On the other side of the hall, Alfons stood with three first year students who orbited him in the way people always did when a great family name stood behind someone.
None of them were close friends. That would have required equality, and there was none of that here. They were simply boys who had attached themselves to him through family ties, status, convenience, and the quiet hope that staying near Alfons au Vaelion might amount to something later. In a place like the Academy, that alone was enough to keep people smiling longer than they meant to.
Alfons barely listened to any of them.
His attention kept drifting across the hall toward Trafalgar.
The bastard stood with his usual group, looking far calmer than Alfons wanted to see. He did not carry himself like someone waiting nervously for the final results. He looked almost comfortable, as though the outcome had already stopped mattering to him before the directors even appeared.
