A man stood before the mirror.
Shoulder-length black hair framed his face, sleek and slightly tousled, catching faint streaks of light that slid down its edges like ink. His eyes sharp, golden, and unblinking stared back with quiet intensity. The suit he wore fit perfectly, dark fabric that drew out the gleam in his irises and the pale smoothness of his skin.
He adjusted his tie with deliberate precision, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
It had been an eventful five months.
He had accomplished much.
Sebastian had learned to bend the flow of raw mana to his will to shape it, refine it, and convert it into the affinities that slept within him. Life, Soulflame, and Death — three forces that refused to coexist in any sane body, now humming quietly beneath his skin in fragile harmony.
It hadn't come easily. The first attempts left him bedridden, fevered, more corpse than man. But he endured. Again and again, until the process bent instead of breaking him.
He'd advanced to E-rank soon after.
A small step by most standards, but a monumental one for him. His control had deepened, his aura sharpened, and his body no longer screamed under the weight of his own power.
And his sword art…
Sebastian reached for the blade resting against the table. The black hilt was simple, elegant, unadorned a reflection of the discipline it demanded. He drew it halfway, just enough for the steel to catch the light.
The first three forms of the art flowed through his memory smooth, lethal, precise. He could perform them now without his muscles locking, without his vision darkening from the strain.
Progress. Real, tangible progress.
He slid the sword back into its sheath and exhaled through his nose, calm but satisfied. The faint hum of mana curled around his fingertips, responding instantly to his will.
Five months of pain, blood, and repetition, and at last, he could feel the difference.
He smiled faintly. "Not bad," he murmured to his reflection. "Not nearly enough… but not bad."
Outside, the wind stirred the curtains, carrying with it the faint scent of rain. The world was moving again, and so was he.
A soft knock echoed through the room — no, not even a knock. The door simply clicked open.
"Sebastian."
Belle stepped in, and the quiet shifted.
She wore a fitted black dress that shimmered faintly under the light, its fabric threaded with subtle patterns of silver and midnight blue. A delicate chain rested along her collarbone, catching glints of light as she moved. Diamonds small but sharp, adorned her ears and wrists, reflecting the gleam of the blade still resting in Sebastian's hand.
But it was her eyes, or rather, the lack of them that drew his attention. An embroidered black blindfold covered them, intricate designs of silver thread curling across the surface like constellations. Despite it, she moved with effortless grace, her steps light and unerring.
Sebastian blinked once, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Damn it, Belle. I told you to knock before you come in."
Belle tilted her head slightly, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "I did," she said, voice as airy and unconcerned as ever. "You just didn't hear it."
"You didn't knock."
"I thought about knocking," she corrected helpfully. "That counts."
He sighed. "It doesn't."
"It does in spirit," she said, stepping further in and brushing a strand of hair, black streaked with faint red, behind her ear. "Besides, you're dressed. For once."
Sebastian rolled his eyes. "You make it sound like I normally greet you half-naked."
Belle hummed thoughtfully, as if considering that statement a little too seriously. "Not normally."
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You've gotten worse."
"I've gotten comfortable," she said lightly. "There's a difference."
There was. And he couldn't deny it.
Five months had changed them both. The awkward formality that once defined their exchanges had given way to something looser, easier, a rhythm of teasing and quiet understanding. She no longer treated him like a volatile student on the verge of implosion, and he no longer saw her as some untouchable figure from another world.
They'd found an equilibrium, fragile but genuine.
Belle stopped a few steps away from him, tilting her head in that familiar way. Even behind the blindfold, he could feel her gaze, the soft assessing kind that saw more than it should.
"You've changed," she said simply.
"So have you," he replied.
Her lips curved faintly. "I had to. You're exhausting."
Sebastian chuckled under his breath. "Can't argue with that."
For a moment, they stood there in the quiet teacher and student, predator and storm, both sharper than before but somehow… lighter.
Belle lingered by the door, tilting her head just enough for the faint light to catch the silver embroidery of her blindfold. Then her lips curved into that familiar, mischievous smile.
"The world," she said softly, almost like a secret, "is about to witness the birth of a legend today. And that legend just happens to be my student."
Sebastian gave her a flat look. "Subtle as always."
Belle looked genuinely pleased by that. "Thank you."
He shook his head, but the small smile on his face deepened. That was Belle, confident to the point of madness, yet somehow always right.
As she adjusted one of her diamond bracelets, Sebastian's thoughts drifted.
The ball.
He could already picture it: the grand marble halls of the imperial palace, chandeliers blazing with mana light, and a thousand nobles wrapped in silks and masks of civility. Every influential house in the Velkaris Empire had been invited. Every duke, count, and heir worth remembering would be there.
And among them, invited as guests of honor were the Ardent family.
Belle's family.
The event itself was no small matter either. It was the Crown Princess's eighteenth birthday, Nora von Velkaris, first in line to the throne, and rumored to be the strongest of her generation. The kind of occasion where alliances were forged, reputations shattered, and futures decided beneath chandeliers and false smiles.
Belle, of course, looked utterly unbothered. "Try not to embarrass me," she said lightly, adjusting the hem of her dress. "Or do. It might be fun."
Sebastian groaned quietly. "Why do I feel like I'm walking into a battlefield?"
"Because you are," she said, with that same bright, airheaded cheer. "Just… prettier."