At the dinner table, plenty of people noticed right away.
When Gauss stood up, quite a few others rose with him, but he waved them back down.
He only had the chief steward, Ivan, come along.
"My little sister—she's okay, right?" Gauss asked the Red Dragon Company member who'd delivered the message.
"Miss Cicero is fine. She hurt a few classmates, though—one of them is apparently a child from the Zevier family. That's all I know. The school informed both sides to come to the academy."
"Good," Gauss said, relaxing the moment he heard Cicero was unharmed.
As long as she was fine, everything else was minor.
So he sat calmly in the carriage.
After a short ride, the carriage stopped in front of an estate.
It was late at night, but the whole place was brightly lit. A few luxurious carriages were parked nearby.
Gauss glanced once, then looked away.
"Let's see what's going on."
He and Ivan headed in.
Maybe it was Gauss's presence, but the guards at the gate forgot to stop him—only after he'd walked dozens of meters did they snap out of it and jog after him.
Outside the infirmary, it was bright as day.
Magic lamps cast a soft glow that pushed back the darkness. White Radiance Flowers in hanging planters along the railings shimmered with a moonlit silver—beautiful, serene.
But the scene wasn't serene at all.
A crowd had gathered.
On the outer ring were students watching the spectacle. The academy was boarding-style, and the dorms were close by—of course news spread fast.
Under the corridor eaves, the most eye-catching figure was a noblewoman holding a handkerchief to her face.
She looked about thirty-five or thirty-six, with an unremarkable face—yet her features carried a sharp, lingering nastiness. She was well maintained, though.
She wore a vivid crimson gown with a neckline cut just right, showing off a pale throat hung with a string of round sea pearls, each as big as a fingertip. A silver mink shawl was draped loosely over her shoulders. Her dark chestnut curls were pinned up high, a hairpin with a pigeon-blood ruby set at an angle among the locks.
Her carefully lined eyes were red-rimmed.
"My little Samantha is sweet and well-behaved—everyone loves her. Even I can't bear to hit her. And today—today she got hurt by some wild little brat who crawled out of who-knows-where!"
"This will not end like this!"
"Hand her over to me!"
As she spoke, that vicious gaze snapped toward Cicero, who was standing by a teacher.
The dean of discipline looked helpless.
The infirmary doctor had checked—Samantha and the others weren't seriously hurt. Some blood, a bandage, rest, and they'd be fine.
And besides, Samantha had been bullying a commoner student with her little gang. She wasn't in the right. Cicero had stepped in for her friend.
The academy hadn't even planned to call parents—but somehow Lady Zevier had gotten word and rushed over.
The dean had no choice but to notify Cicero's family.
If this were an ordinary parent, he'd have sent her away already. But that surname—Zevier—meant he had to give her a bit of face. So he kept trying to explain.
Unfortunately, the woman wasn't listening. Even with Samantha basically fine, she insisted on taking it all the way.
"Lady Zevier," the dean tried to warn her gently, "I suggest you go home and cool off. Don't make this bigger than it needs to be. Cicero's brother—Gauss—will be here any minute."
He was trying to help.
Cicero dressed simply, so most people didn't know her brother was that Gauss. But the dean had been the one to receive Gauss on her enrollment day—he knew exactly who she was.
In his view, Lady Zevier had status, sure—but Cicero's brother was far more dangerous to offend. If anyone insisted on going to the mat, it wasn't clear who would bleed for it.
His goodwill was wasted.
She clearly hadn't even heard the name.
"Teacher," she said icily, "a bit of advice: don't stick your nose into Zevier family business. I'm not someone you can afford to offend."
The dean's temper flared—but before he could respond, steady footsteps came from the far end of the corridor.
Not fast, not slow—each step landed like it had a rhythm.
The noise in the hallway dropped.
Even the students watching went quiet, all eyes turning toward the sound.
Gauss walked in with an unhurried stride, but his presence filled the space.
He still wore the dark casual outfit from dinner, the hem of his coat stirring slightly in the night breeze. Behind him was Ivan in a black formal suit.
Lady Zevier's gaze swept over him, judging him head to toe.
"Brother!"
Cicero spotted him and immediately ran over, wrapping her arms around his waist.
She was still a kid. Pretending she wasn't scared would've been a lie.
But Gauss was here now—and the knot in her chest finally loosened.
Gauss patted her head.
"Are you the wild brat's brother?" the noblewoman snapped, ruining the moment.
"Her name is Cicero," Gauss said, lifting his head. His voice was flat, displeased.
He met her eyes.
For some reason, the woman took an involuntary half-step back—like his tone alone had startled her.
A heartbeat later, shame and fury rushed up her throat.
The kind of anger you get when your bluff slips, even for a second.
"Your… Cicero hurt my girl. If you don't give me an explanation, you're not leaving tonight!"
Gauss didn't bother with her. He glanced once toward the infirmary and let his mind reach outward—his mental sense spread over the area in a fast, silent sweep.
"It's kids roughhousing," he said lightly.
"If you want medical costs, I can pay you."
He was already taking Cicero's side. He hadn't even heard the full story, but he'd made his call.
And from what he'd sensed, the kids weren't seriously injured. Still, he was willing to cover the costs out of basic decency.
"Brother… they were bullying my friend first," Cicero said in a small voice. "So I hit them."
"Is that so?" Gauss smiled.
"Then you did the right thing."
"And I take back the offer to pay."
"You—!"
Joanna Zevier's face twisted, as if the withdrawal of money was an insult worse than anything.
As if he was trying to buy her off.
A nearby teacher stepped forward and bowed slightly.
"Mr. Gauss, I'm sorry you had to come all the way here so late…"
The dean, too, edged closer, rubbing his temple like his headache had gained a second heartbeat.
Around them, the students exploded into whispers.
"That's him?!"
"Wait—Cicero's brother is Gauss?"
"I thought Cicero was just a commoner kid!"
"Who's Gauss?"
"You seriously don't know?"
Meanwhile, Joanna still looked confused—she hadn't connected the name to anything that mattered to her.
She only noticed the dean's politeness and realized, with irritation, that Cicero's brother wasn't completely ordinary.
But so what?
She was a Zevier.
Was there really anyone in this city more powerful than the Zeviers?
Probably just some strong "street adventurer," she decided.
Her pride swelled back into place.
"Break both her arms and expel her," she said coldly. "Then we'll consider the matter closed."
Gauss's expression hardened.
"You can tell your people to try," he said, voice low. "And I'll show you what happens to them before they touch her."
Now he was genuinely angry.
Threatening his family to his face?
His eyes sharpened and fixed on the woman.
Joanna's face went ghost-white. If Gauss hadn't shifted his gaze away to one of her attendants, she might have stopped breathing.
The two attendants—slender, delicate-looking—went rigid as if facing a predator.
They were clearly trained and had levels, the kind who could kill a normal person as easily as a chicken.
But in front of Gauss, they were nothing.
Joanna clenched her teeth.
"You—just you wait!"
The dean of discipline, Parker, said nothing now. He watched her bluster with a quiet, private contempt.
He didn't want to offend someone with the Zevier name—who knew what kind of backroom trouble they could cause?
But Gauss wasn't some ordinary target. Trying to crush him with a surname was delusional.
From what Parker knew, Joanna was only a branch-family nobody.
And Gauss—young as he was—held power touching the extraordinary. A genuine prodigy.
The Zevier family, as Falrim's true masters, certainly had extraordinary-level people.
But "having them" was one thing—deciding to wage war over a petty branch member was another.
Would the Zeviers really pick a fight with a rising spellcaster with a future like Gauss?
Parker doubted it.
If anything, the main family would bind this branch up and deliver them to Gauss with apologies—before letting a talent like him become an enemy.
Joanna crushed a gemstone in her hand.
Nothing happened.
"No guts, huh? Fine!" she hissed. "Wait until my people arrive. I'll show you who owns Falrim!"
And then—behind her—another familiar figure appeared.
A big, broad man strode in with a dark face.
Gauss met his eyes for a moment.
Then—
Smack.
A crisp slap rang out.
Not on Gauss.
On Joanna.
She clutched her cheek, a red handprint blooming across her skin. She stared at her husband in stunned disbelief, mind blank for a beat.
Her husband—always gentle, always protective—had just hit her.
When her brain started working again, she screeched.
"You hit me?!"
"You useless coward! You live off my family, spend my family's money, and when someone hurts our daughter you don't defend us—you slap me?!"
"I'm divorcing you!"
"Stop embarrassing yourself," her husband snapped. Then, voice cold: "Joanna. Apologize to Mr. Gauss."
Joanna's husband felt his head go numb.
If it weren't for the Zevier connection, he would never have married this woman.
Their daughter had learned from her, too.
"Sorry to interrupt," he said. "Your father told me to bring you home."
"And if you refuse to apologize… he said you won't receive another coin. Starting today, don't come back."
Joanna froze.
Finally, fear of losing her luxurious life overcame her pride.
She swallowed hard, stared at Gauss like she wanted to claw his eyes out, and forced the words out:
"S-sorry."
"Say it to my sister," Gauss replied.
Joanna's jaw tightened.
"…Sorry, Cicero."
Only then did Gauss relax slightly.
"Remember this," he said, voice calm and lethal. "If my sister is harmed in any way, I'll come to you. And I'll come only to you."
Joanna's husband nodded stiffly.
"I'll take them away now. Sorry again, Mr. Gauss."
He ushered his wife and daughter out, fast.
When they were gone, Gauss looked down at Cicero.
"Let's go home."
"Okay."
The onlookers—students and teachers—exhaled like they'd just finished a dramatic play.
A Zevier had bowed her head.
One lesson was clear:
Whatever happened, nobody in this academy was going to mess with Cicero again.
~~~
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