Riiing.
The bell screeched like it had been waiting all day for this one moment of glory. It was a piercing, glorious sound that cut through the lecture, announcing a temporary liberation.
Pens stopped mid-sentence, chairs scraped back, and half the class looked like they'd just been pardoned from a life sentence.
The professor glanced at the clock, then at us, his expression unreadable behind those thick frames. "That's enough mana theory for today. Try not to forget it all before tomorrow—though judging by your faces, some of you already have."
He shut his heavy book with a soft thud—a sound more final than the bell ever could manage. Without a farewell, he gathered his notes, gave us one last unreadable glance, and walked out of the classroom, his steps quiet but final.
I blinked, realizing I'd nearly dozed off. Damn. Almost lost it there. Still, I couldn't deny it was… interesting, in its own boring way.
He made some good points about how the "Age of Awakening" felt like stumbling upon a foreign entity already living inside you. I almost had to commend him for that.
"Get up, you fucking nerd," I muttered, stretching and pushing myself to my feet. "Let's go already, or are you planning to lick every single word the teacher scribbled on the board?"
Ryan looked up from his desk, shoving papers into his bag with a frantic rustle. "Just because you don't find theory interesting doesn't mean you've gotta taunt me about it."
"That's not it." I smirked. "I already know this stuff. Doesn't matter if the professor sings it like a bard or dances on the podium—it's still boring."
"Right, right. Your noble self already holds all the knowledge," he retorted, his voice laced with practiced sarcasm.
"Aren't you also a noble?"
"Yeah, but still… it's good to revise."
"That's what a nerd would say." I clapped him on the back, hard enough to make him stumble. "You don't even realize you are one."
"Fuck you, Evan—"
We left the classroom still bickering, words bouncing as casually as our steps. The crowded hallway swallowed us whole, a river of students flowing in every direction.
The noise was a low hum, a mix of excited chatter and the low murmur of tired conversations. We navigated through it all, our verbal jabs a private shield against the world.
Then a voice cut through the corridor noise, a little too saccharine for a school hallway. "Lord Evan, how have you been?"
I paused, a sigh catching in my throat. I turned around, only to see three boys strolling toward me, each wearing that same sycophantic grin—the kind that practically screamed they'd lick my shoes if it meant pleasing me.
Yep. The other "friends." Or maybe it's more accurate to call them the sidelings of my little group.
"Aron, Wilson, Tyler—" I raised a brow, crossing my arms. "All together in one place, huh? What's this, a reunion? Don't tell me you've been skipping class."
"Hahaha, what can we say?" Aron spread his arms dramatically. "We nobles are given all the basics in advance. Most of those lectures are mostly benifitial just for commoners anyway. Lord Evan, why don't you just skip with us and enjoy your time properly?"
I clicked my tongue, unimpressed by his display. "Tempting, but not today. I'd rather not stack up complaints against me. My father's strict enough about that."
"Well, if you say so. So, where are you heading?" Aron asked, his smile never faltering.
"Canteen," I replied, then sighed with a dramatic flair. "But first, the washroom. Been holding it for quite some time."
"Then let's all head there together."
I narrowed my eyes. "So you can watch like it's an open show?"
"Yep. That's the plan," Wilson grinned, his face lit with a sickening eagerness.
"You small fuck of a—" I was about to finish my sentence, but the words froze in my throat.
Because that's when I saw him.
A boy with plain brown hair and equally plain brown eyes—the kind of face you'd forget the second you turned away.
Except… you couldn't. Not with him. His expression was innocent, almost charming, but the way he carried himself tugged at attention like a hidden magnet.
He was the one, after all. The protagonist. The one and only Lucas Stout.
He flinched when my gaze locked on him, shoulders tightening. His head dipped, and he tried to slip past us quietly, as if pretending I wasn't there would work.
But before he could sneak past, Tyler slid right into his way, blocking the hallway.
"Well, well… look who we've got. Our rising little commoner, Lucas."
"Yeah," Aron chimed in, smirking. "Guy just strolls by without so much as a 'good day.' Forget your manners over the break, huh?"
Lucas opened his mouth, fumbling. "That's not—"
Tyler leaned down, cupping his ear. "Sorry, couldn't hear you. What was that? 'Please teach me again, noble lords'? Something like that?"
Lucas clenched his fists, his knuckles white. "No. I haven't forgotten."
"Then what are you waiting for? An invitation?"
He swallowed hard, his gaze darting from one face to the next. "I… Lucas Stout, greet the noble sons of the great houses. Please accept my humble greeting."
I whistled.
"Hmm. Better. But still feels like you're choking on it. Needs… polish."
"Tyler, enough," I cut in with a grin. "You'll make the poor boy cry. Look—he's already got moisture in his eyes. Cute, huh? Although, nah… that's not tears. That's resentment, right, Lucas?"
His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He said nothing.
"But let's be fair here," I continued, draping an arm around his tense shoulders. "You did see us, and you still tried to ghost past. That's on you, pal."
"That's not what I—"
"Sure, sure, we get it. Why don't you join us then? A friendly little chat. Or..." I tilted my head. "are you one of those types who only talks when a girl's around?"
"N-no. I can join you, Lord Evan… but others might not—"
"Who says?" I shot back, glancing at the group. "Everyone's eager, right?"
"Yep," Ryan grinned, a hint of genuine amusement in his eyes.
"See? Settled." I kept my arm draped around Lucas, his body stiff beneath my touch. "You're not going anywhere, friend."
"Y-yes…" His voice was stiff, like a man with a blade at his throat.
"So, where are we going?" Lucas asked.
"Oh, the washroom first," I said, flashing Ryan a mischievous look. "Apparently Ryan's developed a fetish for, uh… checking other guys' equipment."
Lucas froze. "He—what?"
"You motherfu—" Ryan started, but Aron clapped a hand over his mouth, laughing.
"Yeah," I went on smoothly. "He insists on judging if yours is… up to standard."
"You rotten bast—" Ryan tried again, his words muffled under another hand, and the whole group burst into laughter.
Lucas's face went from pale to ghostly white. "Well, I… actually just remembered something urgent, so maybe I should—"
"Relax," I said, spinning him back toward us. "Just kidding. Or was I?" My smile didn't reach my eyes. "Anyway… come on."
As we walked, I gave him a once-over.
"So tell me," I said, my tone playful, "how've you been? Looking sharp, aren't you? Clean uniform, polished shoes… huh. Guess you didn't like the little 'designs' we decorated your things with last time?"
There was a pause. I remember it clearly. We'd found him in his dorm, his uniform laid out neatly on his bed. So we did what any decent, bored noble would do. We took it, tossed it in a puddle of muddy water mixed with ash, and left it there. A fine collection of memories, if you asked me. He probably had to clean it for hours.
"Hey, focus, buddy. You still alive in there? You didn't reply," I said, giving him a light tap on the shoulder.
"Ye-yes," he stammered, trying to steady himself. "They were given by—by Lady Emilia… She kindly noticed my poor dress and…"
"Ooooh," I drew out the sound, grinning as the others leaned in. "Quite the generous soul, isn't she? Always ready to rescue strays. Hm. Speaking of generosity, I just remembered something interesting. Want to hear a tale?"
"Yes, yes, why not? Give us a story!" Wilson said, grinning like a fool.
"Alright then," I said, lowering my voice with mock gravity. "Back during the holiday, there was my usual arranged meeting with my fiancée—"
"You mean a date, Lord Evan," one of them cut in, smirking. "Don't be shy now."
The others chuckled.
I snapped my gaze toward him, my lips curling. "Shut the fuck up and don't interrupt me. I wasn't finished."
That got a bigger laugh from the group, though no one dared to push further.
"Anyway, where was I… ah, yes. The meeting. Quite the rosy morning, actually…"
"I was expecting that to be quite the good time, to be exact," I said, letting a pause hang in the air. "But you know what the first thing we ended up talking about was? Any guesses?"
I tightened my grip on Lucas's shoulder. His panic showed in his breathing, in the subtle quiver of his lips.
"No? Well, turns out the very first topic was you, Lucas. Apparently, our dear friend here had the guts to complain to my fiancée… about how much of a bad guy I am. How I keep bullying him."
"What—this insolent—" one of the others hissed.
"Seems he hasn't learned," another muttered.
"Well, well, chill down, boys," I cut in, smirking.
By then we were at the washroom door. Lucas's eyes darted, his body stiff like he was about to bolt. He already knew what was coming. I shoved the door open and pushed him inside before he had the chance.
Thud.
The door slammed shut, cutting off the last chance of escape.
"Well, well, my friends…" I spread my arms like some grand announcer. "It seems our Lucas has finally matured. Clever. Brave. Bold enough to run crying to Lady Emilia about his little troubles. A round of applause for our heroic friend, shall we?"
Clap. Clap.
"You too, Lucas. Don't be shy—clap for yourself." I tilted my head, grinning. "Anyway… the question is, what should I do with you now?"
Aron snorted. "Maybe we should increase our teaching a little, Lord Evan. Just enough to burn into his memory, make sure it itches for a long time."
"A tempting suggestion," I mused, tapping my chin in mock thought. "But here's the problem—my dear fiancée made me promise not to bully Lucas anymore."
A chorus of groans followed.
"What? Seriously? That's it?" one muttered.
"Such a letdown," another sighed.
"Yep, yep—can't do anything," I sighed dramatically, spreading my hands. "After all, I'm a man who keeps his word."
I turned back to Lucas, who was pressed against the wall like a cornered rabbit.
"So anyway, my friend… how do you feel now? Finally freed. Relieved, right? Must feel good, doesn't it—hiding behind a lady, letting her fight your battles for you. A bold strategy."
A chuckle slipped from my throat, low and amused. "But you know… that reminds me. Something rather hurtful. Lady Emilia—my sweet, kind fiancée—actually asked me to apologize. To you."
The room went quiet for a beat. My smile stayed, sharp and easy, but the silence pressed down heavy.
"Yep, yep, quite hurtful, I know. But hey—it was a request, not an order. And here's the thing…" I let my grin spread wider. "I ain't really the type to apologize. So how about we do something better—something a little more… fun?"
My eyes flicked to Ryan. "Hey, Ryan. You're a sword user, right? You've got a blade stashed in that little dimensional ring of yours?"
He blinked, a flicker of unease in his eyes. "Uh, yeah, but why—"
"Just lend it to me."
"But—"
"Relax. Just give it here, man." My tone was a little too calm, a little too certain.
Ryan hesitated, then tapped his ring. With a soft shimmer of light, a sword slid out of the spatial fold, drifting into existence as if birthed from thin air. I watched it, satisfied by the show.
"Nice trick," I murmured, catching the weapon when Ryan tossed it over. The balance felt good in my hand. Too good.
Then I turned back to Lucas. Step by step, I closed the distance, the polished marble floor echoing our footsteps.
Lucas's eyes were wide, the color draining from his face with every step.
"Wh-why are you coming near me? This is against the rules—you'll all get in trouble—please—"
"Shh." I pressed a finger to my lips, my smile never slipping. "I'm not doing anything. You are."
Before he could react, I grabbed his hand and shoved the sword into his grip. The cold metal quivered in his trembling hands.
"See, Lucas? You've been nursing quite a bit of resentment, haven't you?" I whispered, leaning close enough that he could feel the edge of my smile. "So here's your chance. Take this blade… and use it. All that anger, all that hate—let it out. On me."
I guided his hand, slowly drawing the blade free with a hiss of steel on steel. The weight of the unsheathed sword seemed to drag him down further, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the hilt.
"Come on, Lucas. Here's your one golden chance. Cut me down if you can."