The grand ballroom of Veloria Academy had been polished to perfection. Chandeliers blazed overhead, scattering light across marble floors that gleamed like a mirror. Gold drapes lined the walls, and crystal glasses glittered on silver trays carried by silent attendants. A quartet in the corner played soft strings, their music weaving through the air like a ribbon of ceremony.
It was a night of wealth on display.
Sleek cars had lined the entrance earlier, delivering heirs and heiresses in flowing gowns and sharp tuxedos. Now they mingled beneath the chandeliers, their voices a low murmur of ambition, laughter, and rivalry. Perfume and cologne mingled in the air, sweet and heavy, clinging to every corner of the room.
Renji stood near the edge of the floor, his hands loosely in his pockets, glasses glinting faintly. To an outside eye, he looked composed—another lecturer fulfilling his duty of presence at the welcoming ceremony. But his gaze was sharp, cataloguing every movement, every whispered glance.
Arisa Sato entered with her father at her side. Her gown was midnight silk, cut sleek to frame her figure without excess. Her hair fell perfectly down her back, her pale skin luminous under the chandeliers. A silver name tag pinned discreetly at the edge of her sash gleamed: SATO, ARISA.
The hush that followed her arrival was subtle but undeniable. Conversations faltered, attention shifted. Her father's hand at her arm was firm, guiding her forward with the pride of a man who expected perfection. Arisa's expression did not change.
Elsewhere, Haruna Minami arrived later, laughter already spilling from her lips. Her gown was brighter, daring in its cut—shoulders bare, fabric hugging her waist before flowing freely around her legs. Her hair caught the light as she spun once for a friend's compliment. The silver tag at her side shone: MINAMI, HARUNA.
She didn't walk; she glided, weaving through the crowd with warmth that contrasted Arisa's frost. She accepted champagne she wouldn't drink, greeted elders with playful bows, and yet her golden-brown eyes kept roaming—catching, again and again, the sight of Renji watching.
Renji exhaled slowly, lips curving faintly. One ice. One fire.
The quartet shifted to a livelier tune, and the dance floor filled. Skirts twirled, tuxedos moved in precision, the hum of money and legacy vibrating beneath the music. But beneath the glitter, Renji felt it: the weight of eyes from above, the invisible judgment of those who came not to celebrate, but to measure.
The night had only begun.
The music swelled across the ballroom, violins weaving through the glittering noise of wealth. Couples turned gracefully on the marble floor, laughter and perfume clouding the air. But at the edge of the hall, behind a gilded column, a quieter scene unfolded.
"Arisa."
Her father's voice was low but sharp, his hand gripping her arm with unyielding pressure. His eyes, hard as glass, bored into hers. "Do not forget where you stand. Every eye here measures us. One slip, one rumor, and our family loses ground."
Arisa's posture remained perfect. Her gown shimmered midnight under the chandeliers, her hair smooth, her chin lifted. To anyone looking, she was composed, serene. But inside, her chest tightened.
Always the same. Duty first. Image first. Never myself.
Her eyes flicked sideways, scanning the crowd. Gowns swayed, jewels glittered, champagne flutes sparkled. Conversations bloomed like flowers in every corner, and yet not one of them offered escape. Someone. Anyone. Just a moment to breathe…
Her father's grip tightened. "Do not embarrass me tonight."
Before she could reply, a new voice cut in. Smooth, steady, warm—yet edged with quiet command.
"Good evening, sir. Miss Sato."
Arisa turned.
Renji Ather stood at her side, a faint smile curving his lips. His posture was relaxed, but the aura he carried was undeniable—confident, refined, the kind that seemed born of old blood and high halls. His glasses glinted as he inclined his head, silver-grey eyes sharp but polite.
Her father blinked, momentarily thrown. "And you are?"
Renji extended a hand with the ease of someone who had done so before princes and magnates. "Renji Ather. Faculty of Law. It's a privilege to meet you at such a distinguished event."
His tone was respectful, but the weight beneath it made Arisa's breath hitch. For an instant, it felt as though the power in the conversation had shifted—not her father's cold dominance, but Renji's quiet authority.
Arisa lowered her gaze quickly, masking the flicker in her chest. Who is he, really… to stand like that?
She schooled her expression back to frost, but the thought lingered.
The orchestra shifted to a livelier piece, violins and cello lifting the air into a swirl of motion. Couples spun across the polished floor, laughter ringing louder, champagne flutes chiming in toasts.
At the center of it all was Haruna Minami.
Her golden-brown hair shimmered under the chandeliers as she danced, laughter spilling as she twirled with one of the young heirs. He whispered something at her ear; she threw her head back in a laugh, her gown sweeping high at the legs. She brushed shoulders playfully with another partner, a blur of fire and delight.
But even as she flirted, her eyes wandered.
Past the glimmering floor, past her giggling companions—toward the edge of the hall. Toward Renji.
She caught the moment he approached Arisa and her father, his calm presence cutting into their private storm. She saw Arisa's posture stiffen, her father's grip loosen, and the subtle shift of power Renji commanded as though it was second nature.
Haruna's smile curved slyly. So that's where the Ice Queen's attention went…
She excused herself with a bow that was half sincere, half teasing, leaving her partners blinking after her. Her gown swayed as she made her way across the marble, each step light, purposeful.
"Mr. Sato," Haruna chimed brightly, dipping her head politely when she reached them. "It's been too long. My father sends his regards."
Arisa's father softened faintly, nodding in acknowledgment. "The Minamis. Yes, yes. Your family has always been… spirited."
Haruna's grin widened at the word. She slipped an arm around Arisa's, holding her lightly but firmly. "And we're proud of it."
Arisa blinked, a faint surprise flashing in her grey-blue eyes before she masked it again. But the warmth of Haruna's hold was unmistakable, a tether pulling her away from the cold grip of her father's expectations.
Haruna tilted her head toward the balcony above, where her family stood. The Minamis, vibrant even from a distance, raised their glasses in greeting. The Satos followed suit, Arisa's father offering a restrained nod upward.
"There," Haruna said softly to Arisa, her smile full of mischief. "You see? We've got you covered."
Arisa's lips pressed into their usual cool line, but her gaze softened a fraction.
Renji, standing nearby, observed quietly. His eyes narrowed slightly behind his glasses. So she shields her… but also keeps her close. Interesting.
Haruna squeezed Arisa's arm once more, her eyes flicking toward Renji for the briefest moment. Her smile sparkled with a challenge only he seemed to understand.
An hour passed, and the ballroom had grown warmer. The quartet's music quickened, laughter rose sharper, and the air thickened with perfume and wine. Glasses clinked constantly, waiters weaving between guests with silver trays, exchanging empty flutes for full ones in a seamless rhythm.
The heirs danced with flushed cheeks, gowns swishing high with every turn. Conversations gathered in clusters near the pillars, voices hushed yet brimming with ambition. The atmosphere had shifted—less ceremony, more contest.
On the balcony above, the true players moved.
Veloria's most powerful families lined the railings, their evening gowns and tailored suits gleaming under chandelier light. They raised glasses toward one another, clinking crystal in exchanges that carried more weight than any signature. Old rivals smiled politely, allies leaned close in whispers. Deals were made in silence, through gestures alone.
And through it all, one figure stood apart.
He did not join the clusters, did not sip the champagne. His suit was darker than the rest, his presence sharper, as though the shadows clung closer around him. He leaned casually on the railing, eyes fixed not on the dancers below, but on one man.
Renji Ather.
The lecturer stood at the edge of the floor, speaking with measured ease to one of the Academy's senior patrons. His smile was polite, his posture relaxed, but there was a stillness in him that suggested calculation beneath the calm.
The figure in the shadows tilted his glass, untouched, the faintest smirk curling at his lips.
"He's here," the man murmured softly, voice lost beneath the swell of music. "Let's see how long he lasts."
Below, unaware of the weight of that gaze, Renji lifted his own glass in quiet acknowledgment to another guest.
The night glittered on, but somewhere above, a game had already begun