Daemar stopped pacing behind his desk.
The faint light from the tall window caught in the silver strands of his hair, softening the usual sharpness of his violet gaze. For a moment, he simply looked at Noel — not with reprimand, not with exasperation… but something quieter.
"…Exhausting," he finally said.
Noel blinked. "Really? That bad?"
Daemar snorted — a sound so rare both Dior and Charlotte glanced up.
"The transition has been… dramatic," Daemar admitted. "Nicolas ran this academy with more precision than any general. Replacing him was never going to be simple."
He gestured at the piles of documents, sealed notices, and mana-stamped reports scattered across his desk.
"Now," he continued, "half the families send letters demanding reassurance. Nobles request 'status updates.' New policies must be drafted before the semester begins. Professors want meetings. And the Imperial Family—"
His eyes flicked briefly toward Seraphina and Dior.
"—requires constant coordination."
