Tristan sat quietly on a bed as the nurse dabbed disinfectant onto his wound, her touch clinical and unflinching. She carefully wrapped the injury in clean white cloth, tying it firmly around his shoulder. Once done, she instructed him to limit his movement, warning that excessive strain might reopen the wound. Without another word, she left the infirmary, leaving Tristan seated on one of the beds while Amelia and Garfield stood before him.
Amelia was clearly furious, her posture rigid, hands planted on her hips, and her eyebrows furrowed in anger.
"You look angry," Tristan remarked dryly, commenting on her expression.
Garfield let out a stifled chuckle, but Amelia's fiery gaze snapped to him at once. His amusement evaporated immediately. He lowered his head to avoid her glare, his eyes focused on the floor.
Amelia exhaled deeply, calming herself with deliberate breaths. She turned her eyes back to Tristan. Though the fire in her glare hadn't completely faded, it now flickered with concern.
"I understand why you had to fight Benjamin," she said firmly, "but I expected you to take a more calculated approach."
"Like what?" Tristan asked flatly.
"Like maybe…" She paused. Her words trailed off, her mind searching for an answer she couldn't find—a solution that Tristan would have accepted.
Tristan waited a moment longer before speaking. When it became clear that Amelia had nothing, he smirked.
"See? Even you can't think of a way that would have kept me calm," he said, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "I'm fine. You don't have to worry."
"But—"
Knock. Knock.
Before Amelia could finish her sentence, a knock came at the infirmary door.
"Come in!" Garfield called out.
The door creaked open, and measured footsteps echoed as shoes clicked against the wooden floor. A lanky boy with neatly combed orange hair stepped inside, approaching the trio.
"Eric? It's you," Garfield said in surprise, recognizing the newcomer as Eric Thindel.
Without speaking, Eric gave a deep bow before Amelia, the noble standing in front of him.
"Greetings, Miss Amelia. If you don't mind, I've come to take Tristan and Garfield," he said, his head still lowered, his voice calm and respectful.
"Raise your head," Amelia responded. "Of course you may take them. I'm done speaking with them."
With a final glance at Tristan, she turned and left the infirmary, giving a half-hearted wave as she exited.
Once Amelia was gone, Eric straightened, adjusted his glasses, and brushed the creases from his blazer before turning his attention to the two boys.
"What happened to you?" he asked, eyeing Tristan's bandaged shoulder.
Tristan and Garfield exchanged a quick glance. Tristan knew Eric would press for details—and likely lecture him—so he quickly concocted a lie.
"It was an accident during Weapon Practice," he said with casual nonchalance. "Nothing serious."
Eric narrowed his eyes. He clearly wasn't buying it.
"You're terrible at lying," he said, sighing. "For a moment, I thought you might be telling the truth. I should have known you two were troublemakers. I came from your class—they told me you got into an altercation… and with a noble, no less."
Tristan's expression darkened. Anger welled up within him, and he opened his mouth to respond sharply—but Garfield spoke first, cutting him off.
"I apologize. My brother was only standing up for me. It wasn't his fault," Garfield said, bowing his head.
Tristan looked at him, surprised. Garfield offered a brief glance—a silent message in his eyes. Tristan sighed, closing his eyes for a moment as he composed himself. When he opened them again, he looked at Eric with a subdued, apologetic expression.
"I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking," he said quietly.
'This guy really pisses me off…'
Eric exhaled and turned toward the door.
"Come with me. The students are on break now, so I'm going on patrol. You two can join me."
Garfield lifted his head, giving a grateful smile.
"Thank you. We won't let you down."
Eric nodded once and exited the infirmary, waiting just beyond the door. Tristan slipped into his blazer and stood. He flexed his injured shoulder slightly, wincing at the discomfort, though it wasn't unbearable. Together, he and Garfield followed Eric out of the building.
The trio walked the stone paths leading to the school field, where students lounged on lush green grass. A light breeze brushed the trees and rustled leaves overhead.
"This is just the first area we'll be patrolling," Eric said, positioning them behind a row of trees, out of immediate sight.
They stood quietly, observing the students. Minutes passed uneventfully.
"Why are we still here? Nothing's happening," Tristan asked, growing impatient.
"We must remain vigilant. Anything can happen," Eric replied.
No sooner had he spoken than a commotion drew their attention. A group of students had formed a circle. One boy stood in the center as the others began to shove him back and forth, mocking him. All around the field, students stopped what they were doing, turning their eyes toward the growing disturbance.
Garfield took a step forward, instinctively moving to intervene. But Eric's hand clamped down on his shoulder, halting him.
Garfield turned his head back, confusion and frustration flashing across his face.
"Why are you stopping me? They're clearly doing something wrong."
Eric's gaze was unshaken. "Can't you see? They're nobles. They're above the rules. They can do what they want, and we can't do a thing."
"Why not?!" Garfield demanded, his voice rising.
"Isn't it obvious?" Eric said coldly. "They are our superiors. If we step in, we'll be branded as troublemakers."
Garfield froze. His heart pounded. On one hand, he'd made a promise to the Headmaster—to carry out his assignment with diligence and restraint. On the other, everything he believed in was now being tested. His principles... his honor... his very soul.
He turned to Tristan, searching his face for guidance.
But Tristan did nothing.
He simply closed his eyes… and stood still.
Garfield understood.
He yanked his shoulder free from Eric's grip and turned to him, anger and disappointment etched across his face.
"My brother once told me you said the Disciplinary Committee is meant to be the school's defenders. Tell me—how can we be defenders… if we can't even protect the weak?"