A few months have passed.
Winter was here…
…but Alexander was on fire.
He had thrown himself headfirst into a ruthless routine that blended studying, training, and relationships.
Mornings began with him waking in Elizabeth's bed.
The warmth cuddles and whispers fresh on his mind from the previous night.
He followed this with a cold shower, breakfast, and morning classes.
Students and professors alike gossiped about him, claiming him to be the future prince of Ambur.
Some laughed, others watched in silence.
But they were all ignored.
Lunch had him studying with Louise, her sharp-eyed guidance wasn't easy to navigate.
The closer he got to Elizabeth, the harder her lessons became.
Until the point she was harsher than the winter winds howling outside.
"Knowledge isn't as easy as swooning a royal."
She'd snap, slamming another book in front of him.
"It's a weapon you forge yourself."
Afternoons were often a doozy, practicing on blanketed fields of white in crisp weather.
When Alexander wasn't drilling, he was taking on Raphael's "quizzes" about the previous match.
Alexander had a notebook filled with breakdowns of matches.
Field positions, tactics, players, and their preferred weapons.
And notes on his own mistakes.
Pathfinder had become less of a combat sport, and more like a game of analysis.
"You're not fighting for glory, little brother," Raphael said as the two of them stood in the backfield. You're a commander playing to win."
Every wrong answer was an hour of running.
By the 16th week of the season, Alexander had a nearly unmatched endurance.
His body was sculpted into a lean, unyielding machine.
Evenings belonged to Elizabeth.
The two of them often cuddled together under a warm blanket—with Hinata being an ever-present sentinel.
"You're mine, Alex," she'd murmur, running a finger along his cheek.
Her pink eyes were glowing like firelight.
"And no one will ever change that…"
Alexander would chuckle softly and pull her closer, Louise's warnings were completely forgotten.
At the end of the regular season, François Academy ended with a record of 14-1.
Only losing one match to Academy Caen.
The two academies forced the match to overtime with a score of 3-3.
François came out strong in the beginning, but lost the initiative after Aloïs and Lucie were outed on fouls.
Unnecessary roughness on downed opponents.
Raphael forced them to run for hours after that.
Despite that hiccup, François finished with the highest seed in the southern division.
And now, the quarterfinals are right around the corner.
A final match to crown the winner of the southern division.
And to see who'd face the winner in the northern division.
— — —
Alexander sat with Karl and Jules in the locker room, drinking tea as the team celebrated the end of the regular season.
"Hard to believe we've finished the first seed."
Karl chuckled while swirling his tea, "I remember how disoriented we all were."
Alexander nodded, sipping his tea with a glance over the vibrant locker room.
The team's celebration was in full swing around them.
Laughter bounced off the walls as the occasional slap on the back echoed.
Even Raphael had a rare, genuine smile.
Or so Alexander believed.
"Yeah," he said, setting down his cup, "I remember during the first game how pissed I was for not playing.
Now I'm having fun reading the field like a master tactician."
Jules chuckled.
"Oh I bet you are, Sir Alexander."
He nudged his shoulder, "Charging in with Raphael at the last minute like glorious heroes."
Alexander smirked.
Karl leaned back with a sigh, "But now the real games begin.
"Loire in the quarterfinals, then the nationals…"
"…and finally, the internationals against the masked empress."
Jules finished.
Alexander lurched forward, clenching his jaw.
He had almost forgotten about her.
"The masked empress," he murmured, "the lost ward of House Daname, and the main reason I joined this team."
Karl nodded.
"She's no joke, Alexander, you may not know her…"
He turned to meet his gaze.
"…But she knows about you."
— — —
Meanwhile in the capital of the Fallen kingdom.
A tall girl walked the cobblestone paths of Stuttgart Academy—her face hidden beneath a silver ornate mask adorned with swirling patterns.
Her long black hair was pinned up in a ponytail that rolled down her back.
As she strolled down the pathway, a young girl jogged beside her, struggling to catch up.
"Hey, M? I got that information you wanted, on that Alexander kid?"
She pushed up her rounded bifocals while digging through crumpled papers.
Her short breaths were visible in the cold air, evidence of her haste.
The masked girl—M—didn't break stride.
She moved like a blade cutting through the air, her posture was impeccable.
"Talk, Clara," M said, her voice muffled by the mask and thick with an authority that made Clara straighten up.
"R-right, so Alexander du Nova—from what I've found he's enrolled at François academy, and has outstanding marks in all fields.
He's a part of the Pathfinder team, which has ended the season with a record of 14-1, securing the top seed.
Started the season with an unimpressive performance, but improved greatly in the closing matches.
Some call him the little general."
M's steps slowed a fraction, crossing her arms as she stared at the cloudy sky.
Snow cascaded around her, casting the academy grounds in a blanket of white.
"Any personal details?"
She finally asked, coming to a stop.
Clara nodded.
"A few. His eyes are golden, marking him as one of the few descendants of the broken ninth house.
He's cozy with the princess of Ambur, Elizabeth du Ambur.
Some suggest it's a friendship, others suggest it's more… intimate.
Earning him a second nickname, the young prince.
He's also close with Louise du Nova.
Though their relationship is more practical."
The masked empress shifted onto her left foot, tightening a fist.
"Louise and Elizabeth? The most powerful heirs of Ambur, and he's entangled with them both?"
She sounded incredulous.
Clara nodded hesitantly, clutching her papers tightly against the biting winds.
"Y-yes, at least that's what the reports say, but there's something else…"
M looked down, her leather-gloved hand loosening with a creak.
"What?"
Clara swallowed, "It's highly likely Alexander is from the fallen kingdom.
I've compared reports, his appearance in Ambur matches with the disappearance of Alexander Von Daname.
Almost four years ago.
They may be the same person, meaning—"
M cut Clara off with a tongue click.
"They are the same person," she replied coldly, "and if Ambur thinks it can take him without a fight, they're dead wrong."
Clara's eyes widened behind her bifocals.
"M?" She ventured cautiously, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Do you… Do you know him?"
M stood motionlessly, his blue gaze focused on Clara.
A whirlwind of memories flooded through her mind.
The laughs, the hugs, the tears, and cuddles…
"Of course I know him," she finally answered, her voice a low, resonant murmur that cut through the chill like a sharp blade.
It wasn't muffled by the mask this time.
Her words were as clear as crystal, laced with a raw edge that Clara rarely heard.
"Alexander Von Daname… was my everything."