The day the results of the re-evaluation were released, the Academy courtyard was crowded with students buzzing like restless bees. At the center of it all, a girl with a pink jellyfish hairstyle stood stiffly, her black eyes narrowing at the board.
14th. Claire Swan Velgora.
Her fist clenched so tightly her knuckles turned pale.
Claire Velgora—born of the prestigious Velgora family, suppliers of coal across the capital. Ever since she could remember, she was always the best at everything. Always top one in her tutors' classes, always praised as the "pride of the Velgoras." If there was a spelling contest, she won it. If there was a fencing match, she won that too. And yet—here she was. Not in the top ten. Fourteenth.
Her teeth ground against each other.
"Clairee! Congrats!" A shrill, cheerful voice pulled her from her thoughts. Her friend, Kaye, bounced beside her with glittering eyes.
Claire forced a smile, smooth and practiced. "Yes. Though…" She let her voice drop a notch. "I was planning to enter the top ten."
"Awwie, it's okay! You can do it next year," Kaye chirped, completely insensitive.
Claire's smile didn't falter, but inside, frustration burned like coal in a furnace.
Later, when the new class lists were posted, her heart sank further. 2B. A class she considered mediocre. She bit her lip lightly, exhaling through her nose in quiet disappointment.
Then came a ripple of noise to her right.
Turning, she saw them: three figures messing around by the board.
One girl with pale silver hair and striking heterochromatic eyes—Liora Vallegoire, ranked third. A boy with messy dark hair, spectacles slipping down his nose—Wyxro Waxzi, ranked fourth. And then…
Her eyes narrowed.
A blonde boy, grinning so wide it looked painful, with a small scar on his eyebrow and bright blue eyes that sparkled as if he didn't have a single care in the world.
"He looks dumb," she muttered under her breath. "Why are those two top rankers letting someone like him cling to them?"
No one heard her. And perhaps that was best.
She turned away, promising herself: This year, I'll practice harder. I'll climb into the top ten. Her father didn't care whether she aced her classes—he wanted her to graduate with "decent marks" and get married into another noble family. But Claire Velgora refused to be sold off like a pawn on a chessboard. If she didn't carve her own path, her future was already sealed: a stranger's wife, a stranger's mother.
The thought alone soured her mood.
Two weeks passed.
The North Wing's training ground rang with the hiss and crackle of energy. Claire stood in the center, her hands raised, a thin thread of sweat running down her temple. Blue-white arcs of energy curved around her palms, sparking into a solid weapon—first a bow, then shattering into a spear, then collapsing into nothing.
Her breathing grew ragged, her knees buckling slightly.
"Just… a little more…" she muttered, pressing forward.
The air hummed violently before her, light bursting into the shape of twin blades. She swung them down, striking the ground, leaving scorched marks across the tiles.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Her head snapped up.
"Wooah! That was so cool! What kind of power was that?"
The voice was bright—annoyingly bright. And standing there, hands applauding like an enthusiastic child, was the same blonde idiot from before.
"…Who are you?" Claire straightened her posture, her tone cold.
The boy tilted his head, grinning. "Uh… just a passerby?"
Her brows furrowed. Before she could retort, he waved carelessly and jogged off. "Anyways! Spar me next time, okay? Byyye!"
Claire blinked, lips parting slightly. What in the world was that…?
Her confusion was broken by squeals nearby.
"Claire! Did Klyden just talk to you?!" one girl gasped.
"Gosh, he's so majestic…" another sighed dreamily.
Claire frowned. "Who?"
Her classmate gawked. "Klyden. Klyden Yurei. Top five in our batch, duh! He even went on the Forsaken Forest mission last year!"
"…Ah."
Her gaze flickered toward the path he ran off to. That was Klyden Yurei? The "serious knight" she had heard so much about? She had imagined a tall, stoic swordsman with a piercing gaze and a presence that silenced rooms. Not… a boy who smiled like an overeager puppy.
She sighed in disappointment. "So much for the rumors."
Days later, unable to sleep, Claire slipped out of her dorm. The night air was cold, and the cardigan around her shoulders did little to help. She wandered the South Wing, arms crossed, thoughts spinning about her weak Diety Rank. Q-rank. Would she ever reach X?
Then—her steps froze.
Up ahead, three silhouettes leaned casually against the wall. Second-years. Boys.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" one sneered, stepping forward.
"Lost, my lady?" another chuckled.
Claire ignored them and tried to walk past.
But a hand shot out, grabbing her wrist.
"Don't ignore us," the third said, his grin sharp. And suddenly—her body went stiff. Her eyes widened. She couldn't move.
"H-Huh?"
"Can't move?" The boy holding her wrist smirked. "That's my ability. Paralysis."
His free hand tugged at her cardigan. "Now, let's have some fun—"
CRACK!
A fist slammed across his jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground with a groan. The other two stepped back instantly.
Claire's eyes darted to the side—
Klyden Yurei, standing in his pajamas, fists clenched.
"'Can't move'? Funny," he said mockingly, flashing a grin. "That's my specialty too."
The thugs paled, grabbed their fallen friend, and bolted.
Klyden watched them vanish with an annoyed mutter. "Seriously. Harassing someone at night? Pathetic."
Then his gaze slid awkwardly to Claire. His usual brightness dimmed, as if unsure how to stand before her after what just happened. He even stepped back, worried his presence might unsettle her further.
Claire's eyes fell on the sack he carried in one hand. Bread. Midnight snacks?
Relief warmed her chest despite herself. "…Thank you."
Klyden blinked, surprised. Then, as if unable to help himself, his whole face lit up in a grin. "No problem!" He gave her an exaggerated thumbs-up, like he'd just done the most casual thing in the world.
And for the first time, Claire Swan Velgora wanted to take back every dismissive thought she had about him. Her lips curved, just faintly, and a light blush dusted her cheeks.
...
The sound of clashing wooden blades echoed across the courtyard. Claire exhaled sharply, sweat trailing down her cheek as she parried Klyden's sloppy, over-the-top strike. He grinned like he was some master duelist, but Claire knew better—his footwork was everywhere, his stance uneven.
"You gotta feel it, Claire," Klyden said dramatically, twirling the practice sword in a way that looked more like juggling. "Like—boom!" He stomped his foot, making the ground puff a little dust. "And then when you release your power, you gotta make it go splaaaam!" He swung his arm like he was tossing invisible fireworks.
Claire blinked, lowering her sword slightly. "...Huh?"
Klyden smirked, puffing his chest. "Yeah, you know. Like when your deity power charges, it's all zsshhk!" he made a crackling noise with his mouth, arms vibrating like a broken marionette, "then you unleash it like kaboom! splam! and the enemy won't even know what hit 'em."
Claire tilted her head, utterly baffled. "That's… not how it works at all."
Before she could question him further, a slender hand caught Klyden by the ear and yanked him down in one swift, merciless tug.
"OW, OW—HEY!?" Klyden flailed dramatically, half-bending over as if his very life was being drained through his ear.
Claire's eyes followed the figure who now stood beside him, graceful and striking under the golden sunlight. Long wavy-crimson hair, framing a face that seemed sculpted with both elegance and power. Her violet eyes gleamed like polished amethyst—sharp yet enchanting. She wore her academy attire with an ease that made it look regal rather than standard issue.
The Ember Scholar herself. The Lady Heir of the West. Keiya Anastasia Zheka.
"You," Keiya's voice cut the air, calm yet scolding. "Just what trouble did you do this time?"
"Keiiiii," Klyden whined, dragging her name as if it might earn him mercy. "I didn't do anything!" He clasped his hands together like he was begging the gods, expression so overblown that Claire almost choked back a laugh.
Keiya's gaze softened only slightly when she noticed Claire. Releasing Klyden's ear, she straightened her posture.
Claire watched him rub his ear like a wounded child. His exaggerated pout made the whole scene more ridiculous.
Keiya nodded politely. "Greetings to the Lady of Velgora." Her tone turned formal, laced with respect.
Claire blinked, snapping upright. "It… it's an honor to meet you this close, Lady Keiya."
Klyden squinted, pointing dumbly between them. "Wait, wait—who's Velgora?"
Keiya pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering through clenched teeth. "You idiot." Then louder, to him, "The Velgora family governs one of the oldest northern territories, specializing in defensive wards and barrier magics— And they are responsible in supplying coals."
"Oooooh," Klyden nodded with mock seriousness, then leaned toward Claire with wide eyes. "So you're, like, rich rich?"
Claire frowned, opening her mouth to deny it—but Keiya cut in smoothly.
"Klyden," she said, narrowing her violet gaze, "Ashborne is looking for you. He's waiting to spar."
Klyden's eyes lit up instantly. "Really?? R-E-A-L-L-Y?" He clasped his hands together like a child hearing about free candy.
Keiya frowned, planting her hand on his face to push him away. "Have you ever heard of personal space?"
"Nope," Klyden answered without hesitation, grinning wider. "Why? Is my charming face working on you?" He pushed her hand gently aside, leaning closer with a mischievous sparkle.
Keiya's glare sharpened like a blade. Klyden froze for a second, then quickly pulled back with a playful pout.
"Lady Claire, please excuse us." Keiya inclined her head in a slight bow before turning and striding away, graceful and commanding all at once.
Klyden, however, waved dramatically as if he were leaving for war. "Bye-bye, Lady Velgora!"
Claire stood frozen, caught between disbelief and amusement. Then she noticed it—just as Keiya turned, the tips of her ears glowed faintly red. And Klyden, for all his nonsense, had looked at her like she was the only person who existed in that moment.
Claire's lips curved into a small chuckle.
"They're falling in love with each other, don't you think?" a cheerful voice chimed from her side.
Startled, Claire turned to find another figure approaching. Pale-silver, bright smile, a white tunic glimmering under the sun—Liora Vallegoire, her sword casually sheathed at her hip.
"They won't admit it!" Liora added, hands on her hips as if the declaration were gospel truth.
Claire's lips parted, warmth spreading to her cheeks and neck. She hadn't realized how breathtaking Liora was up close—the glow of her smile, the sparkle of her red and green eyes.
"I… I suppose," Claire muttered softly.
"Oh!" Liora extended a hand with infectious energy. "I'm Liora, by the way!"
Claire hesitated, then shook it. "Claire Swan… Velgora."
Liora's grin widened. "What a beautiful name!"
Claire's heart skipped a beat. She pressed her lips together, inwardly scolding herself for the way her pulse quickened.
And at that moment, realization hit her like a quiet storm. She finally understood why she loathed the idea of marrying a man.
Because it was with a man.