Even after returning to their classrooms, the entire Card Classes remained visibly shaken. Whispers filled the corridors and lecture halls as students struggled to process what had just happened. The Heart Class—smallest in number, notorious for its laid-back attitude, often ridiculed as the weakest—had somehow become the first to defeat the academy's high-tier combat puppet?
It made no sense
Their techniques were rough and disjointed. Yet despite that, they'd appeared stronger—far stronger than anyone expected. No one could understand how.
Enyo, the representative of Spade Class, was particularly disturbed.
She had seen it herself. The Heart Class didn't even have a designated battle commander, yet they moved with seamless coordination. No orders barked. No formation drills. Just instinctive cooperation.
It made her blood boil.
Enyo had risen to leadership through sharp strategy and combat instinct—skills she'd been taught and honed under the strict guidance of the noble House Arryn. Her authority was earned through structure, strength, and superiority. Yet somehow, that disorganized, reckless class had accomplished something Spade hadn't.
To make matters worse, her brother—aloof and indifferent—offered no support. Though he belonged to a different class, they had always worked in tandem. But inside the academy, he buried himself in the library, pouring over old texts like some scholarly recluse.
He claimed he didn't want to command those of "impure blood." Enyo understood his distaste. She too held the same disdain. But unlike him, she couldn't stomach the idea of being led by others. If someone was to lead, it would be her—so she claimed the title of class representative through the Spade Class's trial-by-combat selection method. Whoever stepped forward would fight. The strongest would earn the position.
Thankfully, Austin hadn't participated. If he had, Enyo wouldn't be standing where she was. As things stood, she was only the second strongest in class.
She had heard that the Club Class used a voting system—too democratic for her taste. Most of them were commoners, and with her brother's cold and arrogant nature, she knew well he'd never win a popularity contest. He hadn't even tried. He acted as if he wasn't part of any class at all.
The tension in Spade Class finally broke when Professor Lirien entered. One of the students, unable to contain their frustration, blurted out, "Professor, how could the Heart Class be the first to defeat the high-tier combat puppet? There are only twenty-three of them—and not all of them even fought! I just don't get it!"
As a combat heavy class, the frustration of not being the first to beat it is palpable.
They weren't alone in their confusion. Similar questions were raised in both the Diamond and Club Classes.
Professor Lirien arched an eyebrow, her tone blunt and unfiltered. "Smaller numbers don't equate to weaker strength."
"But they improved faster than us," another student pressed. "Professor, what exactly did the Heart Class teacher teach them?"
The underlying accusation was obvious: Why weren't we taught the same?
This question echoed throughout the academy, posed to every Card Class instructor, albeit phrased differently depending on the classroom.
Professor Bales of Diamond Class gave a dry, almost mocking chuckle as he addressed his students. "According to Professor Veyne, the Heart Class rep compiled detailed profiles of every classmate—documenting their strengths, weaknesses, progress, and battle patterns. During the Q&A sessions, she'd hand over those reports and ask for recommendations on how each person could improve, including what books to read and techniques to practice. She did this every week."
A Diamond Class student stared at him, incredulous. "You're kidding, right?"
Who in their right mind would expose their weaknesses so openly? That was just begging to be exploited. Everyone knew you were supposed to hide your trump cards, not parade them in front of others.
Who in their right mind seek growth for others so that they could grow their strength?
"Do I look like I'm joking?" Professor Bales interjected flatly, his voice cold and haughty.
In the club classroom, the Club Class teacher, ever laid-back, speaks from his seat while waving a hand lazily, "Instead of whining, maybe you should try learning something. Honestly, I don't usually care enough to push you all, but as your teacher, I'm obligated to say this—the Heart Class made full use of their resources. They weren't afraid to be honest about where they were lacking. They asked for help. They fixed those flaws. So even if people did know their weaknesses—so what? They worked on them until they weren't weaknesses anymore."
He gave a small sigh of relief, thinking quietly to himself 'Glad Yuna isn't in my class. I don't have the stamina to match Veyne's enthusiasm. That man hands out improvement plans like candy.'
In the diamond class, Professor Bales gave another short laugh. "Also, while you all were busy chasing beast meat in the forest for battle points, the Heart Class was training every day with the combat puppet. It's high-level, consistent, and safer. Smarter too."
In Spade class, Professor Lirien scoffed. "You're all so obsessed with racking up points that you ignored the best sparring partner in the academy."
By the end of the day, the atmosphere among the card classes had shifted dramatically. The Heart Class was no longer seen as just the lazy, chaotic oddballs.
Now, they were a mystery. A force to be re-evaluated. Watched.
And more than anything, everyone wanted to know—
Who exactly is the Heart Class representative?
...
Enyo moved quietly through the halls of the academy library, her boots making the faintest taps against the stone floor. The air inside had grown more breathable in recent weeks, thanks to the reluctant cleaning efforts of the student body, but the vastness of the place meant large sections still lay cloaked in dust and shadow. It had the bones of a grand institution, but it lacked the polish expected of a prestigious academy—more mausoleum than sanctuary of knowledge.
She turned a corner and spotted him immediately. Her brother sat by the arched window, sunlight brushing over his sharp profile, lighting up the strands of his long red hair like polished garnet. His skin was pale, almost translucent in the sunlight, lips naturally tinted a soft red as though stained by something sweeter. His crimson eyes, deep and eerily calm, were focused on a small glass vial that dangled loosely between his fingers. A single drop of blood glimmered inside—thick, slow-moving, almost luminous.
He wasn't smiling in the conventional sense. The expression on his lips was quiet and strange, a curve that spoke of fascination bordering on reverence.
"You've been staring at that for a while now," Enyo said, drawing closer, her curls bouncing gently with each step. Her own features, though gentler and more rounded than Alaster's, carried the same distinct beauty—red curls cascading around a delicate, heart-shaped face and large crimson eyes that often made others underestimate her sharpness. "What is it?" she asked, reaching out.
But Alaster pulled the vial back before her fingers could touch it, the motion fluid and instinctive, like a predator shielding a kill. His gaze flicked to her—mildly irritated, entirely unwilling.
"Brother," Enyo whined, folding her arms with a huff, though her tone was more playful than upset.
He exhaled slowly, the sound almost inaudible. Then, with an indulgent tilt of his head, he pulled the cork free.
The moment the scent hit the air, Enyo's body reacted. Her breath caught in her throat. The fragrance was subtle, but it clung to her senses like the warmth of wine—intoxicating, pure, disturbingly sweet. Her cheeks flushed, her pupils dilated, and her knees felt unsteady.
"Wh… what…" she stammered, her voice unusually breathy. "What a pure blood…"
Alaster didn't speak. His eyes had closed the moment the scent was released, lashes resting against his pale cheeks. He inhaled deeply, as if drawing something sacred into his lungs. Only when his grip on reason began to fray did he cork the vial again, a quiet snap of glass and stopper sealing away the madness.
"I found it in the library," he murmured after a moment, his voice low, as though admitting to something private.
Enyo blinked herself back into focus, the spell of the blood slowly loosening, though her chest still felt tight with the lingering effect. "There's someone here with blood like that?" she whispered. "So clean... so potent...?"
It wasn't just rare. They had encountered rare purity before—dry, noble, restrained. But this was different. It was alive, potent, unnaturally refined. It didn't smell like blood should. It smelled like something divine hidden in mortal flesh.
Alaster gave a slight nod, the movement minimal. His face remained unreadable, but something darker flickered in his crimson gaze—a depth, a want. Then, as if to chase that sensation again, he let his tongue slip out to brush faintly over his lips, slow and thoughtful, as if trying to recall the aftertaste that lingered in the air.
"It was by the entrance to the Heart Class library room," he said.
At that, Enyo stiffened, her delicate brows furrowing. "Then we have to find the person," she said, her voice firmer, laced with something not quite desperation, but close. "We have to."
But neither of them meant just find.
They didn't say the rest aloud, but the understanding settled between them like an old, familiar secret.
Alaster's fingers curled slightly around the vial again, as though it might vanish if he let go. His gaze drifted back out the window, but his mind was elsewhere. Fixated.
Whoever had bled this—whoever had spilled such blood—they would not remain hidden for long. Not from them.
Because something that pure, that intoxicating, did not deserve to roam freely in a world so filthy.