Rang—
The sharp chime of the academy bell echoed through the classroom, breaking the heavy silence that had settled after Crimson's demonstration.
"That's it for today," he said, his voice losing none of its firmness. "Next class, you'll begin practicing control. Not casting. Not flaring. Control. Remember that."
With that, he began packing up—methodical, efficient, as always. No wasted movement. No small talk. Just the sound of papers being stacked and a bag being slung over his shoulder.
He left the room without another word.
…
Haaah.
I stretched my arms above my head, bones cracking as I yawned wide enough to make my jaw click.
Didn't sleep at all last night.
Again.
It's starting to become a problem.
Well—more like an old habit resurfacing. Late nights and early mornings… a deadly combo that tends to leave you running on fumes by noon.
But hey, I'm still upright. That's progress.
After that last stretch, a small pop echoed from my back.
Nice.
Guess I really am falling apart.
I slung my bag over one shoulder, already half-tuned out from everything else around me. There were things I needed to do—pieces of a clue I found last night, fragments that hadn't quite formed into a full plan yet.
But they were something.
And "something" beats "nothing."
I stepped out of the classroom—
—and immediately regretted it.
"Hello, Eddie! What's up, buddy?"
Great.
Just what I needed.
I didn't even spare him a glance. Just walked past, eyes straight ahead.
But of course, that didn't help.
"Oooh, so we're in a hurry, huh?" he said, falling into step beside me. "Where we going?"
"It's not we." My voice was flat. "I'm going somewhere. Alone."
"Come on, man." He grinned, far too pleased with himself. "Isn't it always pleasant to have company?"
Pleasant?
Sure.
If the company wasn't you.
I didn't say it out loud. Just kept walking.
But internally?
I was already counting down the seconds until he got bored and left.
…but that didn't happen.
He kept pestering me like a mosquito that learned how to talk.
"Okay, so—get this," Elijah started, lowering his voice like he was about to share state secrets. "There's this second-year chick, right? Rumor says she's got the best blowjob technique in the whole academy—"
"Elijah."
I didn't stop walking. "I have zero interest in your oh-so-great plans of seduction. Don't bother."
He chuckled like I hadn't just verbally slammed a door in his face.
"Well, that's not entirely why I came over. I mean, c'mon—we're gonna be best friends, aren't we? Best friends spend time together, buddy."
"So that's the other way you try to get what you want, huh?" I said, my voice flat. "By feigning friendship?"
He just laughed again, unfazed. "Let's say—just for fun—I was interested in your plan. Let's say I agreed to play a part in your messed-up love triangle. Square. Pentagon. Whatever geometric disaster it is this week."
I turned my gaze toward him, deadpan.
"But I still don't see the logic in it. Where exactly does my benefit come in? Or am I just the emotional support pet you drag into your soap opera?"
Elijah looked genuinely offended… for a whole second.
Then he grinned.
"Oh come on, Eddie. Don't act like you're not a little curious. Drama makes life fun, and you—my tragically brooding friend—need more fun."
I kept walking.
"And you need a therapist.
"Listen, Elijah. I've seen people hit rock bottom for the ones they love—crawl through filth just to be noticed. But you?"
I shot him a look.
"You're not even trying. You talk about Grace like she's your world, and then you toss her into the arms of someone else without lifting a damn finger. Why?"
Elijah paused, his smirk fading to a faint, unreadable expression. "Well, buddy... that's the problem, isn't it?"
He stuffed his hands into his pockets.
"Tell me, Edward. What's the first thing people think when they see me?"
"An asshole."
Elijah chuckled, the sound hollow. "Nope. A playboy. And let's be honest—that's not wrong."
He glanced away, his voice losing its usual teasing edge.
"Ever since I was a kid, I've had everything. A rich household. A noble name. Enough pocket change to burn through a city. And yeah, a decent face too."
He shrugged.
"Girls come easy. They see me, get curious. I flirt, they fall. Make out a bit, date for a while... then move on. Flip the coin again."
"Sounds shallow."
"It was. Until I met Grace."
He said her name like it meant something. Like it hurt.
"She wasn't like the others. She's... radiant. Like moonlight in a starless sky. Pure. Gentle. Everything I'm not. And when I looked at her—and then at myself—I started to wonder... do I even deserve her?"
His voice dropped to a near whisper.
"She deserves someone real. Someone like Leon. He's kind. Stable. Honest. Me? I'm just a joke in nice clothes."
He let out a bitter laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
"But here I am. Talking to myself, huh?"
Elijah looked around, his smile finally gone. He was met with a blank hallway.
Edward was already gone.
---
[Aristea House]
I stood before the gates of the Aristea dormitory—ditching Elijah with a flick of my wrist and a silent apology to my conscience. Reserved for the top ten ranked students, it wasn't somewhere just anyone could walk into.
But today, it was my field of interest.
This was step one.
To make the pieces move, I had to get the key.
I passed through the pristine outer gate, my eyes sweeping over the garden path ahead. Rows of flowers bloomed with intentional care, lining the cobblestone walkway like a gentle warning: Only the best walk here. My footsteps echoed quietly as I approached the entrance.
Two guards stood at the doorway, stiff-backed and watching.
"You're not a resident," one said flatly. "State your purpose."
"I came to meet an acquaintance," I replied calmly.
"Do you have a reservation?"
"I don't need one."
I met his gaze.
"The name is Edward Brightwill. I'm here to see Yelena Valeblanc. Now—proceed."
My tone left little room for discussion.
The names of the Five Great Houses still held weight in this world, and it wasn't something you ignored. After a moment's hesitation, the guard gave a stiff nod and pushed open the gate.
I stepped inside.
The grandeur was immediate.
A marble fountain sat at the center of the courtyard, water dancing from the mouth of an angelic figure. The air was thick with floral perfume and quiet pride. Every corner, every stone, whispered luxury—the kind that didn't just say you've made it, but you were always meant to.
This was how the academy treated those at the top.
A message carved in architecture:
If you want this life, climb for it.
I stepped into the lift and pressed the button for the top floor.
With a gentle ding, the doors slid shut, and the elevator began its silent ascent.
I stood still, hands in my pockets, as another soft ding echoed.
The doors opened.
The hallway ahead looked like something out of a noble's estate—polished marble floors, intricate gold accents along the corners, and chandeliers so pristine they made the entire corridor glow with quiet authority. Every detail screamed prestige, from the carved molding to the velvet wallpaper that lined the walls.
And at the end of that hall, there was only one apartment.
No number. No plaque.
Just a single, elegant door.
I walked over slowly and stood before it, taking a quiet breath. Then, I gently pressed the doorbell.
A second passed.
Then came a soft, feminine voice from the intercom beside the door.
"Yes? How can I help you?"
"I'm here for a meeting."
"I don't believe Miss Yelena has anything scheduled today. May I ask for your name?"
"…Edward."
A brief silence. Then—
"Oh! Mr. Brightwill.
One moment—I'll check with Miss Yelena."
The door clicked, and the intercom fell silent. I didn't wait. I simply pushed the door open and walked in.
Everything was arranged with meticulous care—the kind of quiet order that only comes from a place where every object, every step, had its place. It was the unmistakable feeling of entering a noble household. Not just wealth, but legacy.
A few servants moved through the space, efficiently tending to their tasks—dusting shelves, adjusting vases, setting things just right, like background actors in a play they'd rehearsed for years.
"Please come this way," the steward said, her tone neutral yet respectful.
She guided me through the polished corridor to a large sitting room. The glass-paneled wall on one side offered a panoramic view of the academy grounds—a sweeping expanse of well-kept gardens, marble paths, and distant spires basking under the afternoon light. For a second, it almost felt like peace.
"Please have a seat, Mr. Brightwill. Miss Valeblanc will be with you shortly."
I sat down on a velvet sofa, softer than it had any right to be. A maid stepped forward without a sound, placing a porcelain cup in front of me, steam curling from its surface. The tea had a delicate, sweet aroma—subtle and refined—paired with an assortment of snacks laid out on a silver tray.
I didn't touch anything.
Not yet.
I waited.
The steam rose from the porcelain cup in slow, lazy spirals, carrying with it a soft, fragrant aroma that filled the room with a quiet kind of warmth. I didn't drink it. I just watched the way the mist curled, dissipated—something to do while the seconds passed.
It didn't take long.
I heard footsteps—measured, deliberate—approaching from the hallway. Light, but not timid. Confident. Familiar.
I lifted my gaze.
There she was.
Yelena Valeblanc.
Her hair was slightly tousled, her usual academy uniform traded for something casual—simple, yet dangerously flattering. The kind of outfit that didn't try too hard, but still made it hard to look away. The curve of her figure stood out in all the right ways, her poise effortless yet sharp. Somehow, the lack of formality made her beauty feel even more radiant, more real.
She tilted her head slightly, a teasing smile playing on her lips.
"Well, this is a pleasant surprise. I didn't expect you to come all the way here, Edward…"
Her voice was warm, laced with that familiar playfulness.
"…or did you happen to miss me that much?"
I didn't rise to her teasing. Just let the words hang there with a faint smile, letting her amuse herself. That was always her rhythm—poke, prod, and wait to see what cracks.
"I came here for something," I said simply, setting the untouched tea down on the table.
She arched a brow, walking over and sitting across from me, one leg crossing over the other with elegance too practiced to be accidental.
"Oh?" she said, her voice laced with curiosity and just a hint of amusement. "And what might that be, Edward Brightwill?"
I met her gaze calmly.
"I'm here to ask for a favor."