Silver Threads in the Evening Wind
Night Moon Academy.
When Victor Nyxford finally snapped out of his trance, the sharp ring of the school bell cut through the classroom like a blade gliding across silk. He blinked once, twice, and the faint, ethereal glow lingering in his blue eyes dimmed just enough to pass as human.
Something inside him had shifted — not loudly, not dramatically, but like an ember inside his chest had been coaxed into a steady, growing flame.
The room around him buzzed with whispers.
Soft.
Curious.
Lingering.
A few girls weren't even pretending to be subtle; their eyes traced him with a mix of interest and confusion, as if trying to understand how the quiet foreign boy suddenly felt… different.
Victor exhaled softly. Great. Just what I needed — more attention.
He reached down and picked up the cloth-wrapped sword leaning beside his desk. Most students weren't allowed to carry weapons on campus, but his Godfather's influence — paired with Aris Silverflame's special permission — carved out exceptions for him.
As he stepped into the hallway, the air shifted. The murmurs followed.
More than a few girls peeked his way.
"Did he always look that cool?" one whispered, trying and failing to hide her grin.
"I thought he was handsome before, but now he's like… a mysterious noble prince," another sighed.
Mysterious noble prince? Seriously?
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
He wasn't trying to be cold or aloof — it simply came naturally. It kept trouble away. It kept people at a distance. And it made it easier to survive in a world that wasn't as harmless as it looked.
He let the voices fade as he focused inward.
"Sana," he called in his thoughts, "if my family is so influential, why weren't they ever mentioned in the original story? Wouldn't Aris have tried to recruit me into her Black Court?"
Sana's voice chimed back with sweet, unhurried clarity.
"That's because the Nyxford family didn't originally exist in this world, Master. Your arrival altered the narrative itself, weaving a history that fits perfectly with this world's structure."
"So I'm an anomaly?"
"An anomaly… with plot armor," Sana teased.
Victor huffed a quiet laugh. "I can work with that."
Two months.
That was the countdown until the story's major events began unfolding.
Two months to rise — or drown.
In a world crawling with devils, angels, dragons, and ancient clans, fading into the background meant death.
And frankly… characters like Aris, Akira, and Shira deserved someone vastly better than Leon.
Victor turned a corner, half lost in thought — until a soft voice drifted through the corridor like a gentle breeze.
"Victor-kun, are you adjusting well to school life here?"
The words hit him like a chord struck at the center of his chest.
He turned.
And forgot how to breathe.
The Silver Moon of the Academy
What shade of silver could compare to moonlight?
The glint of a sacred blade?
The sheen of frost on winter branches?
None of them held a candle to her.
A gust of wind swept through the open hallway windows, carrying scattered sakura petals in its wake. The petals danced through the air, swirling around the girl standing beneath the soft afternoon light.
Her long, shimmering silver hair flowed behind her like a river of starlight.
Strands lifted in the breeze, catching the sun in a quiet storm of brilliance.
Some fell across her cheek, others drifted across her collarbone, tracing the slender line of her neck.
The town was called Night Moon because of hair like hers — silver that glowed as if moonlight lived inside it.
Her sharp red eyes held a soft confidence, the kind that made people straighten unconsciously.
Her lips curved into a subtle smile, neither shy nor bold — simply hers.
A faint blush warmed her cheeks from the breeze, giving her porcelain skin a living glow.
Her outfit was impossible not to notice:
A short black skirt that revealed her long, elegant legs — shapely, toned, and framed by the sway of her hips when she moved.
Her broad hips curved into a graceful hourglass line.
The white shirt hugged her upper body, and the black corset emphasized the arch beneath her D-cup breasts, shaping her silhouette into something dangerously perfect.
Aris Silverflame.
Beautiful.
Proud.
Warm.
A walking contradiction of fire and moonlight.
And Victor… stood there staring like an idiot.
Her hair, his hair — silver beside silver.
Paired too well.
Almost poetic.
Aris noticed his silence — of course she did — and a teasing glimmer lit her eyes.
"Victor," she murmured, her voice like velvet sliding across steel, "you suddenly froze. Did the wind steal your thoughts?"
Victor snapped back, heat rising under his collar.
"I— ah. No. Just… thinking."
She stepped closer, just enough for him to catch the faint scent of snow lilies from her hair.
A playful smile curved her lips.
"You always look so serious. It makes me want to tease you a little."
His cool mask cracked for a heartbeat — the tiniest flinch, barely there — but she saw it.
Her smile widened.
"Victor, are you all right?" she asked softly, tilting her head.
He blinked hard and found his voice.
"Ah. Yes. Thank you for your concern, Aris-senior. I'm fine."
Her gaze lingered a moment longer, like she was trying to read the ripples inside him.
Then, satisfied — or simply amused — she nodded.
"That's good to hear. It's almost time for Black Court activities, so I'll leave you be."
She turned away, hair fluttering like silver wings.
The window's breeze chased her steps, lifting the ends of her hair and scattering sakura petals in her wake.
Victor watched her go, a quiet breath slipping out.
"Seeing her in person really is something else…"
He'd known her face from his past life's memories.
But this?
Her warmth. Her beauty. Her voice brushing across his nerves.
The quiet magnetism between them?
No screen had ever captured that.
A few girls nearby murmured behind their hands as Aris walked away.
"Look, they look like a matching pair… did you see his hair next to hers?"
"Aris-senior never smiles like that at anyone…"
Victor pretended not to hear.
Or maybe he simply couldn't process anything besides the fading silver trail in front of him.
He shook off the lingering haze and turned toward the kendo club.
Time to train.
Time to grow.
Time to climb before the world left him behind.
Night Moon's evening wind carried a handful of petals across his path.
And somewhere deep inside him, that ember burned a little brighter.