Thirty minutes had passed since the families sat down to eat, and the dining hall had become a powder keg waiting to explode.
The silence that had greeted them was gone, replaced by the low murmur of voices grown sharp with hunger and impatience.
Crystal glasses sat empty.
Napkins folded into elaborate shapes had been crumpled and discarded.
Silverware reflected the faces of people who were no longer pretending to be anything other than angry.
Yuuta knew that look.
During his college training at a hotel that served the kind of people who thought the world should move when they snapped their fingers, he had seen their faces tighten, their jaws clench, their hands curl into fists.
He had seen them wait, counting the minutes, deciding exactly how much their anger was worth. He had seen them scream.
He had been slapped himself, by a woman who thought her steak was too cold.
He still remembered the sting, the way the room went quiet, the way no one said a word about the nineteen-year-old boy who had done nothing wrong.
He looked at the waiters standing at the edges of the room, hands behind their backs, faces blank, bodies still.
They had been standing there for thirty minutes, watching the anger build, waiting for the signal to move. They were professionals, the best in the world. But they were also human.
They could feel the weight of a hundred eyes on them, the heat of a hundred tempers about to break.
Yuuta's hands tightened on the table.
They are going to get hurt, he thought.
When the food comes, these people will take all their anger out on the ones who had no choice but to wait.
He wanted to warn them, to tell them to brace themselves.
But music started before he could speak, a soft piano melody drifting through the hall, and the waiters moved as one toward the kitchen doors.
It was too late.
The first course arrived on silver trays carried by hands that did not tremble, held by faces that did not flinch.
The waiters moved through the room like dancers, setting plates before families who had been sitting in silence for half an hour.
Yuuta watched the table nearest them.
A man in an expensive suit was already pushing back his chair, face red, hands flat on the table. A waiter set a steak before him, arranged with vegetables and sauce, the kind of meal crafted by hands that had been working since before dawn.
The man looked at the plate, looked at the waiter, picked up the plate and threw it at the wall.
"What is this? You keep us waiting for thirty minutes, and this is what you bring? Do you think we are dogs? Bring the main course already!"
The waiter did not move. His face did not change.
His hands remained at his sides.
He had been trained to stand still while the world broke around him.
Yuuta's hands clenched.
The man stood, chair scraping against the floor, face twisted with fury. He grabbed the waiter's arm, fingers digging into the white sleeve.
"I want to see the chef. I want to ask him why he thought it was acceptable to make us wait."
Around him, other voices rose.
Men stood from their tables, faces hard, voices sharp.
"Where is the manager?"
"This is an insult!"
"My family has been coming here for generations!"
The waiters stood still.
The judges watched.
The kitchen doors remained closed.
The chef emerged, white coat immaculate, hands steady, face calm.
He carried a steak on a silver tray, the best cut, the finest quality.
He set it before the shouting man.
The man cut into it, lifted a piece to his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and threw the plate across the table.
"This is garbage! You call yourself a chef?" He stood, chair falling, hand reaching for the chef's collar.
"You think you can serve me garbage and I will be."
Yuuta moved.
He was across the room before he knew what he was doing, his hand closing around the man's wrist, his body stepping between the chef and the violence about to fall.
The man's arm stopped.
His eyes shifted to the young man holding his wrist, looking at him with eyes the color of blood.
"Who are you? Why are you interfering?"
Yuuta did not let go.
His hand was steady, his voice calm.
"Sir, calm down. You are embarrassing your wife. You are frightening your son."
The man's eyes flickered to his table, his wife sitting rigid, face white, hands clasped; his son, maybe eight years old, staring at his father with the expression of someone who had seen this before. The man's hand dropped. He sat down.
The room was silent.
Yuuta bowed, small, not submission but acknowledgment. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate your understanding."
He knelt and picked up the steak that had been thrown. Still warm, still good, still the product of hours of work and years of training. He placed it carefully back on the plate, gentle and precise. He looked at the chef, older than he had seemed, face lined, hands calloused, eyes fixed on the returned plate.
"Please," Yuuta said. "Reheat this for me. I would like to eat it."
The chef stared. "Sir, I cannot. This steak has been on the floor. It is not fit for a guest."
Yuuta looked up at him.
"I can see your hands in this steak, Chef. The way you held the knife, sharp enough to cut through bone, but handled like glass. You cut with the grain, not against it, because you wanted the meat to hold together."
He set the steak down, pointing to the edge where fat had rendered to a thin, crisp line.
"You seared it fast. High heat. Browned the outside without cooking the inside. You have done this ten thousand times, even when tired, even when your hands were sore, because that is what it means to be a chef."
He touched the herbs still clinging to the meat.
"These are fresh. You picked them this morning, maybe before sunrise, because the flavor is strongest when the leaves are still wet with dew. You crushed them with your hands instead of a knife, because you wanted the oils to release slowly, to blend with the meat instead of overpowering it."
He looked at the chef, his voice quiet and steady.
"I know how hard you worked. Three hundred steaks. You woke before the sun. You sharpened your knives. You seasoned the meat, let it rest, brought it to temperature. You cooked each to order, resting them again because you know the resting is as important as the cooking. You plated each one, arranged the vegetables, the sauce, the garnish. You made it beautiful, because that is what you do."
He picked up the steak again, holding it like something precious.
"This steak was thrown on the floor. Treated like garbage by someone who has never stood at a stove for twelve hours, who has never watched something he made be thrown away by someone who did not even taste it.
But it is not garbage.
It is the work of someone who woke before dawn. The skill of someone who spent forty years learning to make things good. The sacrifice of the animal that died so we could eat. I will not let that be wasted."
He looked at the chef, eyes wet.
"Reheat this steak for me. Let me taste the work you put into it."
The chef did not move for a long moment.
Then he reached out and took the plate. His fingers brushed against Yuuta's, rough and calloused, the fingers of someone who had spent a lifetime working with his hands.
"Two minutes," he said, his voice rough.
"I will bring it back fresh. For you."
Silence followed, not of a room waiting for someone to speak, but of people who had heard something unexpected.
Something that made them look at the plates in front of them and see, for the first time, not food that had arrived late, but food made by hands that cared.
A woman began to clap.
Small at first, tentative.
Then another pair of hands joined, and another, until the room filled with the sound of people who had been ready to break something beautiful and had been reminded that there were things more important than their anger.
The judges exchanged glances.
They had seen families lose their tempers, waiters struck, chefs humiliated.
They had not seen someone pick up what had been thrown away and ask, gently, to have it back.
Elena tugged at Erza's dress.
"Mama," she whispered,
"Papa is so cool."
Erza did not answer.
Her eyes were fixed on Yuuta, his red face, his borrowed suit, his hands that were still holding a plate someone else had thrown away.
He had not planned this.
He had simply seen someone about to be hurt and moved, without thinking, without counting the cost.
He was embarrassed now, face red, trying to make himself small, walking back to his table with his head down and shoulders hunched.
He sat down across from her and buried his face in the menu, hiding from the eyes still watching him, the hands still clapping, the daughter looking at him like he had hung the moon.
Erza watched him.
His red ears.
His shaking hands.
The way he was pretending to read the menu upside down because he was too flustered to notice.
The man who had crossed a room to stop a stranger from being hit, who had picked up what others had thrown away, who had reminded a room full of the richest people in the world that there was more to food than what it cost.
She smiled, small, the kind she did not let anyone see, the kind that appeared when she was watching him do something stupid, something brave, something that reminded her why she had not killed him yet.
Idiot mortal, she thought, and the words were not cold at all.
The first test was over.
The judges had seen what they needed to see.
They sat at their tables near the front of the room, their pens set aside, their faces unreadable, their eyes still moving across the families who were rising from their seats, smoothing their clothes, preparing themselves for what came next.
There were one hundred tables in the dining hall, and for each table there was a judge, and each judge had watched everything, the way parents treated the waitstaff, the way children behaved when they were hungry, the way families held themselves when they were being tested and did not know it.
They had seen the man who threw his steak.
They had seen the young man who picked it up.
They had seen the chef walk back into the kitchen with a plate that had been thrown away, and they had seen him return with a steak that was fresh, that was perfect, that was placed before the young man with the red eyes like an offering.
They had seen the young man eat it, slowly, carefully, the way someone eats something they know they will remember.
They had seen enough.
The families were escorted through corridors lined with portraits of students who had come before them, their faces serious, their eyes knowing, their presence a reminder that this place had been judging people for a very long time.
The children were separated from their parents at the doors of the Dancing Hall, led to seats beside the judges where they would watch and be watched, where their faces would be read and their reactions recorded and their futures decided.
Yuuta watched Elena go.
She walked beside the judge who had come to collect her, her small hand in his large one, her head high, her steps careful.
She did not look back.
She did not need to. She had looked at him before they left, had caught his eye and smiled, had given him the particular nod that meant I trust you, Papa. I know you will not let me fall.
The doors closed behind them, and Yuuta turned to face the Dancing Hall.
The enormous chamber resembled the interior of a royal palace. Its high ceiling was decorated with paintings of ancient hunts, coronations, and celebrations, while golden chandeliers illuminated the polished wooden floor. Along the walls stood beautifully carved pillars depicting knights, kings, and dragons from forgotten ages.
At the far end of the hall, musicians were preparing their instruments. Their quiet conversations mingled with the footsteps of elegantly dressed couples gathering near the dance floor.
Yuuta adjusted his borrowed suit.
He had never imagined himself standing in a place like this. Everything around him spoke of wealth and tradition, from the elaborate decorations to the confidence with which the other families carried themselves.
Beside him stood Erza.
Her silver hair fell gracefully over her shoulders, complementing the magnificent white gown adorned with golden floral patterns. She surveyed the hall with her usual cold expression, seemingly unimpressed by its grandeur.
After all, she was a queen.
She had stood in throne rooms far more magnificent than this one and entertained rulers whose kingdoms had existed long before the nations of Earth.
Yet there was one experience she had never allowed herself.
Dancing with someone.
Throughout her long life, countless princes and noblemen had visited her court, hoping to win her favor. Some had offered treasures, others had promised alliances, and a few had been foolish enough to believe their charm alone would impress her.
Erza had rejected them all.
She had watched royal celebrations from her throne, observing couples dancing beneath chandeliers while musicians played throughout the night.
She knew the movements, the etiquette, and the traditions surrounding such occasions. But she had never accepted an invitation herself.
There had always been more important matters demanding her attention.
At least, that was what she had told herself.
Now she stood beside a mortal who had barely learned to dance two days earlier.
Erza glanced toward Yuuta.
He was watching the other couples, quietly reviewing the steps she had taught him. His expression revealed his concern about making a mistake in front of the judges, though he appeared determined to do his best.
"I hope you are ready," she said coldly.
Yuuta turned toward her.
"I think so."
He glanced at the dancers once more before looking back at her.
"I remember the steps. I practiced."
Erza regarded him for a moment.
She remembered their lessons in the apartment, where he had repeatedly confused his footwork and occasionally stepped on her shoes. Teaching him had required considerably more patience than she was accustomed to showing.
Still, he had continued practicing until he could complete the movements without her constant corrections.
"We shall see," she replied.
Before Yuuta could answer, the music changed.
The earlier waltz gradually faded, replaced by a slower melody. The strings began with a gentle rhythm, followed by the piano and the distant voice of a woman singing without words.
The chandeliers dimmed slightly as the lighting shifted toward the center of the hall.
Couples began taking their positions.
Yuuta looked toward Erza.
For a moment, he remembered the nights they had spent practicing together. He recalled her strict instructions, her irritation whenever he made a mistake, and the surprising patience she had shown when he struggled to remember the movements.
She had never abandoned the lessons, even when he had been ready to give up.
And now, standing before her in the Dancing Hall, he wanted to show her that those efforts hadn't been wasted.
Yuuta approached her.
He placed his right hand over his chest and bowed respectfully, following the formal etiquette she had taught him.
"My queen," he said, raising his head with a gentle smile, "may I have this dance?"
Erza looked down at him.
She had received countless invitations throughout her life, many from men who considered themselves worthy of standing beside the White Dragon Queen.
Some had offered kingdoms.
Others had promised riches or military alliances.
But the mortal standing before her offered none of those things.
He was simply asking her to dance.
For reasons she couldn't explain, the invitation felt different from all the others.
Erza remained silent for a moment before extending her hand.
Yuuta smiled and gently accepted it.
Her fingers were cool against his palm, and he held them carefully as he straightened.
Standing together, the difference in their heights was noticeable. Erza was taller than him, her elegant figure and commanding posture making her appear every bit the queen she was.
Yuuta raised his other hand toward her waist, hesitating briefly before placing it against the fabric of her gown.
Erza glanced down at his hand.
Under ordinary circumstances, she would have immediately reprimanded him for touching her without permission. But she knew the position was necessary for the dance, and she had been the one who taught him how to hold his partner.
So she allowed it.
"Thank you," Yuuta said quietly.
Erza looked at him.
"For teaching me. For not giving up. For..."
He paused, searching for the right words.
"For everything, my queen."
Erza's expression remained composed, but his gratitude caught her off guard.
She had spent the past two days criticizing his mistakes, correcting his posture, and ordering him to practice until he could barely keep his eyes open.
Yet he was thanking her.
What a strange mortal.
"Tch. Just make certain you remember what I taught you," she replied coldly.
Yuuta nodded.
"Yes, my queen."
The music reached them, and Erza took the first step.
Yuuta followed.
She guided him into the opening movement, allowing him to adjust to the rhythm before gradually increasing their pace. His steps were careful at first, but the familiar sequence soon returned to him.
He moved forward when she stepped back, turned when she guided him, and maintained the proper distance between them.
Erza noticed that he hadn't stepped on her feet even once.
At least my lessons weren't completely wasted.
They continued moving across the polished floor.
Around them, other couples danced with practiced elegance, their expensive clothing sweeping gracefully through the light.
Yuuta occasionally glanced at Erza to confirm his movements, but she remained focused on their steps, guiding him with subtle adjustments whenever necessary.
Gradually, his confidence improved.
He no longer needed to think about every movement.
Instead, he began following the rhythm naturally, allowing the music and Erza's guidance to carry him across the floor.
Erza found herself enjoying the experience more than she had expected.
For centuries, she had watched celebrations from a distance, convinced that participating in such activities served no purpose.
As queen, she had always maintained a certain separation from those around her. Even among her closest attendants, few dared approach her without permission.
She had grown accustomed to that distance.
But now, a mortal stood close enough to hold her hand, looking at her without the fear or reverence she usually inspired.
He wasn't treating her as a ruler whose favor he hoped to gain.
He was simply trying to dance with his wife.
The thought caused an unfamiliar warmth to settle in her chest.
Erza quickly dismissed it.
Do not misunderstand, mortal. This is merely part of the examination.
Yet she made no attempt to increase the distance between them.
As the melody continued, their movements became smoother.
Yuuta followed her guidance with increasing confidence, while Erza adjusted her pace to match his. Neither needed to speak, and for a while, the surrounding conversations and footsteps seemed distant.
Yuuta looked up at her.
Her violet eyes met his red ones.
He smiled.
It was the same gentle smile she had seen countless times, usually appearing whenever he believed she had done something kind.
Erza had always found it irritating.
But for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to look away.
She remembered the celebrations she had witnessed in her own kingdom, the royal couples who had danced beneath magnificent chandeliers, and the many invitations she had refused.
She had never regretted those decisions.
At least, not until now.
For the first time, she began to understand why people treasured such moments.
There was something comforting about moving alongside another person without needing to issue orders, maintain appearances, or carry the responsibilities of a throne.
For a few minutes, she could simply enjoy the music.
And the company of the foolish mortal dancing beside her.
Erza failed to notice the faint light gathering around her shoulders.
At first, it was barely visible.
A delicate silver glow appeared along the edges of her gown, gradually spreading through the golden floral patterns woven into the fabric.
Her dress had been created by the finest craftsmen of her kingdom, using enchanted threads capable of responding to their wearer's magical energy.
Normally, Erza maintained perfect control over her power.
But her attention was elsewhere.
The silver light grew brighter, flowing gently through her hair and gathering around her dress like moonlight upon water.
As she moved, tiny particles of light drifted behind her, fading before they reached the floor.
Yuuta noticed the change.
His eyes widened slightly as he watched the silver glow surrounding her.
Beautiful...
He had seen Erza use her powers before, but never like this.
There was no terrifying pressure, no overwhelming display of strength, and no threat of destruction.
The magic simply surrounded her, illuminating her graceful movements.
For a moment, she looked like an angel dancing beneath the stars.
The other couples began noticing as well.
A woman wearing a blue dress missed a step when she caught sight of the silver-haired beauty moving across the hall. Her partner followed her gaze and nearly collided with another couple.
Nearby, several dancers slowed, their attention drawn toward the unusual light.
Whispers spread among the spectators.
"Who is that woman?"
"Is her dress glowing?"
"How beautiful..."
Yuuta and Erza remained unaware of the attention gathering around them.
They continued dancing, their movements becoming more natural with every turn.
His black hair contrasted with her silver, while his dark suit complemented the brilliant white and gold of her gown.
As they moved beneath the chandeliers, the silver particles followed Erza's movements, creating the impression of countless stars surrounding the couple.
For a brief moment, the shifting light resembled the silhouettes of two dragons circling one another.
One black.
One white.
The judges noticed.
Until now, they had been observing the families with professional detachment, recording their coordination, etiquette, and ability to work together.
But the sight before them was difficult to ignore.
The silver-haired woman moved with extraordinary elegance, guiding her husband through the dance without drawing attention to his inexperience.
And the young man followed her with complete trust.
Neither appeared concerned about impressing the judges anymore.
They were simply enjoying the moment together.
One of the judges lowered his pen.
"Remarkable," he murmured.
The others continued watching as the couple moved gracefully across the floor.
Then the music began to slow.
The final notes echoed through the hall, and the silver light surrounding Erza gradually faded.
Yuuta and Erza completed their final movement before stepping apart.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then the official approached the stage.
"Congratulations to all the families. You may refresh yourselves, we have prepared mocktails at the counter. Please proceed to the next hall when you are ready for the final test."
The announcement brought everyone back to their surroundings.
Couples began leaving the dance floor, discussing their performances as they headed toward the refreshment counter.
Yuuta looked toward Erza.
He was tired from concentrating throughout the dance, but the satisfaction of completing it without a major mistake made him smile.
"Did I do well, my queen?" he asked.
Erza turned her attention toward the counter, avoiding his expectant expression.
"Not bad," she replied coldly.
She paused.
"But it could be much better."
Yuuta's smile widened.
"Thank you, my queen."
Erza glanced at him.
He looked genuinely pleased by her reluctant praise, despite having received little more than a passing acknowledgment.
How easily satisfied this mortal is.
She turned away before he could notice the faint pink coloring her cheeks.
"Tch. Stupid mortal. Always smiling like an idiot."
With that, she began walking toward the mocktail counter.
Yuuta watched her leave, still smiling.
He knew she would never openly admit that she had enjoyed the dance. But he had noticed how naturally she moved beside him and how she hadn't once tried to pull away.
For someone who usually disliked even the smallest display of affection, that alone felt like progress.
Erza reached the counter and accepted a drink.
Before taking a sip, she glanced over her shoulder.
Yuuta was still standing near the dance floor, looking rather pleased with himself.
Their eyes met.
She immediately turned away.
Idiot.
Yuuta chuckled and adjusted his borrowed jacket.
"Only two tests left," he said to himself. "We can do this."
With renewed confidence, he followed Erza toward the refreshment counter, ready to face whatever the academy had prepared for them next.
To Be Continued...
End Credit Scene
Yuuta: "…I think I just caused a full emotional breakdown over a steak."
Erza: "You caused unnecessary noise."
Yuuta: "It was about respect!"
Erza: "It was about you talking too much."
Elena:clapping "Papa was very cool!"
Yuuta: "See? Even Elena agrees!"
Erza: "She also thinks clouds are edible."
Yuuta: "I didn't even plan any of that…"
Erza: "That's the problem."
Yuuta: "What problem?!"
Erza: "You exist."
Elena: "Papa exists!"
Erza: "…Exactly."
Yuuta: "Why is everyone clapping at me?!"
Erza: "Because you turned dinner into a sermon."
Yuuta: "It was not a sermon!"
Erza: "It was."
Elena: "It was a tasty sermon!"
Yuuta: "That's not helping…"