The journey to the Great Dining Hall was a parade of staged clumsiness. Arian deliberately let his bag slip from his shoulder, spilling several parchment scrolls that he then had to awkwardly gather while Zaken tried to help, creating a small traffic jam in the corridor. Every look of pity or scorn he received was a note in the symphony of his disguise.
"You really need to tie your bag properly," Zaken said, handing him a dented scroll on the History of Transmutation.
"I'll try later," Arian replied with a sigh, as if the task were equivalent to climbing a mountain.
Finally, they arrived at two giant doors made of silverwood. As they swung open automatically, the sights and sounds of the Great Dining Hall greeted them.
The place was magnificent. The ceiling was a giant crystal dome that didn't show the real sky, but rather an ever-changing magical landscape—at the moment, it displayed an ancient forest with silently flowing waterfalls. There were no servants; silver trays floated gracefully from the kitchens through openings in the walls, serving any dish a student desired just by speaking its name. The air was filled with the aroma of roasted meat, fresh bread, and the sweet scent from a dessert table that was nearly twenty meters long.
However, beneath the magic, the Dining Hall was the academy's most brutal battlefield: social politics.
The long, dark oak tables were arranged in an unspoken hierarchy that everyone understood. At the front, near the panoramic windows, was the table for the Imperial Family and their close relatives. Next to it was the table for the Dukes. Then the Marquises, Counts, and so on, down to the rearmost tables near the kitchens reserved for the lowest-tier nobility and students from wealthy merchant families.
As a Duke's son, Arian's place was supposed to be at the front.
As he and Zaken entered, the conversations around them quieted slightly. Everyone had already heard about Arian's "performance" in the previous two classes. News in the academy spread faster than wildfire magic.
Arian looked towards the Duke's table. A few students there, the sons and daughters of Vallen's allied noble families, deliberately looked away or suddenly became very engrossed in their food. Among them, Lianne val Kyros (who sat at the nearby Marquis table) smirked with satisfaction. There was an empty seat, but the aura of cold rejection around it was so thick it was almost palpable. They didn't want the 'Vallen disgrace' tainting their table's reputation.
Zaken sensed the tension. "Come on, Arian," he said in a low voice, "we can sit at my table. The Count's table is more fun anyway."
It was the easy way out. But Arian saw an opportunity. His eyes scanned the room, making a hundred calculations in an instant. He saw Reyna at the Imperial table, sitting with a stiff posture, accompanied only by two equally nervous ladies-in-waiting. The princess glanced his way for a moment, her purple eyes showing a hint of sympathy before she quickly looked down. A silent, too-risky invitation.
Then, his eyes landed on a figure at one of the rearmost tables, located in a somewhat dim area. Ceron De Hanuel. He was eating alone, as usual. His shoulders were slumped, his gaze fixed on his soup, trying his best to be invisible.
There was his stage.
Arian ignored Zaken's offer and the piercing glares from the front tables. Instead, he began to walk. Not to the Count's table. Not towards an embarrassing void. He walked straight to the back, past the Marquis, Baron, and Viscount tables, whose occupants stared at him in confusion.
"Arian, where are you going?" Zaken whispered, following him anxiously.
Arian didn't answer. He kept walking until he arrived at Ceron's isolated table. He stopped in front of the quiet student.
Ceron, feeling a shadow fall over him, looked up slowly. His orange eyes widened with shock and a hint of panic when he saw who was standing there. He looked like a rabbit cornered by a lion—albeit a lion with a reputation for being toothless.
"Excuse me," Arian said with his most friendly and awkward smile. "Is... is this seat taken?"
Ceron froze. His mouth fell slightly open. He glanced at the empty seat across from him, then back at Arian, then at the entire room, where hundreds of pairs of eyes were now fixed on their table. The son of the great Duke Vallen... wanted to sit with him? With the insignificant Ceron De Hanuel? This had to be some kind of cruel joke.
"I-I..." Ceron stammered.
"The other places seem a bit... full," Arian added, shrugging innocently, as if he were completely unaware of the sea of empty seats at the other tables.
Zaken, finally understanding what was happening, broke into a wide grin. His friend might be odd, but his heart was in the right place. He pulled out the chair next to Ceron. "Of course it's free! Let's sit, Arian. I'm starving."
Zaken's action seemed to break Ceron's stupor. Hesitantly, he nodded. "Y-yes. Of course. Please."
Arian sat down across from Ceron, placing his tray with a little too much noise. An awkward silence enveloped their small table, a stark contrast to the whispers that were now spreading like wildfire throughout the hall.
"So... Ceron," Arian began, trying to break the silence. "Your soup... it looks good. What kind is it?"
"Mushroom... mushroom soup," Ceron replied in a low voice, still not daring to meet Arian's eyes.
"Ah, mushrooms. I like mushrooms," Arian said. "Though the last time I tried to cook them with fire magic, I accidentally burned off my left eyebrow. Took a week to grow back."
Zaken let out a loud laugh. "I remember that! You looked so weird."
The ridiculous story worked. Ceron looked up, and for the first time, there was a flicker of a smile on his face. "Really?"
"Really," Arian said, pointing to his eyebrow. "This one's still a little shorter than the other, see?"
The small interaction was a miracle. It was normal. It was funny. It had nothing to do with status, power, or magic. It was just three students having lunch. For Ceron, who was used to being ignored, the moment felt like a sunrise after a long night.
Meanwhile, across the hall, reactions were pouring in.
At the Marquis table, Lianne snorted. "Look at that. He's completely lost it. Crows flocking with crows. He's embarrassing the Vallen name."
At the Imperial table, Reyna watched intently. She saw that Arian hadn't just rejected the Duke's table; he had actively chosen to sit with the most overlooked person in the room. That wasn't foolishness. It was... kindness. A genuine and rare kindness in their world of pretense. Her curiosity about the strange blond youth deepened.
At the faculty table, Professor Kaelen sipped his tea, his sharp eyes never leaving the scene. Anomaly #3, he thought to himself. A Vallen who actively rejects the social hierarchy. This is not the behavior of a downtrodden noble. This is a deliberate rejection of the system. Why?
And at the Duke's table, where she sat alone due to her overly intimidating reputation, Verina Von Hevora elegantly cut her steak. She didn't need to look to know what was happening. She could feel it in the shift of the room's atmosphere.
Fool, she thought, but there was a warmth in the thought. They all see a prince falling to become a commoner. They don't see the foundation he is building. He isn't looking for power-hungry followers. He is gathering the forgotten. The overlooked. Because the loyalty of those with nothing... is the most absolute.
Back at the rear table, the atmosphere had become much more fluid. Zaken was telling heroic (and slightly exaggerated) stories of his archery practice, while Arian interjected with silly comments that made Ceron laugh—a real laugh this time.
"And the caramel pudding!" Zaken exclaimed, having finished his main course. "Tray, please serve three Avero Special Caramel Puddings!"
Three bowls of pudding floated to their table. They were perfect: golden-yellow, with a shiny dark caramel sauce and garnished with magic berries that twinkled like tiny stars.
Arian took a spoonful. The taste was incredible. Sweet, creamy, with a slight bitterness from the burnt caramel. It was one of the few genuine pleasures he allowed himself as Arian.
"How is it?" Zaken asked, his mouth full.
"Soul-healing," Arian replied earnestly, making both his friends laugh.
For the first time, Ceron initiated a conversation. "I... I'm having trouble with the History of Transmutation homework," he said hesitantly, looking at Arian. "And I heard... I heard you like to read old books."
It was a reference to the pile of books in Arian's room, a piece of gossip that had somehow spread.
Arian smiled. "I don't really understand them, but I like the pictures," he replied with false honesty. "But we can look at it together later if you want. Maybe two confused heads are better than one."
Ceron's eyes lit up. "Really?"
"Sure," Arian said. "We're friends, right?"
The word 'friends' hung in the air, feeling both heavy and precious. Ceron nodded enthusiastically, a genuine smile radiant on his face.
Arian finished his pudding with a sense of satisfaction. The luncheon mission was a resounding success. He had reinforced his image as a friendly weirdo, strengthened his bond with Zaken, gained Ceron's trust, angered Lianne, and baffled Kaelen, while simultaneously piquing the interest of the Princess and executing a secret strategy that only Verina understood.
All for a bowl of pudding.
As they rose to leave, Arian felt that being Arian Von Vallen wasn't always so bad. Sometimes, being the fool on the stage was the most enjoyable role of all.
Next chapter?...