At dusk, Cheng Sui—wearing a standard Cassell uniform—walked toward Amber Hall, a crumpled invitation in his pocket that Fingel had handed him at lunch.
Originally, this grand confession gala was supposed to take place in Norton Hall.
But Cheng Sui had won the Day of Freedom, so Norton Hall now nominally belonged to him.
Caesar had negotiated with him and even offered a staggering rental fee—more money than Cheng Sui had seen in both of his lifetimes combined.
Cheng Sui refused; the reason was simple.
For the time being he didn't want to expose his abilities, so he needed Norton Hall as a private test site for his Ninjutsu.
Only inside Norton Hall could he safely perform every jutsu without worrying about the News Department's paparazzi snapping photos.
He'd even considered moving into Norton Hall, but the astronomical heating and land taxes quickly killed that idea.
Cheng Sui looked up; from a distance he could already see Amber Hall blazing with light.
Caesar had rented Amber Hall as the Student Union's headquarters and his own residence. After renovation it looked more like a palace: ancient Roman statues flanked the main gate, and the portico's reliefs exuded the romance of the Apennine Peninsula.
Luxury cars glided past him; boys with every hair in place wore hand-tailored suits, while their companions in plunging gowns displayed cleavage deep enough to dizzy the eyes; the gowns' exquisite cuts made the girls' waists ripple like water snakes.
Cheng Sui stopped at the end of the red carpet, watching couples stroll into Amber Hall. The flashes from the News Department's cameras almost blinded him.
If Fingel's invitation hadn't been in his pocket, Cheng Sui would have sworn he'd wandered into the Grammys or Oscar night.
Before arriving he'd imagined the party would be lavish, but Caesar's display of wealth still startled him.
Yet that was all it did—startle.
His reason for attending was simple: freeload a good meal and leave once he was full.
Fingel never mentioned formal dress, though.
Standing there, Cheng Sui drew plenty of stares; amid bespoke tuxedos and gowns a campus uniform looked like a stray mutt trotting into a pedigree show.
Yet human nature has its quirks.
A week earlier, a nobody like Cheng Sui would have been mocked outright—or at least met with contemptuous glances.
But Cheng Sui had defeated Caesar and Chu Zihang; he was now the undisputed top student of Cassell College.
Therefore every eccentricity—his uniform included—was reinterpreted as "carefree" or "unique."
Cheng Sui felt no awkwardness; he wasn't some gloomy loser shuffling into Amber Hall with his head down.
Long ago he'd faced and accepted the gulf between himself and these people.
In a way he and Fingel were alike—both could accept their own shortcomings. Besides, no malice existed here, only a simple misunderstanding born of different classes and perspectives.
Much like in "Dragon I," when Caesar invited Lu Mingfei to the banquet: Lu arrived feeling like an ugly duckling, convinced Caesar's gaze was a taunt or power play.
But Caesar would never do that—just as Xiang Yu didn't chop Liu Bang at Hongmen. Caesar, like Xiang Yu, was too proud; he sought open victory, not petty schemes.
To Lu Mingfei, a party meant pizza or roast chicken around a table, tipsy friends revealing each other's embarrassing stories, then hailing a cab and waving goodbye.
To others, a party should look exactly like this: priceless clothes, proud partners on their arms, smiles under magnesium flashes.
The instant Cheng Sui stepped onto the red carpet every camera pivoted toward him; reporters already imagined tomorrow's Night Watchman Forum headline.
"Shock! Cheng Sui Crashes Caesar's Confession—Love Rival or Persistent Pursuer?"
"Good evening. May I see your invitation?"
The smiling usher wisely made no comment on the lack of formal attire.
Rules are made for most people; a chosen few stand above them. Had the crowd not been watching, the usher wouldn't have asked for the invitation at all.
Cheng Sui produced the crumpled card; the usher's smile never wavered as he bowed politely and welcomed him in.
"Enjoy the evening, Mr. Cheng Sui."
"…"
At the entrance to Amber Hall's grand foyer the twin carved doors swung open silently.
The outside hubbub vanished, replaced by an almost eerie hush as every gaze converged on the doorway.
A boy in standard Cassell uniform stepped inside, blinking as his eyes adjusted from dusk to chandelier light.
White shirt, dark-green blazer, the World Tree crest on the breast pocket—amid perfumes and ball-gowns the everyday uniform looked jarringly out of place.
Yet no one could ignore him.
Not because of what he wore, but because of who he was.
To the onlookers Cheng Sui stood tall yet casual, as if he'd wandered into the wrong classroom rather than a top-tier ball.
His tousled black bangs brushed his forehead; his eyes swept the hall with the idle scrutiny of a general reviewing troops.
Crystal chandeliers shattered light across polished marble and champagne pyramids; the air carried hints of Damascus rose and cedar while a pianist played Debussy's "Clair de Lune." Guests mingled, awaiting the first dance.
Fingel, lurking beside a buffet, silently gave a thumbs-up. "Looking sharp, junior—just like me back in the day. But showing up solo like this? Feels less like attending a party and more like raiding one."
Cheng Sui didn't hear him; his gaze kept sweeping the room, to others an inspection worthy of a field marshal.
But his thoughts were simple.
Fingel said Caesar had prepared Boston lobsters—why hadn't he spotted a single one yet?.ಠ﹏ಠ