All eyes turned to Ace and prince. The chatter died completely. The unspoken question hung between them:
Who would go first?
The prince's lips curved into a faint smile, not mocking but measured. "Well, Thornevale?" he said lightly. "Shall I show them how it's done, or would you care to?"
Ace's gaze didn't leave the bear as he spoke, his tone calm and almost bored. "You can go first, Your Highness."
A ripple passed through the gathered students—part surprise, part expectation. Some glanced at each other as if silently wagering whether the prince would show restraint or finish the fight outright.
The prince stepped forward with easy confidence, his sword held in one hand, its polished edge catching the light. He didn't rush. The bear roared and lunged, chain clinking hard against the metal stake, but the prince's movements were effortless—one step to the left, then the right, his cloak swaying with each dodge as if choreographed.
His blade moved like a whisper, tracing short, precise arcs that barely grazed the monster's fur. Each touch landed exactly where a killing strike could have been—under the foreleg, behind the jaw, just above the spine—but the blade never bit deep.
The more experienced students recognized it immediately."He's… not trying," one whispered."No," another murmured, "he's toying with it."
The bear's frustration grew, its roars turning harsher, more desperate. Yet the prince didn't even break a sweat. His expression remained calm, almost playful, like a hunter circling prey he had no intention of killing—yet.
After several minutes, he stepped back, sheathing his sword in one fluid motion. Turning to Ace, he gave a faint, knowing smile."I've saved the monster for you, Thornevale," he said lightly. "Show them what you can do."
Ace caught the subtle glint in the prince's eyes and knew instantly—it wasn't generosity. This was a test. A public one.
With a quiet sigh, Ace walked forward. The ground seemed to still around him. The bear, sensing a new opponent, bellowed and charged.
But Ace had been watching since the start. He'd memorized every pattern in its movement, every tell in its attacks. His footwork was clean and minimal, each step putting him just outside the reach of claws and teeth. He didn't waste motion, didn't play.
When the opening came, he took it.
A single, swift swing—so fast most didn't even see the blade move—cut across the beast's neck. The roar choked into silence. The bear collapsed in a heavy thud, blood pooling dark against the dirt.
Ace didn't spare the corpse a glance. He simply turned, walked back to his place beside the prince, and sheathed his sword without a word.
The students stared.
Some whispered in disbelief. He killed it… that easily?Others exchanged knowing looks. The prince could have done that too… he just didn't.A few were unsettled—if the prince had been playing, Ace hadn't even been interested.
The prince smiled faintly, as though amused, but said nothing. Ace didn't look at him. The quiet between them was its own kind of duel.
When Ace returned to the first-year classroom, the atmosphere felt… different.Several students were bandaged, some wincing as they shifted in their seats. The usual chatter had died down into hushed whispers, all of them centered on one person.
The hero.
Every glance seemed to drift toward him—admiring, concerned, awestruck. Even the princess, seated nearby, had a faint blush as she kept sneaking looks his way.
Ace quietly took his seat, his expression unreadable. He already knew what had happened.
In the book, today was the scene where the first-year monster broke free from its restraints. The chain, supposedly reinforced enough to hold beasts far stronger than what the first years faced, somehow snapped. The creature had gone wild, injuring several students—Sarena among them—before lunging at the princess.
The hero, of course, had stepped in front of her. He'd taken the full brunt of the monster's attack, bloodied but resolute, until Sarena recovered enough to kill the beast herself.
Ace leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing. The chains were designed to restrain monsters far deadlier than the one the first years fought today. So how had they broken?
He didn't need to think hard to guess.
This was the plot. The perfect stage for the hero to "bravely" protect the princess… and impress every girl watching.
Ace looked toward the hero, whose injured arm was being wrapped by a classmate, and then away again.
Ace also couldn't quite understand one thing. 'Why were they using bandages?'
With the academy's resources, there should have been enough healing potions to make injuries vanish in seconds. Instead, hero sat with wrapped arms and gauze pads, wincing with each movement.
He decided not to dwell on it. This, too, must be part of the script. The heroine was supposed to melt at the sight of the hero's injuries, after all.
He shifted his gaze forward as the classroom door opened and a middle-aged man with thinning brown hair walked in—Professor Eldrin.
"Students," Eldrin began, adjusting the stack of parchments in his arms. "I have an announcement. I requested permission from the principal for an expedition beyond the capital's borders—an opportunity to see the noble territories firsthand. The royal household and other noble families have already granted approval. We are now… only awaiting the Thornevale family's confirmation."
At once, every pair of eyes turned toward Ace.
The hero was the first to speak, rising from his seat with a determined expression. "Then you'll accept, won't you? It's for the benefit of everyone here."
Ace's reply was casual, almost bored. "Go through official channels. That's how such matters are handled."
The tone was calm, but there was a sharp undercurrent to it—a quiet warning that made several students flinch and quickly avert their gazes. The silence that followed was heavy… except for the hero, who kept looking straight at him.
Even Princess Catherine's eyes narrowed in mild irritation. She joined the hero, her voice firm. "I agree. You should accept."
Ace turned his head slightly toward her, his voice smooth but cutting."Just because you are a princess, and my fiancée, doesn't mean you can speak for the Thornevale Duchy."
Her lips parted in shock at the rebuke.
The hero's chair scraped against the floor as he stood abruptly, anger flashing in his eyes. "You don't need to ask the princess for permission to speak her mind. And she should be the one to choose her own future husband!"
The words rang with a kind of self-assured righteousness that made a few students look at him in admiration.
Ace's gaze shifted from the hero to Professor Eldrin, a subtle but unmistakable glare. Eldrin's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, quickly moving to diffuse the moment. "A-Ahem. Let us… continue the lesson, shall we?"
And just like that, the matter was dropped—at least on the surface. But the tension lingering in the room was as thick as the air before a storm.
Catherine kept her chin high, but her heart was beating faster than she liked to admit.The hero's words still echoed in her ears—bold, confident, like a knight from a storybook. It was the kind of thing every girl imagined someone saying for her.
And yet… when Ace spoke, even when reprimanding her, there was an undeniable weight in his voice. Authority. Control. The sort of presence that made the entire room fall silent without raising it.
She hated that she noticed.
Her gaze drifted toward him, but he was already looking forward again, as if nothing had happened—no heat in his eyes, no smugness, no sign that her small rebellion mattered in the slightest.
It irritated her.It intrigued her.
She quickly looked away before anyone could catch the faint blush on her cheeks.
Unfortunately, someone did.
The hero, standing a few desks away, caught the faint pink on her face and felt a rush of triumph.
'Ha. I knew it.'
She was clearly moved by his gallant stand—his courage, his defiance in the face of Ace's cold arrogance. He puffed his chest out ever so slightly, wearing a faint smile he thought looked noble, but in truth, it was more than a little smug.
From his perspective, Ace's silence only proved one thing: the so-called Thornevale heir had no response when challenged by true conviction.
Ace, meanwhile, also noticed but he simply didn't care.
As the classes ended, Ace returned to his room. After changing into more comfortable clothes, he sat down in the armchair near the desk, leaning back with his usual unreadable expression.
A knock came at the door.
"Enter," he said, his tone flat.
The door opened and Lucy stepped in, holding a neatly sealed envelope stamped with the academy's crest. She approached the desk and placed it before him with a small bow.
"This… is the formal letter from the academy regarding the requested expedition," she explained softly. "The one the hero and the others proposed, to observe the tax system and the living conditions of the people in different nobility."
Ace didn't even glance at it. Without lifting his eyes from the spot he was idly staring at, he said in a plain voice, "Sign it yourself and send it back. Allow them."
Lucy froze for a moment. She had expected him to at least take the letter, to read it, to put his name on it. But instead, he was entrusting it entirely to her.
Her fingers trembled slightly as they brushed the parchment. She swallowed hard, an unfamiliar heat rising in her chest. He's… letting me do it?
It was such a small matter for him—insignificant to him—but to her, this was the first official document she would sign on behalf of the Thornevale household. The weight of that permission, even if casually granted, felt monumental.
Her eyes began to sting, and she blinked rapidly to stop the tears from spilling over. I'll do it properly… you'll see.
Ace didn't notice—nor care—that her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than usual, filled with quiet warmth. She bowed slightly and turned away before her expression could betray her.
She left the room quickly, clutching the letter close to her chest.
Out in the corridor, she nearly collided with two figures—Catherine and the hero—deep in conversation. They had been discussing whether they should try to persuade Ace personally to approve the expedition.
Both stopped when they saw her hurrying past, head lowered, tears flowing down her cheeks.
The hero's brows furrowed. "Lucy…? What happened?"
Lucy didn't answer. She was lost in her own thoughts, the feel of the letter in her hands more important than their voices. She moved past them, her steps quick but not rushed—just enough to hide the way her heart was pounding.
The hero straightened, his jaw tightening. "I see… So he made her cry." His voice carried a practiced note of righteousness. "Don't worry, Lucy! I'll talk to him and—"
But she didn't slow down. She didn't even hear him.
Catherine frowned at her retreating back, exchanging a glance with the hero. "So he's treating her like that too…"
Meanwhile, Lucy walked on without pause, her head bowed, eyes fixed on the academy seal. Her mind wasn't on them, or on Ace's cold words, but on the significance of the moment—her first step in carrying out official duties. And the fact that he'd trusted her with it, however casually, was enough to make her chest feel light.