Is It Weird for a Guy to Apply to a Witch School?

I stared at the pact in my hands—a single page, short and simple, no tricky fine print to wade through.

Compared to the thick job contracts I’d seen back home, this was a walk in the park.

Almost too easy. I didn’t know much about this stuff, though, so when it came time to sign, I froze, thumb hovering over the paper.

“What’s wrong? Don’t trust it?” said one of the seniors.

“Chill, the academy checks these things. If we tried slipping in anything sketchy, we’d be the ones in hot water. It’s just a part-time job—no way we’re dumb enough to mess with you. The manager would kill me!”

Her words eased me up. After a bit more prodding, I scratched my name—Yang Yuehan—across the bottom.

The second I did, the paper lit up like it’d been soaked in gas.

A quick flash of fire, a flicker, and poof—it was gone. No ash, no trace. Just me, jumping back with a little yelp.

Then, boom—every detail from that pact popped into my head, sharp and clear. All I had to do was think about it, and there it was, like a note stuck in my brain.

“Spooked you, huh?” one senior laughed from the side, arms crossed. “That’s how pacts work. Bet you’ve got it all locked in your head now, right?”

The two of them just hung out there, watching me sign like it was no big deal. And honestly, it didn’t look like they had much else going on—no customers had shown up the whole time. How did this place even stay open?

But that pact? It stole the spotlight. What kind of magic was this? Imagine if I could slap hard study notes onto a pact and burn them into my memory like that.

Too bad I had no idea how it worked—or if I could cheat the system. If it was that simple, everyone would be doing it, right? Guess I didn’t need to overthink it.

“Oh, hey, saw your signature,” Ying Shiqian said, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Yang Yuehan, right? Let’s do intros. I’m Ying Ying Shiqian—call me Senior Ying if you want. And this is Tang Yihan.” She nodded at her buddy, who gave a lazy wave.

“Tang Yihan. Senior Tang’s fine,” Tang Yihan said, leaning on the counter.

“Oh, yeah, Senior Ying works for me too,” Ying Shiqian added, her grin growing. “So, Yang Yuehan—got a nickname? Little Yang? Yuehan? Something fun?”

“Just Yuehan’s good,” I said fast, brushing off the extras. No need to get creative.

“Cool—Yuehan it is!” Ying Shiqian giggled, clearly having a good time. “Hey, you’re officially on board now. Time to set you up with a uniform and a timecard. Punch in when you get here—pay’s by the hour, so don’t skip it.”

She bounced up, already heading to grab whatever I’d need. Then she stopped, looking back. “Oh, you free right now? You could clock in and start today if you’re up for it.”

“Free? Oh, hell yeah, I’m free!” I nodded so quick I almost tweaked my neck. With the shop this quiet, it was basically free cash—just standing around, money piling up. Where else was I gonna score a gig this easy?

Plus, there was a bonus I hadn’t even noticed until now: employees could take home expiring bread and snacks. And during shifts? Free food—anything in the shop.

Sure, you were stuck with what was there, but if I went full shameless and grabbed the pricey stuff, who’d care? As long as the manager didn’t walk in and catch me chowing down, I was set. This job was basically paradise.

Ying Shiqian didn’t mess around. She came back with a small badge—my punch-in key—and slid it across the counter. “Here you go. Clock in with this.”

I picked it up, flipping it over in my hands.

The bakery ran from seven a.m. to eight p.m., and I could swing by anytime in between.

Part-time meant I had to hit a minimum number of hours a week—nothing wild, just enough to count. No base pay, no full-time perks—just straight hourly wages. Worked for me.

“Yuehan, come here a sec—let’s pick out your uniform,” Ying Shiqian said, handing me my badge before diving back into action. “If we’ve got your size, you won’t need a custom one.”

I glanced at the uniforms she and Tang Yihan were rocking: short-sleeved red tops, crisp and simple, paired with half-aprons that flared out like skirts. Cute, functional, and—best part—easy to throw on. No fussing with buttons or zippers. Perfect for a gig like this.

I trailed after Senior Ying to the back, where a bigger-than-expected changing area opened up. Neat stacks of folded uniforms sat in a cabinet, looking way too organized for a place this chill.

“Senior Ying, why’s there so many uniforms?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. What I really wanted to say was: You two are the only ones here—why the stockpile? And all different sizes? But I kept it tame.

“Oh, these are leftovers from old staff—freshmen who worked here before bouncing,” she said casually, already rummaging through the cabinet. “I remember one girl who was about your size. Hang on, I’ll dig it out.”

I stood off to the side, not wanting to mess up her flow. Wearing hand-me-downs? Fine by me. It’s just a work outfit, not my everyday gear. Plus, at Witch School, I hadn’t spotted a single senior who wasn’t at least kinda hot—used uniforms weren’t exactly a downgrade.

“Got it!” Ying Shiqian pulled out a set and handed it over. “Here, Yuehan—give it a shot.”

I took it, running my fingers over the fabric. Spotless, no weird smells—honestly, it looked brand-new. Weird, considering it’d been stashed in a plain old cabinet. Then I flicked on my Psi-vision, and there it was: a faint hum of transcendence energy swirling around. Some spell I didn’t understand was keeping these threads pristine. Cool.

“Thanks,” I said with a quick nod, ready to try it on.

“Hang on—I’ll grab a couple more options. Take your time testing them out,” Ying Shiqian said, tossing me a grin. “Oh, and this cabinet? It’s yours now for stashing your uniform. I’m heading out—see ya!”

She bolted before I could respond, and I smirked to myself. Probably figured I’d be shy about changing with her around—top off, apron on, the whole deal. Fair guess.

Senior Ying was pretty thoughtful, huh? Total big-sister energy.

Alone now, I slipped into the uniform. The red top went on smooth, and once I tied the half-apron around my waist, I felt this random surge—like I could storm the kitchen and whip up a storm.

Too bad I didn’t know jack about baking. I could stir-fry like a champ, though—shame that skill was useless here.

I tugged at the collar, checking myself out. The red was deeper than I’d expected—less fire-engine, more burgundy. Classy, almost.

But something was off. I glanced at Tang Yihan earlier—she’d had a hat. Where was mine?

Stepping out of the changing room, I felt a little stiff, my steps hesitant.

Showing off a new look to them wasn’t the same as goofing around with Bai Yu. My comfort zone was still a work in progress.

“Whoa, Yuehan, you’re killing it!” Ying Shiqian called out, her voice bouncing with approval as I emerged.

“Right? And I picked it out,” she added, puffing up like she’d just won a prize.

Tang Yihan snorted, rolling her eyes. “Oh, please—all the uniforms are the same style. What’re you fishing for credit for?”

“Fishing for credit’s my right!” Ying Shiqian shot back, smirking. “Meanwhile, Tang Yihan, why don’t you go wrestle your dough or something?”