically. "My twin sister, Luna. Her whole thing is dark colors. Grays, blacks, moody purples. This is 100% her aesthetic. She would literally die for an outfit like this. Can you do it again? On her?"

Albedo just stared. The cruel, triumphant smile had vanished from her face, replaced by a look of utter, blank disbelief. She had taken this human, this embodiment of sunshine and cheer, and forcibly dressed her in the livery of the night. She had branded her with an outfit that screamed "danger."

And the girl's reaction was to critique the color palette and try to re-gift it to her goth sister.

A long, slow sigh escaped Albedo's lips. The last of her fight, the last of her will to make them understand, drained out of her. She had met an immovable object, not of physical or magical strength, but of a perspective so alien, so unshakable, that none of her power could find purchase.

She let her hand fall to her side, turned, and gracefully collapsed back into the chair, the very picture of regal defeat. She rested her head in her hand, her elegant horns framing a face of pure, unadulterated bewilderment.

The outfit was scary. It was intimidating. It was magnificent. But to them, it was just a style. A "vibe." An "aesthetic." In this world, it seemed, even terror was a fashion statement.

Chapter Text

The hallowed halls of Rainbow High were usually a symphony of controlled creativity, a vibrant hum of student projects, focused chatter, and the rhythmic whir of sewing machines. Lou Wright, the school's principal, was a connoisseur of this ordered chaos. Her steps were always measured, her posture impeccable, a silent testament to the exacting standards she maintained. She moved through the corridors like a sleek, perfectly tailored shadow, observing, assessing, ensuring every brushstroke, every stitch, every design concept was pushing the boundaries of excellence.

As she passed the main design studio, however, the familiar hum was punctuated by something unexpected: not just chatter, but bursts of incredulous laughter, a distinct high-pitched "O-M-G," and then Ruby’s distinctive voice, excitedly exclaiming about "the aesthetics." This was unusual. Her students were passionate, yes, but this level of unbridled, almost unhinged enthusiasm, especially in a studio that should be dedicated to methodical work, pricked her professional curiosity. No loud music, no obvious horseplay, just a strange, almost giddy energy.

With a slight, almost imperceptible frown, Lou Wright reached for the door handle. It swung open silently, revealing a scene that momentarily stole the breath from her impeccably composed frame.

The room, usually a kaleidoscope of vibrant fabrics and cutting-edge designs, was now a riot of color with a jarring, magnificent anomaly at its center. Sunny Madison, typically a beacon of sunshine in her signature yellow, was now dressed in an outfit that looked like it had stepped straight out of a gothic fantasy novel, layers of dark lace, rich black velvet, intricate silver clasps, and a dramatic silhouette that spoke of ancient castles and moonlit nights. It was stunning, undeniably so, a masterpiece of dramatic design.

But it was the figure seated casually on one of the bright, beanbag chairs, head propped on her hand, that truly commanded Lou Wright’s attention. The woman was breathtaking. Her pristine white gown, a cascade of fabric that seemed to absorb the light around it, was of an almost impossible purity and elegance. Her skin was alabaster, her hair long and lustrous black, framing a face of ethereal beauty. But it was the horns, curving majestically from her temples, and the magnificent, feathered black wings folded regally at her back that defied all logic. They looked utterly, impossibly real. Not a seam, not a hint of adhesive, no tell-tale stiffness of prop work. They were seamlessly integrated, an organic extension of her form.

Lou Wright’s discerning eye, trained to spot the finest details of design and craftsmanship, instantly recognized that this was beyond cosplay, beyond even the most elaborate special effects. It was… something else. And the clothing? Even from across the room, the texture of the white gown, the way it flowed and draped, spoke of a material quality she had rarely encountered, even in high couture. It was a garment woven not just with thread, but with magic itself.

For a rare moment, Lou Wright was simply stunned. Her usual steely composure wavered, replaced by a flicker of pure, unadulterated awe. Then, her professional instincts reasserted themselves, sharper than ever.

"What, precisely, is going on here?" Lou Wright's voice was calm, controlled, yet it cut through the lingering excitement in the room like a perfectly sharpened shears. It was a voice that commanded attention, a voice that brokered no nonsense.

The three girls snapped to attention, their faces flushing. Sunny, still clad in her unexpected gothic finery, awkwardly curtsied. Ruby and Poppy exchanged nervous glances.

Albedo, who had been sunk in a miasma of existential bewilderment, slowly lifted her head. Her golden eyes, which had held a distant, confused gaze, sharpened as they focused on the newcomer. This one carried herself with an air of authority, similar to some of the lesser noblewomen in her world, but still lacked the inherent, trembling fear that all should possess in the presence of a supreme being.

"I believe," Albedo began, her voice low and resonant, "I am merely attempting to comprehend why my displays of power are being met with… fashion critiques. And who, precisely, are you to intrude upon my, ah, predicament?"

Lou Wright’s gaze, cool and assessing, swept over Albedo, then to the girls, then back to the creature who claimed to be suffering a "predicament." "I am Lou Wright, Principal of Rainbow High. And you are on school grounds. My question stands: who are you, and what are you doing here?"

Albedo rose from the beanbag chair, a graceful, almost serpentine motion. The dramatic black wings unfurled slightly, then settled, a silent, powerful rustle of feathers. She drew herself to her full, imposing height.

"I am Albedo," she declared, her voice ringing with the unwavering authority she reserved for her subordinates. "Overseer of the Guardians of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, and the sole loyal servant of the Supreme One, Ainz Ooal Gown. I am here because I have been inexplicably transported to this bizarre, brightly colored dimension, a place of profound illogic and incomprehensible human behavior. My purpose here is to return to my master’s side and ensure the continued prosperity of Nazarick."

Lou Wright blinked. Once. Her expression remained perfectly neutral, but internally, her mind was a whirlwind of skepticism and a perverse kind of fascination. Overseer of Guardians? Great Tomb of Nazarick? Supreme One, Ainz Ooal Gown? It sounded like something ripped straight from a poorly-written fantasy novel, or perhaps a student's highly elaborate, immersive role-playing game. Yet, the horns, the wings, the sheer, undeniable presence of the woman before her… and then there was Sunny's dress.

"Principal Wright!" Ruby interjected, stepping forward, her enthusiasm overriding her apprehension. "You have to believe her! She just... she just changed the entire room! Like, from our studio to a full-on gothic castle interior! And then she snapped her fingers and it was back! It was insane!"

Poppy nodded vigorously. "And she did Sunny's outfit! She just waved her hand and poof! This amazing new look!"

Lou Wright turned her attention fully to Sunny, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized the gothic dress. She walked closer, circling Sunny slowly, her hand brushing against the intricate lace of the sleeve, the rich texture of the velvet. This was no ordinary fabric; it felt… alive. The cut was impeccable, the seams invisible, the fit flawless. It was a garment of profound complexity and exquisite execution. If this were a real student project, it would be a guaranteed A+, an award-winning piece.

"This dress, Sunny," Lou Wright murmured, her voice laced with an uncharacteristic softness born of pure aesthetic appreciation. "The craftsmanship, the materials... it's extraordinary. You say this... Albedo... created it with magic?"

Sunny nodded, beaming. "Yeah! She just like, zapped me! It's so cool! Though, I mean, it's really not my style. It's totally Luna's aesthetic, you know? She'd rock this. I like bright colors, happy vibes."

Albedo, still standing stiffly, let out another long, exasperated sigh, the sound barely audible. She had made a masterpiece, a statement of dark power and refined majesty, and this human dismissed it as merely "not her style," something to be "gifted" to a "goth sister." It was an endless, maddening cycle.

Lou Wright, however, was no longer looking at Albedo with skepticism, but with a gaze that slowly, almost imperceptibly, shifted from bewilderment to shrewd calculation. She had dismissed the talk of "Nazarick" and "Supreme Beings" as fantasy. But the evidence before her, the undeniable quality of Sunny’s dress, and the girls’ frantic, genuine explanations of the room’s transformation… that was concrete.

If this woman, Albedo, truly possesses the ability to instantly manifest or transform materials with such flawless precision, Lou Wright thought, her mind racing, then her origins are irrelevant. Her talents, however fantastical her story, are invaluable. She could revolutionize the entire design program. The creative potential is limitless. Imagine the possibilities for the next 'Rainbow Vision' competition.

She turned back to Albedo, her expression once again perfectly neutral, though a spark of intense, calculating interest now resided in her cool eyes. "So, Albedo," Lou Wright said, her voice regaining its usual authoritative tone, "you claim to be from another dimension. You claim to possess... abilities." She paused, her gaze sweeping over Albedo's magnificent, otherworldly form. "And you wish to return home." A slight smile, almost imperceptible, touched the corner of her lips. "Perhaps... we can help each other."

Chapter Text

The crisp, controlled tone of Principal Lou Wright's voice left no room for argument. "Albedo," she stated, her gaze unwavering, "I believe it would be beneficial for us to continue this conversation in my office. Now." It was not a request, but a directive, delivered with the quiet authority that made even the most rebellious Rainbow High student straighten their shoulders.

Albedo, still simmering with a volatile mix of indignation and profound confusion, found herself nodding. Finally. Someone who seemed to possess a modicum of genuine authority, someone who might grasp the gravity of her situation. She was tired of being a walking art exhibit, tired of her divine power being analyzed as if it were a new sewing technique. Perhaps this 'Principal' possessed the intelligence to comprehend her words, to understand the sheer, cosmic absurdity of her predicament. She followed Lou Wright, her white gown flowing elegantly behind her, a stark contrast to the vibrant, dynamic tableau of the Rainbow High corridors.

The walk through the school hallways was, if anything, more bewildering than the design studio. Every student they passed halted, their chattering voices dying in their throats. Heads turned, eyes widened, and a wave of whispers followed in their wake like a ripple effect. Albedo’s sensitive hearing caught snippets of hushed conversations: "Is that a new student?" "Look at her wings, are they real?" "That dress! Oh my god, the detail!" "She’s like, a gothic goddess!"

Albedo held her head high, her expression regal and aloof, but inwardly, a storm of irritation brewed. She felt like a creature in a menagerie, a specimen under a microscope. Each curious glance, each murmured comment, was an affront. Her form, a masterpiece crafted by one of the Supreme Beings, was meant to inspire awe and fear, not casual admiration and whispered inquiries about its authenticity. She, the Overseer of the Guardians of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, was being treated as a spectacle. It was a profound insult, one that made her very essence bristle. She wanted to unleash her power, to make them grovel, to teach them the meaning of true fear, but the baffling passivity of these humans, their utter lack of comprehension regarding what she was, made such a display feel pointless. It would only result in more "oohs" and "aahs" over her "special effects."

The Principal, meanwhile, strode through the gawking students with an almost imperceptible shift in her own posture, her gaze fixed straight ahead. She was aware of the commotion, of course, but she had a singular focus: getting Albedo into her office and assessing the tactical advantage this… being… represented.

Finally, they reached Lou Wright’s office. It was a stark contrast to the explosion of color that defined the rest of the school. The walls were a sophisticated charcoal grey, the sleek, minimalist desk a polished dark wood. A single, vibrant piece of abstract art, bursting with bold, primary colors, hung on one wall, the only splash of the school’s signature aesthetic. Bookshelves lined another wall, filled with weighty tomes on design history, business, and educational theory. The air was cool, quiet, and professional, a sanctuary of order in the creative storm of Rainbow High.

Lou Wright gestured to one of two identical, executive-style chairs in black leather, facing her desk. "Please, have a seat, Ms. Albedo."

Albedo glided forward and settled into the chair. It was firm, comfortable, and unlike the beanbags, felt appropriately formal. Her wings, as always, folded themselves neatly and silently behind her, though the confines of the office made them feel slightly less expansive than in the open studio.

Lou Wright took her own seat behind the desk, her fingers interlacing precisely. Her gaze was direct, unwavering. "Look, Ms. Albedo," she began, her voice calm and measured, devoid of any discernible emotion. "I don't pretend to understand how you arrived here, or the full extent of the… things… you claim to have done. Your story, while certainly unique, falls outside the parameters of our usual student orientation."

Albedo’s golden eyes narrowed slightly. Claims? She had demonstrated them. The room, the dress… were those not enough?

"However," Lou Wright continued, her voice gaining a subtle edge of professional assessment, "what I witnessed in the design studio, particularly the immediate and flawless transformation of fabric on Ms. Madison, is undeniable. Your… abilities… represent a talent I have never before encountered. As an institution dedicated to fostering and celebrating extraordinary artistic talent, I must acknowledge that." She paused, her gaze holding Albedo’s. "I appreciate your talent, Ms. Albedo. It is, to put it mildly, exceptional."

Albedo leaned forward slightly, her elegant horns almost brushing the cool air. "My thanks, Principal Wright, though 'talent' hardly encompasses the reality of what you witnessed. It is a fundamental aspect of my being, granted by my creator. And frankly," she added, her voice dropping to a low, frustrated growl, "your appreciation does little to summarize the utter, mind-bending absurdity of this entire… place. The relentless, nauseating vibrancy, the constant, meaningless chatter, the baffling priorities of these… children… who mistake displays of immense power for theatrical effects. It is a chaotic, illogical dimension of triviality."

Lou Wright’s expression remained perfectly impassive. Not a flicker of acknowledgment of Albedo's existential crisis. Not a hint of concern for the "nauseating vibrancy" or "mind-bending absurdity." She simply nodded, as if Albedo had just commented on the weather. Her focus was not on Albedo's internal turmoil or her origins, but purely on her utility.

"Understood," Lou Wright said, dismissing Albedo's lamentations with the ease of swatting a fly. "While the philosophical implications of your presence here are beyond my purview, your practical skills are not. Here is my proposal, Albedo."

Albedo blinked, surprised by the abrupt shift in topic.

"Given your unique abilities," Lou Wright continued, her voice brisk and business-like, "and the fact that you clearly have no immediate means of returning to your… dimension… I am prepared to offer you the status of a Guest Artist at Rainbow High. This would allow you to reside in the school dormitories, granting you shelter and security, while we, on our end, will endeavor to research and understand your situation, and perhaps, eventually, assist you in finding a way back to your… 'Great Tomb of Nazarick'." She paused, a micro-second of calculation in her eyes. "In exchange, you would provide demonstrations of your 'magic' as a means of instruction and inspiration for our students, and perhaps contribute to a few select projects. Think of it as a temporary residence and a mutual exchange of services."

Albedo leaned back in her chair, processing the offer. Guest Artist? Instructor? The indignity. Her, the glorious Overseer, reduced to a common tutor for these misguided humans. And yet…

Her mind, usually so sharp and decisive, weighed the options. Her immediate goal was to return to Ainz-sama. To do that, she needed information. She knew nothing of this world, its magic systems, its geography, its dangers. Being treated as an 'exhibit' was infuriating, but it was better than wandering aimlessly and attracting unwanted attention. The dormitories offered a base, a place to gather her thoughts, to observe these strange humans more closely without constantly being on guard. And the 'demonstrations'? Perhaps if she were given a more structured environment, she could find a way to make them understand. Or at least, she could learn more about their capabilities and weaknesses.

The alternative was a desperate, unguided search in an alien world, a concept that was far more unappealing than being a temporary 'sewing machine' for art students. This was a temporary truce, a strategic concession. She would play their game for now, gather what she needed, and then, with newfound knowledge, she would return to her true purpose: serving Ainz-sama.

Albedo looked at Lou Wright, her golden eyes still carrying a hint of the confusion that plagued her, but now mixed with a renewed glint of purpose. "Very well, Principal Wright," she said, her voice regaining a touch of its natural regal timbre. "For the present, this arrangement seems… acceptable. I will do it."

Lou Wright offered no smile, no overt sign of triumph. Just a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Excellent. Welcome to Rainbow High, Ms. Albedo." The principal’s eyes, however, held a distinct gleam. A new, unprecedented era of design was about to begin.

Chapter Text

The moment Lou Wright concluded her offer, she reached for a sleek, dark grey intercom on her desk. "Skyler Bradshaw," she stated, her voice resonating clearly through the small device. "To my office, please. Immediately." There was no explanation, no preamble, just the quiet, unyielding expectation of compliance.

Albedo watched, fascinated despite herself, as a series of quiet clicks and murmurs emanated from the device. This 'communication' method was crude by Nazarick's standards, no direct mental link, no magical projection, but undeniably efficient for this dimension's lesser beings. In moments, a soft knock resonated on the office door.

"Come in, Skyler," Lou Wright commanded.

The door opened, revealing a girl with warm, denim-blue hair styled into soft waves, and eyes the color of a clear summer sky. She wore a stylish, perfectly fitted denim jacket over a vibrant patterned shirt, her aesthetic a harmonious blend of classic and modern. Skyler Bradshaw was the embodiment of approachable artistry, her aura one of quiet competence and genuine kindness.

Skyler's gaze first fell on Albedo, and her eyes widened fractionally. She took in the majestic horns, the sweeping black wings, the pristine white gown, and the sheer, unearthly beauty of the woman sitting calmly in Principal Wright's guest chair. Her initial reaction was a soft gasp, quickly stifled by her polite composure. She was known for being unfailingly courteous, and even a literal demon in the principal's office wasn't enough to shatter her decorum entirely.

"Principal Wright? You called?" Skyler asked, her voice calm despite the intriguing sight before her.

"Skyler, this is Albedo," Lou Wright introduced, her voice devoid of any inflection that might hint at the extraordinary circumstances. "Albedo, this is Skyler Bradshaw, one of our most capable students. Skyler excels in fashion design and is known for her exceptional attention to detail and her welcoming nature. She will be your guide today."

Albedo rose gracefully from her seat, a silent, regal bow of her head. "A pleasure, Skyler Bradshaw." She noted the girl's clear, intelligent eyes and the subtle shift in her posture that spoke of inner strength, a slight improvement over the baffling 'Sunny' and 'Ruby.'

Skyler offered a polite, somewhat hesitant smile. "It's, uh, nice to meet you too, Albedo. Is there something I can help you with?" Her gaze flickered to Albedo's horns, a subtle hint of curiosity.

"Albedo will be joining us as a Guest Artist," Lou Wright explained, her voice firm. "She requires a tour of the campus and to be shown to her temporary accommodations. You will handle this, ensuring she is made familiar with all the relevant facilities. Explain the basics of daily life at Rainbow High. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Principal Wright," Skyler replied instantly, her professional demeanor taking over. This was a direct order from the principal, and Skyler was nothing if not dependable. She didn't question the sudden appearance of an angelic-demonic woman as a "Guest Artist," she just accepted the task. "Come on, Albedo. I can show you around."

As they stepped out of the principal's quiet office and into the bustling hallway, Albedo braced herself. The effect was immediate. Students who had been whispering moments before now openly stared. Some pointed. Others pulled out their phones, attempting surreptitious photos, though Albedo's keen senses instantly registered their attempts. The air, already thick with the scents of diverse perfumes, art supplies, and general teenage vibrancy, now felt charged with a thousand curious gazes.

"It's... normal," Albedo murmured, her voice a low, dry whisper meant only for herself. She referred to the phenomenon of being treated as an exhibit. It was a familiar, if irritating, sensation. In her world, those who stared did so out of reverence or terror; here, it was merely fascination.

Skyler, sensing Albedo’s discomfort, offered a small, empathetic smile. "Yeah, everyone's just really excited. We don't get 'guest artists' very often, especially not with such a... unique aesthetic." She tried to offer a compliment, but it felt inadequate. "Don't worry, they'll get used to it."

Albedo doubted it. She doubted she would get used to them.

The tour began. Skyler led her through brightly lit corridors, past classrooms with walls covered in vivid fashion sketches, photography studios humming with activity, and bustling workshops where the whir of sewing machines created a rhythmic backdrop. Albedo observed it all with a detached, analytical gaze. The students were a kaleidoscope of bold colors and unconventional styles, each attempting to outdo the other in visual expression. It was chaos, but a surprisingly ordered chaos, driven by some unseen force of creativity.

"This is our main cafeteria," Skyler announced, leading Albedo into a vast, open space bathed in natural light and filled with long tables, each a different, bold color. The air hummed with the cacophony of hundreds of youthful voices, the clatter of trays, and the varied aromas of whatever 'human sustenance' was being prepared. Large screens displayed advertisements for school events and colorful menus.

"We have different stations," Skyler explained, gesturing to various counters. "You can get salads, hot meals, sandwiches, and our famous smoothies." She led Albedo to a station where an array of blended beverages in every shade of the rainbow were displayed in tall dispensers. "They're really popular. Do you want to try one? The Berry Blast is my favorite."

Albedo peered at the luminous, almost glowing liquid in the dispensers. They looked like potions from a child's storybook, unnaturally bright and sweet. Her demon physiology did not require such elaborate concoctions. She preferred the fine wines of Nazarick, or perhaps a specially prepared brew from the 8th Floor. This 'smoothie' looked like liquefied candy.

"I... shall refrain for now," Albedo replied, her voice tinged with polite revulsion. The thought of consuming something so sugary and garish felt like an offense to her refined palate.

Skyler nodded understandingly. "Okay, no worries! We can move on then." She seemed to grasp that Albedo wasn't just being particular, but genuinely repulsed by the concept.

Next, Skyler led her to the dormitories. The dorm building itself was a modern structure, its exterior a mosaic of different colored panels. Inside, the hallways were slightly quieter than the main academic buildings, yet still infused with the vibrant energy of student life. Doors were decorated with personal flair – sketches, photos, ribbons, and even small, quirky art installations.

"This is the dorm building," Skyler explained. "Each student gets their own room, with shared lounge areas on each floor. It's a great place to relax and connect with other students."

Albedo merely nodded, her obsidian horns almost brushing the top of the doorframe as she entered.

"And this will be your room," Skyler announced, stepping aside to reveal Albedo's new temporary abode.

The room was a standard Rainbow High dorm, meticulously clean, but utterly generic. The walls were a pale, almost sterile off-white, a bland backdrop for the bright, blocky furniture: a bed with a simple, pastel-colored duvet, a sleek, light grey desk and chair, and a minimalist wardrobe. A single window overlooked a patch of green lawn, revealing more brightly colored school buildings in the distance. It was functional, designed for comfort and study, but to Albedo, it was an assault of neutrality, an anemic void of character. It was everything Nazarick was not.

Skyler gestured around the space. "It's a standard room, but you can totally decorate it however you want! Most students personalize their rooms to match their aesthetic. We can help you find some paints or fabrics if you like."

Albedo stepped into the room, her white gown a pure, stark line against the mundane colors. She looked around slowly, her golden eyes taking in every detail. The soft, uninspired duvet. The bland walls. The lack of any gravitas, any hint of darkness or ancient power. It was utterly, profoundly lacking. This was not a sanctuary. This was a blank canvas, waiting for her to impose her will upon it.

"Thank you, Skyler Bradshaw," Albedo said, her voice holding an unexpected note of resolve. "Your assistance has been… enlightening. You may go now."

Skyler, sensing the unspoken dismissal and the sudden shift in Albedo’s demeanor, nodded politely. "Okay! If you need anything, just ask! My room is just down the hall, 3B." She offered a final, slightly bewildered smile, and slipped out, closing the door softly behind her.

The moment the door clicked shut, Albedo let out a long, slow breath, a deep, silent sigh of exasperation. She was alone. Finally, truly alone in this bizarre dimension. She surveyed the room one last time, her expression a mixture of profound distaste and grim determination. She would not endure this blandness. Not even for a single night.

She raised her hand, her long, elegant fingers splayed. Her golden eyes glowed faintly as she channeled her power, not for destruction or intimidation, but for transformation, for the creation of a semblance of home. The darkness, which had become her familiar companion, flowed from her, not with explosive force, but with a quiet, pervasive majesty.

The pale walls absorbed the encroaching shadows, becoming deep, rich ebony. The light from the single window dimmed, as if heavy velvet drapes had instantly materialized, blocking out the garish brightness of the outside world. The simple bed frame twisted and reformed, its modern lines softening, elongating, becoming an ornate, four-poster bed of dark, carved wood, the headboard adorned with subtle table of dark wood, its surface polished to a mirror sheen. The wardrobe became a tall, imposing armoire, its doors carved with intricate, swirling patterns that seemed to shift and writhe in the newly subdued light. A soft, cold mist, smelling faintly of ancient stone and the deep, rich earth of Nazarick, seeped into the air, replacing the faint, sweet scent of the dorm.

It was not Nazarick. It was not her private chambers, imbued with the glorious presence of Ainz-sama. But it was hers. It was gothic. It was dark. It was, finally, a space that resonated with her very being. The oppressive lightness had been banished, replaced by a brooding, comfortable gloom.

Albedo walked over to the newly formed bed, a deep satisfaction filling her. The soft, cool silk of the sheets invited her. She lay down, not because her physical form was weary, it never was, but because her mind was. This day had been an assault on her logic, her patience, her very understanding of reality. She closed her eyes, willing the images of rainbow-colored smoothies and grinning, fashion-obsessed humans to recede from her thoughts. She needed silence. She needed to purge the absurdity of the day.

For the first time since her abrupt arrival, Albedo felt a semblance of peace descend upon her, a quiet respite in the dark, comforting embrace of her newly fashioned sanctuary. She needed to mentally recalibrate, to understand this bizarre new world, and then, only then, could she begin to find her way home.

Chapter Text

The dorm room of Sunny Madison was a shrine to all things bright and beautiful. Sunlight streamed through the large window, illuminating walls painted in cheerful shades of yellow and orange. Pillows shaped like smiling suns and fluffy clouds were scattered across her bed, and her desk was a meticulously organized explosion of colorful pens, sketchbooks, and fabric swatches in every warm hue imaginable. It was a space that radiated positivity, a perfect reflection of its owner.

Sunny was currently flopped on her bed, propped up on her elbows, her phone balanced in front of her. On the screen was the face of her twin sister, Luna Madison. Even through the digital display, the contrast between them was striking. While Sunny was all sunshine and warmth, Luna was the quiet elegance of twilight. Her hair was a chic, silvery-grey, and her style leaned towards muted, sophisticated shades of black and grey.

"...and then she just, like, zapped me, and my yellow jacket turned into this!" Sunny exclaimed, twisting her body to give Luna a better view of the gothic masterpiece she was still wearing. News traveled at the speed of light at a school like Rainbow High, and the story of the "gothic angel-demon" in the design studio was already the talk of the campus. But for Luna, hearing it from her twin was a direct line to the source.

Luna leaned closer to her own phone screen, her usually composed expression replaced by one of genuine, captivated interest. "Sunny, that is… art," she breathed, her grey eyes meticulously scanning every detail. "The lace is hand-tatted, or at least it looks like it. The cut of that bodice is flawless. And those spiderweb clasps… are they sterling silver?"

"I think so! They're cold!" Sunny said, touching one of the delicate clasps at her neck. "Isn't it amazing? I mean, it's totally not me, but it's so you! I keep telling everyone it would look a million times better on you. It's so dark and dramatic and cool!"

"Too bad I wasn't there," Luna lamented, a rare note of wistful longing in her voice. "I would have volunteered to be her mannequin in a heartbeat." News of Albedo hadn't just stayed within the vibrant walls of Rainbow High; it had already jumped the invisible barrier to its rival school, Shadow High, where Luna was a star student. The artistic grapevine between the two schools was surprisingly robust, fueled by rivalries, friendships, and a shared obsession with all things creative.

"You're not kidding," Luna continued, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. "Everyone here is talking about it. A rumor went around that Rainbow High recruited a 'supernatural couturier.' A few people in my textile class are convinced it's just a viral marketing stunt for a new designer line. But then they saw the picture someone snapped of her wings…"

"Oh, they're totally real! I think," Sunny said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "She got really mad when we asked how she made them. And her horns are definitely not a headband. Ruby got super close and couldn't see a single seam."

"So she's legit," Luna mused, her mind clearly racing. "A being with actual magic who can create high-fashion garments out of thin air… and she’s at Rainbow High." She let out a small, frustrated sigh. "You guys get all the luck. We have the best dark-aesthetic designers, but you get a literal gothic goddess."

"Well, her name is Albedo," Sunny corrected. "And she's… intense. She kept talking about her 'Supreme One' and the 'Great Tomb of Nazarick'. I think it's part of her whole character backstory, you know? She's super dedicated to the role."

"Sunny, what if it's not a role?" Luna asked, her tone serious. "What if she's exactly who she says she is?"

Sunny paused, considering it for a moment. "Well… then that's even cooler! Either way, I'm wearing a magic dress!"

Luna rolled her eyes, but a smile played on her lips. "Typical. But listen, my classmates are dying for details. They want to know everything about her style. Is it all gothic, or can she do other dark aesthetics? Noir? Punk? Is she taking commissions?"

"I don't know!" Sunny giggled. "She kind of just seemed confused and angry the whole time. But maybe she'll show us more tomorrow! Principal Wright made her a Guest Artist!"

"Keep me updated," Luna said, her voice firm. "Send me pictures. Get swatches if you can. This is the biggest thing to happen in the design world all year."

Elsewhere on the Rainbow High campus, a different kind of information gathering was underway. Violet Willow, the school's premier social media influencer and digital media focus, had her target locked. Her phone was already recording, its lens aimed squarely at Skyler Bradshaw, who was trying to organize a stack of denim fabric at her workstation.

"So, Skyler," Violet began, her voice a smooth, practiced purr designed for her millions of followers. "The entire school is buzzing. You were seen giving a personal tour to the mysterious and magnificent Albedo. My followers are dying to know: what's the real story? Who is she? Where did she come from? And most importantly, what's her design philosophy?"

Skyler sighed, not looking up from her work. She had been fending off questions like this for the last hour. As the first student to have a proper one-on-one interaction with Albedo, she had become the unintentional gatekeeper of information.

"Violet, I've already told you," Skyler said, her voice patient but firm. "I don't really know her. Principal Wright just asked me to show her around. That's it."

"Come on, Sky, give me something!" Violet pressed, moving her phone to get a better angle. "You're a top designer. You must have an opinion. Her gown, for instance. What was the material? It looked like nothing I've ever seen before. Was it a silk blend? A new synthetic polymer?"

Skyler finally looked up, a wry smile on her face. "Honestly? It looked like moonlight woven into fabric. I have no idea what it was. It was perfect."

Violet's eyes widened. That was a soundbite. "Moonlight woven into fabric! I love it! So, you're saying she's the real deal? Not just smoke and mirrors?"

"I'm saying I have no idea," Skyler repeated, turning back to her denim. She was meticulously honest and refused to speculate for the sake of gossip. "She's very quiet. Very… regal. She didn't like the smoothies."

"Fascinating!" Violet whispered dramatically to her phone's camera. "A refined palate. The plot thickens! But you must know something more. What's she like? Is she friendly? Scary? Did she say anything about her next collection?"

Skyler finally set down the fabric and faced Violet directly, her expression one of polite finality. "Violet, I was with her for maybe thirty minutes. I showed her the cafeteria and her dorm room. We didn't discuss design theory or her five-year plan. She seemed… overwhelmed. And a little annoyed by all the staring." She gave Violet a pointed look. "She just wants to be left alone, I think."

Violet pouted, lowering her phone slightly. "But my followers have a right to know! She's a public figure now."

"She's been here for less than three hours," Skyler retorted dryly. "Look, I can't give you the exclusive you're looking for, because there isn't one. I'm just the girl who showed her where the dorms are."

Violet let out a dramatic sigh, but a determined glint remained in her eye. She knew when she was hitting a brick wall. Skyler was too principled to invent drama. But she had gotten one good quote, and now she had a new lead.

"Okay, okay, I get it. You're sworn to secrecy," Violet said with a wink. "But I heard a rumor… that she might be in our Advanced Design Workshop tomorrow. Is that true?"

Skyler paused. She had heard the same rumor. It made sense, if Principal Wright wanted to integrate her into the school. This was the one piece of solid information she could offer.

"I think so," Skyler admitted. "Principal Wright usually has guest artists sit in on the advanced classes. So… maybe she'll be there."

Violet's face lit up. A triumphant smile spread across her lips as she raised her phone again, turning it to selfie mode.

"You heard it here first, Willow Wispies!" she chirped to her audience. "The mysterious Albedo is slated to make her classroom debut tomorrow in the Advanced Design Workshop! Will she unveil a new creation? Will she share her otherworldly design secrets? You know your girl Violet will be there, front and center, to get you all the details. Stay tuned!"

She ended the recording with a flourish. Tomorrow. The workshop would be the new ground zero. And this time, she wouldn't have to rely on secondhand information. She would see the magic for herself. The entire school would be watching.

Chapter Text

Albedo awoke not to the gentle, magical chimes of Nazarick, but to an unnerving silence. For a moment, cocooned in the comforting gloom of her magically transformed dorm room, she could almost believe she was home. The scent of ancient stone, the feel of cool silk against her skin, the oppressive, beautiful darkness, it was a near-perfect replica. But the illusion shattered the moment she opened her eyes. Through a small gap in her self-created velvet drapes, a sliver of offensively bright, cheerful daylight cut through the gloom, a stark reminder of her alien surroundings.

She rose from the bed, her movements fluid and silent. The task for the day, as outlined by the formidable Principal Wright, loomed in her mind. She was to 'teach' a class. The concept was not entirely foreign. She had trained countless beings in the service of Nazarick, from lowly undead sentinels to high-level demonic vassals. She had instructed them in combat tactics, defensive strategies, and the paramount importance of absolute, unwavering loyalty to the Supreme One, Ainz Ooal Gown.

But this? This was different. What could she possibly teach these garishly colored, emotionally baffling humans? How to properly grovel? The strategic advantages of flanking maneuvers? The subtle nuances of existential terror? None of that seemed to fit the curriculum of a school dedicated to 'fashion.' The entire situation was, as always, utterly absurd.

A soft knock came at her door. "Albedo? It's Skyler. I can show you the way to the Advanced Design Workshop if you're ready."

With a soft sigh, Albedo composed herself, smoothing the immaculate fabric of her white gown. She opened the door to find Skyler Bradshaw waiting patiently in the hallway, a friendly smile on her face. Skyler's eyes widened slightly as she caught a glimpse of the room's interior, the dark, carved wood, the velvet drapes, the complete absence of light, but she was polite enough not to comment.

"I am ready," Albedo stated, her voice a low, melodic murmur. She stepped out, closing the door behind her and sealing her small pocket of Nazarick away from the world.

The walk was a repeat of the previous day, a gauntlet of stares and whispers. This time, however, the curiosity was mixed with a palpable sense of anticipation. News had clearly spread. Violet Willow’s social media post had done its work. They weren't just looking at a strange anomaly anymore; they were looking at their new teacher.

When they arrived at the Advanced Design Workshop, the room was already full. Every student from the class was present, along with a few others who had clearly snuck in, including a very conspicuous Violet Willow, phone in hand, trying to look casual in a back corner. The air was thick with expectation.

Skyler gestured towards the front of the room. "They're all yours," she whispered, before finding her own seat amongst her peers.

Albedo glided to the front of the classroom, her regal presence instantly silencing the low chatter. She stood before them, a vision of monochrome perfection in a world of explosive color. Her golden eyes swept across the eager, upturned faces. They looked at her not with the fear she commanded, but with the rapt attention of an audience waiting for a show to begin. She felt, once again, like an actress on a stage, expected to perform.

She had no lesson plan, no prepared remarks. She only had her own unshakeable truths, the core tenets of her existence. She would teach them what she knew.

"You are here to learn about 'design'," Albedo began, her voice resonating with an authority that felt utterly natural to her. "You speak of 'aesthetics' and 'self-expression'. These are… limited concepts. True expression is not about showcasing your fleeting moods or personal whims through color and fabric."

A few students exchanged confused glances. Ruby Anderson, in the front row, frowned, her pencil hovering over a blank page in her sketchbook.

"True expression," Albedo continued, her voice rising with a zealous passion that took the students by surprise, "is the ultimate and total sublimation of the self in service to a higher purpose. It is about taking all of your skill, all of your power, and dedicating it to the glory of one who is unequivocally, absolutely superior. Your 'designs' should not scream 'look at me.' They should whisper, 'look upon the greatness of my lord'."

The silence in the room was now one of pure, unadulterated confusion. This was not the inspiring creative pep talk they were used to. It sounded more like a sermon from some kind of strange, ancient cult.

"To serve is the highest form of expression," Albedo declared, her eyes glowing with fervent loyalty. "To create something so magnificent that it is worthy of being laid at the feet of your Supreme One, that is the pinnacle of artistry. All else is vanity. All else is meaningless."

She let her words hang in the air, expecting them to be met with dawning comprehension, or perhaps even a glimmer of fear. Instead, she was met with blank stares.

Violet Willow, never one to miss an opportunity, raised her hand. "So… are you saying our 'brand identity' should be based on our… boss?"

Albedo's eye twitched. "Your… 'Supreme One' is not a 'boss'. He is the reason for your existence. The beginning and the end of all things."

A boy in the back of the class snickered. "Sounds kinda intense for a fashion line."

Albedo's patience, already worn tissue-thin, finally snapped. They were incapable of understanding. Words were useless. Concepts like loyalty and divine servitude were as alien to them as the color black was to Sunny Madison. They only understood one thing: visuals. Power they could see.

"You do not comprehend," she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous, icy calm. "You think in terms of 'lines' and 'brands'. You cannot grasp true glory. Very well."

Her gaze swept the room and landed on a quiet student near the back, a girl named Jade Hunter who was known for her love of bold, green streetwear. Jade was wearing a simple, high-quality green hoodie and matching joggers, a comfortable but unremarkable outfit.

"You," Albedo commanded, pointing a single, sharp finger at Jade. "Stand up."

Jade blinked, startled, but complied, rising nervously to her feet.

"Your attire is functional," Albedo stated dismissively. "It expresses nothing but a desire for comfort. But it shall serve as a canvas."

Albedo's hand began to glow, not with darkness, but with a brilliant, pure white light, so intense it made the students shield their eyes. It was a light that felt holy and terrifying all at once. She channeled a different kind of magic this time, not the dark, transformative power she preferred, but a sliver of the divine energy that flowed through her, a power rarely used outside of healing or blessing.

The light shot across the room and enveloped Jade. The simple green cotton of her hoodie began to shimmer, the fibers rearranging themselves. The color deepened into a brilliant, living emerald, seeming to pulse with its own inner light. The cut of the garment transformed, the hoodie becoming a breathtakingly elegant, floor-length gown. The fabric flowed like liquid light, more radiant and luminous than any sequin or satin they had ever seen. Intricate patterns of silver and gold, looking like celestial constellations, swirled across the surface of the gown, glowing with a soft, ethereal light.

But Albedo wasn't finished. With a flick of her wrist, the air around Jade began to sparkle. Small spheres of pure, golden light materialized out of thin air, hovering around the student like miniature suns. They floated gently, casting a warm, magical glow that made the transformed gown shimmer with an otherworldly beauty. The spheres illuminated the room with a strange, enchanting charm, making the dust motes dance like tiny stars.

The students stared, their mouths agape. The dress wasn't just beautiful; it was sublime. It was of a quality that made the finest silks and velvets in the room look like cheap burlap. It was more radiant than any LED-infused fabric, more intricate than any hand-beaded couture. It was a garment literally made of light and magic.

Jade looked down at herself, then at the glowing spheres orbiting her, her expression one of pure, unadulterated wonder.

Albedo lowered her hand, the intense light fading. She looked at the stunned faces of the students. "This," she said, her voice filled with a cold, triumphant finality, "is a pale imitation of an offering fit for a Supreme Being. This is what 'expression' looks like when dedicated to a power greater than yourself. It is not fashion. It is worship."

The room was silent for a long moment. Then, Ruby Anderson slowly lowered her pencil, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "It's... it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion.

The spell was broken. The room erupted not into fear, but into a cacophony of excited, awestruck voices.

"How is it glowing? There's no power source!"
"Look at the drape of that fabric! It's impossible!"
"Violet, are you getting this?!"

Albedo watched the chaos, a familiar sense of defeat washing over her. She had shown them a glimpse of divine, holy power, an art form meant to praise a god.

And they still just thought it was a really, really nice dress.

Chapter Text

The clamor of awestruck students faded behind Albedo as she swept from the classroom. She didn't wait for a dismissal, nor did she acknowledge the frantic questions and praise being hurled in her direction. Her exit was as swift and silent as her entrance, a gliding retreat from a battlefield where she had suffered a profound and incomprehensible defeat.

She walked the vibrant corridors of Rainbow High in a daze, the kaleidoscope of colors blurring into a meaningless smear at the edge of her vision. Her mind, a fortress of strategic brilliance and unshakeable conviction, felt… breached. Not by force, not by magic, but by the sheer, overwhelming power of a perspective so alien it defied all logic.

She had fought liches that could command armies of the dead. She had faced ancient dragons whose roars could shatter mountains. She had stood against angelic beings whose holy power could sear the very soul. None of those encounters had left her feeling like this. This was a unique and insidious form of exhaustion, a deep, weary ache in her very spirit. Those opponents, for all their might, operated on a plane of existence she understood: power was met with greater power, strategy was countered with superior strategy, and fear was a universal currency.

But here? Here, her power was met with applause. Her strategy was misinterpreted as performance art. Her attempts to inspire fear resulted in fashion critiques. This place, with its relentless cheer and baffling priorities, felt like a meticulously crafted psychological torture chamber, designed specifically to erode her sanity. Every interaction, every conversation, was a fresh assault on her reality. How long could she endure this before the sheer, saccharine absurdity of it all cracked her composure completely?

Lost in her turbulent thoughts, she arrived at her dorm room. The dark, gothic facade of her magically altered door stood out like a missing tooth in the brightly colored hallway. She pushed it open, seeking the solace of her self-made sanctuary, and stepped inside, the door swinging shut behind her but not quite latching.

She stood in the center of the room, the familiar gloom a balm on her frayed nerves. The silence was a welcome relief. She unclasped the Ginnungagap from her waist, its familiar weight a small, tangible connection to her true purpose, and placed it reverently on the dark wood of her writing table. She sank onto the edge of her bed, her majestic wings drooping slightly, a rare physical manifestation of her mental fatigue. She rested her head in her hands, her long, black hair cascading around her, a curtain of shadow.

"Is this my punishment?" she whispered to the empty room. "For some unknown transgression against the Supreme One? To be exiled to this… pastel-colored hell?"

"It's not hell… it's just… a lot."

The voice, soft and hesitant, came from the doorway. Albedo’s head snapped up, her golden eyes flashing with a dangerous light. Her exhaustion was instantly replaced by a surge of defensive energy. Skyler Bradshaw stood in the partially open doorway, her hand hovering near the frame as if she were afraid to knock. She must have followed her.

"What do you want?" Albedo’s voice was cold, sharp, and laced with a weariness that made it even more menacing. She had no energy for another baffling conversation.

Skyler flinched at the harshness of her tone but didn't retreat. She took a tentative step into the room, her eyes adjusting to the profound darkness. The air was cool and smelled of stone and something ancient and powerful. It felt like stepping into another world.

"I… I just came to see if you were okay," Skyler said, her voice gentle. "I saw what happened in class. It seemed like… well, like things didn't go the way you wanted them to."

Albedo let out a short, bitter laugh. It was a sound utterly devoid of humor. "'Didn't go the way I wanted?' That is a masterful understatement, even for this place. I offered them a glimpse of true, divine glory, an art form born of absolute devotion. And they treated it like a light show. They asked if the fabric was 'machine washable'."

She stood up, pacing the small space between her bed and the armoire. "This entire situation… it is intolerable. I am Albedo! Overseer of the Guardians! I am a warrior, a strategist, a being of immense power! My purpose is to serve my lord, to defend Nazarick, to crush his enemies! And here… here I am reduced to a novelty. A magic trick. A… a glorified textile printer."

The frustration and confusion that had been simmering within her for the past two days finally boiled over, her words tumbling out in a torrent of aristocratic rage.

Skyler listened patiently, her expression one of deep empathy. She didn't interrupt. She just let Albedo vent, her calm presence a stark contrast to Albedo's inner turmoil. When Albedo finally fell silent, her chest heaving with silent fury, Skyler spoke again, her voice still soft.

"I know it's strange," she began, choosing her words carefully. "And I know your first day of class wasn't easy. But… I think I know what it feels like to be out of place here."

Albedo stopped pacing and turned to look at her, a skeptical frown on her face. "You? You seem perfectly suited to this… vibrant chaos."

Skyler gave a small, self-deprecating smile. "Now, maybe. But not at first. My first day at Rainbow High was a disaster. I came from a more traditional design background. My first project was a classic denim collection. It was well-made, perfectly stitched… and Professor De'Vious told me it was 'boring' and 'uninspired'. She said it lacked a unique point of view. I spent the whole night in my room thinking I wasn't good enough, that I didn't belong here, that everyone was speaking a language I didn't understand."

Albedo stared at her. The specific details were trivial, 'denim', 'professors', but the core emotion… the feeling of being judged by an alien set of standards, of having your best efforts dismissed as inadequate, of not belonging… that resonated with a startling clarity.

"They just don't understand your language yet," Skyler continued, her voice gaining a quiet confidence. "You're showing them something completely new, something from… well, wherever you're from. It's so different from anything they've ever seen that they don't have the right words for it yet. They're not trying to insult you; they're trying to fit you into the only context they know: fashion, design, special effects. It's the only way they know how to show appreciation."

Albedo considered this. It was a preposterous notion, that their inane questions were a form of praise, but it was the first explanation that didn't assume they were all complete imbeciles. It suggested a profound ignorance rather than a malicious mockery.

"You see a 'Supreme One' and 'worship'," Skyler explained, taking a small step closer. "They see a 'brand muse' and 'brand loyalty'. You see a 'divine offering'. They see 'inspirational couture'. It's the same idea, just… filtered through a different lens. A very, very colorful lens."

Albedo sank back onto her bed, the anger in her chest receding, replaced by a thoughtful silence. Skyler's logic was… plausible. It didn't make the situation any less frustrating, but it made it slightly more comprehensible.

"You are… different from the others," Albedo said finally, her golden eyes studying Skyler with a new level of consideration. "You do not babble incessantly about trivialities. You listen. And your reasoning, while still fundamentally flawed by the limitations of this world, is not entirely without merit."

A small smile touched Skyler's lips. "Thanks. I think."

"Of all the humans I have been forced to interact with in this dimension," Albedo stated, as if delivering a formal decree, "I find your presence to be the most tolerable."

Coming from Albedo, this was the equivalent of a glowing commendation, a declaration of burgeoning, if reluctant, respect. Skyler's smile widened. Maybe this "Guest Artist" wasn't a lost cause after all. Maybe she just needed a translator.