Aurelia

NBC! mc who was registered as a nerd, but not in a negative way. in fact, students loved their rambling about theories of magic and the many debates about its conception. them being a walking encyclopedia made up for their lack of talent in applying magic.

NBC! mc who was trapped in the confinement of the school without their knowledge. after all, in the students' eyes, they were a pure individual, with a curiosity about the sinful world around them. such stains would not be allowed within their proximity.

NBC! mc who, one day, was tasked by a mysterious entity to.....save the world from being regressed again? they thought it was weird, but after realizing it must have been a divine sign from the god they were so devoted to, they complied swiftly.

NBC! mc who wasn't surprised at all to see the source of the problem coming from NRC. of course, that academy chock-full of irresponsible magical users would be responsible for their god's displeasure! fret not; they would show them what a true magic user was like!

NBC! mc who, after a string of events, got to meet yuu. the weird entity earlier told them they were the vessel for the god, so they stuck to the magicless human very, very closely. poor dear, it must have been so exhausting to look after such tainting magical teenagers. even the staff here was practically useless!

NBC! mc who was in charge of shooing away all these unwanted suitors. they deemed them unfitting, too improper for the sweet, sweet yuu. what did they see in that ginger? that navy-haired? not to mention those slipper merfolks! no, that couldn't do! as the vessel of their god, yuu deserved the best of the best!

NBC! mc who received weird notifications from the entity that had been guiding them. red bars of [REDACTED] kept rising up? what did that mean!? oh? that was their devotion bar? they must absolutely keep up their good work then! ignore those envious stares, those touches that tiptoed on their boundaries; they were mere distractions to their journey of utterly worshipping their god!

NBC! mc whose whole life had been dedicated to the god of vacancy, from their strict schedules of prayers to their behaviors with others. it was their sole purpose for their miserable existence, even if they themself didn't believe in said god. all their previous doubts were but a test of faith, and after completing whatever this being tasked them with, they would finally be recognized as the true devotee of the deity.

NBC! mc who was naive in navigating social cues. they weren't the sharpest tool in the shed, though their grades might say otherwise. they looked at the world through a view that judged whether this deed they were about to commit would benefit their virtues. to them, people aside from yuu required enlightenment, salvation from the tainted world they resided in.

NBC! mc whose absence turned NBC upside down. after all, they were the flower that managed to bloom in the wretched palace of righteousness, the light that rivaled the brightness of fireplaces. how could they, such a sweet, ignorant soul, go missing without a trace left? the world outside was dangerous, and the students would not risk losing them to it.

NBC! mc who started to learn more about yuu. sure, they still regarded them with a certain feverish adoration, but as they got closer, they began to see more of the supposed vessel's quirks. their relationship with others, specifically grim, their ability to come up with a quick plan despite their lack of power. it... tugged at their heartstrings, really, how human they were.

NBC! mc who was reluctant at the mention of returning. could they bring yuu with them? they had grown fond of the prefect, and they wouldn't permit any more corruption on the poor human! this was for their own good, they promised, not because of some selfish desires. they were a better person than that, than a bunch of loathesome NRC students who couldn't stop bothering the duo (or trio, if counting the beast).

NBC! mc who unknowingly caught the hearts of many in NRC because of their attentiveness. despite saying they despised almost all students of the school, they still put effort into improving them, in their words, turning them into a better version of themself. others entertained their religious rambling just to enjoy the passion and the rare moments of solitude, when arguments and fighting didn't break out every five minutes.

"you....want to know more about.....the god of vacancy....? o stellae! you got a lot to learn!"

NBC! mc who just wanted to make NBC proud. they believed that by obeying whatever the being said, they could make up for their clumsiness in potionoly, their weakness in magic, and their inability to keep up with others during PE. they didn't want to be a burden to a school that built itself on 'the righteous judge', who had managed to bring peace to a chaotic town. they wanted to follow his footsteps, granting salvation to NRC without knowing the temptation of humans' love.

NBC! mc who couldn't see yuu's growing clinginess to them each time the bar rose up. the prefect always insisted on sitting with them, following them everywhere while they explored the campus. they didn't mind, far from it, and shamelessly basked in the soft glory of their presence. after all, they were both away from their respective hometowns; outcasts ought to stick together!

NBC! mc who was the epitome of a bird that knew no freedom, a bird that having spent its life in a golden cage, would forget how to fly in the face of the vast sky of the world. its wings had long been clipped; wide eyes perceived the winds blowing through its feathers as nothing more than a picturesque sight ot behold. they had been trapped within the four tall walls of NRC, but what would they know of being caged when they never knew what it was like to live without it?

NBC! mc who didn't know the truth about this world, that this was but a mere game in the eyes of yuu, who had regressed multiple times. being torn to pieces by the people who claimed to love them, the unfortunate vessel had to live with the memories of the macabre tableau that would befall them each time.

NBC! mc who didn't know their mere presence was an anomaly, a variable the game decided to bestow yuu upon witnessing the sheer helplessness of the world itself, how love would, one way or another, turn into a sickening obsession that cut through the pleas for mercy.

yuu who, at first, assumed it was going to be another turn where they would succumb to death. they had tried, in their hundred cycles, to be avoidant, to be cruel, to be nothing. in the end, their efforts were futile, for the hearts were written to beat for them, no matter how rotten their personality was.

yuu who had to rub their eyes when they saw you around the campus. they remembered you clearly, for you were an NPC who died tragically in a magic-related accident, fuelling rollo's prejudice against magical users further and his determination to be rid of it. you were who rollo saw every time he confined yuu to the darkness of NBC; the mirth of the world lasted but a while.

yuu who, upon hearing your words of an entity guiding you to them, realized in horror that you had been manipulated into the whirlwind of tragedy by the system. you, an innocent NPC, with eyes sparkling with joy, were sent here to save them from this cycle of hell. and you didn't know it, thinking you were complying with whatever your god said.

yuu who was determined to keep you in the dark about the true nature of this endless stage. they had grown terrifyingly fond of you, your obliviousness, your sweetness. they feared, for the first time after being numb by their deaths, that they would lose your devotion upon realizing that they weren't the vessel for the deity you dutifully served.

yuu who almost threw up when they recognized those familiar stares now being directed to you instead of them. disgusting lots, all of them, proclaimed their unyielding love to them in the previous routes, and yet, their hearts beat at the sight of a new presence. they were the parasites, the rot this world needed to be rid of, the maggots you needed not to interact with further.

yuu who did their best to limit your actions. they rationalized it as for your own good, and yet, they huffed whenever you spent too much time with another student, silently threatened to be violent towards another when they so much as stared at you. had you known about this, you wouldn't detest them, would you? you had always been so kind to them, indulging in their every whim with a gentle smile.

yuu whose resentment of you turned into love as time went on. they couldn't bear the thought of hating you, even though the way you tamed those love interests made their eyes tint green. they didn't resent you; but rather what you represented, a halfhearted light that came too late, a bird that would somehow crash into windows clumsily without proper supervision. you were dumb, socially inept, a failure in every subject aside from history, and yet that never made you halt on your journey. perhaps that was why others learnt to love you, an imperfect version that didn't deny their flaws, but always worked to improve them.

yuu whose despair was a bottomless pit, swallowing everything they once found beautiful in twisted wonderland. they were a greedy person; they knew of it, but they couldn't resist the idea of keeping the light that was you to themself. they were a miserable individual, bringing only ruins to their relationships. a thing like them was unworthy of you, and yet, you saw their goodness, even when smeared by the hands of death; their quirks, even when suppressed beneath burdens of time. they couldn't hide anything from you, despite perfecting their acting skills throughout the cycles, because you were always observant when it came to them. you noticed the slightest change in their mood, their dismay at situations, and their joy in gazing at simple affairs of life.

yuu who had made it their purpose to protect you in this life. they knew how fleeting lives were, how easy it was to be bruised. they allied up with others from NBC to bring you back, for they believed both RSA and NRC were dangerous places for a wandering soul like you to explore. they took advantage of your utter trust in them, and though they were guilty of it, they only did what was necessary, for both of you. they were determined to end it all this life, but you showing up threw their plan away, making them foolishly believe in something hopeful. for that, you needed to take responsibility; did you know? you probably didn't, with the way you laughed at their bland jokes, comforted them after each overblottitng, and pulled pranks on them alongside grim as poor attempts to cheer them up.

your goal? serve your god conscientiously to prove your unwavering faith.

“Do you think Vice Captain Lohen is hiding something?”

This was a question that Ekbert has been tossing around in his mind for the past few weeks. He tried not to dwell on it too much since unnecessary speculation could only lead to unnecessary squabbles. But as he polished the hilt of his sword, he couldn’t help but let his gaze trail after the Vice Captain of the 5th Company as the man descended the stone steps of Favonius Keep.

To anyone else, Lohen was exactly as he had been since they first marched into the farthest reaches of Nod Krai: a cold, deranged fighting machine. His hair was somehow perpetually ruffled, and those dull red eyes always seemed to scan the horizon for something to kill. He looked every bit the sadistic officer who had whipped the recruits into a force capable of surviving the Abyss. Lohen was a man who didn’t do subtlety. If he hated you, he told you. If he wanted to break your spirit during training, he did it with a smile that never reached his eyes. But as Lohen vanished past the perimeter fence for yet another solo patrol, Ekbert felt a prickle of unease.

“Give it a rest, Ekbert,” Winfried sighed, leaning against a supply crate. “The Wild Hunt is gone. Rerir is gone. The Vice Captain is probably just... itching for a fight. You don’t spend years hunting monsters and then just stop because the Honorary Knight finished the job.”

“That’s the thing,” Ekbert hissed before turning to his comrade. “Vice Captain Lohen is always itching for a fight. But have you seen him lately? He’d disappear for hours and you won’t find a speck of blood on his uniform. Since when does the guy come back from a patrol without a scratch or two?”

Winfried just laughed. “He’s probably learned how to use that Cryo Vision to stay clean so he won’t give the knights on laundry duty a heart attack. You’re overthinking it, man. Maybe you should’ve taken that transfer back to Mondstadt.”

Ekbert shook his head. He wasn’t crazy.

All this started after you disappeared.

You hadn’t exactly been with the expeditionary force from the start. You were part of the late reinforcements, summoned personally by Grand Master Varka from the Reconnaissance Corps back home. They needed someone agile, someone who was professionally trained to slip through the shadows and stake out the enemy before the Knights could close in for a siege. While their usual scouts could do this just fine, you operated twice as fast and twice as efficient.

But despite the nature of your work, you were a breath of fresh air in a camp that smelled of old blood and dandelion wine. You’d linked up with the rest of them quite easily, sharing stories from home while the rest of the knights huddled for warmth. But it was your behavior around Lohen that had everyone especially enthralled by your presence.

You had the sheer, unadulterated guts to tease him. You’d prod at the elaborate corset he wore under his coat, asking if it helped his posture while he was busy berating a trainee, or you’d make some cheeky comment about how he’s probably as bloodthirsty as he was because he was compensating for something (read: his height). Everyone expected Lohen to snap. Whether it would be challenging you to a spar or assigning you to the most dangerous vanguard post, the Vice Captain always set straight anyone who dared to cross him.

Instead, Lohen would just stare at you with those eerily blank eyes of his, and tell you to get out of his sight before he found a use for your misplaced confidence. Which was, of course, a shock to anyone and everyone who had the misfortune to train under him.

As the campaign wore on, Lohen’s unusual tolerance for your presence shifted from a camp-wide spectacle to a quiet, functional staple of their operation. While you threaded through the frost as the Reconnaissance Corps’ primary ghost, mapping the Wild Hunt’s movements, Lohen sat hunkered over jagged maps with Anselm and Nannina, translating your intel into lethal strikes.

This seamless synergy didn’t escape the Grand Master’s notice. Despite Lohen’s abrasive personality and your penchant for poking the bear, the expeditionary force had transformed into a singular, razor-sharp weapon. Varka watched on with boisterous approval, less concerned with the strange social friction between the two of you and more impressed by how his subordinates had become the very axis upon which the campaign’s success turned.

In fact, you two were so in-sync, Ekbert and the others were quite certain you’d be absorbed into the Fifth Company in no time.

Until you went missing, that is.

“Ekbert!”

The sharp bark of Winfried’s voice snapped the thread of Ekbert’s thoughts. He blinked, the phantom image of your teasing smile fading as he was shoved back into the reality of the Favonius Keep courtyard.

“Get your head out of the clouds and grab a corner of this crate!” his fellow knight pleaded with a grunt. “This shipment isn’t as massive as our usual, but it’s still rotten work.”

As Ekbert got ahold of his senses, he spotted several wooden crates branded with the seals of the Dawn Winery and Good Hunter being hoisted off a nearby carriage. The scent of aged oak and fermented grapes cut through the biting chill of the Nod Krai air—a cruel reminder of the home they were still waiting to return to.

“Sorry,” Ekbert muttered, lunging forward to catch the rough wood before it could slip from Winfried’s grip. He grunted under the weight, his muscles straining as they maneuvered the shipment toward the supply tent.

“Speculating about the Captain won’t get these rations into the racks,” Winfried huffed as his face reddened from the exertion. “And it certainly won’t bring the Recon scout back. The Grand Master already had the entirety of Nod Krai combed twice. If he says the trail went cold, it’s cold. Got it?”

Ekbert didn’t argue.

He forced himself to focus on the rhythmic thud of boots on stone and the mundane logistics of post-war occupation. He hoisted barrels of flour, counted bundles of medicinal herbs, and tried to ignore the nagging itch in the back of his mind. He told himself that Winfried was right—maybe the stress of the campaign did make him paranoid. Lohen was likely just relishing the silence of a land without monsters, and your disappearance was just another tragic casualty of a war that had claimed too many.

Yet, as Ekbert hauled the last crate of bandages toward the medical tent around midnight, he couldn’t help but notice that the supply log was already short three rolls.

And the Vice Captain had yet to return from his patrol.

That monster wrapped your bandages too tight again.

Every pulse of your blood felt like a dull hammer striking against the sensitive, raw skin where he’d nicked you on purpose, a constant reminder of the metal that bit into you whenever he wasn’t “caring” for you. You were slumped against the foot of a rotted wooden bedframe, your ankles secured by heavy, rusted iron shackles to a thick support beam that felt as immovable as the frost-laden earth of Snezhnaya itself.

Through the cracks in the cabin’s walls, the distant roar of the sea drifted in, the violent crashing of waves against a jagged shore. It most likely placed you somewhere near the Lightkeeper stronghold in Piramida, though the geography of your prison mattered little when your own mind was a fractured mess.

The lingering haze of whatever concoction Lohen had forced down your throat always made the world tilt sideways. It was a chemical leash designed to strip away your Fatui training, leaving you pliant, babbling, and sickeningly open to his whims. You felt a wave of nausea, not just from the drug, but from the crushing weight of your own humiliation.

You had played them all for fools—or so you thought. Your successful infiltration of the Knights of Favonius made you arrogant. You thought they were soft, a collection of self-righteous idealists blinded by their own sense of justice. People like them would never brand a comrade who’d assimilated so seamlessly into their ranks as a traitor.

But Lohen was not like them.

He was the rot in the woodwork, a cold-blooded outlier in an organization of posturing heroes. You suspected the only reason the Knights of Favonius tolerated a battle-crazed lunatic like Lohen was because someone had to be cruel enough to handle the grisly work their ranks were too noble to touch. To them, he was a necessary evil; to you, he was a waking nightmare. He hadn’t just caught a spy. He had claimed a new toy to break in the isolated dark of the aftermath.

The Vice Captain was a connoisseur of weapons, and he took a delight in showing you exactly why the 5th Company was known for the full range of its arsenal. He’d start by using the cold, heavy shaft of his polearm to pin your shoulders against the rotted wood, the weight of the weapon making it hard to draw a full breath as he loomed over you. With you trapped under the length of the pole, he would draw one of his daggers, the blade gleaming with a dull, predatory light that matched his eyes.

He treated your skin like parchment for his incident reports, dragging the tip in slow, agonizingly steady lines across your collarbone and thighs—not deep enough to reach a vein, but certainly enough to ensure you wouldn’t forget the sensation for days. He would narrate the process in that detached, airy voice, debating whether a Snezhnayan spy’s blood ran colder than a Knight’s as it pooled in the hollows of your skin.

“Does it hurt?” he cooed at you once, his tone dripping with mockery. “Or is the drug finally making you forget which side of the border you were born on?”

Once Lohen had mapped your body in fresh, stinging nicks and left you shivering from the combined chill of his Cryo Vision and your own terror, the caretaking would begin. He would transition seamlessly from butcher to medic, his expression softening into something terrifyingly domestic. He would sit on the edge of the rotting bed, humming a low, tuneless Mondstadtian lullaby while he dabbed antiseptic onto the very wounds he had just opened.

He’d whisper about the tragedy of your disappearance, telling you how much the other knights missed you and how Winfried had toasted to your memory—all while tightening a tourniquet or wrapping a bandage just enough to make your nerves go numb. By the time he was finished, your mind was so fractured by the drugs and the pain that you found yourself leaning into his touch, seeking warmth from the same hand that still held the blood-stained blade.

He had swiped your dignity from under your nose, leaving you with the sickening realization that he was now the only world you had left.

Yet he always acted as if you still had a choice in the matter.

The passage of time in this cabin was a jagged, broken thing. Between the constant fog of the drugs and Lohen’s masterful psychological pacing, the interval between his visits felt like a blurred eternity or a heartbeat’s flash. You weren’t sure if it had been days or simply minutes since he last wiped the blood from your skin, yet here he was again, the heavy click of his boots signaling the end of your reprieve.

He set down a lantern—one he had clearly nabbed from a Lightkeeper. There was never a schedule to his cruelty; he might arrive when the sun was at its zenith, or ensure your muffled cries were swallowed by the dead of night. Today, the way he adjusted the silver wing-shaped crest on his chest suggested he intended to take his time.

“You look pale, little bird,” he murmured, crouching before you. He began to forcefully spoon a lukewarm broth into your mouth. You knew the taste. He had spiked it again with that same hallucinogen that turned your thoughts into sluggish, melting wax.

“Eat. I can’t have you fading away before we’ve had our talk.”

Lohen tilted your head back, his gloved fingers digging into the hinges of your jaw to ensure you swallowed every drop of the laced meal. He wanted you receptive, vulnerable, and utterly untethered from your own mind. In your hapless state, all you could do was submit to his whims, gulping down the sustenance that served as your leash until the bowl was emptier than your mind.

“Now, tell me,” the Vice Captain whispered, his dull red eyes searching yours for a flicker of clarity. “Are you in the mood to finally fess up today? Or do I need to remind you that the Tsaritsa cannot hear you when you’re so far away from home? I’m not as cruel as you think, you know. I told you time and time again that you need only tell me your orders and I’ll let you go.”

Despite the warmth of the broth and the deceptive softness of his voice, you fought the urge to spill everything. Your loyalty to Snezhnaya was the only thing the drug couldn’t quite dissolve, even as your humanity was being stripped bare. You clamped your teeth shut, a glare of defiance cutting through the haze, but Lohen only sighed with a terrifyingly patient smile.

“Still playing the martyr, huh? How tedious.” He set the bowl aside and reached for the polearm leaning against the wall, the metal tip catching the lantern light. “If you won’t give me your mind, I suppose I’ll just have to settle for the rest of you.”

The heavy hilt scraped against the uneven floorboards as Lohen lifted it with casual ease, the long shaft gleaming faintly in the lantern’s sickly light. He never rushed when he had you like this—trapped, drugged, and deliciously defiant. The metal tip hovered near your collarbone for a moment, tracing the air just above the half-healed lines he’d left days ago, before he angled it higher.

“Hold still, little bird,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t want to slip.”

The cold edge of the polearm’s blade kissed the side of your neck, just below the jaw. Not the flat of the weapon this time. The sharp tip. It pressed in with surgical precision, breaking skin in one clean, shallow nick. A thin line of crimson welled up immediately, warm against the perpetual chill of the cabin.

Lohen’s dull red eyes tracked the bead as it slid downward, following the curve of your throat.

“Did you know,” he began conversationally, “the human body is a masterpiece of fragile plumbing? You’ve got all these little rivers of arteries and veins and capillaries under the skin. One wrong cut and it’s over in seconds. The carotid here,” the blade shifted ever so slightly, pressing just beside the fresh nick, “branches into the external and internal. Slice it clean and you’ll bleed out before you can even scream properly. Then there’s the jugular. That one’s less dramatic, but just as effective if you want someone to suffer a bit first.”

He tilted his head, studying you like a specimen on a dissection table.

“I apprenticed under an old doctor once. Not because I had any interest in saving lives, mind you. Quite the opposite. I wanted to learn the fastest ways to end them. Turns out medicine and murder share the same textbooks.” Lohen took a moment to simper. “Funny, isn’t it?”

Another tiny flick of the polearm. Another shallow cut, parallel to the first. More blood trickled down, warm and sticky, soaking into the collar of the thin shirt he’d dressed you in after the last session.

You bit back a gasp, body tensing against the shackles. The sting was sharp, immediate, but the drug made it bloom into something that sank low in your belly despite the hatred burning in your chest.

Lohen set the polearm aside with a soft clatter and crouched closer, boots creaking on the warped wood. His gloved hand came up to brush his fingers along the fresh wounds almost tenderly. Then he leaned in, tongue dragging slowly along the trail of blood on your neck. The wet heat of it made you shiver violently, an involuntary full-body tremor that had nothing to do with the cold.

A satisfied hum vibrated against your skin as he licked again, tasting the copper-salt of you.

“See?” he whispered, breath ghosting over the cuts. “Your body already knows what your mind refuses to admit. It craves this the pain. The way I put you back together after I break you open.”

You hated it. You hated how your pulse raced, how slick was already traitorously gathering between your thighs, soaking into the fabric of the skirt he’d brought last time. Your training screamed at you to fight and spit defiance, but Lohen had spent weeks rewiring you. Every cut and bruise, every humiliating moment of care afterward had conditioned your nerves to associate his cruelty with the only relief you ever received.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, those empty red eyes gleaming with dark amusement.

“Interrogation was never really my strong suit, you know,” he continued casually as he reached down. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of the skirt, pushing the fabric up your thighs. “Too much talking. Too much waiting for answers that might never come. I prefer a more… proactive approach.”

His hand found your clothed cunt, palm pressing firmly against the growing dampness. He rubbed slow circles, the heel of his hand grinding against your clit through the thin underwear while two fingers teased along your slit, feeling exactly how wet you’d become. A soft, mocking chuckle escaped him when you couldn’t suppress the small hitch in your breath.

“Look at that. Seems like this little Snezhnayan spy is fucked up enough on her own.”

He kept talking, voice steady and taunting even as he massaged your throbbing pussy with practiced ease, fingers pressing harder, coaxing more slick to ruin the fabric.

“Routine suits us, doesn’t it?” The monster laughs. “I taunt you. I defile every last inch of that proud body until you’re crying. Then I patch you up, feed you, hold you until the drugs pull you under. And the next time I walk through that door… we start the whole thing all over again because you’re just too stubborn to save yourself from all of this.”

Gods damn him.

Your mind was a storm of conflict. You knew how to escape. The lock on the shackles was laughably flimsy. One calculated twist of your wrist, a bit of wire you’d hidden in the hem of the skirt during his last session, and you could be free. Slip out into the night, disappear into the wilds of Nod Krai before he returned. But as Lohen’s fingers continued their relentless, teasing massage—pressing, circling, occasionally dipping just under the edge of your underwear to feel the bare heat of you—your eyes met his. Those dull red eyes. Cold and predatory. Utterly in control.

You didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Not when the pain he gave you made the pleasure burn brighter. Not when his twisted version of care was the only warmth left in your fractured world. Not when the monster wearing the Favonius crest had somehow become the center of everything.

Lohen’s smile widened, slow and knowing, as if he could read every traitorous thought flickering behind your hazy gaze.

“Good girl,” he purred, pressing a little harder against your clit, watching your hips twitch despite yourself. “Keep looking at me like that and I might just forget about the questions for tonight. We have all the time in the world… now that you’re exactly where you belong.”

Lohen didn’t move to strip you. There was something more degrading about the way he kept you partially dressed—the soft skirt bunched up around your waist a mocking contrast to the heavy iron biting into your ankles. He kept his overcoat on, the silver wing-shaped crest on his chest pressing against your shoulder as he crowded into your space, a constant reminder of the rank he held while he systematically dismantled yours.

He didn’t bother offering you the dignity of the bed either. You remained on the cold, grit-covered floorboards. He liked it better this way—forcing you to endure his touch in the dust, proving you didn’t even deserve the luxury of being degraded on a mattress.

He used his free hand to snare both your wrists, wrenching them upward and pinning them against the rotted support beam. The movement was sharp and unforgiving, pulling your arms so taut that the fresh nicks on your neck flared with red-hot agony as the skin stretched. You could only let out a fractured mewl, your breath hitching in your throat before you could even draw air. With a flick of his wrist, Lohen hooked two fingers into the elastic of your underwear and yanked it aside, exposing your dripping heat to the biting chill of the cabin for only a heartbeat before his fingers slip inside you with delicious friction from his gloves.

The rough leather dragged against your inner walls as two thick digits pushed deeper, stretching you open without mercy or preamble. Lohen didn’t ease you into it—he never did. He curled them immediately, pressing hard against that spongy spot inside you that made your vision spark white even through the haze. A broken sound tore from your throat. Your hips jerked involuntarily, trying to chase the sudden fullness, but the shackles on your ankles kept your legs splayed and helpless. The cold floorboards bit into your bare ass where the skirt had bunched uselessly around your waist.

“Shh,” Lohen cooed, soft and mocking as he pumped his fingers in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Listen to you. Already making such pretty noises for a traitor. Does it feel good, little bird? Having a Knight of Favonius knuckle-deep in this greedy cunt?”

He scissored his fingers, stretching you wider, the wet, obscene sounds of your slick echoing in the quiet cabin. He knew exactly where to press, exactly how deep to go to make your thighs tremble and your breath stutter.

Your head lolled back against the rotted beam, fresh blood from the nicks on your neck trickling warmer down your skin. The pain and pleasure twisted together until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Every time his fingers dragged over that sensitive bundle of nerves inside you, another gush of slick coated his hand, dripping down to smear across your thighs and the dusty floor. Lohen leaned in closer, his ruffled hair brushing your cheek.

“Look at how wet you are,” he whispered, adding a third finger without warning. The burn of the stretch pulled a sharp cry from you. “Crying for mercy with your mouth, but this sloppy little hole is begging for more. You hate me, don’t you? You hate how much you need this. How much your body has learned to crave the monster who keeps you chained up like a dog.”

He twisted his wrist, curling all three fingers viciously, thumb coming up to grind rough circles over your swollen clit. The dual assault made your back arch violently, a wrecked sob spilling from your lips as stars burst behind your eyelids.

“Please—ah, fuck… Lohen—”

The name slipped out before you could stop it. His dull red eyes flashed with dark delight.

“Oh? Using my name now?” He laughed, low and cruel, speeding up the brutal pace of his fingers. Wet squelching filled the cabin, louder than the distant roar of the sea. “How sweet. Beg for it properly then. Tell me what you want, spy. Tell your captor how badly you need to cum on the fingers that just carved your neck open.”

You shook your head, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, but your hips rolled desperately against his hand, chasing every thrust like a high you desperately wanted to keep. The drug made everything feel liquid and overwhelming—every stroke and press, every filthy word sinking straight into your core and melting your resistance into nothing.

Lohen’s free hand left your wrists only long enough to grab your jaw, forcing your head up so you had to meet his empty, predatory gaze.

“Don’t look away,” he ordered, voice dropping into that dangerous, silky tone. “I want to watch your face when you break. I want to see the exact moment the proud Fatui agent realizes she’s nothing but a desperate whore for Mondstadt’s favorite butcher.”

His fingers fucked into you harder, faster, the heel of his palm slapping wetly against your clit with every brutal plunge. Pleasure coiled tight and vicious in your belly, building so quickly it terrified you. Your walls clenched greedily around him, sucking his fingers deeper as if your body had already surrendered even if your mind still screamed traitor.

“P-please, Lohen... Too much. I can’t... ah, I’m gonna—”

“That’s it. Cry for me,” he growled. “You could’ve escaped days ago, but here you are, dripping all over my hand like the pathetic little toy you were always meant to be.”

As you teetered on the knife’s edge of release, Lohen’s Cryo Vision flared. A sudden, biting frost blossomed from his palm, turning the heat of your friction into a searing, sub-zero burn. The metal guards on his wrists grew lethally cold, pressing against your inner thighs until the skin stung with the sensation of dry ice. The contrast was a violent assault; the core of you was a fevered, pulsing furnace, while his touch had become a frozen blade, carving through your sensory static.

He didn’t just let the cold sit. He pulsed it—letting the frostbite-chill numb your clit for a terrifying second before withdrawing the power, allowing the blood to rush back in a stinging, hypersensitive flood. You sobbed at the whiplash, your hips bucking helplessly against the floorboards as he forced your body to navigate a landscape of fire and ice.

He sent one final, concentrated surge of Cryo through his gloved fingers as they buried themselves deep inside you. The internal freeze acted like a detonator, and the pressure snapped instantly.

Your orgasm hit like a lightning strike to a fraying wire. Your whole body seized, thighs racking with uncontrollable tremors as you came hard around his fingers, your slick gushing out to soak his glove and the grimy floorboards beneath you. A strangled scream tore from your throat, raw and humiliating, echoing off the cabin walls while your vision fractured into a blinding, white-hot void.

Lohen didn’t offer you the mercy of a reprieve. He drew out every last agonizing spasm, forcing your exhausted muscles to contract again and again until the pleasure became an unbearable noise. You were left twitching beneath him, your nerves raw and exposed, sobbing openly as the last of your resistance was washed away by the sheer, brutal weight of his persistence.

“Good girl,” he purred, finally slowing but not to offer you mercy.

With a slow, deliberate suction, he withdrew his fingers from your fluttering heat. You felt a cold, hollow ache the moment he left you, but he didn’t give you time to mourn the loss. He grabbed your chin, tilting your head back until you were forced to look at his stained leather glove, glistening under the lantern’s sickly glow.

“Such a messy, broken thing,” he whispered, the dull red of his eyes fixated on your trembling lips. “And you still haven’t told me what I want to know. I’ll need to praise whoever trained you, really. But for now, don’t let a drop go to waste.”

He shoved his fingers into your mouth, the taste of leather and the sharp, salty tang of your own release hitting your tongue all at once. The drug-induced haze in your mind combined with the crushing need to please him stripped away the last of your hesitation. You didn’t pull back. Instead, you made a pathetic, broken noise and began to enthusiastically lap at his fingers, your tongue swirling around the gloved digits to catch every bit of your own ruin. You tasted yourself, flavored by the copper of your fresh wounds, and for a terrifying second, it was the best thing you had ever had.

You were a map of shallow, stinging nicks lying beneath him. The fresh cuts on your neck had only just begun to clot, the tacky copper of your own blood smearing against his hand and your collar right after he pulled his fingers from your lips. You looked down at your shackled ankles and your ravaged skin, and the horror that should have consumed you was replaced by a hollow, sickening sort of peace. The Tsaritsa, Snezhnaya, your mission—they were all becoming distant, meaningless ghosts compared to the heavy, solid weight of the man pinning you to the floor.

Lohen grinned maniacally. “But that’s alright. We have all night. I’ll fuck every last secret out of you eventually…” He leaned in, licking another slow stripe over the slowly healing cuts on your neck, tasting blood and sweat and surrender. “Or maybe I’ll just keep you like this forever. My perfect, dripping captive who doesn’t even want to leave anymore.”

His red eyes bored into yours, pressing his fingers on the flat of your lolling tongue once more.

“After all… you’re right where you belong now, aren’t you, little bird?”

The night air in Piramida was thick with salt and the biting chill of the ocean, but the sweat on Ekbert’s palms had nothing to do with the humidity. For hours, he had trailed the Vice Captain through the terrain, moving like a ghost through the pines until the silhouette of a dilapidated cabin appeared against the moonlit cliffs.

He watched from the tall grass as Lohen disappeared inside, the heavy door thudding shut with a finality that made Ekbert’s stomach churn. He waited. One hour passed, then two. The sounds of the crashing waves below were occasionally punctuated by muffled, rhythmic thuds and high-pitched, unintelligible cries that the wind quickly snatched away. Ekbert contemplated retreating—turning back to the safety of Favonius Keep and pretending he had never followed his superior.

But the gnawing suspicion continued to burn in his mind. With a pounding heart and a sense of dread he couldn’t quite stomp down, he stepped onto the porch. The wood groaned under his weight. He took a breath, steeling himself, and knocked.

The silence that followed was deafening. But then, the slow click-clack of metal-soled boots approached the door. It creaked open only a few centimeters. Lohen stood there with his mint-green hair disheveled and his coat draped loosely over one shoulder. His dull red eyes narrowed, eyeing the shivering recruit with a terrifying, vacant calm that made Ekbert’s knees weak. Despite being the taller man, Ekbert felt small, like a mouse that had accidentally wandered into a viper’s nest.

“V-Vice Captain,” Ekbert stammered. “I... We were worried you hadn’t checked in with your patrols.”

Lohen stared at him for a long beat, a predatory smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Worried? About me? Well that’s a first. Consider me touched, Ekbert.”

Without another word, Lohen kicked the door wide, the lantern light from inside spilling out to illuminate the nightmare within. Ekbert’s breath hitched, his gorge rising as his brain struggled to process the figure chained to the bedframe.

It was you.

The Recon scout. The one they’d combed the entire region for. But you were practically unrecognizable like this—stripped bare, your body a roadmap of silver scars and fresh, weeping nicks that hinted at a violent history. A thick roll of gauze was wrapped tight around your neck, stained at the edges with the copper of your surrender.

But it was the sound you made that truly broke Ekbert’s spirit.

“L-Lohen... where’d you go?” you slurred, your head lolling back as you looked past the doorway with pupils blown wide and glassy. You didn’t even seem to see Ekbert; your entire world had narrowed down to the monster in the indigo coat. “Don’t stop... please... come back and make me feel good again. I’ll be good, I promise...”

Ekbert stepped back, his hand trembling as it went to the hilt of his sword. “Vice Captain... what have you done to her?”

Lohen didn’t look at you; he kept his gaze on the horrified knight, a perverse sort of amusement dancing in his eyes. “Just doing my job; wringing intel from a Snezhnayan spy. She’s been quite stubborn about her secrets, but I’m nothing if not patient. Only took a few weeks for her to finally give a detailed account of the Tsaritsa’s plans moving forward. Though, I feel like there’s still more to uncover.”

Not letting Ekbert stew in the shock of finding out one of their comrades was actually Fatui scum, Lohen reached into his belt and pulled out one of his gleaming daggers.

“You’re just in time actually. She’s finally starting to learn her place,” Lohen purred, his voice dropping into a silky, inviting tone. He stepped aside, inviting the younger knight into the room filled with the scent of blood and sex.

Then, he held out the weapon hilt-first to Ekbert.

“Care to join us?”

✦ afterword. rip to ekbert, the unsuspecting npc i picked out of favonius keep to also indirectly torture in this fic. you are a brave soldier, you! if you made it this far, congratulations. you deserve a round of dandelion wine on the house. will i pull for lohen when he comes out? probably not, but he is very amusing to write for, seeing as he's like childe without adderall LOL please be kind to me, this is the first time i've written smth like this BSHDBSHGBDF t_t

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.

𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞.

Loving indulgence: tries to stay on a balanced diet, but you mainly see him a few times a week. He’s always first in line if you’re selling your homemade strawberry tarts. Love how you offer gluten-free or non dairy options for your customers.

Melts like chocolate: Riddle tries to stay proper with you, but the two of you have grown closer after his overblot. Whenever he fixes a crooked part of your attire, he melts when you say, “Thanks, darlin’.”

Relaxing baking sessions: when you feel he’s needed a break from staring at a textbook all day, you drag him to your kitchen, and the two of you bake fresh batches of heart-shaped strawberry tarts.

𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐲.

Soft spot in the baker’s heart: he finds your enthusiasm so endearing. He can’t help but laugh whenever you bust into the Heartslabyul kitchen and ramble everything to him while giving him a gripping hug. Seeing you smile highlights his day even if your flirty actions make him flustered.

Sharing recipes: The two of you swap and share recipes with each other. You always tell stories of your hometown and your friend named Tiana, but you call her Tia. You’ve shared some of your favorite sweets, like beignets, and it makes him feel more connected to you.

Unconfirmed parents: everyone in Heartslabyul loved when Trey baked, but when you and him bake together? Oh, they swear they are in heaven. You love playing hostess and making sure everyone is loving what you made.

𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫.

Matches your energy: Oh, how he adores you; your bubbly smile and fast-paced personality keep him on his toes. Wherever you call him “sugar,” he’ll respond with “cutie” or something equally as adorable.

Selfies: Your desserts have become a hit on his magicam, so whenever he visits your bakery, he makes sure to take plenty of selfies with you. Sometimes he works at your bakery as a waiter and has gotten you and him matching aprons.

Gossip, xoxo: frosting cupcakes and hearing the latest gossip with him is always a treat. Your commentary makes him laugh, and he feels that he can smile freely with you, not the one he shows for the cameras.

𝐃𝐞𝐮𝐜𝐞.

Stuttering sweet: Deuce is so flustered around you. Your classy pink attire, with your friendly demeanor, makes him just want to straighten his posture just looking upon you. He feels he has to be the most upstanding gentleman, but his clumsiness creeps up on him. You love it, though. Whenever you finish buying ingredients from Sam’s shop, he always makes sure to carry your bags, wanting to be useful for you.

Delinquent moments: If Deuce is visiting your bakery and someone has the nerve to skip the line, it’s over. He strictly loathes people who go and do such a thing, tempted to use his fist to make the person go to the back of the line. Only calms down with a cheek kiss from you and an “I sense you feel fiery today, darlin’.”

Baking classes: He’s not the best in the kitchen, but he tries, and you appreciate it. On some weekends you teach him how to make easy-access desserts. Most of them are microwave-only recipes, but baby steps.

𝐀𝐜𝐞.

Salty but sweet: whenever he tries your desserts, he always likes to act like a food critic. For instance, you baked him a lemon pie and he claimed the flavor was so sour it left stings on his tongue. That’s a lie, and you and he both know it.

Tart thief: This boy really thinks he can come in your bakery and not pay. Tries to pull the “best friend card,” but you need money because Crowley only gives you 5 thaumarks a month. Every time he tries to sneakily take a strawberry tart, you sneak up behind him and send chills down his spine with your sweet voice.

Stuck like sweet jelly: acts like he doesn’t need your help but does. When he tries to make a dessert from your recipe book, he sometimes mixes up the measurements or forgets ingredients because he’s too busy bickering with Deuce. Your words snapped him out of his taunt when you interjected, “Don’t forget to measure the amount of vanilla extract puddin.”

⋮ Savannaclaw ── .✦

જ⁀➴ Your lovable distant bastards who are protective of you, and frequent customers of your sweets.

𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐚.

Sticky like taffy: his cynical and sarcastic nature paired with your bubbly and witty demeanor makes you two quite the pair. Grumbles when you rush into the botanical garden exclaiming, “oh darlin? Did you hear the news ?!” He later wakes up to soft kisses on his neck, and the gleaming playfulness of your face.

Bakery naps: Leona has napped almost everywhere in your bakery. Your chairs, couch, armchairs, even the floor with pillows. Ruggie gets a kick seeing the prince of Sunset Savanna sleeping soundly in a bright pink and gold bakery. Your constant check ins on him make him grumble but you know he loves it Daily interaction: Leona sleeping on your bakery floor with just a pink pillow. You, talking to concerned customers: oh he’s fine! Right sugar ? <33 Leona: grumbles You: told you !

Covered truths: Leona is a frequent customer at your bakery , but mostly it’s to nap and playfully tease you. However sometimes you notice him buying a box of your desserts, and claims it’s for the Spelldrive club. While Leona may never admit it out loud, he only agrees to do those club bakery runs so he can see you.

𝐑𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐞.

Cunning but shy: his hyena nature seeps through and he gets rather shy around you. You noticed that sometimes when you have handed him his dessert orders, his ears shoot up slightly before avoiding eye contact with you. But once he gets comfortable, the teasing soon starts, but his small blush remains.

Your fav helper: Ruggie needs that money and you need more help around the bakery as it has grown popular. He mainly works in the back frosting the cakes, cupcake, and baking the cookies but sometimes you have him out on the floor to check on the customers.

Freebies: loves doing part time shifts with you, not just because of your company but because you give home free delights. For his birthday you surprised him with a dozen beignets, and now he might have to a new favorite besides donuts.

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤.

Actually a teddy bear: he stands in the line looking stern, but your bubbly energy does put a small smile on his face. He was immediately taken aback when you called him “sugar” but finds it endearing once he realizes it’s your way of showing affection. Lowkey is pouty that you call everyone that though.

Adorable handyman: his tail wags whenever you ask for his assistance. Whether it’s carrying heavy boxes of new decor or heavy bags of flour, Jack is always ready to lend a hand. You playfully fanning about how strong he is makes his ears perk up and his tail wag while he tries to conceal his blushing face.

Gifts of sweet delights: when he needs a break from his competing dorm he goes out and seeks you for a small baking session. Your soft chats and guidance is calming to him. With your help, he was able to make a batch of pear caramel cupcakes, and you two enjoy having the first bite together.