Viola and I worked in tandem, following an online tutorial as we quickly divided Dasha's hair into sections. Strand by strand, we coated it thoroughly, carefully stretching the pigment from the roots all the way down. When we finished, there was still plenty of dye left in the second bottle, so we decided to go over everything once more and run a comb through the damp hair to be absolutely certain no yellow undertones would survive.
After that, armed with cotton pads Viola had brought from her room and a glass of warm water, we scrubbed Dasha's skin along the hairline before the dye had time to set. In short, we did everything humanly possible to avoid yet another disaster.
When the time came, Viola went off with Dasha to help her rinse out the dye and blow-dry her hair, while I headed back to my room to change so I could make it to the impromptu volleyball match with the others.
My room had already been cleaned, and the shattered shower panel had been replaced. Delighted, I was just about to take a shower when I spotted a note on the sink asking me not to use it for the next twenty-four hours so the silicone could properly set. Wonderful. Looks like I'd be begging Diana for a shower later tonight.
I quickly pulled on leggings and a dark green long-sleeved top—mosquitoes had no mercy in the evenings—and texted Stas.
A: We're heading out with Dasha and Viola to watch the girls absolutely demolish the guys from our class in volleyball. Want to join us?S: The temptation is far too strong to resist.A: Perfect. I'll save you a seat.S: Hopefully next to you?A: Of course. If not, we'll kick Viola out.S: Kicking out Dasha would be much easier.A: You just haven't seen how fiercely Viola guards her yet.S: We'll manage. See you soon!
Hoping I could find something to snack on downstairs before dinner, I grabbed my wallet and went to the first floor. The dining hall was open, but the tables were empty. From behind the serving counter, the kitchen buzzed with noise and movement—clearly, dinner preparations were in full swing. I lingered nearby for a while, hoping a waiter or staff member might appear, but the cooks were snapping at one another and shouting orders so aggressively that it quickly got on my nerves. I gave up. Fine. I could survive another hour until dinner.
Luckily, tucked away in the most inconspicuous corner of the lobby, I spotted a modest vending machine stocked with cold drinks. I fed it a bill, punched in a random number, and received an aluminum can with a bright, flashy design. I pulled the metal tab; the seal popped inward with a pleasant hiss, bubbles rushing to the surface.
Before taking a sip, I lifted the can to my nose. I didn't recognize the brand, and something felt off—but there was no smell at all. Odd.
Outside, I tilted the can, trying to catch a ray of sunlight through the opening in hopes of seeing the color of the drink. No luck. There was nothing left to do but brace myself and taste it. Please, just don't let it be bitter lemon soda.
I closed my eyes and took a small sip. Nothing—just pleasant bubbles dancing across my tongue. I tried again, taking a bigger mouthful and swishing it around, but still detected nothing except coolness and a faint sting from the carbonation.
What on earth was this?
I studied the label more carefully and found no flavorings listed, not even a hint of taste. Everything finally made sense when I spotted the words in the top right corner:
Carbonated mineral water.
Well, thanks—but I had been hoping to raise my blood sugar at least a little so I wouldn't fall asleep in the middle of the match, not merely quench my thirst.
I had just drained the last of the water from the can in one long swallow when Dasha and Viola stepped outside. By some miracle, the girls had managed to hide Dasha's freshly dyed hair beneath a cap, and a flicker of dread seized me—what if, working together, we had only made things worse?
"Did it really not work?" Guilt tightened painfully around my throat.
"It worked. It worked," Viola assured me at once. "Relax. It turned out so well that we decided to keep Dasha's new look a secret until prom."
Dasha was glowing, and the sight was a relief. A small weight slid off my chest, and, without quite meaning to, I found myself making a silent plea: let this be our last problem before graduation. Each of us had earned a breather after a difficult year—one full of emotional upheaval, unpleasant revelations, final exams, and disappointments, both in ourselves and in others. I asked life for a short pause, just a loan, promising I would deal with everything left unresolved once prom was behind us and we had left the Edelweiss Garden. For a brief moment, it felt as though the universe had heard me—and agreed.
I was hopelessly bad at navigating the complex, but Viola had explored it thoroughly during her nightly walks with Arthur and Max. I had only managed to go on a single run with Denis, while the witchers had inspected the grounds as soon as they arrived, carefully identifying potential weak points in case low-blood vampires ever showed up. I knew that while our group was spending time at the spa center, the main patrols of Xertonia rested on the wolves' shoulders. Judging by the fact that my phone remained silent and Denis occasionally appeared nearby, things were going smoothly.
With Dasha around, Viola and I avoided discussing the other side of our lives, focusing instead on applications to Xertonia State University. Each of us planned to apply to two faculties at once, unsure where we might secure a state-funded spot. In truth, only Dasha and I were seriously worried about those places; Viola had always intended to enroll as a paying student.
"Why take a spot someone else might truly need if my family can afford the tuition?" she said calmly.
"But don't you want to prove to your father that you're smart enough to compete for a state-funded place?" Dasha asked, surprised.
"Would that really prove anything?" Viola replied. "Getting in is one thing—whether it's paid or state-funded. Finishing your degree is something else entirely."
Dasha lowered her gaze, clearly unsure what Viola meant. In her world, admission was everything. She didn't think about the problems that would come afterward, or about the difficulties that would inevitably pile up semester after semester.
"I'm afraid I'll be expelled after the first exam session," I admitted.
Viola answered with something sensible, and it steadied me more than I expected.
"The transition after school is hard at first," she said. "You have to get used to lectures, to a different teaching style, where no one chases after you trying to help you scrape by. University demands self-discipline. Slack off? No one will beg you to attend classes—you'll be out. Honestly, I like that approach better. In the end, only those who genuinely want an education will stay, not the ones there for cafeteria hangouts and gossiping through lectures."
"So if you're really motivated and actually put in the effort, everything will be fine?" I asked.
Viola stared ahead thoughtfully, weighing her words, and then said,
"Isn't that true of life in general? If someone truly wants something, they'll walk the path and take from it what matters most. Effort always pays off. The good news is that the first year isn't supposed to be that difficult academically—specialized courses come later. We'll have time to adjust to the new order of things after school."
"I wouldn't say effort always pays off," Dasha argued, pointing at herself with both hands. "Just look at me. I work my ass off, volunteer for every academic competition, help organize all sorts of school events—and my state-funded place is still up in the air."