Celadox

In dramatic serif font.

Because commitment to the bit mattered.

You adjusted your glasses for what was probably the hundredth time in the past hour as they slid down your nose from sweat and disrepair. The frames caught candlelight briefly before you pushed them back up with the practiced motion of someone cursed by both bad eyesight and gravity.

Behind your DM screen, everything sat at attention for the night. Three notebooks, a “borrowed” tablet from Idia (with all your notes and tabs), your dice tower, and two emergency chargers for anyone without a brain. 

Ace had called the setup “chronically online behavior.”

You’d thanked him. Even in this hellhole, you’d managed to find a way to plug back in where you belonged. Fandom in your veins and wifi receptors instead of synapses. 

“Okay, this is actually insane.”

You glanced up to find Deuce staring openly at the room from the doorway, still halfway through taking his shoes off.

Behind him, Epel whistled low. “Did ya rob a theater troupe?”

“It’s called immersion,” you corrected, “go big or go home, Eppy”

“It’s called unemployment,” Ace said, immediately flopping onto the couch before you could throw a pencil at him.

“You literally got here first and watched me set up! That’s worse. That’s bumming.”

“Yeah, and now I’m judging you.”

Jack ducked slightly entering through the doorway, gaze slowly scanning the room. His ears twitched once at the ambient music quietly playing from your speaker somewhere near the bookshelf.

“…You even added soundtrack audio?”

You pointed at him immediately. “Thank you. Finally. Someone appreciates my vision.”

“I didn’t say that.” He winced, clearly not wanting to hurt your feelings. Damage doubled for pureness. 

“You implied it. Own it, Jack”

Ortho floated in behind the others, optical sensors visibly focusing across the room.

“Oh,” he said pleasantly. “You added responsive lighting triggers! I’m glad you took my brother’s suggestion!”

You sat up straighter immediately. “I did.”

Ace pointed accusingly between the two of you. “See this is why you’re both dangerous. Normal people don’t say things like responsive lighting triggers.” He punctuated by wiggling his fingers. You’d barely caught a grumbled ‘nerd’ under his breath. 

“Skill issue,” you replied automatically.

Sebek entered just in time to hear that, setting aside his contribution to the snacks with care before bellowing. 

“I CONTINUE TO FAIL TO UNDERSTAND WHY THIS CLUB EXISTS.”

“You say that every session we watched,” Epel muttered, rolling his eyes. 

Sebek, proud as ever, boasted to no one who really cared. “And EVERY SESSION I REMAIN CORRECT.” 

“You joined this voluntarily,” Jack pointed out.

Sebek looked personally offended, even if it’s true.

“I JOINED BECAUSE WAKASAMA EXPRESSED MILD INTEREST IN PARTAKING IN THE PREFECTS HOBBIES….heaven knows why…” 

Ace snorted. “Translation: Malleus said ‘huh’ once, just a bit interested, and now Sebek’s here forever.”

“INSOLENCE.YOU DARE DISRESPECT MY LIEGE’S TASTE.”

Ace couldn’t hold back, “He isn’t even playing this week! Or in this group, dude!” 

You hid a grin behind your hand, using your wrist to hide from them. It was true. Malleus belonged to next week’s group, an entirely different story, which Sebek was just one week too short of joining. Alas, you are no heathen and do not permit interlopers to disrupt your carefully crafted campaigns. 

Truthfully, you hadn’t expected the Dungeons & Dragons club to survive longer than two weeks when you’d pitched it to Crowley. Actually? ‘Pitched’ was being generous. More like you cornered him after class with a slideshow titled ‘LET ME INTO THE BOARDGAMES CLUB YOU COWARD’. 

Frankly, the newspaper club was dull and getting on your nerves. Too many interviews. Too many people. 

He still hadn’t let you be reassigned.

So naturally you’d created your own club out of spite. It was hard to get members, but you had some favors stacked up and frankly Idia wasn’t about to let someone upstage him on the tabletop front. There were also students who just really hated the headmaster and loved anything that ruffled his feathers. 

Now Ramshackle hosted a campaign three weekends out of four and got club funding. One session was run by Idia, a cyberpunk campaign somehow bent with magical girl fantasy? You asked to play as an enchanted tortilla and he let it slide. 

The other was run by Vil, which remained the single most shocking revelation in NRC history considering he turned into an absolute tyrant when the roleplay started. He took the role as DM like a demon director…you knew better than to play as a tortilla in his campaign about this ancient war in the Shaflands? Apparently he was preparing for a historical film and it helped learn his lines. 

That just left your campaign. Honestly. You should have been DM from the very start but nope. Idia just had to pull all his fancy tech out and flaunt his blot-gotten moolah with cool prompts. Well, he can suck it. Since now it’s your turn to sparkle. 

Grim climbed onto his chair—your chair, actually—and planted his paws dramatically on the table.

“Can we start now?! I’ve been waiting all week!”

“You’ve been here for eleven minutes.” Deuce smacked the back of his head, right before Grim could plow through everyone’s snack stash. You saw that paw snagging the chips from a mile away. 

“Longest eleven minutes of my LIFE.”

You leaned back in your seat slowly, lacing your fingers together beneath your chin, evil grin in place..

The room dimmed as Ortho lowered the smart lights remotely from his tablet.

Everyone settled into their places around the table. .

Dice bags hit tables. Character sheets unfolded. Candles flickered.

And just like that, the atmosphere changed.

God, you loved this part.

You lowered your voice.

“The Queendom’s capital has not slept peacefully in decades.”

Immediately, the table quieted.

“There are no riots. No war. No visible threat.”

You slid a newspaper clipping toward the center of the map.

MISSING CHILD — ELIZA DARLING, AGE 8

“And yet,” you continued ominously, “children continue to disappear.”

The string lights cast shadows across the fake article as everyone leaned closer unconsciously.

“No witnesses.”

Another clipping.

“No ransom demands.”

Another.

“No bodies.”

You paused just long enough for tension to settle before continuing.

“Every victim vanished at night from locked rooms.”

Jack’s ears twitched inwards, just as he reached to spin the clipping towards himself. Your handiwork is finally getting appreciated. 

“The windows were always open afterward.” You pushed your glasses up again, to punctuate. “And investigators found wet footprints.”

“What’s wrong with that? Did they all happen on rainy days or something?” Deuce interjected. 

You let a moment of silence pass over the table, and point up to the room’s high beams. 

“Sure, nothing’s wrong with it,” you hum, “just that they were on the ceilings.” 

Epel visibly recoiled. “Eugh. Bet that’ a bitch to mop up.” 

“Watch it, Epel” Ace leaned in with a cheshire grin, “Don’t want your housewarden to hear that pottymouth.” 

You took the chance to kick him under the table. He was ruining your moment and the ice was thin. 

“ANYWAYS –” you cut them off, “Parents reported hearing laughter outside their windows. Scratching on walls. Tapping on glass. Too bad they excused it as the house settling, no?”

Grim’s ears flattened slightly despite himself. Probably thinking of how rickety your own dorm is and if the kidnapper would come for him next. 

“The public believes there is a serial kidnapper stalking the city.”

You leaned forward, coming out of your seat. Past Sebek who leaned out of your way as your chest touched the table’s edge. 

“The newspapers have named it—” You tapped the center title card dramatically. “—The Darling Case. After the first victim. 150 years ago.”

A collective silence settled over the room.

“…Okay that’s creepy,” Epel admitted as you settled back in, satisfied to plop open your tablet.

“Excellent,” You said, completely deadpan, “as it should be.”

Ace pointed across the table. “See, this is why Ramshackle’s haunted! You and your freaky thoughts!”

“It literally is haunted,” Deuce reminded him, quirking a brow, “don’t disrespect the groundskeeper ghosts. Unless you want to be locked out next time you sleep here.”

“Dude.”

You continued before they derailed into an argument. No one was going to ruin this. Not them. Not Sebek who looked like he very much wanted to speak. 

“The case has become known publicly as The Darling Case. Officials fear a serial kidnapper. Some whisper about murder.” you gesture over the map, at all the target red dots, before meeting their eyes one by one, “and that is where you all come in.” 

Gesturing to Ace, you urge him  “Introduce your characters. Remember your roles.”

Ace immediately straightened in his chair with the confidence of someone about to become unbearable.

“My name,” he announced dramatically, “is Adrian Vale.”

Epel groaned instantly. “Did you steal that from one of those crappy spy movies last week?”

“Obviously.”

Ace flipped his pencil between his fingers lazily. 

“Adrian Vale,” he repeated, “independent informant, professional gambler, part-time scam artist, and full-time victim of police discrimination.”

“You got caught stealing wallets and were dragged on so you wouldn’t be locked in the slammer,” Deuce rolled his eyes, sneaking a peak at Ace’s sheet.

You couldn’t help but snort, “In-game slander already? Damn. Toxic Lobby.” 

Ace snatched it back with a hiss, “In character knowledge isn’t allowed yet! Cheating! He’s cheating!” 

Yuu gestured toward Deuce next, ignoring Ace’s whining. 

Deuce sat up straighter automatically.

“My character’s name is Daniel Ward,” he said. “Junior constable assigned to assist the investigation.”

“A narc,” Ace whispered.

“A functioning member of society,” Deuce corrected, “unlike your criminal butt!”

“Ward’s twenty-one with a big head,” Ace continued solemnly. “Already washed up by Queendom  standards.”

“WE HAVEN’T EVEN GOTTEN TO THE INVESTIGATION YET,” Sebek exploded, “AND WE WON’T IF YOU BOTH DO NOT STOP BICKERING.” 

The lights flickered and you were sure it wasn’t Ortho this time. Silently, you made a checkmark by Sebek’s name behind the DM screen. Note to self, check the breakerbox. 

Sebek narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Why did you write something down?”

“Continue introductions.” You ignored him. 

Epel took his turn next, although his face soured into disgust as he read off the sheet. 

“My character’s Rowan Carlisle,” he grumbled. “I’m undercover bait for the investigation because I look young enough to attract the suspect.”

The table immediately burst into laughter – and by table, anyone who hadn’t been prepared. Mainly Ace and Grim who wheezed their last breath.  Deuce tried to hold it in but you caught him sputtering behind his fist. Ortho was the only one who offered Epel a bit of sympathy in the form of a brief pat. To which the former swatted away. 

“That’s SO messed up,” Ace wheezed, slapping the table. 

“I KNOW, OKAY!”

“You agreed to it?” Jack asked.

“I lost a bet.” Epel seethed, openly glaring at you. 

No regrets. The group needed bait, and you needed someone else to take the blunt of everyone’s jokes. With the DM board as a shield, you gesture for someone else to go. 

Grim hopped onto the table before anyone could stop him, puffing his chest with paws on his hips.

“My turn! My character’s Grimmfire, legendary magical beast detective extraordinaire!”

“Did you just use your real name?” Jack huffed. 

“I go by no other!”

“Your backstory says you got hired because you can smell magic?” Ortho noted, not-so-subtly reading Grimmfire’s introduction card. You let it slide, since no one else would be able to decipher his catscratch. Even Grim himself..

“That’s RIGHT.” Grim puffed his chest out proudly. “And because I’m amazing!”

Deuce snorted, “Says the one who failed three midterms.” 

“THAT’S IRRELEVANT.”

Jack introduced himself next with significantly less theatrics.

“Silas,” he said simply, crossing his arms to his chest  “Tracker.”

“That’s it?” Ace asked.

Jack shrugged. “He doesn’t talk much.”

“That just sounds like an excuse for you to sit out.”

Jack kicked Ace’s knee under the table. Good. He deserves it. 

Then came Ortho.

“My character is Oren Shroud,” he said pleasantly, chipper that he gets to play instead of be Idia’s side-DM.  “Forensic analyst specializing in magical reconstruction and evidence processing!”

You peer past the board, making a note that his role definitely doesn’t fit the time period. Yet too scared to mention, or else the power might be cut. 

“You made yourself but cooler. Congrats, buddy” Deuce offered a sheepish pat on Ortho’s shoulder. The younger shroud beamed, just happy to be there

“Thank you, Deuce Spade!”

Finally, Sebek rose halfway out of his chair as if delivering a formal address. He’d been oddly silent and now you understood why. The boy’s posture could not be more strung up, his wrinkles somehow had wrinkles with how tight his face muscles pulled. 

“Sir Cedric Mornguard,” he declared. “Royal guard liaison assigned directly by the crown to oversee this investigation and ensure proper procedure is maintained.” 

No one had a comment for him, expecting nothing less. The longer Sebek stood in place, the more the air seemed to weigh on him. Sweat streamed off his brow just as he peeked an eye to catch everyone’s unimpressed stare. 

“Yeah,” you sigh, seeing as no one else was going to comment, “that checks. Sit down, Mornguard.” 

He did as told, coughing into his collar on the way. 

You continued on, propping up the last few pieces and grabbing the center thread. Dragging it from the case-introduction to the next port, where the game begins. “Now that introductions are complete,” you diverted smoothly, “your investigation begins at the latest crime scene. Whether it be coincidence or folly – three children have gone missing on the streets of Clock Town, all with the same last name as the first victim. Their names are Wendy, John, and Michael Darling….and their lives are now in your hands, Dear Detectives.” 

—-

The Darling residence sat at the edge of Clocktown’s upper district, squeezed between narrow brick buildings and dripping iron lampposts that cast weak gold light over the rain-dark streets.

From behind your DM screen, you watched the boys lean closer to the map as you described the third floor bedroom.

“Children’s toys litter the floor. Three beds. One open window.” You tapped the edge of the map with your pencil. “There are muddy footprints on the ceiling.”

A beat.

“And scratch marks inside the walls.”

“Why do you have to be like this, prefect?,” Ace said immediately.

Epel frowned. “Inside?”

“Inside,” you repeated pleasantly.

Jack’s ears angled back slightly. “You said the room was locked from the inside.”

“Correct.”

Deuce rubbed a hand over his mouth. “So either someone came through the window…”

“Or they were already in the house,” Sebek finished grimly.

The atmosphere around the table had shifted completely from the joking energy at Ramshackle earlier. They were still talking over one another, still bickering, but now it sat beneath genuine tension.

A child kidnapper sneaking into locked bedrooms at night was horrifying enough already without the impossible footprints.

You pushed your glasses back up your nose and continued.

“The Darling parents insist they heard laughter before the children disappeared. Their eldest daughter, Wendy Darling, claimed she saw a shadow moving independently along the walls the night the three went missing. She tried to tell their parents, but was dismissed.”

Grim flattened his ears. “Nah. Nope. I hate that. Hate ghosts! Hate crappy parents. ”

“You’re literally magical,” Ace said.

“Yeah, but I’m normal magical.”

“No you aren’t.You’re a beast-thing-cat.”

Ortho leaned over the map slightly. “Are the footprints consistently child-sized?”

You glanced down at your notes dramatically. “Roll investigation.”

Ortho rolled instantly.

Natural nineteen.

You sucked in a breath through your teeth. “Unfortunately for me, yes.”

Ace pointed accusingly. “You sound upset about that.”

“You people are solving things too quickly.” Your nose jut upwards. If it was anyone else but Ortho who asked, you’d think they thought the kids threw shoes on the ceiling or something. Ortho was already looking at all possibilities. Like levitation. Paranormal activity. 

Maybe this is why Idia didn’t let him play.

“Skill issue,” Ortho replied politely, taunting.

Yeah. This is exactly why Idia doesn’t let him play. 

Jack crouched closer to the map, focused. “The window’s important. Whoever’s taking them keeps entering from outside.”

“Three stories up this time,” Deuce reminded him.

“There are nearby rooftops,” Ace said. “Balconies too.”

Sebek folded his arms. “Then we station guards outside the building and investigate individuals who regularly interacted with the victims.”

“Like teachers, servants, family friends…” Deuce nodded. “We should look for patterns first.”

Ace groaned dramatically. “That’s gonna take forever.”

“It’s called police work,” Deuce snapped.

Epel leaned back in his chair. “I still think somebody should stake out the room.”

“You volunteerin’?” Jack asked.

“No.”

“Coward.”

Epel sputtered, forgetting they’re in character. “ Wha - Y-Yah do it then!”

Jack’s tail flicked once. “I’m too tall to pass as a kid, Rowan. Just do your job.” 

The use of his fictional name seemed to take Epel out of his brewing rage. Although it only simmered as he grumbled low and kicked his chair on its back legs. 

There was exactly one second of silence before every head slowly turned toward Epel.

Epel stared back at them in mounting horror.

“…No.”

Ace pointed across the table immediately, with a lazy grin. “Counterargument: yes.”

“We just started and y’all are gonna kill me off already?!.”

“It’s literally your job, Carmile!”

“It’s Carlisle!”

You raised a hand, as if to simmer the boys like hot steaks and not scare the ghosts sleeping in Ramshackle’s attic. Even if they do deserve it. 

Epel met your eye from across the table, his cheeks burned as if to say ‘this is all your doing,’ but resigned himself to defeat. 

“I hate every single one of you.” He said, quite pointedly. 

Sebek slammed a hand against the table hard enough to make Grim jump.

“THIS IS A CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION. WE WILL NOT USE A MEMBER OF OUR PARTY AS BAIT FOR A POSSIBLE SERIAL KIDNAPPER.”

“Thank you,” Epel’s eyes shone with gratitude.

Ace rolled his neck, cracking it as he thought. “Okay but if we don’t, then what? We interrogate every guy in Clocktown with a weird mustache until somebody confesses to stealing children?”

Deuce pointed at the map. “The kidnapper’s targeting children specifically in this sector recently.  If we want to catch them in the act—”

“You agreeing with me now, officer?” Ace interrupted, drawing a lazy grin

“I’m agreeing with the logic, not you, criminal.” Deuce spat back. With the fire behind it, you can’t help but wonder if he’s been wanting a chance to seethe at Ace with no repercussions for a long time. Most likely. 

You hid your grin behind your sleeve while pretending to review notes.

Truthfully, you’d expected them to split exactly like this.

Sebek and Deuce were treating this like a real criminal case.

Ace wanted immediate action.

Jack was balancing caution against practicality.

Ortho was analyzing all possible outcomes and viewpoints. He knew how you thought, and was probably trying to pinpoint twists and turns many sessions out. 

And Epel was being volunteered against his will.

Classic party dynamics. Got to love it. 

Grim climbed onto the table dramatically thrashing around. “I vote for bait plan. I wanna punch the creep and get to the victory interview with the press!” 

“You are not helping,” Epel groaned. What else did he expect from Grim - ah. Grimmfire. 

“You’ll have backup,” Ace said. “We hide nearby, wait for the kidnapper to show up, boom. Problem solved.”

“That’s your whole plan?”

“Pretty much.”

Jack exhaled slowly through his nose before looking toward you. “How dangerous does this seem?” 

You debate if the question is worth a roll, humming to buy time. One look from Jack’s exhausted expression is enough to throw them a bone. “Silas inquires with the investigation bureau about the case,” you narrate, “he finds that none of the missing children have ever been recovered. Bodies or otherwise. No survivors. No ransom demands. No sightings. Nothing.”

The room quieted. 

Epel clicked his tongue softly.

“…So if we don’t stop this now, another kid disappears.”

“Potentially,” you replied.

That settled it.

Not happily.

But it settled it.

The trap was arranged in an empty apartment across from the Darling residence. The room was dark except for weak lamplight filtering through gauzy curtains. Epel sat in the bed looking deeply irritated while the others hid throughout the apartment.

Ace behind the door.

Jack near the fire escape.

Deuce and Sebek hidden in the adjacent room.

Grim under a wardrobe  despite repeated objections.

Ortho monitoring the window from the shadows.

You lowered your voice as you narrated.

“Midnight passes.The city outside grows quieter.”

You dimmed the lights in Ramshackle slightly with your phone.

Ace narrowed his eyes immediately. “You’re so extra.”

“Vale talks to himself like a crazy person,” you said, as a narrator who cannot hear complaints or taunts, “and shuts the hell up.”

“A minute passed.

Then another.

Then —

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

The tapping grows as the biggest clock in town nears to strike midnight.”

Everyone at the table visibly straightened, leaning in as you switched to a more ominous track on the speaker. “And then?” you gasp, pulling out a flashlight and aim at the window just behind Epel. Behind the curtains is a cardboard cutout of a boy sitting on the ledge, but in the dark it looks like a shadow. “A vision. A person. Right on the third chime. Yet it was not the perpetrator any of the detectives thought. No. It was a boy. A small, barefoot boy. Maybe thirteen at most. He looked utterly ordinary at first glance, and the moment Rowan spots him from his place in bed – there is a question if this child is one of those missing come home.” 

“Is it?” Sebek whispered, looking at you like he did those story books he pretends not to read. 

You shook your head. It wasn’t time to roll. 

“The child looked utterly ordinary. Except for two things…his shadow moved separately from him, and the moment he caught eyes on Rowan’s slack-jawed stare? He grinned. A grin so unsettling it couldn’t belong to a child sneaking past their curfew.” 

“Oh hell no,” Ace muttered, twisting in discomfort.

“The boy tilted his head toward Rowan. ‘You’re not Wendy,’ he said brightly.” You imitate how a young boy would sound. Which is really just a poor impression of Riddle. Deuce nearly snorts his soda. 

Epel frowned. “Who the hell are you?!”

“Instead of answering, the boy grinned wider and climbed halfway through the window.”

Jack’s ears flattened, his gaze fixated on that wicked look in your eye. Also how you won’t stop grinning at Epel like he's sardine bait.  “Something’s wrong.”

“Yeah,” Deuce hissed. “Get him—”

“WAIT,” Sebek snapped. “We should question—”

Ace was already moving. “I roll to tackle the creepy child!”

“You WHAT,” Deuce wheezed, reaching for his dice.

“ROLL,” you shot back instantly.

Dice clattered across the table and stop right in front of you. 

Ace: six.

“Ah, poo.” You tut. 

The entire room erupted with the same thought. 

“THAT’S SOME BULL—”

“Someone else! Someone else go!,” Ortho yelled.

“Vale launches himself heroically from behind the door,” you narrated, already laughing manically, “and immediately slips on the windowsill.”

“I hate this campaign – ”

“The boy burst into delighted laughter.” You cut him off yet again.

Then Jack lunged, swiping up the dice to make a move himself. 

“I roll to restrain the intruder!” 

“Roll.”

Fifteen.

Better.

Not enough.

“You almost grab him,” you said, “but he twists away weirdly fast, like he knew exactly where you’d move before you did. He hops backward onto the windowsill effortlessly, laughing in between all your chaos and pitiful attempts.”

“Okay,” Ace growled out. “I officially hate him and I hate you for talking me into playing this.”

“Vale is once again talking to nothing, as there is no one to blame for his suffering but himself.”

Epel stood abruptly. “You ain’t takin’ anybody tonight! Not me, not any other kid, not no one! Rowan Carlisle slams creeps like you to the galley!”

You smile, lenses pushing against the fat of your cheeks, “Against Rowan’s claims, the boy is too quick and still under the impression that Rowan is a child. Our bait is grabbed right out of bed and slung over the boy’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.” 

“What—HEY—”

“OH HELL NO,” Deuce shouted, “YOU’RE NOT GETTING MY FRIEND! ROLL FOR ATTACK.” 

Deuce throws his dice. 

Snake eyes. 

He slams his fist onto the table, rattling the board and junkfood to a mess. 

Sebek surged forward immediately and took the dice. “RELEASE HIM YOU —”

He rolls. You think that this might be it, especially when he blows on them for good luck, sending a prayer to Malleus along the way. You wonder if he felt Sebek’s pleas from whatever ruin he was loitering in. 

Sebek rolls. 

Three. 

You almost feel bad, but not enough to jip the game. Even as your chest wheezes to get the narration out. 

“—Sir Mornguard gets stuck trying to fit through the window at full sprint—”

“I DO NOT—”

“—and Rowan almost grabs him but the boy catches his wrist first. The boy laughs, and in his leap out the window, he scatters yellow dust across the room. Our detectives are blinded, coughing, and out of their wits. The dust smells faintly of rainwater and sand. Like a child’s first laugh.”

Sebek froze.

Then his eyes widened. Your heart surges as the hint seems to process and connect. 

“WAIT,” he barked. “THAT’S PIXIE DUST!”

Your voice lowers, sending a hush over those who’ve rolled and who have not. Just then the grandfather clock in Ramshackle’s lounge strikes, signalling midnight in real time. 

“Alas, the moment the dust strikes…our detectives can no longer act. They drop like flies. Those in action and those who were too stunned to move until now. It does not discriminate. The last they see is the boy, one arm wrapped around a furious, swearing Rowan, while balancing effortlessly on the window’s edge. He jumps, the room spins in a kaleidoscope of scenery, and the world goes black for them all. Little do they know. Candlelight becomes stars. The wooden floors morph to a sandy beach. The clock strikes its final chime…and then there is nought but waves until they wake on a beach far off from the place they call home.”

As the room stills to a silent hum, the lights rise, and your playlist clicks off – you grab the red string and pull it to a far off spot on the map. A place none of them paid attention to earlier with all your other decorations. 

“To ‘NEVERLAND’” you tack the string, and lift your gaze to each and every one of them. A promise for adventure on your tongue. 

You let the silence sit for one perfect beat before leaning back in your chair. 

‧₊˚ ┊ Ace lives to see you in his clothes, and he's not ashamed to hide it whatsoever (he knows no shame tbh)

‧₊˚ ┊ It's pretty much mandatory that you wear his soft, oversized red hoodie whenever you come over to hang out in his dorm (it might as well be yours at this point lol)

‧₊˚ ┊ When you come over this time, you don't even let him get a chance to even think about grabbing that damn hoodie before you're darting over to rifle through his closet

‧₊˚ ┊ "Uhh, what're ya doin' over there?"

‧₊˚ ┊ "I wanna try on your dorm uniform! Turn around so I can change. No peeking!"

‧₊˚ ┊ "No promises."

‧₊˚ ┊ "Don't try me, Ace."

‧₊˚ ┊ "Alright, alright. I'm turnin' around."

‧₊˚ ┊ While he is an annoying little shit at heart, he keeps his word and doesn't peek while you're changing (he didn't plan on actually doing so in the first place)

‧₊˚ ┊ "I'm all done! You can look now!"

‧₊˚ ┊ Ace didn't know what he was expecting, but he didn't think his heart would skip a beat at the sight of you all dressed up in his dorm uniform (he's so corny lol)

‧₊˚ ┊ "Wow! Just… wow. You look like, good, really good!"

‧₊˚ ┊ "Yeah? You think so?"

‧₊˚ ┊ "Oh, I know so, babe."

‧₊˚ ┊ "Well, I think it's missing something."

‧₊˚ ┊ "And what's that?"

‧₊˚ ┊ "A card suit, of course! Come help me draw the heart around my eye so we can match!"

‧₊˚ ┊ Ruggie usually hates sharing his things with anything else, but he's more than willing to share his spoils with you

‧₊˚ ┊ Plus, he really likes having his scent on you — it's a beastman thing— and there's no better what to do that than by dressing you up in his clothes (smelling his scent on you activates something in his brain that he just can't explain — hehehe that's rhymes lol)

‧₊˚ ┊ You have free rein of his closet, so he hardly even pays attention to you when you decide to start searching through it one day when you decide to come over after class

‧₊˚ ┊ "You know today isn't laundry day, right?"

‧₊˚ ┊ "Yeah, I was just looking for your dorm uniform."

‧₊˚ ┊ "… My dorm uniform?"

‧₊˚ ┊ "Yep!"

‧₊˚ ┊ "And what are you doing that for?"

‧₊˚ ┊ "'Cause I wanna try it on!"

‧₊˚ ┊ Well, that makes sense — in hindsight, he probably should have expected that you'd pull something like this

‧₊˚ ┊ Ruggie doesn't have too much of a reaction to your plans and leaves you to change while he goes through his snack haul to find you both something to eat (he keeps your favorites on hand for whenever you come over lol)

‧₊˚ ┊ "Okay, done! How do I look?"

‧₊˚ ┊ "It looks nice on you, but you're missing something."

‧₊˚ ┊ "Am I? I could have sworn that was everything."

‧₊˚ ┊ "You forgot the bandanna, dollface. C'mere, lemme tie it for you."

‧₊˚ ┊ "Okay, what do you think now that the look is complete? Did the bandanna add to my rough and rugged charm?"

‧₊˚ ┊ "Oh, definitely, babe. You have the makings of a night fine member of Savanaclaw if I do say so myself."

‧₊˚ ┊ Epel thinks giving you his clothing to wear makes him cool and manly, so he's another one that dresses you up in his clothing, which is ironic, given how much he hates it when Vil dresses him up lol

‧₊˚ ┊ Like Ace, he'll usually give you his hoodies or shirts to wear, but you're always free to take whatever you like from his closet (seeing you in his clothes gives him this smug sense of satisfaction lol)

‧₊˚ ┊ So, he doesn't think anything of it when you make a beeline straight to his closet

‧₊˚ ┊ "I hung that sweater ya like over on the back of my chair, if that's what yer lookin' for."

‧₊˚ ┊ "Nah, I'm looking for your dorm uniform."

‧₊˚ ┊ "Why in the Seven's good name are you doin' that?"

‧₊˚ ┊ "Because I wanna try it on, duh."

‧₊˚ ┊ The silence that follows speaks volumes, but doesn't stop you from continuing your search

‧₊˚ ┊ "Oh, there it is! Can you, uh, turn around now?"

‧₊˚ ┊ "Yeah, yeah. I'm gonna have to help you tie the sash, so give me a holler when ya need a hand."

‧₊˚ ┊ "Will do! I'm excited to see if I can pull it off as well as you can!"

‧₊˚ ┊ "I'm sure ya can, sweetie. Ya already look good in my clothes, so I don't think that's gonna to change now."

‧₊˚ ┊ "Well, you can turn around and give me your verdict now! You can also help me with this sash while you're at it."

‧₊˚ ┊ Epel nearly trips over his own feet from how fast he whips around to finally lay his eyes on you 

‧₊˚ ┊ He's just as clumsy when it comes to helping you tie the sash around your waist, which shouldn't be the case given how often he's done exactly this

‧₊˚ ┊ "Your hands are shaking."

‧₊˚ ┊ "NO THEY'RE NOT, YER JUST SEEIN' THINGS!"

‧₊˚ ┊ "Whatever you say, Epel. So tell me, how do I look?"

‧₊˚ ┊ "Like shit."

‧₊˚ ┊ "I'm gonna give you one chance to fix your attitude before I ask you again. Now, how do I look?"

‧₊˚ ┊ "Alright, I guess."

‧₊˚ ┊ "You know what? Fine. I'll take what I can get."

‧₊˚ ┊ "Oh c'mon, ya know I'm just pullin' yer leg. You look good as always."

‧₊˚ ┊ "That's more like it! Keep telling me how nice I look."

‧₊˚ ┊ "Yer startin' to sound like Vil."

‧₊˚ ┊ "Whatever! Less complaining and more complimenting, please!"

‧₊˚ ┊ As much as Sebek adores you, cute couple stuff like sharing clothes doesn't come very easy to him (he's pretty shy when it comes to stuff like this, so cut him some slack, ok?)

‧₊˚ ┊ He will, of course, give you a jacket or scarf if it's cold or if you need to cover up, but that's about it

‧₊˚ ┊ So, you decide to take matters into your own hands one day when you retreat to his dorm room after class

‧₊˚ ┊ "Is there a reason why you're rummaging through my closet? I can assure you that I'm not hiding anything from you if that is your concern."

‧₊˚ ┊ "Oh, I know, Seb. I just wanted to try on your dorm uniform! You always look so good in, so I thought I'd see if I can pull it off as well as you can!"

‧₊˚ ┊ "… I see. Well, I can assure you that you look good in everything, beloved."

‧₊˚ ┊ "That's so sweet, Sebby, thank you! Still, I wanna see how it looks on me. Turn around for a sec while I change."

‧₊˚ ┊ "OF COURSE! I WOULDN'T DARE GAZE UPON YOU IN A STATE OF UNDRESS WITHOUT YOUR EXPRESS PERMISSION!"

‧₊˚ ┊ "I know, sweetheart. There's no need to get loud."

‧₊˚ ┊ Sebek quite literally holds his breath as you change, his palms clenched and sweaty as he stares straight ahead at his wall

‧₊˚ ┊ "Hey, relax. What're you so tense about?"

‧₊˚ ┊ The question shocks Sebek out of his daze and back into the real world where he finds you proudly wearing his dorm uniform

‧₊˚ ┊ He opens him mouth to speak, only for his words to get caught in his throat (the crock was too stunned to speak lol)

‧₊˚ ┊ "What's wrong? Does it look bad?"

‧₊˚ ┊ "IMPOSSIBLE! I ALREADY SAID YOU LOOK DIVINE IN EVERYTHING AND THIS IS NO EXCEPTION!"

‧₊˚ ┊ "Alright, alright! Geez, we seriously gotta work on your volume control, Seb."

‧₊˚ ┊ "My apologies. I tend to raise my voice when I feel especially… passionate."

‧₊˚ ┊ "The sight of me in your uniform makes you passionate, huh?"

‧₊˚ ┊ "Don't patronize me, dearest."

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

What a drag. Does he really need to help monitor his own Overblotted self? If you were able to survive it once, you should be able to handle that huge lion on your own. OB!Leona appears to be nothing but a grumpy lion who answers to no one, only being forcibly dragged around by his original self.

It changes when you show up. Suddenly, the copy springs to life in your presence and is completely disobeying the original.

You are taken by surprise when OB!Leona backs you onto a wall, a clawed hand lightly brushing against your cheek. "Herbivore," He breathed as his green eyes zoned in on you. "You should be more careful when you wander these halls alone." You couldn't help but gulp as he grins, fangs glinting against the sunlight. "You never know who might just be planning to eat you."

But when Leona takes notice of his Overblot's sharp nails cut into your skin, his attitude changes as well. The original takes initiative to pull you away and stand between you both. Perhaps you don't understand the way they bare teeth at one another, taking aggressive stances as if one or the other would jump and claw at their target. It sets the tone for a very tense environment as you attempt to drag them both to Savanaclaw.

It was best to keep both lion beastmen confined in his room. Considering that OB!Leona was focused on getting your attention, it wasn't hard to manage him. It was all that his overblotted self wanted; attention and absolute adoration. Leona, on the other hand, was more so bothered by the fact you smelled too much like ink in his own room.

"Tell me, do you look at anyone else like this?" Having been kicked out of his own bed, Leona could only stare blankly from his couch as his copy kept you trapped against its chest on the mattress. It only served to annoy him further when you seemed to reciprocate the attention it was giving you. "No, only you." The copy smirks, its tail entangled around one of your legs. "Then tell me, why? What do you adore about me?"

You hummed, sighing while your hand began to play with his mane-like hair. "You're brilliant. You're the most cunning lion that I know." Leona swears you were teasing him as you take a quick glance at him, smiling slightly. "And you're the only one that can protect me." With a mocking grin, the copy cups your cheek and returns your gaze to his own. "Tell me more, herbivore."

When the copy finally reverts back to ink, Leona can't help but find some relief in having the bed (and you) all to himself again. The first thing he does is drag you to the mattress and keep you trapped against his chest. You still smell of ink and lion, and it's his job to fix that.

"Go to bed, herbivore... Ha? I don't have to give you an explanation. You're a smart cookie, haven't you figured it out yet? ... Even with all the answers my blotted copy gave you, you're still not satisfied? Hmph, that's not my problem anymore. You're mine now, is that what you wanted to hear? ... Good. Now if that is all, let's go to sleep. You reek of ink..."

AZUL ASHENGROTTO

It had become priority to get Azul's overblotted self into the biggest Octanivelle tank, which also happened to be the most isolated one. While OB!Azul seemed to be temporarily human, he seemed more irate with each second spent on the surface. It only relaxes slightly when it spots you, but his grip on your arm never relents. "Prefect, please. I need the sea..." He's just so needy and in pain. You'd help him, would you?

Azul is absolutely livid. He doesn't want you to see his copy in such a pathetic state. He most certainly tried to get you to turn the other way and march straight home, but you had to hit him with, "Even if it's your overblotted self, I would still help you." It might have been just a small comment, but he takes it as if you would move mountains for him. You weren't making it transactional, and that's practically special treatment for him.

You thought that his overblotted self would settle once in that tank. The copy immediately sheds its human form in favor of his merform, much to Azul's embarrassment. The businessman ready to drag you out and leave that blotted mess to fend for itself when a tentacle had dragged you into the water. Suddenly, you're met with teary blue eyes just before you were submerged. "You didn't plan to leave me here alone, did you?"

And goodness, Azul is just torn between fuming and panicking as his copy drags you further and further down. To make things worse, you haven't even taken a breathing potion! That was more than enough to make the octomer shake off his anxieties and plunge down into the waters after you before you drowned.

"And then what? What exactly were you planning to do once you had the Prefect here?" Azul pinched the bridge of his nose as he crossed his arms, unable to even make eye contact with you. Clutching at the little potion bottle in your hands, you do your best to ignore the way that the copy's tentacles seem to latch onto every single limb of yours. Not to mention how they twitch and slowly coil against your skin, or the way that the copy buries itself into your neck with a whine while it ignores its original.

"Why? Why won't you give me an answer?" It murmurs, arms caging you into its chest. You can see Azul's jaw clench, but you cannot exactly tell if he's embarrassed by how pathetic his overblot can be or envious of how it got a chance to be so close. "I'll give you everything. You will never want for anything. All you have to do is say that you'll be mine." The copy grits its teeth as it tightens its grip on you, tearing a surprised gasp from your throat.

"Why won't you surrender to me?"

The moment that this entire fiasco ends, you never see Azul for another two weeks. Every time you go to the Mostro Lounge to see him, he's suddenly occupied with every single disaster known to man. It isn't until Floyd gets bored of the entire thing when you get the opportunity to be tossed into the tank again. It isn't until Azul jumps into the tank after you with another breathing potion to save you, again.

"Please don't speak of that incident, Prefect. I wish you never had to be witness to such a sorry display... W-What do you mean Floyd told you about that botched blot experiment?! ... Don't play with me, Prefect. You can't just say that you'll surrender to me, you'll hurt my poor heart! ... If you dare say it again, I am afraid that the contract can never be broken. Choose your next words wisely, Prefect. Not all agreements have to be in writing."

JAMIL VIPER

Of all the Overblots here, Jamil's was the most... unhinged one, surprisingly. It was also the nastiest, based on how it seemed to disregard everyone around him. Truly, it was the worst of Jamil's envy and wrath towards everyone around him for shaping him as a servant. No matter what Jamil did to snap some sense into his copy's head, it only served to tick it off even more.

When you came to assess the situation, however, you immediately got the sense that the Overblot will not be cooperative unless it gets what it wants.

"Master Jamil," Both copy and original froze, slowly turning their heads to you, who has knelt onto the floor with a small smile. "A frown does not suit such a handsome face. Is there anything I can do for you?" Jamil remains frozen, mentally screaming in his head while his Overblotted self smirks, sauntering towards you with desire swirling in his maddened gaze. "Rise, my diamond. You certainly may do a little favour for me..."

Thanks to Kalim and the coordination of the entire Scarabia dorm, everyone has tricked OB!Jamil into thinking it was the boss of the place (at least for a day, Kamil is super understanding of the situation!). At least someone expected the copy to see through this farce, but OB!Jamil's ego was so stroked by you and everyone around that it seemed to buy into the delusion.

Unlike Leona's copy which was super uninterested with anything that didn't concern you, Jamil's blotted self was extremely irritant with everyone else. Had it not been for you, Jamil would never be able to live down the embarrassment for having such an... unpleasant copy. So far, there have been no disasters while Jamil was occupied with keeping his copy at bay.

It's just that... Jamil has been watching from the sidelines as you are perched on his copy's lap, feeding it and attending to it's every beck and call!

Gripping his knee, Jamil's eyes narrowed onto your flushed gaze as your fingers combed through his copy's hair. If he had envied everything that Kalim ever wase, he certainly envied the abomination wearing his face as it rested its head on your lap. You didn't have to look at Jamil to know that he was seething, but it wasn't as if you could abandon the blotted copy either. It had only been a few hours since it had latched onto you, and this was not the best time to agitate it.

"It seems that I have not rewarded you." The copy sings. Its expression remains content, shuddering at the sensation of your fingers pulling gently at its scalp. "Do tell me what you desire most." Your breath hitched at the copy's purr. You do not react either as the fake Jamil sits up to caress your warm cheek. Biting onto your lower lip, you shook your head. "I desire nothing but to make you happy, master." You swear that you see Jamil's expression strain itself, and you already see how tight he grips his knee.

"Is that so?" You say nothing when the copy leans in closer to you, licking its lips with intent. You should be frightened, and most certainly be running away, but you don't. "You wish to make me happy, then? Is it me that you want?"

All the signs were there. That copy's hand was pressed against your lower back, the other hand was on your cheek, and his face was so so close—

Its lips are hot to the touch, and you melt immediately into his hands as he pushes and prods with his tongue. Against the candlelight, Jamil cannot tell if your cheeks were truly flushed red. He watches as your own hands crept up onto the copy's shoulders, pressing and digging nails into its shoulders until you have the strength to push yourself away for air.

You pant as your vision returns to you, meeting the copy's cruel smirk. It is looking down on you, and yet, you do not feel animosity towards it. You only feel disappointment once you recall it was only a fake.

"Or perhaps," A gasp is torn from your throat when the fake grabs your cheeks with a firm hand, forcing your gaze to fall upon a stunned, yet flushed Jamil. The copy smiles wickedly against your cheek, humming with absolute glee.

"Is it him that you want instead?"

You nod, and Jamil's heart skips a beat.

Yeah, no. Our boy Jamil ain't recovering from this. The moment that the blot disappears, you best expect that Jamil ain't letting you leave that room without an answer.

"I wouldn't act coy right now, Prefect. You may be clever, but I have no patience for your antics. Now, are you going to be honest with me? ... Why don't you tell me what you want, instead? What? But you were so honest with that fake only a few moments ago. Where have your words gone? ... You wish for me to force the truth out of you, then? ... As you wish, Prefect. I will give you everything you want."

VIL SCHOENHEIT

This was such an inconvenience for poor Vil, and he hates his copy to the same extent that Azul does. Just like Riddle, Vil feels a sense of shame when he looks at his doppelganger because it was a personification of his insecurities and selfishness. However, at least the copy was very calm and cooperative, perhaps even melancholy until it sees you.

Seeing Vil's Overblotted self again doesn't change the fact that the fake was still so beautiful. You are actually stunned into silence when you are brought before the two. Grim swears you have stopped functioning because being in the presence of two Vil's is too much for this world.

If you weren't watching yourself, you would've passed out the moment OB!Vil cupped your cheek with its inky hand and smiled down at you. "Ah, Prefect..." You gulped as it cooed at you, much to Vil's alarm. Its surely dangerous, but danger loves you so much and you can't pull away from it.

OB!Vil never lets you out of its sight after that. Wherever you went, the blot would follow. It seems to be fixated on being in your sights, which was not exactly a problem when you brought yourself to Vil's quarters where you would wait the entire thing out. It does concern you, however, just as the copy seems to grow more and more unhinged with each second that passes.

Vil is not exactly envious of how intimate the fake acts with you. Rather, he's extremely perplexed and observant of the way it pines for your attention and praise like a lovesick puppy. However, it isn't always so sweet. It isn't so sweet when the copy comes so close to scratching at your skin as it begs for your honesty. It certainly does not appreciate being lied to.

"Tell me, Prefect. Who is the fairest one of all?" It asks for the hundredth time.

Vil cannot exactly explain how he found himself watching his copy cage you into his own bed. It has straddled your hips, pinning your hands down onto the mattress without a care for the mess it makes. Ink drips and spills over his silk sheets, his pillows, you. Your neck has been smeared with ink, and so have your clothes. His copy is smiling with ink dripping from its lips and its hair, an obscure yet beautiful mockery of the original.

The original's breath hitches as your lips part into a breathy smile. You look like absolute art, and his fake looks like an absolute mess. "You, Vil. You're the fairest one of all." Vil shut his eyes at your quiet whisper, and he wishes that you stop bending yourself over for this pathetic imitation of him.

The copy snorted in dismissal, a sinister grin taking over its features. "Ha!" Even as it grips your wrists tighter, you know better than to believe that the copy would dare hurt you. Your heart pounds, however, as it leans in closely to your face with desperation on its breath. "Why do you say such, Prefect? Why do you say such when you feast your gaze on the ugliest part of me?" A choked breath stills the copy, its grin growing more crooked and maddened. Ink splashes against your cheek, and the copy pathetically takes a long finger to smear it away, only obscuring your features further.

"Are you trying to lie to me?" It croaked, maintaining that desperately smile.

Vil thinks you'll push it away. Vil thinks that you think of his copy so hideously, and so ugly. Vil thinks that you see him as ugly.

And you dispel all those cursed thoughts as your hand reaches out to cup the copy's cheek, dirtying your own hand in turn. "You've pushed yourself so hard, Vil. You've worked hard for everything you dreamed of." The copy's crazed expression remains, and more ink pours into you. Still, you return it with a gentle smile of your own. "Even when everyone complains, you're only pushing them because you care the most. Perhaps you act like the evil queen everyone makes you out to be, but that crown is yours by right."

Vil's heart stops. He still cannot bring himself to look at the sight. It's that cynical part of him that believe in your acting skills, that this was all a ruse to satiate his fake. The knife digs into his chest further as you hummed sweetly. "Your flaws are just as beautiful to me."

Only then does Vil bring himself to look at his copy. It is still smiling, eyes so wide as blotted tears fall upon your skin. You are covered in ink, covered in the ugliness that had consumed Vil, but you accept it all. You embrace the mess, just as you embrace the ugliness of Vil's heart. "Do you truly mean it, Prefect?" Its whisper shakes with hope, very much unlike the weariness and suspicion it held towards you the entire time.

Both you and the copy slowly glance at the real Vil whose eyes had widened at your softened gaze, filled with nothing but adoration. The heart in his chest ached, and he imagines that his entire body is melting into your hands. You are his weakness, after all.

"I mean every word, Vil."

When the situation died down, Vil takes the time to walk you back to Ramshackle Dorm. However, he makes a quick stop when the moon is set at the right spot, just to cast down light on your starstruck gaze.

"To think that the ugliest part of me revealed such feelings— you deserve an appropriate confession, at the very least. The affection that my fake expressed to you was no different to what I feel for you. I realize... that you meant more to me than you should have. I am not a benevolent prince, nor am I pure as the white snow. Still, I offer my heart for you to keep in a box. I only ask you to accept me, for all my beauty and ugliness... Ha, potato. My lovely potato, you're mine..."

IDIA SHROUD

Surprisingly, Idia got along the most with his Overblotted self. It wasn't as if he was driven by pride or competition— there was just some sort of acceptance when OB!Idia was first manifested. There wouldn't have been much issues.

At least, that was what he wanted to believe before OB!Idia set his eyes on you. It sent Idia into a choking fit when he saw OB!Idia approach you with such cool indifference, acting like one of those aloof protagonists from those dark otome games that he saw on a playthrough once. It's the way that OB!Idia leaned down towards your ear, muttering something about his boredom and suggesting to retreat to his dorm.

Idia took an hour to recover before sprinting to his dorm to ensure nothing has happened. All he found was you sitting on OB!Idia's thighs (it insisted!), and Idia swore that his copy was smirking at him.

OB!Idia was nothing to be concerned about. It wasn't as if it had the power to open up the Gate of the Underworld, which so happened to be far away. Other than the fact that the copy seems so... forward with you, Idia tried his hardest to ignore it.

"You look tense, Prefect." The copy smirked as it gently backed you against the wall. It places an arm right above your head, the figure leaning down at you. Behind the mask it wore, you can almost see it smirking down on you. "Don't I scare you?"

If this was the copy's attempt to intimidate you, ha! You got it covered! Idia is practically weak to any sort of romantic notion, it should surely send his overblot into a flustered fit! Boldly, you close in the gap slightly, crossing your arms around his neck and smiled at him. "Not at all, Idia." Much to your surprise, however, the copy takes its hand to cradle the back of your head, gently nudging your face closer until you barely a hair's worth away from kissing his mask.

"Are you sure about that?"

Suddenly a flare of red catches your attention as you glance to the side to see a fuming Idia who snuck over to your side. Wrapping a possessive arm around your middle, the original Idia glared at the fake and gritted his sharp teeth. "Listen here, bucko. You ain't getting more action than me, so buzz off!" He towers over you, hair threatening to burn orange if this fake continues to toy with you. "You wanna play, huh? Only one of us can have her, and you're nothing but a MagicMart knock-off!"

Cocking its head to the side, the copy snorted. It didn't seem to relent its hold it had on you. Instead, it leaned in towards Idia with a taunting stare. "Yeah? Why don't you ask the Prefect, hm? Seems like our little guest is enjoying all the attention." Both of them glance down at you, who seemed to be busy turning red to even give a proper response.

The blotted copy takes its hand to cup your cheek gently, but it was only a ruse as it forces you to look at Idia, eyes hazy with want. The way your breath shudders makes the original itch to steal you away from the copy.

"Don't you?"

Take that ending however you will. Idia does end up confessing to you once his copy is reduced to ink once more.

"Don't give me that look, Prefect. You totally loved seeing me get all riled up. And don't you dare deny you hated the idea of getting sandwiched by two of me... Please don't make me say it. I ain't good at the 'asking out' part, but I don't wanna skip over to straight up dating. Ugh, fine. I actually liked you for a really long time, and oh Great Seven, I just hope that I'm saying the right stuff to get onto your route. You're the only route that I wanna pursue."

MALLEUS DRACONIA (Book 7 is incomplete at the time of this posting)

Had it not been for the lack of potency in the blot, OB!Malleus would have been the end of NRC. Lilia was not a stranger to Malleus's ability to change the environment based on his mood. Even when this was a mere fake that they were dealing with, no one really wants to find out the consequences of upsetting the copy.

Malleus looks down on his Overblotted self. It was a flawed part of him, but nonetheless, a part of him that he was most disappointed by. The Fae Prince should know better than to act so wickedly, but the original understands. He tries to be as sympathetic as he can be for the copy, but it was only indifferent to what the original demanded of it.

Being the concerned friend that you were, you went to see them both despite all warnings from Sebek. Admittedly, Malleus would rather you be as far away from this poor imitation as possible. He does not want to see you hurt, let alone be at the mercy of his copy. Alas, it is too late now. The blotted copy will not allow you to leave.

Malleus hid his frustrations and anger underneath that collected demeanor. The only thing keeping him from doing anything rash was the fact that you were cradled against his chest. With a protective arm holding your waist, you were seated upon the fae's lap. The copy is forced to look up at him as he sat on his makeshift throne, and the fury behind its eyes is most evident, based on the way its hands grip your knees as if it were the only piece of you left.

Alas, it is only a stalemate now. With each tug that the copy made at your lower half, Malleus would simply pull you closer to him in turn. The fae hummed, glaring down at the copy who seems indifferent to intimidation. "Prefect, you may only say the word and this fake will be no more." He grunted, and you resist the urge to whimper as the copy's lips turned upwards into a smile. "If you wish for it, Prefect, I will disappear." It cooed, and the glint in its eyes reflecting the madness of blot.

Hesitantly, you shake your head and only feel Malleus's nails brush against your waist. "I don't want you to disappear." You whispered meekly, uncertain of what to think of the fake's lovestruck gaze. "Prefect, do you know what I can give you?" Even as the fake is forced down by the original, it still has the nerve to reach out and cup your cheek. "I can grant your dreams. I can make your fantasies a reality. I can give you everything."

Malleus lets out a breath of warning, leaning down to your ear as he narrowed his eyes at the fake with restraint. "Do not listen to this mockery, Prefect." His words are tinged with a hint of desperation, as if he had something to hide, something to shield you from. No matter how much he attempts to intimidate the fake, his blotted self presses on with a cruel smile.

"Prefect, all you have to do is love me, fear me, and do as I say. I will be your servant to will, to rule, to ruin." You are frozen as Malleus loses his temper, swinging out his staff to dispel the fake once and for all. Much to his dismay, his blotted self backs away just in time as its glowing green eyes lock onto yours once more.

"All you have to do is stay with me, forever."

The campus lets out a collective sigh of relief when the OB!Malleus disappears. However, suddenly, the entire campus is holding its breath again when Malleus doesn't immediately let you leave his room.

The two of you had been on good terms during your school days. Even after his graduation, the bond remained; he would visit as an alumnus and often stayed over at Ramshackle Dorm. Then came the days leading up to your own graduation. As you were hunched over a desk, scouting for apartments near your new workplace, Jade peered over your shoulder from behind.

"A wooden apartment building like this… I'm afraid the lack of security leaves much to be desired."

"Mmm, I know, but anything more substantial is way out of my budget."

"I see."

He paused, a polite smile playing on his lips.

"In that case, how would you feel about living with me?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

Before you knew it, he had swept you along with his logic, and the room-sharing agreement was finalized. It remains, to this day, utterly baffling.

According to Grim, "My henchman got rolled like a rug! He played 'em like a fiddle with those crocodile tears and knocked 'em out cold, y'know!"

So here you are, wondering "How did it end up like this?" while letting the current of daily life with Jade carry you along. Jade covers the lion's share of the rent and groceries; the amount you pay him monthly is roughly the same as what you would have paid for that flimsy wooden apartment.

Since that arrangement felt terribly unequal, it became tradition for you to provide the sweets and desserts. To make up for the financial imbalance, you’ve become something of a connoisseur, keeping a sharp eye out for the latest treats.

If you hear a department store is releasing a delicious new seasonal pastry, you don't mind the long commute after work to get it. Recently, the rise of online specialty shops has been a lifesaver. However, for some reason, Jade never looks quite pleased when you order sweets through the mail.

It's truly baffling.

You wondered if he thought frozen treats simply lost their flavor, but Jade is quite the gourmand—he’ll happily beam at a simple convenience store pudding you pick up on your way home. Just what is it about mail-order sweets that earns his disapproval? It’s baffling.

Regardless, today you are heading home in high spirits. In your hand is a premium apple pie from a high-end department store basement, a reward from a shop quite a distance away. You are certain this will make him happy.

Upon arriving at the nearest station, you send a message to Jade. “Just reached the station!”

This was one of the rules he asked you to follow when you started living together. Since he still works in the food service industry with Azul and Floyd, his hours can be irregular. You assume he wants the heads-up so he isn't caught off guard while sleeping or relaxing. Having agreed without a second thought, you make it a point to always message him the moment you reach the station.

On nights when you are late, Jade—who might be out on errands—sometimes meets you at the station so you can walk home together. Since those moments feel like a lucky bonus, you’ve never found the rule to be a nuisance. You send the usual text and walk briskly toward home. Through the auto-lock lobby, into the elevator, and up to your floor.

I wonder if Jade is still at work, or if today was his day off?

Thinking this, you reach for the doorknob. It turns. That means Jade is home.

"I'm ho—"

The greeting dies in your throat the moment you open the door.

Right there in the entryway, Jade is being pinned to the floor by a man you’ve never seen before. Question marks practically dance over your head. As you stand there dazed, Jade—still pinned under the stranger—greets you with his usual composure.

"Ah, welcome home."

"Yes… I'm home…?" you stammer back. Then, after a pause:

"Um… am I interrupting something?"

"Not at all."

The denial is instantaneous.

"Since I am being attacked, would you mind assisting me?"

"Uh… okay…"

You can’t help but give a lukewarm reaction. After all, Jade has the man’s head gripped firmly in one hand, keeping him at a fixed distance, and he looks far too composed for someone supposedly being "attacked."

"How exactly did this happen?"

"When I opened the door for a supposed delivery, it seems he was suddenly overcome with lust for me. Thus, I have been pinned down in this manner."

"Did you cast a spell on him?"

"No."

"Did you drug him?"

"No."

"I see."

"Oh—did you feed him any strange mushrooms?"

"No."

You run through the checklist with Jade, who remains smiling even while pinned, and let out a small sigh. You don't quite grasp the 'how' or the 'why' of the situation, but if he’s asking for help, you have to provide it. He is your landlord, after all—and a senior who takes good care of you.

You set your bag down outside the entryway and carefully place the apple pie box on top of it. Then, you roll up your sleeves and reach out, intending to peel the man off Jade, when—

"Just what do you think you are doing?"

Jade’s face suddenly goes blank, and he questions you in a low, displeased tone that brings you to a dead halt.

"I’m… trying to save you, Jade-senpai. Didn't you just ask me to help?"

"Haaaah—"

He lets out a massive, exasperated sigh.

Baffling. Truly baffling.

"Listen to me, Prefect. The person before us is a male. He is stronger than you, and clearly his mind is so far gone that he would tackle me the moment we met. There is no way your slender arms could ever stand against a fellow like that. I must insist that you think before you act."

"Oh…"

With another heavy, weary sigh, he muttered with deep distaste, "Exactly how long do you intend to stay on top of me?" The hand he had placed on the man’s head tightened into a vice-like iron claw, and he hoisted the intruder up by sheer force. The man’s body lifted off the floor as he let out a strangled, distorted scream.

With an air of utter boredom, Jade rolled the man aside. In one fluid motion as he stood, he delivered a sharp kick to the solar plexus, instantly claiming the man’s consciousness. It was the practiced, efficient movement of someone performing a routine task. He let out yet another sigh.

"Prefect."

"Yes?"

"In a situation like this…"

"Yes?"

"One calls the authorities. You report it. Do you know how to make an emergency call on your smartphone?"

"I do, but…"

"Good. Take out your phone."

"Okay…"

"Now, press the emergency button."

"Right."

With one foot casually resting on the back of the collapsed man, Jade proceeded to give a polite lecture on how to report a crime. You followed his instructions and made the call.

While waiting for the police to arrive, you stole a glance at Jade.

"Is something the matter?"

"No… I just wondered if it was really okay to call the police."

"…Could it be that you tried to handle this yourself because you were worried I might get into trouble if the authorities were involved?"

Your eyes darted away, just for a second.

After all, he is one-third of the notorious trio of "vicious mermen" from Octavinelle, who are rumored to be little more than a criminal organization. While you doubt he’d ever leave evidence that would get him caught, you have serious suspicions about whether he is truly "clean". Jade’s eyebrows drew together as his expression softened into a troubled look—a rare sight where he actually seemed genuinely perplexed.

"Listen to me, Prefect. If you ever sense your own safety is at risk, do not hesitate for a moment to call the police. You must prioritize your own well-being above all else."

"But if you were to accidentally get arrested, Senpai, I’d lose my place to live."

"I would never make such a clumsy mistake."

He didn't say, 'I haven't done anything illegal,' you think to yourself. Then again, you already knew that. Before long, the police arrive and take away the unconscious man. Apparently, he was the culprit behind a recent string of incidents involving a criminal posing as a deliveryman to force his way into homes for robbery and assault.

The officers direct their concerned gazes toward you, assuming you were the victim, but it was actually Jade. He gracefully raises his hand and puts on a show of being a tragic, fragile victim, feigning distress so convincingly that the officers finish their questioning with looks of profound pity. Consequently, what Jade did to the man is officially processed as a clear-cut case of self-defense.

Once the police finally leave, you return to the room with Jade. The two of you share the dinner he prepared, and afterward, you both tuck into the apple pie you brought home.

"This is delicious. As expected of such a renowned shop."

"I heard you can't usually buy this around here. Oh, but they seem to offer mail-order delivery, so I’ll make sure to order some more."

With those words, you step squarely onto one of Jade’s landmines.

"Prefect. Sit. Kneel."

"Yes, sir."

"You were just witness to a dangerous incident involving a delivery, so how on earth does your mind leap straight back to ordering things online? Is your head filled with nothing but sawdust?"

"I'm fairly certain there's a brain in there."

"Shall I check for myself?"

"I’m sorry."

"Frozen goods must be accepted in person. I thought you had finally understood the danger of opening your front door to a strange male, but it seems I was mistaken."

"Well, I mean… I think that happened because you're just so… erotic, Senpai."

"Pardon?"

"You have this kind of 'sultry housewife' vibe, or something…"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm sorry."

You are, at the very least, quick to apologize. Still, it remains an indisputable fact that Jade is a stunningly beautiful merman capable of charming anyone, regardless of gender.

"But it makes sense. It would be a problem if another deviant developed those kinds of… 'unfortunate urges' toward you, Jade-senpai. Oh, I know! If I just make sure to schedule the deliveries for a day when I'm home…"

"Prefect."

"Yes?"

"Why on earth are you so utterly indifferent toward your own safety?"

"Huh?"

"There you go again, giving me such a half-hearted response."

"I mean, I spent four years at an all-boys school and didn't have a single suitor. I'm not exactly 'target' material."

"Haaaah—"

You are met with yet another massive, bone-weary sigh.

"The reason for that, Prefect…"

"Yes?"

"Is because I spent that entire time warding everyone else off."

"Wha—?"

"Don't make such a gormless sound."

"Wait, warding them off?"

"For every pair-based lesson, was I not always your partner?"

"I just thought everyone else hated being paired with someone who had no magic."

"There were those types, certainly. But there were also a fair number who backed off simply because they didn't want to end up in my crosshairs."

"Whoa…"

"By the way, among our friends and acquaintances from NRC, it is widely believed that we are living together in a common-law marriage."

"Heh…?"

"Just the other day, Floyd teased me about the fact that I still haven't officially confessed my feelings to you. It made me so incredibly irritated that I knocked him down, which escalated into a brawl that resulted in the complete destruction of Azul’s office."

"Please stop doing that."

"In that case, please go out with me."

"Was that really where this conversation was heading?"

"That is exactly where it was heading."

"I see…"

So, that was the flow of things. In that case, there is no helping it.

"Jade-senpai."

"Yes?"

"Jade-senpai… do you actually like me?"

"Yes, of course. Enough to find any excuse to meet you at the station when you are late. Enough to decide to act as a decoy and capture a criminal myself after hearing reports of a deviant posing as a deliveryman in this neighborhood."

"Wait, am I… incredibly loved?"

"You are indeed incredibly loved."

"Now I'm getting embarrassed."

"That is a wonderful thing."

"Is it, though?"

"Yes, certainly. Now then, shall we agree that from this moment forward, this is no longer a mere room-share, but a life together as a couple?"

"Okay."

"Jade-senpai."

"What is it?"

"Me too."

"Yes?"

"I accepted the room-share because I’d already made up my mind that if anything were to happen, I wanted it to be with you. And… I love you enough that my first instinct was to try and handle things myself rather than call the police, just so you wouldn't be put at a disadvantage."

Without a word, Jade stood up. As you looked on with a puzzled expression, he hoisted you up effortlessly and began walking toward his own room with brisk, steady strides. You flailed in a panic.

"Um??? Jade-senpai??? That's your bedroom, isn't it???"

"It is our first night together to commemorate our new relationship, after all."

"This is moving too fast! Way too fast!"

And so, you were thoroughly and "deliciously" enjoyed by Jade. By the following morning, you were left utterly exhausted but pampered beyond belief. Trembling at the sheer magnitude of Jade's prowess as a lover—which far exceeded the already indulgent treatment you’d received until now—you could only hold your head in your hands and realize… He’s going to ruin me… I'm being spoiled rotten…

thinking about dodging ACE’s kisses and how his face scrunches up all pouty in response. “okay so you think i’m ugly and you hate me.” the firm line of his lips didn’t stay for long, twitching without his permission when you cup his face and his cheeks are warm from his blush. “of course not, you’re so easy to tease, it’s not my fault.” you give him a smile he knows he can’t argue with and he visibly sags, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “you’re so mean, i even said my pleases. can i just get one?” you push up on your tiptoes to kiss the spot between his brows, then down the slope of his nose. you feel more than hear his little huff when you press your lips to the corner of his mouth instead. “sorry, i couldn’t resist,” you pressed another kiss there. his hand cups the back of your head and his nose bumps into yours when he pulls you in for a proper kiss, mumbling a small ‘mwah’. “that’s much better. but you must give me five more to make up for it, okay?”

AZUL, who claims he doesn’t feel ready unless it’s you fixing his up his tie every morning. he tries to stay nonchalant as you pat down the lapels flat against his chest, his gaze trained to the spot just above the crown of your head. he’s so close that the smell of your shampoo floats around him and when he tilts down he catches your focused, pretty face and the way your lips mouth around a small huff when you mess up. he nearly astral projects out of his body when you suddenly peek up at him through your lashes, those same lips twitching up into a smile, just for him. “you’re handsome,” you say, sending him to a near cardiac arrest for the second time that day. he hides face in your neck, relaxing a bit when your fingers scratch at the baby hairs on his nape just the way he likes. “if anyone’s the handsome/cute one here, it’s always been you.”

“these shoes are doing you no good, i’m afraid.” JADE clicks his tongue with a frown, gingerly peeling off your ill fitted shoe(dress shoe, heel, your pick). his brow furrows when he sees the blisters on your ankle and it stays even when you bend down to brush your lips to the spot. “sorry for not telling you earlier, i didn’t want to ruin your night.” the tips of your fingers graze his ear as you brush his bangs back so you can see his face but he grabs your wrist before you could get too far, holding it to his lips. “my night is hardly ruin, darling. though, i do wish you had spoken up. i’m not fond of seeing you in pain.” “i can sit here until you’re ready to go back.” he hums as though in thought before his lips curl into an impish grin. before you can ask your vision tilts and you’re quite literally lifted off your feet, jade holding you so close and silently promising not to let you fall. “i— jade, i can walk on my own, really.” “i much prefer this way. what if you manage to hurt yourself again, it would pain me if i allow that opportunity to exist.” “oh you—!”

thinking about FLOYD watching you do your morning routine. “that tickles,” he’s laughs, blinking at you as you rub some moisturizer on his face when you catch him looking too hard. “and cold.” he plays footsie with you as you finish applying your makeup, slowly growing bored and twirling the ends of your hair around his finger. it wanes into a playful look when you apply your lipstick and a blissful sigh escapes him when you indulge him with a kiss. what starts as one, becomes two then three, dots of red camouflaging on his rosy cheeks, rounded by his toothy smile. “you look good,” you grin, looking at the red marks covering all over his face. “oh yeah?” he cups the back of your head, kissing you hard on the mouth. he instinctively follows your lips when you pull away, not bothering to hide his shameless smile as he traces the smudged lipstick escaping the outlines of your mouth. “it looks even better on you, shrimpy~. gimmie some more!”

JAMIL who starts to write a list of things on his arms with a pen throughout the day. you mention you’re feeling sleepy? he makes a quick note on his palm to stop by the cafe to get your favorite drink. looking a little blue? he dots down the address to the nearest confectionery spot to surprise you after class. you want to call him later to chat? the time is saved on one of his knuckles, he won’t be late. and some he writes down just cause he loves you. “huh what’s this?” you look at him curiously when he slides spoonfuls of hot soup to you. “i made it for you.” he knows it's worth it when you thank him with a round smile with sauce on your lips and he grabs a napkin to dab your face clean. “you mentioned earlier you were hungry so i put this together.” “huh..? i don’t remember that?” he pinches your cheek before you can think too hard about it because truthfully you never did, he just wanted to spoil you was all.

when you’re too sleepy to remove your own makeup, you know you can always trust VIL to take care of you. he stands between your legs from where you sit on his bathroom counter, not commenting on the way you play with the buttons of his shirt or how your forehead grazes his when you lean into him, whining about wanting sleep. “not yet, potato. if you fall asleep with all this still on, your skin will be angry with you tomorrow.” “your hands are so cold, it’s making me even sleepier,” you say around a yawn. “will you at least carry me back?” the small overhead lights catch in your eyes when you peek up at him and he leans closer to block the harsh glare. he wipes your makeup, stroking the spot beneath your eye softly with his thumb. “is that even a question?”

the idea of being direct makes IDIA’s skin crawl; his words choke up as soon as he sees your face turn to look at him, heart racing without his permission and the tips of his hairs betray him. but, instead, he finds smaller, wordless ways to show his appreciation. it’s in the way he warms up a fresh blanket, warm and toasty for when you get back from class for a nap. in the way he sneaks a couple paper dollars into your back pockets so you can buy yourself something from the vending machine. the way he charges your phone when you’ve fallen asleep slumped against him, one earbud threatening to pop out. he brushes your hair back, careful not to stir you as he helps you to more a comfortable position wrapped in his sheets and swimming in his hoodie. “cute,” he gives a wobbly smile, stuffing his face into a pillow like a lovesick maiden.

thinking about you and MALLEUS having matching tamagotchis which he sometimes refers to as your children. (though jokingly or not, it’s hard to discern over the serious look on his face… “what food do they think they would enjoy?” “like in real life…?” “yes, it’s important to know our child’s preferences.”)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

m.list

Deuce remembers everything you say, even the things you mention in passing without thinking twice about them.

Deuce Spade

You could tell him once, months ago, that you like a specific flavor of juice or that a certain song reminds you of home, and he will file it away in his mind like it matters, like every small piece of you is worth remembering.

He shows up with that juice when you are stressed about exams, records that song when he hears it playing somewhere, asks if you want to go to that restaurant you mentioned liking back during orientation week.

It is never a grand gesture and he gets embarrassed when you point it out, turning red and insisting it is not a big deal, that he just happened to remember or it was on his way anyway, but you know better. You know that he listens when you talk, genuinely listens, and that he cares enough to hold onto the little details that make you who you are.

He takes you seriously in a way that feels rare and precious, never dismissing your problems as too small or your feelings as an overreaction, and when you tell him about your day he does not just wait for his turn to talk, he actually wants to know, asking follow-up questions and getting invested in the drama with people he has never even met because it matters to you so it matters to him.

Jack Howl

Jack notices when you are tired before you say anything.

He sees the way you are holding your shoulders, the heaviness in your movements, the slightly dazed look that means you are running on empty and sheer stubbornness, and he does not make a big deal out of it but suddenly he is taking care of the little things you do not have energy for.

He carries your bag without asking, grabs your lunch for you when he gets his own, steers you away from crowded hallways when he can tell you are too worn down to deal with the noise. He does not hover or fuss because that would just make you feel worse, but his presence becomes this steady, reliable thing you can lean on without worry.

He texts you to make sure you ate, reminds you about assignments you might have forgotten, offers to study together because he knows you will actually take breaks if someone else is there to enforce them.

When you try to thank him he gets gruff and uncomfortable about it, insisting he is not doing anything special and you would do the same for him, and maybe that is true but it does not make it matter less. He looks out for you, making sure you are okay even when you are too tired or overwhelmed to take care of yourself properly.

Epel Felmier

Epel defends you when you are not there to defend yourself.

You do not always hear about it but he does not let people talk badly about you, does not let rumors go unchallenged or let anyone make you the butt of their jokes, and he does it even when it would be easier to stay quiet, even when standing up means drawing attention he does not want.

He has spent his whole life being underestimated and forced into boxes that do not fit, so he knows what it feels like when people make assumptions, and he refuses to let anyone do that to you without pushback. He is fiercely loyal in a way that sometimes surprises people who only see the delicate face and the careful manners Vil has drilled into him, but you know better.

You know that he will go to bat for you without hesitation, that your reputation and your feelings matter to him enough to risk getting into trouble, that he considers you worth fighting for.

He also never makes you feel like you owe him for it, never holds it over your head or demands gratitude, because to him that is just what you do for people you care about.

Ortho Shroud

Ortho celebrates your accomplishments no matter how small they are.

You could tell him you finally finished that assignment you were putting off or managed to get out of bed on a hard day or tried something new that scared you, and he lights up like you just told him you won the lottery.

He does not do it in a condescending way, does not treat you like a child who needs participation trophies, but his enthusiasm is so genuine and bright that you cannot help but feel proud of yourself too.

He wants you to recognize your own progress, wants you to see yourself the way he sees you, and he keeps track of your goals and dreams and mentions them later, asking how that thing you were working on is going or if you are still interested in that topic you were researching.

He sends you articles and videos he thinks you will like, tags you in posts that remind him of you, makes playlists based on your current mood because he has learned to read your emotional patterns better than most people could.

He makes you feel seen and valued, makes you feel like your existence brings something good into the world, and his love is this wholehearted, uncomplicated thing that does not demand anything in return except that you let yourself be cared for.

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek holds you to a higher standard because he believes you can meet it.

He does not coddle you or pretend your mistakes do not exist, and while that might sound harsh it actually means he takes you seriously as a person, sees your potential and refuses to let you sell yourself short.

He gets frustrated when you talk badly about yourself because he genuinely does not understand why you cannot see what he sees, why you insist on diminishing your own abilities when you are clearly capable of so much more.

He pushes you to try harder, do better, be more, but he also notices when you succeed and acknowledges it in his own loud, over-the-top way that somehow always makes you feel like you actually accomplished something worthwhile.

He does not compare you to anyone else because his standards for you are yours alone, based on what he knows you can do rather than arbitrary measures of what others have done.

When you are struggling he does not tell you to give up or lower your expectations, he tells you to keep going, offers to help you practice or study or train, sits with you through the difficult parts because he has faith that you will get through them.

His belief in you is absolute and unwavering, and on the days when you do not believe in yourself that certainty becomes something you can borrow until you find your own again.

Grim

Grim shares his food with you, and for a cat monster who treats every meal like it might be his last, that means everything.

He will complain about it, will make a big show of how generous he is being and how you better appreciate this, but he always makes sure you eat, pushing portions of his lunch toward you or "accidentally" ordering too much and insisting you help him finish it.

He curls up next to you when you are sad, his warm weight settling against your side or in your lap. He does not ask what is wrong because he does not need to know the details to know that you need comfort, and his presence becomes this grounding thing, something alive and real and dependent on you in a way that makes it harder to spiral into dark thoughts.

He talks about the future like you will obviously be there, makes plans that include you without question, assumes your continued presence in his life as a fundamental fact of reality.

"When we are famous mages" and "after we graduate" and "once we get our own place," always we, always together, his future so tangled up with yours that separation is not even a possibility he considers, and somehow that certainty, that unshakeable assumption that you belong with him, makes you feel more wanted than any flowery declaration ever could.

What does one have to do to get a little peace in the middle of a haunted dormitory that’s almost crumbling down to its foundations, with a cat shooting fire left and right?

That was what you were thinking when a letter showed up carried along by a cascade of black feathers. It was as if peace and order didn’t exist in the vocabulary of this magic-filled school.

One moment Ramshackle was quiet, or as quiet as it could get with Grim arguing with one of the ghosts, who had stolen a can of tuna just to mess with him, and the next, a whirl of glossy black feathers burst in through the broken window and spiraled dramatically down onto the first steps of the lounge staircase.

“HEY! We’re under attack!” Grim growled, jumping back when the envelope landed with an unnecessarily theatrical thump on the coffee table. “Protect me, Henchman!”

You sighed, keeping Grim upright as he climbed up your arm until he settled on your shoulder. You picked up the letter and looked it over; burgundy-colored, with a wax seal faintly gleaming in gold.

A letter that screamed official and important no matter how you looked at it.

It definitely wasn’t a bill or some annoying request from the administration. Crowley never handed those out in person, much less with a flock of black feathers; which meant the bird-brained headmaster was nearby.

And with that, the front door swung wide open on its own with a creak.

“Well, well, my most honorable and dependable residents!” he said in a voice far too cheerful and far too polished, stepping into the dorm as if it belonged to him and not like he had dumped it on you in terrible condition. “What fortune to find both of you at home! Truly, the stars themselves align for the diligent!”

Grim shot him a flat look and narrowed his eyes. “When you talk like that it means nothing good”

Crowley brushed off the comment with professional skill. “My dear prefect,” he continued, turning toward you with a wide smile, his cape swishing as if he had practiced the move in the mirror about ten times. “I require your presence in my office immediately. It concerns a matter of prestige, honor, and, naturally, inter-academic relations”

In other words… trouble.

You glanced sideways at Grim; the cat met your look, and you murmured to him when you saw Crowley turn to head out of the lounge without even checking whether you were following or not. “Yeah, nothing good ever comes from him”

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

The office gleamed and buzzed more than usual, once again showing off dear Headmaster Crowley’s vanity.

The dorm leaders were gathered around the table, composed, radiating different levels of authority, boredom, or barely-contained chaos. Kalim was practically vibrating with happiness, just like Idia… although he was probably vibrating because he wanted to go back and lock himself inside his room; the fact that he was here, surrounded by people, was already an achievement.

Yes, obviously something was about to go down.

There were expectant looks from the others—except Leona, obviously. He was one step away from turning around and heading off to sleep in his usual spot in the botanical garden. The atmosphere had that specific tense shine that meant the announcement about to drop was going to be, indeed, catastrophic.

You took your place beside Kalim, who bumped your hip in greeting and grinned from ear to ear. You returned the gesture, lightly bumping his hip back, and let Grim settle himself on top of your head.

Crowley cleared his throat, which was always the beginning of one of his boring, overly theatrical, and unbearable monologues.

“My dear dorm leaders,” his eyes gleamed at the sight of the seven young men waiting in front of him. Grim coughed, and Crowley’s expression tightened slightly. “And prefect,” he continued. “Today we have received an extraordinary honor”

With a flourish, he raised seven invitations, seven burgundy letters with shining golden seals.

“Noble Bell College has kindly sent official invitations requesting the presence of representatives from Night Raven College at their upcoming cultural festival”

Your eyes widened. An event outside NRC, allowing you to explore more of this world and see another school; considering they barely let you leave for the nearby town on the Island of Sages, and RSA was still out of the question— that school was still a mystery to you.

So Noble Bell College would be your next magical stop.

Grim looked excited too, gripping your hair tightly and whispering to himself all the things he was already plotting in his small and chaotic head about what he was going to do: eat lots of tasty things, maybe sweets or bread, or tuna made in some way he had never tried before; the possibilities were endless for your little cat.

“And to enhance the experience, the school will treat this event as a masquerade. Isn’t that fascinating?”

Okay, the pinnacle of dramatics—very Twisted Wonderland and very Crowley… you like it.

Crowley was smiling like a man who definitely intended to send teenagers straight into imminent student chaos. He opened one of the invitations and read the contents in his characteristic dramatic voice.

“The event celebrates unity, refinement, and the highest traditions of academia. Naturally, they have requested our… most distinguished students. And of course this dear and most generous headmaster”

And that was where the seven invitations came into play. Seven letters addressed to each of the seven dorm leaders… and to no one else. He didn’t mention the vice leaders’ names, nor your name, nor Grim’s.

Crowley lowered the letter with a satisfied nod. “And with that, the official delegation is concluded”

On your end, silence. A small, polite silence, while the others were already straightening their postures, ready to hear when they would depart and how they should present themselves.

Then Crowley’s head tilted, looking forward, not directly at you, nor at Grim, as if remembering something slightly inconvenient. His eyes were fixed firmly on the office door.

“Ah! But of course… our reliable prefect!” he turned toward you with a bright, performative smile. “As the head of Ramshackle dorm, it would be inappropriate not to include you in this announcement. Transparency is the hallmark of this benevolent administration, after all.”

You heard Leona snort loudly, as if the words “benevolent administration” were completely accurate. If you weren’t harboring a bad feeling right then and there, you would have snorted along with him.

Grim puffed out his chest when he saw that the headmaster was now addressing his beloved henchman. “I knew it! We’re going to—”

“However…” Crowley cut him off, and you felt Grim’s tail deflate against the back of your head. The bird-brain laced his fingers together in front of him. “The invitation, unfortunately, extends specifically to recognized magical students who participate in the official exchange. As you do not possess any measurable magical ability…”

Grim opened his mouth to argue back, ready to launch a fireball that would leave him flat on his back after such humiliation.

“Master Grim, you and the prefect are essentially one student,” he cut him off again. “And given that Ramshackle is, shall we say, administratively… unique…” he made a vague motion with his hand, annoyed at having to find the word that best fit the situation without making it more tense than it already was.

Reading between the lines: you’re not invited, and neither is the cat. It’s not negotiable. Not even by accident.

Crowley gave a sympathetic nod, his eyes showing a very well-acted sadness. “How unfortunate! Truly unfortunate. Perhaps next time”

Next time… like being told there was no more of the cake you liked in the cafeteria and you’d have to wait until tomorrow to eat it. Or like being told you had to try a little harder on the next assignment.

As if you hadn’t literally fought overblots throughout the school year, monsters, ghosts, and whatever the hell lives in the school’s ventilation ducts.

Life isn’t fair, right?

The other leaders didn’t react strongly, but they didn’t give you the reactions you expected either. A couple of shrugs, Kalim looking at you with genuine sadness at not being able to enjoy the evening by your side.

Crowley broke the silence, and the damn spell, with a clap. “Very well then! Preparations begin immediately!”

The meeting dissolved into excited chatter from the headmaster and completely formal, rather critically thought-out discussion from the leaders. Malleus, in particular, looked especially fascinated by the idea of having been invited.

Grim’s tail flicked over your shoulder. “…they’re really not taking us”

The office suddenly felt a little louder… and a little farther away while the two of you watched the others discuss travel plans, formal attire provided by the school, speculation about the festival, music, foreign food.

“Make sure to keep the dorm in order while we’re away, prefect! Such an important responsibility!” Crowley waved a hand at you, signaling you were already dismissed from the meeting.

Grim’s ears flattened against his small head as you headed for the exit.

“…this is bullshit.”

“Yeah,” you huffed. “Yeah, it really is.”

The murmuring followed you out of the office like static.

Crowley was talking louder than usual, Vil was already arguing about the weight of the luggage and the makeup he’d have to do for everyone, yes, even Leona, whom you heard growl when Vil so much as mentioned it. Azul was bringing up the odds of expanding NRC’s prestige to other cities and colleges.

None of it helped.

Grim walked beside you on two legs, stomping down the hallway, his tail bristling, the claws of his hind paws visible and tapping against the stone.

“This is a total scam!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the stone corridor. “We beat ghosts, monsters, more overblots than I can count—”

“—and we still aren’t ‘official’ enough for a school trip,” you finished with the same level of offense.

“EXACTLY!” Grim threw his paws into the air.

You shoved the castle doors open harder than necessary, grumbling under your breath. That damn bird-brain was really getting under your skin; any moment now you’d kick him in the rear so hard you’d send him flying… if it weren’t for the small amount of money the school administration paid you.

The cool afternoon air hit your face, but it didn’t loosen the tight knot in your chest. The voices continued behind you, just as enthusiastic; a glance over your shoulder was enough to make you blow out a breath and start walking down the steps.

“Even Idia’s going,” you muttered.

Maybe bringing up the most antisocial and anxious guy in the school wasn’t the fairest or most honorable move right now, but you were really angry. Not at him, obviously, you were angry at the damn headmaster.

“RIGHT?!” Grim went down the steps jumping two at a time, ears pointed up and seconds away from shouting all the injustices he had suffered thanks to our beloved headmaster. “That guy considers opening his bedroom door a major life event!”

You flinched. “Okay, that was too much, Grim,” you said, your voice a little sharp, staring at the steps because you knew that the moment you took your eyes off the stone it was statistically likely you’d trip, considering the anger leaking out of every pore.

“Hey! You started it” He raised a paw and pointed at you.

“Yeah, well…” you continued, “I didn’t mean it to put him down. Idia comes from a prestigious family and has plenty of money...of course he got an invitation.” You crossed your arms as you reached the last steps. “What’s surprising is that he’s physically going”

Grim kicked a pebble down the steps and jumped the last stretch again.

“He’s physically going and we’re stuck here doing… what. Guarding our dorm from the ghosts we already live with?”

You crossed your arms tighter and rolled your eyes. “I can’t even step off campus without paperwork, supervision, or a miracle,” your voice came out laced with venom, and with every second you were losing what little patience you had left. Spiraling with a grumpy cat wasn’t helping the situation. “But sure, let’s send the entire walking disaster of NRC abroad”

“I should be famous,” he growled. “Hero Grim saves the day again! Where’s my cultural exchange, huh?”

You snorted a laugh despite everything. “Apparently saving the school multiple times doesn’t count as an extracurricular activity”

You crossed the courtyard, the fountain, the last stretch of stone that led toward the castle’s back doors and the path back to Ramshackle. The words kept coming out—half complaints, half that tired bitterness that shows up when something unfair hits a little too close.

When you reached the door, the bridge visible connecting the next stretch of poorly kept land, you stopped. Grim kept walking, now on four paws, and lifted his tail when he realized you had stopped and he was crossing the bridge alone.

You looked at the horizon, spotting the haunted house in the distance and the perfect midday sun over the skyline.

The idea began to take shape slowly, putting down roots little by little, but decisively. The solution to both your frustrations was right there; simple, obvious, both stupid and perfect.

“Why did you stop?” Grim asked, walking back toward you.

You didn’t answer right away. You let the idea keep forming in your mind, running through all the chances of it going right and the ones where it wouldn’t, mapping out everything needed for it to actually work.

Your fingers tapped against your arm. “…it’s a masquerade”

Grim tilted his head. “…yeah?”

Your eyes met his, now wide as he looked at you in a way he hadn’t all year. Your face carried an expression that meant trouble; the kind of trouble that historically ended in explosions, rule violations, accidental heroics, and at least three disciplinary reports from Crewel.

“A masquerade ball,” you repeated slowly, tilting your head toward him, silently urging him to catch on quickly. “Everyone wears masks”

Grim’s ears twitched.

“No one’s supposed to stand out,” you crouched down so you were closer to him. “No one’s supposed to know who’s who”

You let the words settle in his mind, letting the silence guide the realization. One second passed, two, three—until Grim’s eyes flew open wide, pupils dilating and his tail shooting upright as your words finally clicked.

“Oh… you’re kidding”

Your lips curled into a dangerous smile, the kind that promised a thousand reprimands if you got caught, but that would be worth every damn second.

“If no one knows who’s who,” you said quietly, making sure the conversation stayed between the two of you, “then no one knows who wasn’t invited either”

Grim gasped like someone had just handed him the keys to a kingdom made entirely of cans and cans of fresh tuna.

“Prefect… who would’ve thought you could be so devious”

“We definitely shouldn’t do this,” you said, staring at him.

“…but we’re going to do it anyway,” he shot back.

A second of silence passed. Then another. And a third.

“Yeah.”

“HEIST MODE!” Grim threw his paws in the air, jumping with excitement.

You shut the castle door, not a trace of frustration left on your face. No, that had disappeared, replaced by determination. Who would’ve thought your mind could be just as troublesome as Ace’s?

Your steps were decisive, and you didn’t head toward Ramshackle. If you were going to sneak into a cultural event where formality and proper attire were the currency, nothing in that dusty shack would do. No; there weren’t any clothes formal enough or well-made enough there without getting you exposed the moment you set foot, or paw, into the cultural event.

“We need supplies,” you said, veering off the path to the right, following the dirt road.

“Supplies to commit a crime?”

“Supplies to attend formally without prior authorization”

“…crime then,” Grim confirmed, running after you.

The path to Sam’s shop felt like walking deeper and deeper into a very bad idea; and at the same time, a very promising one. The campus stretched around you, wrapped in that late-afternoon haze where the stone towers glowed gold and the buzz of excitement over the news drifted through the cool air.

“Okay, but... I can’t just put on a mask and call it a day. I’m a talking, flame-shooting, very handsome cat”

“Yes, that’s the main problem” Sam’s shack was already in sight—just a few more yards and you’d step into territory both familiar and unknown, ready to show off its haunted wonders.

“My ears! My tail! My flames! My incredible natural charisma, nya!”

“Mostly the flames” you gave him a look.

Grim deflated a little. “…yeah, okay, the flames”

A few more steps and you were already standing in front of the shack. That mystical atmosphere around it always made the hairs on your arms stand on end.

You pushed open the crooked wooden door and a small bell chimed. The air inside the shop wrapped around you like warm smoke, carrying a faint scent of cinnamon, something that made the place feel both comforting and creepy. The shelves were stacked to the top with all kinds of things: enchanted fabrics, suspiciously labeled bottles, and objects that definitely moved when you weren’t looking straight at them. You could swear a pearl necklace you had seen on a shelf near the door was now resting on a display in the main window.

“Well, well,” Sam’s smooth, enchanted voice echoed through the shop from behind the counter. When he had gotten there, you had no idea—five seconds ago the counter had been completely empty. “If it isn’t my favorite prefect… and judging by the look on your face and on your cute and definitely not troublesome cat…” he leaned forward, “…you’re not here for anything legal.”

Grim puffed out his chest, slightly offended by the comment, but he was still the first to speak, or rather, yell.

“We need stealth!”

You’re never going to get that by shouting

Sam’s smile widened, as dangerous as someone could look while being the entrepreneur running one of the most useful and necessary shops on a school campus. “Say no more”

With a snap of his fingers, the counter suddenly looked like the backstage of a theatrical crime, or a theater dressing room, which worked better for carrying out the plan.

Masks, capes, gloves, fabric samples, a monocle that Grim definitely tried on and that you definitely didn’t let him keep; with the way he walked he’d break it any second.

Sam tapped the counter thoughtfully with one finger.

“So,” his voice sounded as soft as velvet, but you knew underneath it hid the layer of a hardened entrepreneur who always kept an enchanted clause up his sleeve, “you need formal masquerade outfits convincing enough… while hiding the presence of a highly combustible feline”

Grim bristled. “HMNYA! I’m not combustible—!”

“How did you know we needed masquerade outfits?” you cut in. Your eyes narrowed at Sam suspiciously.

“My Queen… nothing happens in this school without me hearing about it.” It was a vague answer, but also a very unsettling one. But this wasn’t the moment to stop and argue, so for now you let it slide.

“He’s the real problem. I can blend in with a dress—”

“And masking your scent.” You still weren’t used to the way Sam interrupted conversations to drop information as if you were already supposed to know what it meant.

“Excuse me?”

“If my informants haven’t failed me,” Sam drummed his fingers on the counter and gave you a sly look, “a certain lion and a high fae will be attending the event, meaning they would be the first to spot both of you just by catching your scent.”

Damn it. He was right.

“…okay, point taken” You sighed, resigning yourself to the fact that you’d have to pay for more than just fancy clothes. “With something to mask my scent, a dress, and a mask, I can blend in. But him…” you pointed at Grim without looking at him, “he needs to look… like a normal familiar.”

Sam hummed and gave Grim a full look from head to toe—and if it had been biologically possible, he would’ve circled him with his eyes.

“Not normal,” he corrected at last. “Expected”

“…expected?” you repeated, frowning.

Sam opened a drawer and pulled out a violet velvet cloak with a hood; deep, formal, the kind that screamed ceremonial elegance. Another of the great mysteries of Sam’s shop: who knows why the entrepreneur had a cloak exactly Grim’s size waiting inside a drawer.

“Cultural events in magical academies bring familiars all the time,” Sam commented as he adjusted the hood over Grim’s ears. “Magical creatures, bound spirits, enchanted companions. Half the time nobody even knows what species they are”

The cloak, now arranged over Grim’s small body, wrapped around him completely, barely showing his shape. The fall of the fabric looked heavy and dramatic; the flames of his ears illuminated the inside in a way that felt very theatrical and very on-theme. Then Sam added a carved masquerade mask, elongated, elegant, slightly decorated with claw-like details but still stylized enough to look ceremonial rather than suspicious.

Only Grim’s bright eyes were visible beneath the shadow of the hood and mask. Sam stepped back, admiring his work.

“With the hood down, the mask set properly forward, and strict instructions not to shout…”

Grim shifted his posture. Now almost none of his face showed and his tail was hidden neatly beneath the cloak. Suddenly he looked less like “chaotic campus threat” and more like “arcane familiar belonging to someone extremely important.”

“…wow,” Grim whispered when he saw his cloaked figure reflected in the glass of the counter.

“Pretty convincing,” you added.

Sam’s smile widened as he leaned over the counter, both hands holding up his head. “Exactly”

“I look expensive” Grim spun in a small circle to admire himself, the heavy cloak barely making a dramatic swirl and giving no hint that he might be exposed when he moved.

“You are expensive,” you shot back. “You eat like you’ve got a black hole in your stomach”

Grim decided to ignore you and kept spinning around admiring himself. Sam, meanwhile, straightened and clapped his hands once, making your attention snap back to him.

“Now for you, prefect”

Another snap of his fingers and a dress slid onto the counter—dark, outrageously expensive fabric, black brocade with elegant lace details and a red overlay that made the black stand out even more. Off-shoulder, low-cut, with a skirt that would obviously require a crinoline.

Elegant wasn’t the right word, it was more than that. It was refined, breathing opulence and formality. Semi-transparent sleeves, ruffles and lace layered over more lace.

“A mask that hides, not dazzles” Sam placed a light black fabric mask on the counter, decorated with brocade and gothic embroidery, soft to the touch and perfect for covering half your face. “The best disguise isn’t the loudest one…”

He set the last pieces down on the counter: a choker of black pearls with a rose in the center, the strands long enough that when worn they would drape over the shoulders; a pair of short black lace gloves; and a very gothic-style hat, pompous, with a fall of fabric that resembled a veil.

A very gothic set… perfect for a masquerade.

“…but the one no one remembers”

You lifted the dress carefully with both hands, making sure not to snag the lace on anything, not even the buttons of your uniform.

“…how much is this going to hurt?” you asked cautiously. You knew a dress this extravagant wasn’t cheap.

Sam leaned on the counter again. “Oh, don’t worry” He paused dramatically, clearly fascinated by how your whole body tensed as you worried internally. “This goes on credit”

“Oh… that’s worse,” Grim whispered in horror.

Sam burst out laughing and straightened again, quite satisfied with himself at the sight of the desperate, horrified expressions on both your faces.

“Relax. Consider it… an investment in the chaos the two of you are about to unleash at an international diplomatic event”

You and Grim exchanged a knowing look.

Yeah… that sounded about right.

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

Fleur City shone as if it had stepped straight out of a Renaissance painting.

The warm glow of lanterns spilled across the white stone streets, reflecting in long ribbons of gold and amber. Garlands of flowers hung from the balconies, woven so densely that the scent of wildflowers lingered in the air, sweet and heavy. From somewhere along the cobblestone corners came music: violins, laughter, the slow rhythmic pulse of festival trumpets.

Around you there were people, so many people. It was barely possible to walk peacefully through the streets. Carnival decorations and food and trinket stalls made both you and Grim stop every five steps.

And everywhere… masks. White porcelain, golden filigree, feathers, silks, velvet. Cloaks gliding over the stone and polished shoes gleaming in the lanternlight. There were no faces, no questions, no names.

You adjusted the delicate fabric mask slightly as you moved with the crowd, letting the flow of festival guests carry you naturally along the wide avenue leading to the central plaza. In the daylight the dress blended in exactly as Sam had promised: elegant and formal, perfectly matching the spirit of the festival—just another face in the tide.

Beside you, a small hooded figure walked with a rather exaggerated air of importance, little paws tapping lightly against the stone as he took one step, then another. Grim walked as if he were leading his own theatrical march toward the main stage.

“This is the best thing we’ve ever done in our lives” Even though his steps were determined, and fairly amusing to watch from your taller perspective, Grim’s words came out in a whisper; for once he had understood he needed to keep his voice down.

“You also said that when you stole extra pudding from the cafeteria” You gathered your skirt with one hand, adjusting it so you wouldn’t end up face-first on the ground. The dress was beautiful, yes, but the crinoline made walking a bit difficult.

“THAT WAS HISTORIC TOO!” Apparently his lesson in stealth hadn’t lasted long. You hid a smile behind the back of your hand.

Grim looked around at the glowing towers, the decorated bridges, the endless swirl of masked students and nobles. Your gaze drifted to the pink and violet decorations hanging between the rustic, colorful houses. One more step and you nearly collided with the long leg of someone obviously walking on stilts. You managed to turn in time and grabbed Grim so he wouldn’t get crushed under the wooden stilts.

“Woow” Grim settled into your arms and lifted his head to watch the person gracefully walking toward the end of the avenue. “This place is insane”

He wasn’t wrong.

Farther ahead there were people dressed in multicolored outfits—diamonds and pompoms, ribbons and exaggerated patterns showing off immense amounts of fabric in sleeves and trousers. Orange and red jesters, violet and burgundy ones too, with painted faces and five-pointed hats tipped with bells. The lantern lights flickered along the walls of the houses and the stone structures, turning the shop windows into vivid, deep colors. In the main plaza, dancers spun—skirts and cloaks flashing in carefully choreographed circles.

Everything around you looked mundanely normal, peaceful within the limits of what a carnival could call “peaceful.” No fire, no chaos, no problems to solve.

“With this many people, it’ll be impossible for them to find us,” Grim said as he jumped back down to the ground to keep walking.

“If you say it out loud, you’ll jinx it”

“Right. Silence. Stealth mode”

You moved deeper into the plaza, letting the enormous scale of the festival unfold around you. Masked performers breathed streams of colored fire, puppeteers staged small dramatic and amusing shows for the children, and the food stalls now had floating lanterns illuminating them in orange and ochre tones, making the shine of the food look even more appetizing.

Grim sniffed as he stopped in front of one of the stalls.

“…is that roasted meat?”

You sighed and grabbed him by the sides, lifting him until he was level with the food on the stall.

“One stall. And eat quietly”

“BEST HENCHMAN IN HISTORY!”

He jumped toward the vendor, still trying to look dignified in the ceremonial cloak—and failing completely the moment food entered the equation.

You shook your head, but you couldn’t stop the slow, dangerous smile spreading across your face as you watched him try to cram two roasted meat skewers into his mouth in one bite.

For the first time since the invitation announcement, the pressure in your chest eased. You hadn’t been left behind. You hadn’t been left out. This might not be entirely legal—and if you got caught the punishment would probably be worse than anything Ace and Deuce had ever gotten—but seeing Grim enjoy himself was worth every second you spent outside Ramshackle.

You’d do it again a thousand times. To hell with Crowley and his official invitations. You had the right to enjoy an event without worrying about running errands for the headmaster.

“Target located” Grim sniffed the air again after finishing the meat. “Honey buns with a light sugar glaze, ten steps ahead”

What a remarkable nose

“Grim, slow down,” you said, walking after him at a reasonably quick pace.

“You’re the slow one” Unfortunately, he had a point about the damn crinoline. You were starting to hate it a little more with every step.

You lifted the skirt with both hands, mentally calculating how much more you could afford to spend at the festival. Considering how much this cat ate, and how little you had managed to eat thanks to the nerves from traveling through the mirror, you’d have to find some way to stop Grim from devouring everything in sight.

“I said one stall!” You barely raised your voice, but Grim ignored you, as always when he didn’t want to hear that you were right.

As you followed him, out of the corner of your eye you spotted a pair of figures you absolutely did not want to spot heading your way.

On the other side of the plaza, near the staircase leading to the main road toward the cathedral, a very specific formation of figures held a perfect alignment: Crowley at the front, with seven leaders behind him, each displaying different levels of diplomacy, excitement, or boredom.

Riddle walked with a rigid posture even in this festive setting, though he wasn’t oblivious to the fun happening around him. Leona was slouched, visibly bored at being dragged into an official event. Azul carried himself with a calculating air, probably already visualizing his next clients. Kalim was the most energetic of them all, practically glowing even while standing still. Vil was sculpted perfection, every step immaculate. Idia was trying to occupy the smallest possible amount of physical and emotional space. And Malleus simply followed the flow of people, hands behind his back, looking around with complete fascination.

Crowley, meanwhile, walked with an annoyingly radiant and pompous stride while speaking with another figure: tall, composed, with a firm and controlled posture. If you had to guess, that person wrapped in an air of ceremonial authority must have been someone important from Noble Bell College.

Your throat let out a tiny squeak and your shoulders curled inward. You were in danger mode.

You stepped sideways, avoiding turning your back on them all, but also not walking backward so obviously that it would make it clear your focus was on those figures who weren’t threatening at first glance—but were extremely inconvenient for your enjoyment. You reached Grim just as he was about to buy a small honey bun and crouched to whisper in his ear.

“Don’t even think about moving”

Grim’s small body went completely rigid. “What’s going on?”

“If you turn two degrees to the left,” you continued, the dorm leaders getting closer and closer, “you’ll be in their direct line of sight”

Grim, completely ignoring your instruction, slowly followed your gaze, barely turning his body to get a good look. Then he inhaled so sharply he nearly vacuumed the honey bun straight into his mouth.

You clamped a hand over his mouth and grabbed his cloak, dragging him behind the stall and hiding behind the side canvas. The vendor shot you both an irritated look but said nothing, another customer was already asking for an entire bag of buns.

“Okay, new plan” You let go of Grim’s mouth but still signaled for silence. Now he had to act like a normal familiar. “We walk calmly in the opposite direction, and you… quiet”

Grim nodded with the intensity of someone trying very hard to be stealthy and stay out of trouble, still holding the sweet in one paw. You adjusted him on your arm and stepped away from the stall.

One step. Then another. And a third.

Someone in the crowd suddenly turned toward your direction. You bumped their shoulder, jolting back in surprise.

“—Sorry!” you blurted automatically, trying to step backward.

Exactly the wrong move.

Because stepping back made you collide with someone else in the crowd. Your shoe stepped on an expensive, heavy cloak, and as you lifted your foot to avoid ruining it further, your heel caught on the uneven stone. You felt your balance tip backward.

For one horrible second, the world tilted; the lantern light, the masks, the people, the realization of oh yes, this is how we die… physically or from embarrassment, falling face-first in front of a crowd.

But the fall never came.

A gloved hand shot forward and caught your wrist just in time, stopping you a few inches before disaster.

“…please be careful,” a smooth, composed voice said. “These festival streets can be treacherous if one isn’t paying attention”

You turned your head toward the voice and saw Azul looking at you with concern...but without the slightest hint of recognition. Your disguise was working perfectly, even in a situation as dangerous as the one you were currently in.

You straightened carefully, pulse hammering, but posture controlled. Out of nervous reflex you adjusted Grim’s hood so his face was completely hidden, forcing his body to hunch so he’d look like an ordinary cat.

“Thank you,” you said in a neutral voice, though anyone paying attention might have noticed the nervous edge and the faint grinding of teeth as you forced yourself not to scream.

Azul released your wrist slowly, waiting for you to fix your dress before stepping back to a polite distance, still close enough while observing you with that sharp, polite curiosity so characteristic of someone whose entire life ran on information.

Behind him, the others had already turned, abandoning whatever conversation they had been having. Six new pairs of eyes locked onto you—the young lady unlucky enough to collide with the octopus entrepreneur.

Grim made a small strangled noise inside his hood, and you felt a tiny vibration against your arm. It was obvious he wanted to bolt as fast as his four paws could carry him, and if you were honest with yourself… you wanted to do the same.

You didn’t look at anyone in particular; certainly not at Crowley, nor at the tall, composed figure representing Noble Bell College in this diplomatic procession. You made the smallest formal bow of your head, the kind appropriate for slipping by unnoticed even after such a collision. You even tilted your hat slightly lower to cover more of your face.

“Apologies for the collision. The crowd is… lively tonight”

Vil’s gaze traveled over you from head to toe. Knowing him, he was evaluating the outfit the way an art critic would analyze a gallery piece; or in this case, the way Vil always did, searching for wrinkles, imperfections, or cracks.

That crack was about to split wide open if he didn’t stop looking at you so intently.

“Finally someone who knows how to dress appropriately,” he murmured loud enough that everyone else heard.

“Hey! We’re all dressed for the occasion,” Kalim huffed, though he didn’t sound offended.

“Yes, because we were dressed” Vil replied.

If that was the case, then point to Vil.

“Watch where you’re stepping next time” Leona exhaled through his nose.

“That is no way to address a young lady!” Vil snapped back, shooting him the most venomous look imaginable without losing an ounce of grace or letting a single wrinkle touch his face.

Leona simply crossed his arms and held Vil’s stare. The tension between rivals was thick enough to feel.

Azul took the opportunity to cut through that tension and prevent an international incident. He inclined his head toward you again, adjusting his glove.

“Well then,” he said, extending his hand toward you, palm open and facing up, “please be careful, miss—”

Your entire body went rigid in a single heartbeat. On your arm, Grim was seconds away from combusting from the stress this situation was causing him.

You returned the slight bow of your head, just formal enough not to raise suspicion despite your heart pounding at a thousand beats per minute.

“Isn’t the whole point of tonight that we don’t ask those kinds of questions?”

There was a pause long enough for you to offer a sideways smile, hoping you hadn’t sounded rude.

Vil’s lips curled upward slightly, approving, almost amused, mentally acknowledging that at least someone knew the rules of the evening.

Azul’s smile changed immediately, shifting from his usual interrogation-ready expression to one suited for social performance.

“Ah,” he murmured. “Quite right. My mistake. A masquerade loses its charm when identities come to light”

Okay. The plan was working beautifully—far better than you had expected. You made a mental note to thank Sam for that potion masking your essence, since neither Leona nor Malleus seemed suspicious of anything.

“If it helps,” you said, testing the waters a little more to confirm your theory, “I’ve never seen figures quite so… unique” Your gaze drifted across each of them. “So your identities would remain a mystery—with or without masks”

Riddle gave a small nod at your comment. “Indeed. The evening discourages such personal revelations unless they are formally necessary”

Thank the Seven that Riddle bought it. And luckily for you, it seemed Idia had too, he was muttering in the background nonstop.

“Thank the gods… minimal social interaction with anonymity settings enabled…”

You let out a quiet breath through your nose, trying to keep it as subtle as possible despite the pressure tightening in your chest during such a surreal interaction. You bowed your head again, ready to give your farewell and move along, taking your first steps toward the plaza.

That should have been the end of it.

“Although…”

Damn it, Azul.

His voice rose again, smooth and composed, turning just enough to place himself at your side as you began to walk.

“It would be negligence on my part not to ensure the safety of the young lady I nearly caused to fall”

Vil moved at the same time, with a grace so natural it was almost insulting; suddenly you had two impeccably dressed elites flanking you like the most elegant bodyguards in the world.

“Cobblestone streets tend to be uneven—especially in heels,” Vil commented, evaluating your posture. Of course he would notice that beneath all those meters of expensive fabric you were wearing heels. Not very high, but high enough to alter your height. “And the crowd is quite enthusiastic, as you mentioned earlier. You shouldn’t be wandering alone”

Azul nodded slightly, adjusting his glasses. “Particularly when a certain tendency toward accidents has already been demonstrated”

The arm holding Grim tightened slightly, drawing a faint squeak from him that only you heard. You looked from side to side, first at Azul, then at Vil, and your gaze dropped straight to the cobblestones.

Oh no. This is very bad.

Behind you, Leona’s voice sounded rough.

“Hey. Don’t crowd her”

All three of you turned to look at him. Leona was dragging a hand down his face, visibly irritated by the situation.

Vil arched a brow, stopping with runway elegance.

“I beg you pardon?”

Azul did the same, forcing you to stop as well and remain right between them. The height difference, privately, was a little funny, if you hadn’t been the center of attention for a very irritated lion.

“I assure you we’re simply exercising proper courtesy,” Azul replied defensively

“Courtesy…” Leona scoffed. “That’s what they call it now?”

You heard Kalim whisper, “Are they flirting?”

And Riddle respond, sounding slightly tired of his classmates, “Knowing them… yes. They are flirting”

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

Leona shoved both hands into his pockets, leaning back slightly as he approached, glancing sideways at your two escorts.

“The girl almost fell. You caught her. End of story. You don’t need to start an escort mission for every stranger you run into”

Vil crossed his arms and offered him a sharp smile. “And since when do you care about social manners?”

“Since watching you two circle her like peacocks in heat started giving me a headache,” Leona shot back.

You let out a quiet snort, covering your mouth with your free hand. Grim seemed to snort too, barely holding back laughter, the vibration against your chest made it obvious.

Azul released a soft sigh and pressed his fingers to his temple. “Honestly, is it necessary to reduce every refined interaction to such vulgar interpretations?”

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation, flashing them a half-smile, fangs included. “It’s funny and irritating at the same time watching you act so confident about something that isn’t one of your contracts”

The situation would have been comedic if you weren’t still stuck in the middle of it—and if you weren’t one wrong sentence away from catastrophic exposure.

Unfortunately, you locked eyes with Malleus.

He looked taller than the last time you’d seen him. A glance down confirmed it—he was wearing heeled shoes. This fae added a few extra inches whenever he felt like it, and in the process made you look even smaller.

From his height, Malleus observed you in silence. One arm rested over the other, a finger beneath his chin, studying you. As if he were chasing an echo, something about your voice, your posture, the way you held your shoulders like someone used to dealing with chaos every day.

Your heart thumped harder in your chest.

You looked away and gave another small nod, taking a step back, hoping this time you could finally continue your evening.

“I appreciate the concern, gentlemen,” you said, keeping your voice calm and neutral even though internally you were screaming. “But I assure you I would hate to delay such distinguished guests during their evening”

Both Azul and Vil inclined their heads, accepting the farewell with grace. Leona simply clicked his tongue and turned back toward the others—he had been ready to leave five minutes ago.

With elegance you weren’t even sure where you pulled from, you stepped toward the crowd, letting the skirt spin slightly as the crinoline gave the movement the air of something taken straight from a royal etiquette manual.

“Ah…”

Just that single word was enough to cut off your second escape attempt and push your frustration even higher.

The same notable figure Crowley had been speaking with earlier approached the group. The Noble Bell College uniform was immaculate. Perfect posture, perfect alignment, an expression composed, though clearly carefully practiced to appear so.

“Gentlemen,” he said calmly, “if you would be so kind as to proceed. The welcoming is prepared at the academy, and the festival program is… quite structured”

Crowley, who five minutes ago hadn’t been remotely in sight, reacted immediately, suddenly appearing from behind you and making you jump.

“Ah! Of course, of course! We wouldn’t wish to delay such a beautiful evening!”

Then the student’s eyes shifted toward you, finally registering why the seven leaders had stopped or drifted away from their intended path instead of following him.

And in that precise moment, his gaze changed to recognition.

Recognition that didn’t look good.

Not good for you, anyway.

“I must apologize,” he said, stepping toward you and placing a hand over his chest. “It seems I have committed an unforgivable lapse in courtesy”

The student bowed in a formal, precise, respectful greeting.

“I have spoken with these distinguished guests,” he continued, voice calm and controlled, “and yet I have neglected to acknowledge the presence of a lady among us. Such negligence falls below the standards of Noble Bell College… and my own.”

He straightened with the same refinement with which he had bowed and extended his hand toward you. In your stunned state, you noticed Grim become so perfectly still he could have won a gargoyle contest.

“I am Rollo Flamme,” he said. Now you could finally put a name to the face. “President of the Student Council and host of tonight’s ceremony”

Of all the people you could have drawn attention from at this event, it had to be the highest authority in the entire academy. The host himself. The worst possible person.

“And regardless of the anonymity permitted at this celebration,” Rollo continued, “it remains my responsibility to ensure that every guest within our city is treated with dignity and appropriate protection”

With his palm still extended, he took your hand and bowed again slightly, pressing a kiss against your gloved knuckles. His eyes remained locked onto yours, sharp, observant enough to make you swallow hard.

“Welcome to the festival”

Rollo straightened again and folded his hands in front of him.

“You have indicated that you do not wish to delay these gentlemen,” he continued solemnly. “A considerate sentiment”

There was a pause—and it felt heavy, considering this man still hadn’t taken his eyes off you. If you ran now he would notice. Obviously he would notice your nerves and terrible manners, and you’d look incredibly suspicious.

“But allowing a lady to wander the festival without escort amid such a crowd would be an equivalent lapse in decorum”

Vil offered him an approving smile, and judging by the look Leona was giving the blond from behind, your escape plan was now miles away from happening.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Leona muttered.

Rollo turned halfway toward the dorm leaders and Crowley. “I trust one of you would be willing to provide a brief escort to guarantee her safe passage before rejoining us at the academy”

Kalim, being the sweet, trusting, hyper-energetic Kalim, immediately raised his hand.

“Oh! I can—”

“Absolutely not,” whispered Idia in a panic. “You’ll get lost in these weird streets and probably end up buying the entire festival”

Kalim pouted but didn’t argue.

Azul stepped forward, trying to appear smooth but looking a little too eager to close this contract. “As it happens, I’m already somewhat familiar with the young lady—”

Vil moved at the same time and cut him off. “And I, naturally, would never allow someone dressed so exquisitely to be abandoned to the chaos of the central plaza”

Why do I always have to deal with the chaos? Why?

The plan had been simple: jump through the mirror without the academic staff noticing, lose yourself in the cobblestone streets, avoid eight walking disasters of charisma and complications, eat festival food, take a couple of pictures with Grim, and go home.

The universe really hates me

Crowley, watching the scene half-delighted and half-offended that he wasn’t the center of attention, fanned himself dramatically. “Ah, such gallantry among my students! How my heart swells! You seven are the pride of Night Raven College!”

Rollo folded his hands behind his back, perfectly composed.

“There you have it,” he said calmly. “A simple solution”

And with that, Crowley and Rollo continued on their way toward who knows where—leaving you with seven distinguished students and one problematic cat who was internally seconds away from exploding or fainting.

The procession moved forward...there really was no other word for it.

The dorm leaders walked in immaculate formation along the lantern-lit avenues, and in the middle of that flock you were trying with all your strength not to implode from stress. Grim shifted into both your arms, leaning against you; it was safer that way in case he wanted to whisper something instead of accidentally yelling something incriminating. Now he sat like a very tense, very judgmental decorative accessory beneath his velvet hood.

Kalim bounced closer first. “So! You’re from another school?” he asked cheerfully.

Alright. Time for lies—and the greatest skill for stealth missions: improvising without hesitation.

“I’m not part of the official exchange,” you said calmly, which was technically true. “I came with my family”

Which wasn’t entirely true… though if you counted Grim and the seven people around you who apparently didn’t know the definition of personal space, then maybe it was a… creative reinterpretation.

Azul also approached, much closer than necessary. “I see. Attending an event of this scale independently suggests either excellent connections… or excellent planning”

Vil added lightly, adjusting his sleeve where a button had come undone. The small imperfection clearly offended him. “Or excellent taste”

The button snapped back into place and his gaze returned forward, specifically toward you. “No one assembles such an outfit without understanding the magnitude of the evening”

You turned slightly and offered a half-smile. “I had help.”

Extremely true. Sam deserved several medals, and probably hazard pay.

Grim shifted in your arms, trying to lean closer to whisper something, but halfway through his cloak snagged on your sleeve and you had to adjust him quickly before the hood slipped and exposed him.

Of course Azul noticed the movement beneath the cloak. “And that little companion?”

Dangerous question.

“This?” you tightened your grip slightly. “He’s my brother’s familiar. I’m taking care of him while he’s away at Night Raven College”

Malleus finally joined the conversation. One step brought him only inches behind you. “A creature temporarily bound under your supervision”

His voice was so deep you almost felt it rather than heard it. A chill ran down your spine. “That explains such an elaborate cloak. A responsible choice on your part. You understand how to present the creature with the dignity it deserves”

Grim puffed up slightly beneath the fabric.

“He appears loyal,” Malleus added, his voice calm and serene now, still close, but with the strange sense of omniscience that came from his towering height.

At the comment, Grim let out a small emotional squeak and fought very hard not to respond. You rested a hand over his back through the hood. “He is,” you nodded.

Also extremely true… sometimes… when it suited him… especially when food was involved.

“What kind of creature is the familiar?” Kalim asked, leaning closer again, dangerously close to stepping on your skirt.

You grabbed the fabric with one hand while adjusting Grim onto your shoulder. “He’s a cat. A bit grumpy, especially in the mornings.”

No lie there. Grim tried to object, maybe by digging his claws slightly into your shoulder, but before he could you bounced him upward a little. He made a tiny complaint and stayed still.

“So cute!” Kalim said excitedly. “Hey! Does he need something to eat?”

“No! No!” you answered quickly. “He’s fine, he already ate a lot a few minutes ago.”

The last thing you needed was for this ray of sunshine to feed him the way he had with cookies back in Scarabia.

“Your familiar eats human food?” Riddle asked, clearly puzzled.

“…sometimes”

You wobbled slightly as if thinking, though really you were scrambling for the right words to fix the mistake you’d just made. “Not much—mostly fish. But there was a familiar food stall a few blocks from the central plaza, so I bought him a little treat”

You patted him gently to demonstrate how well-behaved he was.

“Aww, what a shame,” Kalim deflated. “I would’ve liked to feed the little guy”

The little guy shifted slightly, probably remembering the same thing: the time Kalim had stuffed him with endless cookies. Grim shrank into your shoulder and whispered barely audibly.

“Prefect… when we’re done, I want another snack”

That sounded so Grim you had to pinch him to keep the humiliation of staying quiet from going to his head.

“Don’t be discouraged,” Azul said, stepping beside Kalim. “We were allowed to enjoy the festival, so we may indulge a little in the culinary arts of this city”

“You’re right!” Kalim brightened instantly. “We can try the éclairs! Or croissants! Baguettes! The honey buns from that stall behind us!”

What a combination of flour and carbohydrates. But it sounded so good...and sooo necessary.

All day Grim hadn’t let you eat in peace except for breakfast, the little gremlin had devoured snack after snack. You, on the other hand…you were actually starving.

Maybe the discomfort showed on your face, or maybe your stomach growled beneath all those layers of fabric. Either way, Vil noticed.

“Perhaps we could offer our escorted young lady something sweet?” His hands folded behind his back as he leaned slightly toward you.

“That seems appropriate, although…” Riddle added thoughtfully, “young lady, would you actually like us to treat you to something?”

In theory, yes. In practice… was it sensible to let them buy you something? You really did want to eat, and you hadn’t brought much money. Well...Grim had already spent more than half of it on everything he’d devoured, plus a small trinket he bought from a craft stall.

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you with such a triviality,” you began calmly. “It would be imprudent—”

“Nonsense!” Kalim cut you off. “We can buy you anything you want!”

Before you could even think of a counterargument, he had already rushed to a nearby stall and paid for five different types of sweets. The others stopped to wait for him, and you took the moment to adjust your skirt and Grim on your shoulder. Standing still, Grim quietly stretched himself across both shoulders like a scarf and settled there, balanced enough for when you started walking again.

“Can I eat some of what he brings?” he whispered.

“No,” you whispered back, barely moving your lips.

When Kalim returned, he carried two paper bags in both hands.

In one bag he had bought eight different flavors of macarons—some common ones like chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla. Others were bizarre flavor combinations you would have preferred to donate to the ghosts of Ramshackle.

In the other bag were two chocolate éclairs, two pains au chocolat, two crescent pastries with a bright glaze, and two honey-cinnamon puff pastries.

A direct trip to diabetes.

The bag with the assorted sweets he handed to Riddle with such enthusiasm that the redhead actually leaned back a little from the force. Riddle blinked once, twice, then opened the bag and tilted his head to inspect the contents. He passed an éclair to Idia, who took it with a trembling hand and immediately retreated to eat it where no one could see him.

With the other bag still in hand, Kalim offered you a strawberry macaron. “Here! Take it! My treat!” he said with the brightest, warmest smile you had ever seen at NRC.

You hesitated for a second, but the sweet was so perfectly made, round and glossy, that refusing it would have felt like a crime. You took it delicately with your fingers and gave it a small bite instead of shoving the whole thing into your mouth out of habit. You might have been hungry, but manners and appearances mattered right now.

“How is it? Is it good?” Kalim was already handing out the other macarons to the rest, even to Leona, who took one between two fingers and inspected it with mild disinterest.

“It’s delicious. Thank you for such a generous gesture” You took another bite and the macaron was gone. You brushed your hands together and were about to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, but stopped yourself, licking your lip to catch any crumbs.

Riddle pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and offered it to you. “Here”

You took it with slight embarrassment and wiped the corners of your mouth. When you tried to return it, he shook his head. “Don’t worry. You can keep it”

You looked down at the handkerchief, delicate, red with black embroidered details. His initial stitched neatly in one corner. It had the look of something personal, perhaps a gift from his mother or something he had commissioned himself.

“Are you sure?” you asked, uneasy about keeping something so personal.

“I’m sure. It’s a handkerchief, it doesn’t carry emotional weight” He accepted the bag of sweets back from Kalim as the other boy handed him a macaron.

You looked at the handkerchief again and folded it neatly in four. The only problem now was where to put it. A mischievous idea crossed your mind for less than a second: tuck it between your breasts the way people used to do to tease admirers.

But no. You absolutely could not do that...though it would have been hilarious.

Instead, you slipped it into the folds of your skirt, improvising a small pocket. After adjusting the dress and crinoline again, you waited for the group to resume walking. The sun was beginning to dip, the first orange rays of evening spreading across the sky.

This time Leona resumed walking beside you.

His stride was heavy, hands in his pockets, his expression carrying such profound boredom it could qualify as an art form. You had no idea what he had done with the macaron; whether he ate it or casually discarded it somewhere with stealth so refined that no one noticed.

All the while he had been watching you fuss with your skirt, holding it with one hand so it wouldn’t tangle around your feet.

Then, with the faintest sigh, as if remembering he shouldn’t be too obvious about observing others, he stepped a little closer.

“Watch your step,” he murmured low enough that only you could hear. “These streets are uneven”

It sounded suspiciously like Azul’s earlier warning, but filtered through Leona’s flavor of bluntness.

Before you could answer or adjust your pace properly, he extended his arm, wiith no ceremony, as if it meant absolutely nothing to him.

But the gesture itself was pure etiquette.

“If you trip again,” he added in a flat tone without even looking at you, “that bird’s going to make us repeat this whole escort nonsense. I’m not dealing with that again”

In simple terms: take Leona’s arm so this ends faster.

Your eyes drifted to his face, half-hidden behind a mask, his hair tied in a simple ponytail. His lazy aura was still there, but layered beneath it.

Even if he showed little interest in events like this, the fact that he was wearing a mask at all was already significant. To you—the mysterious, nameless young lady—he was simply another stranger. You had no reason to recognize the second prince of Sunset Savanna.

And that gave him the advantage. If he wanted to act with the princely manners he had unfortunately been taught, he would use them, especially if it earned him a few points in front of the others. If everyone else was interacting with you, he wasn’t about to sit out.

To the passing crowd, it simply looked like a stranger offering steady support to a young woman in a crowded foreign city whose shoes were poorly suited for cobblestones.

You gently hooked your hand around his arm. “Thank you”

Leona said nothing, just clicked his tongue and gave the faintest nod.

The streets narrowed as you moved toward the academy district. The lanternlight softened. The crowd thinned just enough that conversation no longer sounded like shouting over the festival and began to feel… almost private.

Which unfortunately meant questions; Polite ones, curious ones, persistent ones.

Kalim, as usual, took it upon himself to begin. “So how did you arrange this visit?” he asked. “You said you didn’t come with the official delegations”

“That’s right,” you replied—truthfully. “My family organized the trip. I’m mostly… exploring while they attend to their obligations.”

Which, technically, was also true.

Azul slipped smoothly into the conversation. “Exploring an unfamiliar city suggests remarkable confidence,” he said, adjusting his glasses and smiling the way he did just before landing a new client. “Or considerable experience”

“A bit of both”

“Have you attended events of this scale before?” Riddle asked next, his tone measured but curious rather than strict. “The protocol at gatherings like this can be… overwhelming”

“Not exactly like this,” you admitted. “But I’ve dealt with large gatherings. And… unpredictable situations”

Behind everyone, you heard Idia mutter quietly: “…that sounds like nightmare difficulty in social interactions…”

Frankly, the poor guy already looked like he was about to log out of the event if they didn’t reach their destination soon.

“Yet you don’t seem intimidated,” Malleus said, speaking over Idia’s murmuring.

“I learned that most disasters start the same way,” you replied, pausing to choose your words carefully. “If nothing is exploding yet and no one is screaming… things are usually going well”

That comment earned you seven pairs of eyes.

Because what you had just said perfectly summarized life at a certain academy where mornings often began with students yelling, magic spiraling out of control despite professors supposedly teaching discipline, and overblots happening far too often.

Leona glanced sideways at you and huffed thoughtfully. Azul simply folded his arms and seemed to consider your answer.

“An interesting philosophy,” he said, tapping his fingers against his arm. “Quite pragmatic… and resilient”

Grim shifted slightly on your shoulders, practically vibrating with the effort not to shout HNYA, we’ve fought literal overblots every month, you have no idea!

You scratched his head lightly over the hood as a warning, and the trembling stopped. Riddle stepped forward slightly and inclined his head toward the gesture, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

“Your brother must trust you greatly if he left his familiar with you”

“He does,” you nodded.

Riddle responded with a thoughtful hum. “Responsibility reflects well on both of you”

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye and smiled.

If he knew how responsible you really were—sneaking into a festival and academic event without authorization, in a country far from the island, in a world you barely understood—well… that comment would collapse like a badly built card tower.

But as you watched him, you also noticed something else.

The way Riddle politely guided passersby out of your path. Azul adjusting his pace so you wouldn’t have to walk faster. Vil subtly steering the group away from the rougher patches of cobblestone without saying a word. Even Idia hovered closer than usual, like some socially terrified wizard who had nonetheless decided he was the party’s defensive mage in a DnD campaign.

Leona kept his stride steady beside you, perfectly matching your pace. And Malleus remained watchful, hands ready to guide a passerby aside or catch you if you stumbled.

The shift was obvious, they weren’t escorting a random girl anymore...They were engaging with her.

“It’s unusual to meet someone at this sort of event who speaks as directly as you do,” Azul said, almost as if the conversation he wanted was simply… a conversation.

Vil nodded from the front of the group. “Most attendees here are desperately trying to impress,” he said, turning his head toward you. “Whereas you, my lady, manage to impress simply by walking”

“And you’re easy to talk to too! It’s really nice!” Kalim added brightly.

From behind you, Idia muttered: “…low-pressure NPC with unexpectedly high dialogue quality…”

Oh. My. Sevens.

They’re flirting.

They are actually flirting.

And they have absolutely no idea that the person they’re flirting with is you—the extremely human, magicless prefect who attracts catastrophic overblot-level disasters like seasonal colds. All you needed was a mask, an expensive dress, and no identity.

Suddenly the seven of them were treating you like royalty.

Your cheeks flushed faintly pink. Part of you wondered—just for a second—if you could take advantage of this a little longer. It wasn’t every day these well-trained disasters behaved like gentlemen.

Another part of you was on the verge of imploding because the same seven who usually competed in ego wars (Kalim excluded) now seemed oddly invested in your company.

Please do not let this night end with all seven of them having a crush on me.

You would never survive looking them in the eye tomorrow. One or two you could handle.

Seven? That would end in a battlefield.

Ahead of you, the academy gates came into view. Tall. Ornate. Illuminated by elegant lanterns while guests streamed inside.

The perfect place for this illusion to end, before their gazes got any more intense. Your steps slowed slightly, and the others adjusted automatically.

Beyond the gates, upper balconies glowed with light and stained-glass windows scattered multicolored shards across the courtyard.

Vil glanced toward them. “A beautiful aesthetic, exactly what one would expect from the student council president,” he commented, violet eyes bright with approval. “Fleur City always delivers the finest spectacles”

Leona exhaled softly beside you. “Tch. If this thing runs longer than it should, I’m leaving”

Your lips curled faintly upward. That was such a Leona comment.

And then Idia, apparently unusually chatty tonight, talked loud enough for everyone to hear. “…pretty sure this ends with a final boss spawning in the middle of the hall at biblical difficulty…”

You couldn’t stop the laugh.

You tried to make it sound like a small huff—but the laugh slipped out naturally. Bright, familiar, too familiar.

The sound hung in the air like a memory someone had just pulled out of a locked drawer. Leona’s arm stiffened under your hand; Azul’s eyes sharpened; Vil tilted his head; Kalim blinked; Riddle froze; Idia looked like someone who had just connected two impossible dots; And Malleus’s gaze deepened.

Your pulse skyrocketed, you closed your eyes for half a second and pressed your lips together.

Idiot.

You cleared your throat quickly and stepped back. “I'm sorry,” you said lightly, smoothing your tone. “Just… the moment”

You released Leona’s arm. Another step back gave them space as the academy gates loomed only a short distance away.

“I believe this is where our paths separate,” you said with an elegant bow. “You have fulfilled your duty admirably”

Azul recovered first. “Well,” he said, though his eyes were still attentive, “this has been… unexpectedly pleasant.”

Kalim waved energetically. “I hope you enjoy the rest of the festival!”

Leona looked at your hand, then folded his arms again. “Watch where you step.”

Malleus returned your bow with one hand over his chest. “If fate allows it, I would welcome another conversation.”

You straightened. “Then perhaps fate will be kind.”

You picked Grim up in both arms, because you needed something to do with your hands, and turned toward the academy entrance.

One step...then another. Trying to look composed, just another guest entering the celebration.

Internally? You were about three seconds away from completely losing your nerve.

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

The moment the academy doors swallowed you, you didn’t stop, nor you didn’t slow down; in fact, you sped up.

You didn’t admire the architecture, the vaulted stone corridors, the candlelit banners, the elegant streams of guests drifting toward the grand hall.

You took a side corridor, then another, then passed through an open arch into a quieter cloister, with tall windows and ivy climbing the walls. Only when the distant noise of the courtyard softened into a manageable murmur did you finally exhale.

“…Okay,” Grim whispered from your arms. “…we’re still alive.”

“Barely.” Your lips tightened, the pressure in your chest still fighting to break free.

“That laugh almost killed us.”

“I know, Grim.” You leaned against the cold stone column and adjusted his hood so you could see his face.

“…those idiots seemed to like you, huh?” His eyes bulged slightly, and judging by his posture he was as close to a stress-induced meltdown as you were.

You shut your eyes at the memory. “Don’t remind me… that’s a problem”

“I’m glad to see my earlier concern wasn’t unfounded”

The lantern light flickered softly across the cloister floor. Somewhere deeper inside the academy, the music began again, more structured now, more ceremonial.

Why? Why can’t I have one moment of peace?

Your spine stiffened instantly, you turned.

At the entrance of the cloister stood Rollo with a posture so perfect it could belong to a movie villain. Hands clasped behind his back, expression calm and attentive. The lanternlight traced a warm outline around him… almost like flames.

“I trust the escort provided by Night Raven College proved sufficient,” he said calmly. Grim froze again like a gargoyle—after ducking his head and burrowing into your chest.

You inclined your head politely. “More than sufficient, President Flamme. Your hospitality is… thorough”

“It is my responsibility,” he replied. “A host must ensure that no guest experiences discomfort within our city”

He stepped closer, not intruding, simply shortening the conversational distance with careful etiquette. “I must admit,” he continued, thoughtful rather than stern, “it is rare to encounter attendees whose affiliation is not immediately apparent”

Another step forward. You stayed exactly where you were, clutching Grim like a plush toy.

“May I ask…” he said, choosing his words carefully, as if trying to avoid creating a scene, “whether you come from another academy?”

You didn’t allow yourself to hesitate. “My family travels frequently. I accompany them this season” The answer came out quickly, too quickly to sound completely natural.

Which, technically… wasn’t entirely false.

If one ignored the circumstances of that accompaniment.

“And do you personally practice magic?”

A simple question. Simple—and judging by the atmosphere this man radiated, a dangerous one. You didn’t know why, but the way Rollo always remained composed and asked such direct questions made something in your instincts prickle.

Your gaze dropped briefly to Grim as you scratched his head, forcing a small smile like you were remembering a relative who didn’t actually exist.

“My brother is the gifted one in the family” You looked back at him. “He’s the one formally enrolled at Night Raven College”

Rollo’s eyes sharpened slightly. “I see” His gaze lowered toward Grim’s hood. “And that bundle is a familiar, I assume?”

“Correct,” you replied, adjusting Grim again; your arms were starting to ache. The cat was definitely getting fat. “He belongs to my brother, I care for him while he’s occupied.”

His eyes studied you for a moment, like someone inspecting the symmetry of a cathedral window. If he was looking for something suspicious, he didn’t say it aloud.

But he made you sweat. A cold drop slid down your spine, you were getting tired of this much stress.

“How fortunate,” he said at last, allowing you to breathe again. “To have family capable of assuming such responsibility”

He and Riddle would probably get along, you thought. Both had that particular pride in responsibility and decorum. Which made it odd that Rollo wasn’t currently with the NRC delegation discussing formalities with Riddle.

Why wasn’t he there with them?

“In my experience,” Rollo continued quietly, walking past you to look toward the garden beyond the cloister, “those born without magic often develop… a clearer perspective on consequences”

You frowned slightly, unsure where that comment was going. “Perhaps,” you replied neutrally.

His gaze returned to you. Now he stood directly in front of you, but his posture wasn’t interrogative, although something about the moment felt like the beginning of a tense conversation.

Great. Add another person to the list of people you had to be careful speaking around. As if dealing with every student at NRC wasn’t already exhausting enough.

“At Noble Bell, we place great value on the upbringing of our guests,” he said. His voice remained firm and formal. “Often, that reveals more than titles or affiliations”

A polite way of saying tell me about your background.

And what a background that was.

“What does your family do, if I may ask?”

Your eyes widened slightly. You remembered questions like this from your own world...a little classist, a little creepy, if you were being honest.

Your mind started spinning. Whatever you said now would have consequences—and could unravel your lie instantly.

Rich merchants? Too easy to verify. Minor nobility? Far too risky. Foreign lineage? Absolutely not.

You needed something visible, difficult to check, socially plausible… and open to interpretation.

“…performance,” you said finally, tilting your head with a small smile.

Rollo narrowed his eyes slightly, mirroring the tilt of your head. “Performance”

“My family works within musical circles.” You stepped toward the cloister columns, letting your eyes drift toward the small garden to buy yourself a breath of space from his scrutiny. “Ceremonial events, private patronage, festivals like this… occasionally.”

Technically…not entirely false.

If one counted the endless chaos-filled performances NRC dragged you into cleaning up afterward.

“And you?” he asked, moving to stand beside you.

“Me… what?” You had been staring at a flower you thought was an orange lily-of-the-valley and hadn’t processed the question. Your body turned slightly toward him, hip angled casually.

“What do you practice?”

“Ah…” Your expression faltered for half a second in embarrassment. You hadn’t prepared that answer.

“Vocal training.” Your eyes returned to the garden. “Beginner”

If yelling at Grim every morning so he wouldn’t make you late for class counted as vocal training. Or shouting at Ace and Deuce when their clown-level stupidity dragged you into disasters. Enough practice to develop excellent lungs.

“Singing,” you finished.

For one terrible second you thought you had overplayed it. But Rollo didn’t react, he simply nodded.

“A disciplined art,” he said. His brows lifted slightly, careful not to appear judgmental. “Music, when practiced with devotion, reflects order.”

He extended his hands in front of him, left hand outward. “Structure” Right hand outward. “Harmony” His palms opened, fingers long and precise. “The sacred ceremonies of this city rely greatly on vocal precision.” His head turned toward the distant sound of a choir rising from the main hall. “A poorly trained chorus can ruin an entire liturgical sequence”

You followed his gaze toward the archway leading to the side corridor and listened to the choir for a few seconds. “I prefer small audiences.”

“A wise preference,” Rollo nodded, exhaling softly in time with the rising harmony of the chorus. “True refinement rarely requires spectacle”

You leaned slightly to study his face—pure curiosity. His expression softened for a moment under the layered voices of the choir, as if the music were something sacred to him.

The moment lasted only a few seconds. Then he composed himself again, hands folded neatly before him, his attention returning to you. You straightened as well.

“You speak with unusual composure for someone outside the academic delegations,” he said, stepping closer. “Most visitors tonight are eager to attract attention”

You pressed your lips together in a small thoughtful pout, tilting your head toward the music as if weighing the idea. Thinking, and thinking.

“It’s easier to listen first…” You gave him a crooked smile. “Attention can be exhausting sometimes”

Rollo exhaled again—subtle, but visible. “Yes…” His eyes lingered on yours. “…it certainly can be”

Then, like a dramatic punctuation mark in a poorly timed story, a massive bell rang out. The sound cracked through the academy like thunder; deep, heavy and close. The vibration rolled through the stone around you.

“It seems the ceremony is about to begin.”

You turned toward the corridor as the footsteps of guests echoed more strongly through the halls, a tide moving toward the grand hall.

Rollo adjusted his attire, the robe, even the large hat, then extended his hand to you exactly as he had earlier in the plaza, the other hand behind his back.

“It would be improper to allow a guest unfamiliar with the academy to navigate the inner corridors alone during a formal assembly”

Ah… damn

“I will escort you personally.” There was no room for debate. Decision made. End of discussion.

Refusing now would be far more suspicious than accepting.

“You are very thorough, President Flamme,” you said with a bow that nearly reached the floor, holding Grim with one arm and your hat with the other so it wouldn’t slip.

“Thoroughness prevents disorder,” he replied calmly.

He waited patiently for your hand. When you placed it in his, his fingers closed gently around yours. The cold edge of his ring brushed your skin even through the glove. “This way”

The academy corridors unfolded ahead of you. Candles lined the walls in strict rows, the stained glass windows were fading under the last rays of sunset. Immaculate white columns framed the space while the ceremonial atmosphere gathered like a curtain before a stage performance.

“For someone outside the formal delegations,” Rollo commented as you approached the reading hall entrance, “you carry yourself with remarkable composure”

“I’ve learned to adapt quickly,” you said, tilting your head slightly. That, at least, was the most honest thing you had said all day.

“A valuable skill.”

Grim’s small claws pressed into your sleeve, his silent signal that things were going very wrong.

Ahead, the corridor opened. Golden light from enormous chandeliers flooded the hall, marble floors gleamed beneath towering stained-glass pillars, the ceremonial music swelled as hundreds of voices gathered at the center.

Rollo slowed his pace as you approached and gently guided you closer so the entire hall opened before your view.

“The seating is organized by delegation,” he explained, gesturing upward with his free hand. “However, independent guests may observe from the upper galleries”

Translation: He was personally installing you in the best observation point in the building.

Most likely surrounded by staff, highly visible, no escape routes.

Wonderful.

He pointed toward a marble staircase rising along the hall wall. “From there you will have a perfect view”

You lifted your gaze toward the upper gallery, marble and stone just as ornate as the rest of the hall, and quite spacious.

“If you require anything, attendants will be nearby” Then he released your hand.

Standing straight as a ceremonial statue, he bowed once more—legs aligned perfectly like a prince finishing a formal greeting. “I trust the presentation will justify your attendance”

And with that, he left.

Once again, you were alone with Grim.

“…hey… henchman…” a small whisper came from inside the cloak.

“…yeah?” You still hadn’t taken your eyes off Rollo’s retreating figure down the corridor.

“We have VIP seats”

“…yeah”

Grim sighed. You felt his tail go limp across your shoulder. “…this night is going spectacularly”

You released a long breath. “…absolutely.”

Then you turned and started up the stairs.

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

The bell never finished its final resonance.

One moment the reading hall was perfectly synchronized with the ceremony, waiting for the famous magical bell artifact to sound… and the next moment fire.

Not the warm glow of decorative candles lining the hall. Not a ceremonial brazier. Not a controlled magical flame meant to add theatrical flair.

These were real flames, hungry ones, full of magic—and disturbingly selective.

They burst upward along the cathedral columns in violent ribbons of orange while the massive bell roared like a living thing. Heat tore through the hall, guests screamed, the polished order of the ceremony collapsed instantly into panic.

“My magic—!” “It’s not activating!” “What’s happening?!”

The sound spread in waves, confusion becoming fear, fear becoming absolute chaos.

From the upper gallery, smoke already curling over the carved railing, you clutched Grim tightly to your chest.

“This has officially turned into a disaster!” you inhaled as deeply as you could, staring down at the inferno rising below.

“HNYA!! FOO! FOO!” Grim tried blowing at the approaching flames. “PREFECT, THE FIRE’S GETTING CLOSER!”

“I CAN SEE THAT!”

Guests surged toward exits in disorganized waves, assistants shouted directions nobody followed, sparks rained down as part of the decorative canopy collapsed in a burst of embers.

You backed against the stone wall, keeping distance from the fire. The flames were climbing quickly now, you could feel them licking the hem of your skirt. You yanked the fabric away and moved sideways along the wall toward the corridor exit.

“If this dress burns,” you said with deadly seriousness, even as the smoke made your breathing ragged, “I swear by the Seven, Grim, I will make you work overtime to pay off our debt to Sam”

“THAT’S YOUR PRIORITY RIGHT NOW!?”

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH THIS FABRIC COSTS?!”

A small explosion cracked beside you and you hurried your steps. You pulled off your hat and held it over your nose, shielding both you and Grim from the smoke.

The bell thundered again. But now it wasn’t announcing a ceremony, or the hour, or the arrival of magic into a new era.

It was weaponized.

“…Okay,” you muttered, forcing yourself to stay calm and conserving oxygen as best you could. Your eyes scanned the gallery exits, fallen chandeliers, and the storm of wildflower petals drifting through the hall. “Time to save their asses… again.”

The bell roared, the metallic blast split the air so violently the stained-glass windows trembled, and with that resonance, more petals erupted into the burning air.

At first it looked almost beautiful, orange petals floating down toward the flames, dozens, then hundreds. A storm of glowing flowers falling from the bell tower like drifting embers.

One brushed the sleeve of a fleeing mage, the flower ignited bright red on contact, its petals burned from within. Smoke rose as the student’s spell collapsed instantly, magic ripped out of the air like someone unplugging reality itself.

“My magic—! It’s gone!”

Another flower fell, another flare, another failed spell. Understanding spread faster than the fire.

“They’re draining it—!” “Don’t let them touch you!”

More petals rained down, brushing cloaks, masks, bare hands, triggering bursts of flame wherever they landed, leaving scorched fabric and a dead silence where magic should have answered.

The grand hall—seconds ago filled with the most skilled magical students from several academies—was now packed with people who couldn’t conjure a single spark.

Grim twisted in your arms. “PREFECT THIS IS BAD—REALLY BAD—”

You saw one flower drifting toward you and flattened yourself against the wall. The corridor behind you was already engulfed in flames, the staircase was starting to burn. You couldn’t stop the petal gliding over the gallery railing straight toward your sleeve.

It touched the fabric…Nothing happened. No flame, no burn, no magic drain. Because there was nothing to drain, the petal simply slid off your sleeve and landed harmlessly on the floor.

You lifted your arm, no damage. You squeezed Grim tighter against your chest and turned toward the stairs.

“It only drains magic!” you shouted over the roar of the fire.

“That means—”

“That means,” you snapped, voice sharp with the absolutely terrible decision you were about to make, “while everyone else is getting drained—”

You took the stairs two at a time, dodging small flames licking across the marble. “—someone without magic is the most useful person in the entire building!”

Grim’s eyes went wide, he realized it instantly. The only one who could move freely through this chaos…was you.

Without thinking twice you leapt the final stretch of stairs, landing inelegantly on the main floor. Before the flames could reach the hem of your dress you yanked the fabric aside and bolted across the hall.

“Hot! Hot! Hot!” Yes, talking while running through a smoke-filled hall was stupid, but it was the only way to vent the stress as you sprinted through the wide arches.

And at the center of the inferno...the seven dorm leaders stood in formation, imposing order on chaos the only way they knew how; loudly, stubbornly.

“Clear evacuation routes!” shouted Riddle. “We need civilians out—now!”

Idia was shouting too, panic turning his brain into a rapid-fire analysis machine. “The flowers are linked to the bell! It’s a distributed power source!”

Kalim and Azul were already dousing nearby flames with water magic. Even Malleus, with his power weakened, had air swirling around him like a contained cyclone, deflecting falling petals.

All seven were staring upward toward the tower. Where the bell still rang, where more flowers kept falling, and where one man stood watching the chaos below with chilling superiority.

Rollo.

“This world has suffered too long under the rule of magic!” he shouted, completely unhinged. His staff swung wildly, sending waves of burning flowers across the hall. “Power brings only arrogance! Destruction! Chaos!”

Another bell strike, more petals, the last scraps of magic began to fail.

“I will end this suffering!” His voice cracked into something almost like a sob. “Even if the flames must purify this city!”

Grim buried his face deeper in the cloak against your shoulder. “…yeah okay… he’s lost it”

The leaders moved before you could blink. All seven redirected the remaining magic they could muster, pushing the falling flowers away in bursts of wind—though the currents also fed the fire.

“Watch the flames!” shouted Vil, already extinguishing a decorative banner that had caught fire.

Leona had launched himself toward a pillar, dodging both the flames and the falling flowers with the kind of speed he only used during Magift. With King’s Roar, he turned every piece of furniture already on fire into sand.

Tiny grains scattered through the air as more flowers fell from the bell tower, only to dissolve the moment they touched the drifting sand.

“NO!” shouted Rollo, staggering slightly. “Magic must disappear! Even if I must burn this city to its foundation, I will finish what I started!”

The flames burst upward again, bathing the entire reading hall in violent orange and red light, smoke was already swallowing the last breathable air.

You ducked as a piece of the structure collapsed, crushing a bench beneath it, splinters of wood scattered everywhere.

“Henchman!” Grim coughed. “This is the part where the villain stops being organized and becomes erratically dangerous!”

“…good call, Grim.” He was right. After dealing with multiple overblots, both of you knew the pattern by heart.

And if there was something else you’d learned after months inside a school full of wildly irresponsible magic users, and a few outright fanatics, it was this: You don’t argue with them.

Especially not a fanatic who’s currently burning down a city.

You placed Grim beneath the archway entrance of the hall, hiding him from the flames under a stretch of marble structure, the doors were already open where civilians had escaped.

Then you ran straight toward the fire, toward the seven idiots fighting inside it. Or maybe you were the idiot for charging into an inferno wearing a highly flammable dress with zero magic.

But hey—adrenaline does wonderful things to a person’s judgment.

“WAIT—!” you heard Grim squeak over the crackling fire.

You didn’t look back, your eyes were locked on the chaos ahead. You didn’t think rationally either—because sometimes the optimal solution…is interrupting a villain’s speech with physical violence.

You ran, and ran and ran. You rushed past Riddle, who only caught a glimpse of a swirl of black and red fabric from the corner of his eye, unable to see clearly through the heat distortions.

But when you planted your foot, twisted your body, and raised your arm—every dorm leader became very aware of your presence in the flames.

Crack.

Your fist slammed directly into Rollo’s face. A solid human punch, powered by frustration and adrenaline. His head snapped sideways, the speech he was about to shout died halfway up his throat.

He staggered back a step, hand flying to his cheek, his eyes went wide, pure disbelief flooding his expression. No one in his perfectly ordered life had ever punched him.

The fire flickered, then slowly began to die down. The hall inhaled again, tThe room seemed to exhale with it.

You lowered your hand slowly, breathing hard, then bent forward as the pain finally hit your knuckles.

“…ow”

The pain shot up your arm, you shook your hand violently, hopping slightly on your feet.

“Shit,” you muttered, clutching your hand for a moment before shaking it again. “That hurts...oh hell that hurts”

You looked at Rollo, voice rough from the smoke. “Could you maybe not burn down a city over your personal issues for five minutes?!”

You bent forward again. “Damn! Your bones are hard!”

Behind you—

“SHE JUST DEFEATED THE FINAL BOSS WITH A HOOK PUNCH!” shouted Idia, unable to contain what he had just witnessed.

“…okay,” you groaned through clenched teeth. “That was one of the worst decisions of my life” Under the glove, your knuckles were already swelling.

“Don’t move” The voice of Vil arrived calm, sharp, perfectly controlled now that the end-of-the-world situation had paused.

He gently took your wrist and carefully removed your glove. The skin around your knuckles was red and throbbing, you could barely move your fingers without a stab of pain running all the way to your shoulder.

“That impact could have fractured something,” he said, lifting your hand and examining it. He turned it carefully in different directions, moving your fingers slightly, visibly irritated. “Honestly. Barbaric… effective, but barbaric”

Azul stepped beside him, his tone smooth but edged with concern. “Allow us to help. We can perform basic healing spells”

Riddle was already clearing space nearby, dragging charred furniture aside. “Give the young lady air!”

Kalim rushed over as well, dodging debris and wilted flowers. “Are you okay? Does it hurt a lot?” he asked, leaning in beside Vil to inspect the damage.

You tried to pull your hand away. “I’m fine—”

Vil didn’t allow it, tightening his hold slightly, though not painfully. “Do not argue while you are injured”

“…okay”

Azul placed his fingers lightly against your knuckles. A faint spell flickered between them, much weaker than his magic normally shone. A soft blue glow wrapped around your hand, cold, like pressing an ice pack against the injury.

The swelling eased slightly, the pain dulling from a sharp stab to a manageable ache.

“This is only temporary relief,” Azul said, withdrawing his hand. Vil released your wrist as well. “You will require proper treatment later”

You flexed your fingers carefully, the muscles moved without too much resistance.

“…thanks” You slowly pulled the glove back on. The soft fabric brushed the injury and you winced faintly.

Leona had been watching the entire time with narrowed eyes, arms crossed. “Do you usually run into burning buildings?”

His tone was flat, not mocking, nor scolding, just… curious. You tilted your head, thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “Seemed like the fastest way to stop him.”

“Speed is not always the most efficient method,” remarked Malleus as he stepped closer, checking if you’d been injured anywhere besides your hand. “Do you require further assistance, miss?”

“I’m fine now, really. Thank you” Malleus inclined his head and didn’t press further.

Instead he stepped back and cast a small spell—simple for him even in his weakened state, but still effective. The air cleared instantly, smoke and ash were swept away. At last, the reading hall could breathe again, even with the aftermath of the fight still hanging in the air.

Without the smoke, the damage was impossible to ignore. Several pieces of furniture had been reduced to ash, none of the decorative fabrics had escaped the flames, some burned down to their first threads, others halfway through their tapestry. Black scorch marks stained the marble floor, several stained-glass windows were cracked. A few more seconds and the glass would have exploded.

“…I…” Behind you, a trembling voice finally broke free from its daze.

Rollo was still standing exactly where the punch had left him, his hand pressed to his cheek, shoulders rising and falling with uneven breaths. His voice was faint—barely more than a whisper. The fury that had filled it minutes ago had collapsed entirely.

“…I only wanted…” His voice cracked. “…to stop everything tied to magic… to remove the world’s pain”

His gaze drifted across the ruined hall, the ashes, the chaos his plan had unleashed. “This… is…”

His knee buckled and he nearly collapsed to the floor if you hadn’t moved quickly and caught his arm. The others stiffened immediately, stepping forward, ready to protect you from the suddenly fragile fanatic. You raised your hand to stop them.

Then you guided him toward the small central step and let him sit. Silence stretched as you allowed him time to breathe normally again.

On the floor beside you lay a violet handkerchief, scattered with ash. You picked it up, shook off as much dirt as possible, and held it out to him. Rollo stared at your hand, then at your eyes, then at the hand again.

His jaw tightened as he swallowed before finally taking the cloth and pressing it against his cheek, which was already darkening into a bruise.

His shoulders slumped. “…I have failed,” he whispered. “My obsession endangered thousands of citizens… and my students”

He took a shaky breath and bowed his head where he sat. “…I offer my most sincere apologies.”

The apology wasn’t just meant for you, or the seven standing behind you. It was for every guest, for his city, for his school, for the entire world he had nearly burned to the ground.

“The evening is ruined,” he said before trying to stand, you helped him again, slipping your arm under his. “The ceremony cannot continue under these conditions.”

He looked genuinely distressed, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. You kept your grip steady and glanced toward the entrance. Grim was still waiting there, sitting quietly—but clearly trying not to vibrate from the tension. The doorway itself was intact, and the area around it too.

Yes, the hall was wrecked…but wasn’t magic also meant to help, not just destroy?

Also… where the hell was Crowley when someone actually needed him? Of course. Useless bird.

“…is it?” you said, breaking the thick tension.

Rollo turned toward you, startled, and you gave him a small, almost amused look and shrugged again.

“The structure is still standing, fortunately” Your gaze swept the damaged hall. “And the guests are safe”

It seemed Malleus shared your thinking, he stepped forward. “A ceremony is not defined by perfection,” he said, extending his arms slightly toward the hall. “But by those who gather within it… and choose to remain”

Rollo blinked, slightly disoriented. Malleus stepped closer, now standing in front of both of you.

“If the host permits,” he continued, his eyes sincere and calm, “Night Raven College would be willing to offer a performance in place of the interrupted program”

Kalim’s eyes lit up instantly as he joined the circle. “Oh! We can do that!”

From further back, Idia fiddled nervously with the sleeves of his very extravagant suit. “…are we activating emergency concert mode…?” His face looked like someone ready to teleport back to his room and lock the door for the next week.

Azul removed his hat and tapped it against his leg, knocking loose a few ash particles clinging to its ocean-themed decorations. “A collaborative performance would calm the guests and stabilize the atmosphere”

Leona let out a loud grunt. “You guys are annoying”

Clearly uncomfortable with the resolution, he turned and walked down the hall, but not toward the exit. Instead he kicked a fairly intact bench and dropped onto it.

“…you’re not going to help, are you?” snapped Vil, arms crossed.

“I’m not singing if that’s what you’re asking, pretty boy” Leona leaned back, arms behind his head, eyes closing as if savoring what little peace remained before chaos resumed.

You snorted softly and turned your head away, covering your mouth to hide a smile.

“This night does not have to end in ashes,” Malleus said again. “Not if you decide otherwise.”

Rollo studied Malleus carefully, perhaps searching for resentment, disgust, or superiority. But Malleus didn’t look at people like that; you knew that. But that was something only you understood… and something you’d keep very quiet.

No, Rollo found none of those things. He inhaled slowly and closed his eyes.

When he exhaled, his composure had returned. “…very well”

He slipped his arm free from yours and stood straight again. “If your school truly wishes to offer such generosity… Noble Bell College will be honored.”

The decision spread through the room like a spark catching dry wood.

Rollo moved toward the doors with renewed purpose, you followed at a slight distance, your good hand lightly touching the knuckles of the injured one through the glove. When you reached the doorway, you crouched and picked Grim up. Rollo was already speaking to the attendants, directing them into motion.

Lanterns were relit, broken furniture beyond repair was carried outside, pieces that could still stand were pushed aside, some attendants used magic to clean the soot-darkened marble. Malleus helped with that as well.

Within minutes the hall had nearly returned to its original state. The musicians who had once prepared the ceremonial music brought out instruments again, students from Noble Bell College hurried to reconstruct something resembling a formal—if now acoustic—evening.

Rollo stood at the center of it all, overseeing the work, ensuring nothing was misplaced, watching the Night Raven College delegation help, issuing calm instructions to his students.

His gaze moved across the entire hall, until it returned to you.

“I wish to offer my most sincere apology,” his voice carrying clearly across the room, the bruise on his cheek was now unmistakable. “I failed my guests… and those who showed the courage I lacked in that moment.”

His bow was so deep he nearly folded in half. You tightened your grip around Grim against your chest as you watched him straighten again.

“You intervened when reason could no longer reach me,” he continued. “And for that… you have my sincere gratitude. And my apology”

How many times had people bowed or inclined themselves before you tonight? Five? Six? Who knew.

It certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“I placed you in danger inside my own academy.” You held his gaze, but this time you didn’t bow. Your neck was already starting to ache from all the earlier ones.

“I’m just glad the city isn’t on fire.”

Rollo simply nodded and looked around again. The students of Noble Bell were nearly finished restoring the hall, and the seven dorm leaders had regrouped in their usual cluster of dramatic personalities.

Their attention was now very clearly fixed on you, you could practically feel their eyes drilling into your back. Behind the thin mask you gave yourself a completely deadpan look. They couldn't possibly be more obvious. You huffed quietly and waited while the last details were set in place, a student lit the final candle on a low chandelier.

“Earlier you mentioned that your family works in the field of musical performance,” Rollo said. You turned your head so quickly your neck nearly cracked.

“And… that you yourself train your voice.”

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Kalim elbow Azul so he would stop talking to Idia and pay attention. Vil's eyes sharpened with sudden artistic interest...That was definitely not a good sign.

Rollo clasped his hands together near his chest, almost pleading. “The choir scheduled for tonight has been… interrupted”

He then extended his hands toward you. “If the young lady who helped save this ceremony would be willing—even a brief performance—” His palms opened upward. “…it might help restore calm among our guests.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop a tiny panicked squeak.

Kalim suddenly jumped forward, stopping far too close to your face. “That sounds fantastic!” He grabbed both your hands enthusiastically. You flinched slightly at the stab of pain in your knuckles. “Oh! Right, sorry!”

He released the injured one immediately, though his excitement didn’t dim in the slightest. “You can sing? You didn’t mention that earlier!”

You tried to respond, anything, but your mouth stayed half-open when Azul stepped closer too, wearing an expression of dangerously genuine curiosity.

“How convenient,” he said smoothly. “It seems the young lady possessed hidden talents” His sincere smile somehow made you even more nervous.

At lightning speed your eyes scanned the seven dorm leaders and Rollo, completely unable to form a single word. Every possible response in your head was immediately replaced by another, or interrupted by something someone in front of you said.

“…this is either the best narrative resolution ever or the beginning of a catastrophic post-credits scene,” Idia whispered to Riddle, he rolled his eyes and ignored the comment.

“Well then…” Vil crossed his arms, visibly expectant. “Can you?”

His smile looked like that of a film director who had just discovered his next muse and was about to shoot the best scene of his career.

“Here we go again,” groaned Leona, pinching the bridge of the nose. “Stop crowding her again” Vil gestured for him to be quiet.

You closed your mouth...Opened it again...Closed it again; then slowly inhaled. Honestly… it had already been a very long day: You had snuck into an international festival without an official invitation; dodged lethal magic-draining flowers; lied to the host of the entire event and punched him in the face in the middle of a burning hall.

At this point…

what was one more bad decision?

“…I can try”

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

From one of the tall windows of the hall, you had a perfect view of the performance unfolding below.

Malleus stood right at the center of the marble circle—calm, steady, almost statuesque. When he sang, his voice carried through the entire hall with a strength that everyone could feel. Beside him, Azul and Idia accompanied the song with suspicious precision; you had never seen them rehearse this performance, and you were fairly certain you had never heard this song echoing through the dorm corridors either.

“…wow,” Grim whispered from your arms, barely peeking out to watch. “They’re actually killing it”

“Yeah…” You leaned forward a little more.

The other dorm leaders stood off to one side of the hall watching the performance unfold, and just as he had promised, Leona had absolutely no intention of participating.

You leaned a little farther when you noticed something odd about Idia’s performance in front of the guests. “…Is Idia using a voice device?”

“…that guy really can’t live without technology,” Grim muttered, crossing his arms. His expression flattened when he spotted the small device Idia was clearly using to sing for him.

And even so…The performance was magnificent.

Malleus’s voice sounded so majestic it was both deep and almost angelic, probably one of the many perks of being a high fae and future prince. Idia’s voice—unexpectedly delicate despite being technological—and Azul’s tone blended perfectly together.

You rested your arms on the stone window frame and closed your eyes, finally allowing yourself to enjoy the evening the way you had originally planned. Grim climbed onto the window ledge beside you, adjusting his mask so he could see better. Both of you swayed gently with the rhythm of the music, and a smile slowly spread across your face.

“They’ve got this,” you murmured quietly, tapping a finger against your arm in time with the music. “Bastards… is there anything they can’t do well?”

Grim snickered, covering his mouth with his paw to keep the sound down. “They’re totally showing off.”

You laughed quietly along with him. When you opened your eyes again, you found Grim staring at you. “You’re next.”

Your smile, which had started out sarcastic, shifted into something more mischievous.

You looked back down toward the hall. The voices still flowed together in harmony, moving around the marble circle with a grace that Vil was probably mentally approving from somewhere nearby. The second chorus was about to begin.

“Well…” you straightened up, adjusting the fall of your skirt and the lace miraculously still intact over the red brocade. “I suppose it’s time to close the night with a golden finish”

Grim looked up at you, eyes narrowing skeptically, his little paws stretching toward you to be held again.“You know how to sing?”

You lifted him and settled him onto your shoulder, both of you looked down toward the stage one last time. Your voice obviously wouldn’t sound as perfect as Malleus’s, but at least it would sound human, warm.

Or so you hoped.

You adjusted your mask and stepped toward the staircase, running your hand along the stone edge of the window and grabbing a small black fan.

“…Where did you get that fan?” Grim asked.

You opened it, revealing a simple design of floral embroidery and delicate lace. “It was on one of the benches”

“Hng… you’re adding more drama.”

Right then, Malleus’s voice surged through the entire hall structure as he reached the final note. The sound vibrated through the room, leaving behind a faint but powerful echo.

You paused mid-step and glanced upward as if your eyes could follow the note sliding through the air, then you gave Grim a playful look. “Come on” You turned toward the stairs. “We’ve got to compete with our prince”

The final chord echoed for a few seconds, applause followed, warm and energized, proof that the performance of those three had worked. The night had been saved.

You set Grim down at the top of the stairs, placing him beside a small decorative window at his height so he could watch the next act. When your heel touched the first step, the lighting along the staircase dimmed slightly, casting a softer contrast around your silhouette.

Fan open, one hand resting lightly on the railing, your heart racing a mile a minute. This would either go spectacularly well…

or become the most embarrassing moment of your life.

You glanced once more at Grim for support, he lifted one paw in a tiny thumbs-up; that was apparently the feline version of encouragement.

And so you began your descent, slow steps, measured, careful. Falling now would be catastrophic. No one wanted to watch the mysterious masked woman who had saved the evening tumble down twenty marble steps.

“Masquerade Paper faces on parade Masquerade Hide your face, so the world will never find you…”

The applause died instantly, your voice wasn't loud nor powerful like Malleus’s, it didn’t have Azul’s precision, nor Idia’s delicate tone...But hopefully it was unmistakably human, and familiar. Almost… comforting.

Each step down the marble curved with the melody, the lace of the dress catching the candlelight, the fan tilting slightly, slow movements as if you were stepping into a courtship circle.

Below in the hall, the seven leaders stood still. Malleus, Idia, and Azul had returned to stand with the others and now the entire group once again had their eyes fixed on you.

Both Azul and Riddle tensed in unison, not expecting your voice to emerge so soft. Singing while descending a staircase could be rather complicated if you didn’t have proper vocal control; walking while singing alone could already be tiring and might make your voice tremble.

Kalim, who stood on the opposite side of Riddle, grabbed his sleeve and began shaking it, pointing at you as you continued your descent. His mouth hung open, nearly reaching the floor, forming a small wow while you fanned yourself with each descending step.

“Masquerade Every face a different shade Masquerade Look around, there’s another mask behind you”

You continued downward, slow but steady, each step landing precisely with the tempo of the lyrics. Now the fan moved a little faster.

Vil followed your figure with every step, every movement of your dress flowing smoothly over the stairs; your posture perfectly straight, your weight settling properly onto each foot as it should, the heels striking neatly in time with the tempo. He watched how you moved the fan, as if it were a supporting actor that required very little to be perfect.

Idia stood behind Vil, slightly hunched with his mask poorly positioned; it looked like he had removed it for a moment after the performance, or rather, like he had deflated after carrying out such an intense social activity in front of so many people. His head barely leaned past Vil’s shoulder as he watched how you didn’t need much to sound… simple, soothing.

The last curve of the staircase opened beneath your feet. The light framed you warmer there, spilling gold across the newly polished floor. You extended the hand holding the fan slightly to the side as the verse neared its end, and when your foot touched the final step…the music swelled, the violins accompanying the delicate chimes while a few percussion instruments followed.

“Flash of mauve, Splash of puce, Fool and king, Ghoul and goose, Green and black, Queen and priest, Trace of rouge, Face of beast”

You advanced farther into the open hall, guests stepped aside to give you room, as if the song itself were clearing a path for you. The warmth of your voice filled the space the fear had left behind earlier, moving through the hall softer than magic, steadier than the ceremony.

Leona had remained leaning against a pillar, watching without making any visible movement or comment toward the others. His arms rested at his sides, palms against the pillar, his gaze moving up and down your figure as he watched you walk through the crowd. But he wasn’t looking at you the way Vil was.

No. He observed you as if trying to solve a puzzle that had been gnawing at him since the afternoon in the plaza. The mysterious masked girl who had stumbled into the group and carried herself with a natural ease almost humiliating for the seven of them clearly had an ace up her sleeve… an ace that felt strangely familiar, though he couldn’t remember from where.

And Malleus…was doing exactly the same. Watching you; but with a softer gaze, as though he were seeing a nymph within her own spring and he were merely a mortal fortunate enough to stumble upon her, fate too generous to allow him to witness such a spectacle.

Then…more voices joined, almost by accident. A voice close to you murmured quietly, then a couple near the edge of the circle, just above the violins, then another pair, cautious but slightly more confident.

All of those voices testing whether they were allowed to join—as though they were forming a chorus to accompany your performance. And you allowed it.

A performance so human was always better when accompanied, wasn’t it?

“Faces Take your turn, take a ride On the merry-go-round In an inhuman race…”

A pair of masked dancers stepped onto the open floor, slowly and cautiously at first; no choreography, only instinct, their movements catching the rhythm just as the candlelight caught the stained glass.

More joined. It wasn’t a full dance yet—just a movement here, another there. And gradually, what had begun with only your voice started turning into a complete spectacle.

You moved the fan in flowing motions upward with the rhythm of the lyrics—the dramatic courtship play Grim had mentioned.

“Eye of gold, Thigh of blue, True is false, Who is who? Curl of lip, Swirl of gown, Ace of hearts, Face of clown”

The chorus of guests was unmistakable now, harmonizing with yours—not raising their voices to compete with you, but filling the space so the performance reverberated just as powerfully as Malleus’s voice alone had earlier.

Dozens of voices intertwined softly beneath yours; it was like watching the masquerade itself sing to close the night. Silk skirts began to spin, cloaks gliding across the floor, candlelight casting soft shadows over every figure and across the marble.

“Faces Drink it in, drink it up Till you’ve drowned in the light, in the sound But who can name the face?”

You turned your head toward a woman dressed exquisitely, wearing an immaculate violet gown, a mask almost identical to yours covered her eyes, she also carried a fan matching her dress.

With a movement that seemed rehearsed, the two of you raised your fans in front of your faces at the same moment. Everyone nearby who held a fan did exactly the same.

And for the third time that evening—after an inconvenient encounter, after an infernal chaos—the event finally felt like a masquerade again.

Right there, at the center of everything, this time a center you had actually sought, you found yourself surrounded by a ballroom that had willingly become part of your song.

“Masquerade! Grinning yellows, spinning reds Masquerade! Take your fill, let the spectacle astound you!”

The dance burst to life.

No longer were there hesitant couples barely swaying, now they spun with confidence to the sound of the violins, gowns and suits tracing wide arcs across the marble floor. You moved among the turns like a master of ceremonies, your skirt’s movement blending with the others, spinning not to dance but to carry your voice to every corner of the hall.

Kalim’s eyes widened as he watched the sea of fabrics spinning and spinning—it was dizzying just to see so much coordination. “Oh! People are really joining in!”

Azul watched keenly. “Fascinating… she’s stabilizing the entire room”

A few steps away, a Noble Bell student, tall, immaculate, his uniform pristine and untouched by ash, walked directly toward you.

Closer, closer still, until he stood only a single step away, moving in rhythm with the crowd, following your steps before bowing and extending his hand.

A formal invitation, a very legitimate one, the kind of official invitation you had hoped for ever since the festival had been announced. All afternoon you had hesitated about where to walk, hesitated about what to say so you wouldn’t be discovered. Now…

you simply wanted to dance, and you accepted the invitation without stopping your singing.

You snapped the fan closed softly against your hip while allowing him to guide you into the swirling mass of couples turning across the floor. Some dancers even lifted their partners into the air, far too bold a movement for you, so you wisely didn’t attempt it.

Your dance was coordinated and fairly simple compared to the others, whose steps already carried the etiquette of ballroom tradition, yours remained softer, movements that allowed the dress to breathe and form dark circles trimmed with red, and enough stillness that your voice could continue floating above the chorus.

The student spun you once just as the orchestra swelled, your dress opened in a dark flare that caught the golden light like a glowing ember refusing to fade.

Across the floor, the seven dorm leaders watched as the performance had truly become that— a performance.

Dance, music, lead voice, chorus. Had you really not planned this from the start?

Vil murmured more to himself than the others, captivated by the way your dress followed every turn. “Control, breath rhythm, audience integration.” He adjusted both sleeves before adding his final verdict. “She has stage instinct”

He walked straight into the crowd and invited the first person he saw waiting near the edge of the dance floor. The others stared in silence for a few seconds before Kalim burst into laughter and strode toward the center as well, inviting a Noble Bell student to dance.

The hall had fully surrendered now, no more uncertain steps or scattered movements—only a sea of silk and velvet, feathered hats swaying in the air, lace glimmering beneath the softened lights.

Couples changed hands in coordinated turns, everyone pulsed with the rhythm of the music.

“You can fool Any friend who ever knew you”

The student guiding you spun you once more, then another step, then he released your hand with elegant timing within the flow of the dance, allowing another guest to take it. Then another, and another; You remained on the dance floor as if you had been born to dance until sunrise.

The orchestra never truly stopped after that.

One song melted into the next, the tempo rising and softening in waves while the lantern light grew warmer, as though the night itself had finally remembered what it was meant to be.

And you danced, and danced, and danced. Occasionally glancing upward toward the window where Grim watched from his hiding place, until he grew bored and hurried down the stairs toward a small table where snacks and drinks had been arranged.

And Grim, being Grim, went straight for the snacks. You shook your head, amused, unable to suppress the smile at the irony of it all: Grim worrying only about food, completely forgetting the stealth part…while you danced with strangers.

At first.

Because in the middle of another turn, Kalim arrived. He practically bounced his way over, bowing with an enthusiastic sincerity that somehow remained perfectly polite.

“May I?” he asked, already smiling as though the answer could only be yes.

His dancing was open, slightly less precise than the formal protocol demanded, but relaxed enough that the turns felt light and smooth rather than rigid and ceremonial.

If the music hadn’t dictated the style, Kalim probably would have dragged you into a dozen far more energetic moves across the entire floor.

“Best night ever,” he laughed softly as you spun together. His laughter was so contagious it made you laugh too—though you kept it much more controlled this time.

“I’m really glad you stayed” He spun you again in a partner exchange.

Next came Riddle. He stepped forward with impeccable posture, offering his hand with textbook ceremonial formality. “I would like to request this dance,” he said, composed, but unmistakably sincere.

His steps were perfect, structured, exactly as ballroom manuals likely instructed for someone leading a partner. Not stiff, simply precise—as if every movement had been practiced until he could guide another person with absolute confidence.

“You handle chaos surprisingly well,” he admitted quietly during a turn.

Ah…if only you knew

Then came Azul. He bowed with a touch of theatrical flair, though still formal, like a merchant about to greet a valuable soul. “It would be a tragedy not to experience a dance with you”

He guided you effortlessly, every step deliberate, every movement calculated so that you appeared exquisite, as though you were a rare piece in an impossibly expensive collection. And he remained in the background…letting you shine.

Vil arrived afterward as if the night itself had set a timer so he would appear at the exact right moment, balancing the aesthetic of the three who had gone before him.

His hand was firm, confident; the dance elegant without effort, posture impeccable, movement fluid—the kind of partner who doesn’t just dance but shapes the entire image of the ballroom around him.

“You understand presentation,” he murmured near your ear. “Presence. That’s rare to find” He released your hand for an open step, ending with you spinning on yourself and landing briefly in the blond’s arms before he let you go again.

You were surprised when Idia came next. His expression showed he was fighting every ounce of his anxiety and preparing himself like someone about to face a hidden final boss.

“…okay.” He took your hand in his, visibly trembling and a little hesitant. “Statistically speaking I’m going to regret this—or die—if I don’t at least try once…”

His steps were clumsy, but not enough for you to step on his feet, nor for him to step on yours. Idia had more secrets tucked up his sleeves than he liked to show the world.

One step, then another, and then, surprisingly, he became careful, mentally counting the next movements so you could continue looking radiant in your dress. “It’s easy… being next to you,” he admitted quietly, placing a hand on your waist. “That… that’s not common for me.”

Leona came next. He didn’t arrive in a spin, handing you off to the next dancer. No; he simply appeared when the music slowed slightly, one brow raised and the corner of his mouth faintly lifted, refusing you the honor of seeing a full smile.

His hand extended with the same casual inevitability he had shown in the plaza. “Come on. You already survived the worst of it”

His grip was firm, steady, strong enough that dancing with him felt like walking beside someone who had temporarily decided not to bite anyone.

Like with Idia, you were surprised by how careful Leona could be while dancing. Of course, as a prince he had been forced to learn etiquette and ballroom lessons. And now you were witnessing the results of that irritating education.

Very good results, to be honest.

Because when the choreography called for the lead to lift his partner again, Leona didn’t hesitate, nor did he give you a warning, he lifted you by the waist. You let out a small yelp before touching the floor again, Leona steadied you against him so you wouldn’t stumble during the next steps.

“You don’t show panic,” he said quietly, leaning closer to whisper near your ear. “Didn’t expect to find someone like that at an event this pompous.”

And finally...Malleus.

He appeared without hurry, not interrupting the moment you had with Leona until the partners changed naturally. He stepped forward as the music reached the last measures of the slow dance, transitioning toward something deeper and more intimate, an instant carved into midnight itself as the first rhythm came to a close.

“May I share this dance?” he asked softly, bowing slightly before taking your hand and guiding you through the final movements of that first rhythm with the other dancers.

His hand was warm around yours, his steps slow, deliberate, impossibly gentle for someone so tall and imposing, as if the music being played had been written specifically for the two of you.

“You brought light back to this hall tonight,” he said quietly so only you could hear him, ignoring everyone else around you. “Whether you intended to or not”

Laughter floated through the air as the first rhythm of the night ended. Seven dances, with seven boys, all stepping away from you carrying the same strange feeling, that they had just spent time with someone important… and somehow familiar.

And you allowed yourself to keep smiling and dancing. For once, you allowed yourself to have the night Crowley had stolen from you.

One dance became two; two became five.

At some point the evening stopped feeling like something you had infiltrated and barely survived, and became something you were simply living. Living far from the cold walls of Ramshackle, far from the magic-soaked stone of NRC.

In the distance, the spell of the moment broke with a bell chime, small and practical. A bell announcing that it was already very late.

Your eyes shot toward the tall clock mounted against the marble wall. “…oh no.”

You had approached the snack table, where Grim had apparently devoured everything edible and was now curled up beside it waiting for you.

When he heard you mutter, he lifted his head. “Mm?”

“We’re out of time,” you said, looking at him in horror.

“HMNYA?!” he jumped up.

“If we don’t leave now,” you whispered in his ear, avoiding attracting attention, the earlier squeak had already made several guests glance toward the table, “we won’t get back to campus before they do”

You scanned the crowd, searching for an escape route. “And if Crowley gets there first—”

Grim gasped and jumped into your arms. “We’re dead”

“Exactly”

The music swelled again and several people stepped back into the center of the hall for another round, perfect cover. You adjusted Grim in your arms and reopened the fan, hiding him slightly as you began walking quickly.

“Okay, we walk fast,” you said quietly while heading toward the reading hall doors. “No running. We blend in with the people leaving and slip out before anyone notices.”

You pushed your way step by step through the living sea of masks, guests, and students, gliding between couples mid-turn, passing laughing students.

Every movement controlled to avoid suspicion, but urgent.

You were only a few steps away, close enough to feel the cool night air slipping through the carved gap in the wooden door, close enough that one more step would take you out of the lantern light, the music, the masquerade entirely.

And you pushed the enormous door open, stepping straight into the outer corridor.

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

“This was probably the most fun disaster I’ve ever attended.” Kalim had his hands behind his head, still smiling as if the night hadn’t stopped being magical.

The dorm leaders had gathered near one of the marble pillars. The music from the hall drifted faintly just a few meters away.

Riddle adjusted his gloves, nodded, and placed his hands behind his back. “The structural damage was severe, but the response was… effective.”

Azul had picked up a glass from the table, apparently unaware that Grim had already raided the food there. He swirled it in his hand, watching the liquid spiral slightly.

“Indeed” He took a small sip and looked toward the hall doors. “Although there is still one clause unresolved”

Vil had followed him and taken a glass of wine, sipping occasionally. He hadn’t even finished half of it. “The mysterious lady”

Idia nodded, by now he had removed his mask. “Mysterious young woman, SSR-tier character who punches the main villain with maxed-out stats.”

Kalim, who had only half been listening, glanced around—the others, the muffled music beyond the door, the outer corridor—his gaze bounced everywhere for a moment, then he suddenly straightened, exhaling through his nose.

“She said her brother studies at NRC.” That made the others turn toward him.

Vil lifted the glass to his lips thoughtfully, his eyes sharp though his mind clearly elsewhere. “Yes… that detail is useful”

“The NRC enrollment is not infinite,” Riddle said with a slight frown. “Establishing familial connections may take time” He sighed. “But it will not be impossible”

Vil set the glass carefully on a stone bench. “A voice like that won’t remain hidden for long.”

“Yes,” Malleus added calmly, his eyes drifting toward the hall. “Fate rarely introduces someone only once” Vil crossed his arms at that remark, giving a small nod before following the direction of Malleus’s gaze.

Leona had remained leaning against the column beside Kalim the entire time, hands in his pockets, head tilted toward the hall doors—still listening to the distant music and the crowd dancing, laughing, talking.

“Maybe we’ll see her again before the night ends—” Kalim started.

But Leona’s ears sharpened, his eyes narrowed toward the distance.

“…Oi” That was all he said to make the others pay attention.

On the other side of the outer corridor, the great doors of the hall opened—and there you were, moving quickly. The black and crimson dress was unmistakable even under the dim light of the corridor, the small creature tucked in your arms as you hurried toward the outer doors.

That alone was enough for the seven of them to straighten in unison, watching your figure cross the corridor. Kalim pointed at you and barely raised his voice to say, “There she goes!”

Vil stepped forward immediately, then another step, Azul set his own glass beside Vil’s, adjusted his suit, and followed him. The seven of them began to move closer, like a flock of crows closing in on a small prey, or rather… their little dove.

They were close enough to see you, but not close enough for you to notice them. Your figure passed beside a guest whose decorations stuck out everywhere, especially along the sleeves and shoulders.

And then the most cliché, ridiculous thing that could possibly happen at an event like this happened.

A strand of your hair snagged as you rushed past, and the ribbon of your mask caught on the guest’s decorations.

“Ah—sorry!” the guest said, quickly freeing your hair and the ribbon when your head jerked backward. The tug made you drop Grim, and he jumped to the floor.

“It’s nothing,” you replied, continuing forward once your hair came loose. The guest went his way while you headed straight for the outer doors.

The ribbon slipped free, the mask fell one step later. You instinctively turned, bringing a hand to the back of your head, startled as the fabric mask dropped to the ground.

One second, one undeniable second was all it took for your face to be completely revealed under the moonlight. The mystery shattered, and before the seven leaders of NRC, the young lady was revealed:

The Prefect of Ramshackle.

Meanwhile you were far too busy picking up the fallen mask, your heart pounding like you had just run a marathon when the realization hit you all at once.

“…oh shit—” You snatched the mask off the floor and bolted toward the door.

“GRIM!” you shouted, your voice now unmistakably clear in the night air and the quiet city. “MOVE OR YOU’RE SLEEPING ON THE FLOOR WITHOUT TUNA FOR A WEEK IF WE’RE LATE!”

The small hooded creature shrieked in terror. “YES, PREFECT—!”

The two of you ran like a princess racing back to her tower before the spell wore off...except you looked more like two idiots sprinting full speed toward the city lights as if your lives, and possibly your financial privileges, depended on it. Within seconds the darkness swallowed you both, disappearing down the outer corridor toward the main gates.

Silence followed, and the ones who had been pursuing you with steady steps… were left stunned by the revelation.

Kalim’s jaw dropped, not caring how dramatic or over-the-top he looked; Riddle’s eyes widened and a faint blush colored his cheeks; Azul removed his glasses to clean them with trembling hands, an entirely pointless gesture, as he pinched the bridge of his nose; Idia made a strangled sound, like his system had just crashed into a blue screen he couldn’t reboot; Leona and Vil blinked at the same time, shooting each other a sidelong glance; Malleus simply watched as the final piece of the puzzle clicked neatly into place, confirming that lingering sense of familiarity.

A pause followed...A long pause, far too long.

Vil didn’t know what to do with his hands, or with his entire existence. He pressed his lips into a thin line, moved his hands aimlessly for a moment, and was just about to turn away in frustration. “…oh for fuck’s sake.” The fact that he had sworn meant you had played your move perfectly.

Idia crouched down and buried his face in his hands. “I want to die”

Azul, still pinching the bridge of his nose, let out a long breath. “We should have known”

And honestly, yes.

They had been idiots not to realize; inside their minds the gears finally started turning: The voice, her composure in danger, that laugh, the ridiculous courage, the familiar, the way she handled chaos without magic.

Leona dragged a hand down his face and let out a deep, irritated growl. “She masked her scent so we wouldn’t notice”

Kalim, whose mouth had still been hanging open, suddenly burst into a small laugh as he looked toward where you had disappeared. “Oh! That makes so much sense!” He laughed freely.

“No wonder we could flirt with her so naturally”

“FLIRT?!”

“NOBODY HERE FLIRTED WITH ANYONE!”

“MY CHARISMA STAT IS NOT THAT HIGH!”

Several voices erupted at once, some embarrassed, some shy, some in complete denial. Malleus, still perfectly composed in the middle of the chaos, simply closed his eyes and allowed his companions to argue, offering the night a small smile.

Leona didn’t even stay to watch the end of the debate over who had flirted more. He simply closed his eyes, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked back toward the hall, he shouting was already giving him a headache.

He groans at your movement but showed no signs of waking. The sun was not awake yet after all.

You shifted again, just slightly. This time he stirred. It was subtle, the faint tension of someone surfacing from sleep. Something about him sharpened, just briefly. Then his eyes opened slightly and met yours. You could almost feel it, the way his body went from loose and dead to the world to aware.

You freeze. Prepared if he were to yell in your ear at that very second. You could tell his guard was up. He seemed to stay like that for a few seconds, perhaps assessing the situation.

Then— nothing.

He hadn’t sensed any threat. The tension left him as quickly as it came, “…’s just you.” You hear a small murmur and then he was asleep again within seconds, his grip not loosening at all.

You stared at the ceiling, heart doing something embarrassing. You waited until your heart wasn’t drumming as loud against your chest before trying again.

"Sebek." A little louder this time. He made a sound that was not even close to a word and turned his face into your shoulder.

"Sebek, I can’t move—"

He nuzzled deeper into you. The cold of night seems to make your warmth all the more enticing.

"Sebek—"

A low groan. His arms tightened. At that point you were almost sure no force on earth could undo the blanket burrito that is Sebek —and you seem to be apart of the ingredient this time.

You sighed in defeat, your gaze decided to settle on his sleeping face instead. His expression was so completely unguarded it almost wasn't fair. All that loud, rigid, relentless intensity, just gone. He looked younger. Softer. The furrow between his brows that seemed permanent during waking hours had smoothed out entirely.

Cute, you thought, again, helplessly, for what was probably the hundredth time. You were going to be here for a while. You closed your eyes.

Fine, you decided. Fine. A little longer.