"We shall proceed with the Selection Game, but we will be taking additional precautions to ensure everything unfolds as intended," the Headmaster declared, her voice echoing with finality.
Decker's brow furrowed, skepticism clear in his eyes, yet he restrained himself. At the end of the day, he was but an educator, bound by duty to the Headmaster's authority.
"What of Eleanor?" he asked, his tone edged with concern.
"I shall dispatch a search party after her. She could not have gone far," the Headmaster replied curtly. "But for now, Garfield and Amelia may return to class."
Garfield stood still, his silence heavy, his expression a storm of disappointment and simmering rage. He loathed the decision, yet, like Decker, he lacked the voice to oppose it. The Headmaster's word was law, and all he could do was choke down the bitter taste.
He left the chamber abruptly, his strides sharp and his body language a blazing testament to his anger. Amelia lingered, hesitant, but Tristan's subtle nod urged her to follow. Tristan himself collapsed into the Headmaster's couch, his body drained, his thoughts muddled.
"Tristan, you may return to your dormitory, for you are clearly exhausted and can hardly stand on your own two feet!" the Headmaster commanded.
"What gave me away?" Tristan muttered with a weary, mocking grin.
Decker stepped closer, extending his hand in wordless aid. Yet Tristan, still distrustful, still unwilling to accept his kindness, pushed himself up slowly, his defiance burning through his exhaustion.
"I can walk on my own."
Decker's lips curled into a faint smile.
"Of course you can," he murmured, withdrawing his hand.
Garfield trudged away toward class, his mind a maelstrom of doubt and indignation. Amelia caught up to him moments later.
"Garfield, wait," she called, her tone imploring.
He stopped, glancing back, his face shadowed by frustration.
"I'm sorry, Amelia, but I don't feel like talking," he muttered, turning to walk away.
"Why are you so angry?" Amelia pressed, her voice soft yet weighted with sincerity.
Garfield spun back toward her, his expression sharp, his fury unmasked.
"Are you truly serious? You all would gamble countless lives—sacrifice them—for what? To achieve some hollow, meaningless goal?"
"Meaningless?" Amelia's voice wavered between hurt and steel. "My dream is far from meaningless. I wish to build a nation free from prejudice, and the Selection Game is the first step toward that vision."
Garfield's laugh was low, bitter, laced with scorn.
"Perhaps you will end discrimination, Amelia, but not by the means you imagine," he said coldly before striding away.
Amelia remained frozen, her chest tight with anguish as she watched a friend she cherished turn from her. She knew the risk was great, but to cancel the Selection Game would brand them as weak, cowering before their enemies.
Tristan watched the fallout in silence. He had not heard the words, but their faces told him all he needed to know. Garfield's wrath, Amelia's sorrow—their bond was fractured.
He exhaled heavily, running a hand over his scalp.
"What am I supposed to do now?"
Garfield wandered aimlessly, his thoughts drowning him, until a rare and familiar figure appeared before him: a man with golden hair and a beard groomed to perfection.
"It seems you are burdened with much," Lord Redgrave observed, his tone sharp, his presence commanding.
"Lord Redgrave—it's you? I never expected you to visit the academy," Garfield said, startled.
Lord Redgrave gestured toward the courtyard, and together they sat upon a bench outside the main building.
"I hear you have allied yourself with one of the Five Great Families," he remarked, his gaze steady, unyielding. "That was unexpected… yet wise."
Garfield lowered his eyes, his voice faltering as his fingers scratched at his palm.
"My Lord, I have been considering withdrawing from the Selection Game."
He looked up, bracing for judgment, but what met him was a glare, an expression carved from disgust and disappointment.
"If you do that, cast aside any hope of seeing Veronica again. I care nothing for your reasons. All that matters is your participation—and your success. Fail in that, and our pact is broken. You will be nothing to me."
Lord Redgrave rose, shaking his head with disdain.
"Pathetic. I shall tell Veronica her brother is both a coward and a failure," he said coldly, turning his back on Garfield.
Garfield surged to his feet. "Lord Redgrave! I will not abandon the Selection Game. I will prove myself worthy of bearing the Redgrave name!"
Lord Redgrave glanced back, his blue eyes glacial, his tone razor-sharp.
"I hope you do."
Without another word, he strode away and entered his carriage.
"My Lord, did you see young Master Garfield?" Francis, the faithful butler, inquired.
"Yes," he replied, slowly making his way into the carriage. "In some ways, he has indeed grown, yet I can still discern that childish nature within him. He falters in the very moment when he ought to stand at his most resolute."
Francis bowed, voice hushed with guilt.
"I failed you, my Lord. I did not do enough."
Lord Redgrave shook his head.
"No, the blame is not yours. To change one's nature is no simple feat, especially in youth. A pity—he might have been molded better, had I been there from the beginning," he said, his tone touched with rare regret.
Francis looked up, stunned by his master's sincerity. Lord Redgrave turned to the window, his gaze fixed on the horizon as the carriage rolled into the distance.