Tristan awoke from his day-long slumber, his body still aching yet manageable after a day of rest and stillness. He slowly rose to his feet and opened the window, leaning upon the sill as he inhaled the crisp afternoon air. After drawing a breath, his gaze shifted towards Bertal Wenkay's diary. So many questions lingered, yet so few answers presented themselves. But Tristan could not concern himself too deeply with the unknown student, for he had problems of his own.
Such as uncovering the culprit behind Mary's murder. It had been but a single day since he entrusted Garfield with the task of unearthing information on the bloodline, so immediate results were not to be expected.
He exhaled a weary sigh, turning his eyes once more to the view beyond the window. A familiar figure approached the dormitory—not one of its residents, but someone well known to Tristan. Her languid expression immediately caught his attention.
"Oh, it's her," Tristan murmured softly.
It was Clara Harrison, holding a vase filled with an assortment of flowers. She quickly noticed the boy at his window, and with one hand grasping the vase, she raised the other to wave.
"How has your day been?" she asked Tristan.
Tristan returned the wave before replying.
"Mine has been good. And yours? Also, what brings you here?"
"My day has been pleasant, and as for why I am here… I noticed this place lacked any flowers, so I decided to plant some. Would you mind assisting me?" she inquired with a gentle sincerity.
Tristan glanced at his attire, then at his wardrobe, before turning his eyes back to her and answering.
"Of course, just allow me to change."
He moved to his wardrobe and donned clothes more suited to soil and labor. His body still ached as he descended the stairs at a measured pace. Upon reaching the door, he opened it to find Clara standing there with the vase of flowers in hand.
"You certainly took your time."
"I'm not feeling too well, so…" Tristan muttered.
Clara's expression softened into one of guilt, her eyes downcast as though she regretted urging him to move while he was still unwell.
"I'll be fine. You should have seen me this morning—I was a complete mess," Tristan said with a wry smile.
The girl giggled softly.
"Very well, then. I'll handle the harder work. You can simply place the flowers into the holes."
Tristan nodded, and together they made their way outside to the front of the dormitory. With her hand trowel she dug shallow holes in the soil, and Tristan would take each flower from the pot and lower it into place. Clara then covered the roots carefully with earth. They repeated the process six times until the flowers stood firm.
Their hands and garments were smeared with dirt, but their task was fulfilled. Clara wiped her brow, inadvertently smudging her face with soil. A dark mark appeared between her eyebrows, making her look as though she bore a singular unibrow.
Tristan stifled a laugh, raising his clenched fist to his mouth to conceal his amusement.
"What is it?" Clara asked, her puzzled expression only making her appear more comical.
At last, Tristan answered between chuckles.
"You have a smudge between your brows—it makes you look as though you've grown a unibrow."
Clara, embarrassed, hastily rubbed her sleeve against her face to remove it.
"You could have told me sooner," she complained.
"Of course I could have," Tristan replied, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips, "but I wouldn't have enjoyed it as much."
As the two exchanged words, Garfield returned to the dormitory. Nearing the building, he slowed his pace, rubbing his eyes in disbelief. Tristan was conversing with someone other than himself and Amelia—and what shocked him most was that the other person was a girl.
Garfield paused, a smile creeping across his face as he watched from a distance. After a moment of quiet admiration, he approached.
"Good evening, brother. And who might this be?"
Tristan turned, finding Garfield grinning broadly at him.
"What's with that wide smile?" Tristan asked.
Garfield merely shook his head.
"Oh, it's nothing. So then, who's your friend?" he pressed once more.
Tristan dusted his trousers as he rose to his feet before making introductions.
"Garfield, this is Clara Harrison. Clara, this is Garfield Frutia."
"A pleasure to meet you," Garfield said, bowing courteously.
"The honor is mine," Clara replied, her tone distant and restrained.
It was clear she was not accustomed to social interaction. Abruptly, she rose and began to walk away. Garfield's brow furrowed, guilt weighing on him as he assumed his presence had driven her off.
"Why did she run away?" Garfield asked.
"I don't know—perhaps she mistook you for a wild gorilla."
Tristan's eyes followed her retreating form. He said nothing to stop her, for he understood her kind well: the introverted souls who seldom interacted with others, if at all. He understood them so well because he, too, was one of them.
"Are you serious? Do you actually think I resemble a gorilla?" Garfield demanded.
Tristan chuckled softly.
"I don't think so, but from a distance, anyone might."
Garfield's expression shifted to unease as he considered how others might perceive him. His mind returned to that afternoon, when two girls had stared at him. Now, recalling Tristan's words, he began to wonder if they had looked upon him in fear.
"Anyway, let's talk about today. Have you uncovered anything about the bloodline?" Tristan asked as he turned back toward the dorm.
"Not yet. But there is something I need to tell you," Garfield replied, his tone unusually grave.
Tristan looked over his shoulder, quickly realizing the weight behind his brother's words. Garfield's carefree demeanor was gone, replaced by a seriousness Tristan had rarely seen from him.
"I suppose what you have to say cannot wait. Very well, speak—but speak softly. We don't want the others to overhear."
"I will help you investigate the bloodline, but after that, I can no longer involve myself. I must devote all my strength to the Selection Game. Please… don't pry any further," Garfield said firmly.
Tristan inhaled deeply before responding.
"That's fair, and I won't pry into matters that are not mine to know. But…" Tristan stepped closer, placing a hand on Garfield's shoulder. "If you ever find yourself in need of help, you can come to me. After all, we are friends, and that's what friends do—they help one another."
Garfield's eyes softened. He embraced Tristan, though the boy still ached.
"Release me, my body still hurts," Tristan groaned.
Garfield let go at once, his voice steady yet filled with sincerity.
"Thank you, brother."