✶ kt

Sure, the world building seemed intimidating. Overblots, dark romance, whatnot . . but you just wanted an itsy-bitsy piece of the guilty pleasure, nothing more, nothing less. It wasn’t everyday you stumbled upon a game with ridiculously well-crafted and deep characters, after all.

Well . . . now you have no purpose whatsoever, and you mean that in a philosophical sense. Before Yuu, the story goes as follows. You, the nameless villainess, were the only girl in Night Raven, naturally, somewhere in the developer's office, someone decided the pinnacle of storytelling was making two girls hate each other's guts.  It’s a concept you don’t like, even more so when all the odds are stacked against you, and sometimes it even gets tiring, because the pre-determined  dialogue and choices set for Yuu give them a somewhat timid appearance. Grow a backbone! There is an insane power imbalance, you see — and of course they’re going to need extra protection from all their knights in shining armor.

The greatest odd against you, however, is the dorm that’s been chosen for you. 

Knock, knock, knock!

Knuckles drumming against the door, you are roused from your sleep. Bright, lambent sunlight seeps in from the windows, the peak wherein your room’s inundated with a glow so much like a cherub’s tear, attacking your eyes and reminding you, you have no business being up at the ass crack at dawn.

Unless . .  

Title Unlocked — Headless Maiden.

You died! Riddle wanted it to be off with your head. Shame he took it so literally. 

You died again.

You recoil. Images. Images are what you see. A gaggle of memories flooding your brain, crimson’s brutish spread meandering down the crucible of your throat in sprays. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt. And it still hurts, a burn so real you realize a scream thrashes at the apex of your tongue until it blurs into a half-choked sob of misery, where your hands are coaxed towards your esophagus, trying to alleviate the sharp phantom’s touch. You have sprung upright, and the bed creaking beneath the sudden weight reminds you someone is still knocking at your door, the door to your room, the room where you’ve died so many times..

The room that’s now stripped of everything. 

Everything is white, as is every respawn. Every single trinket, achievement or personal belonging has now been reset, making you stare at a swathe of the sort of white you’d find in hospitals or an asylum’s padded room. No!  You’d worked so hard at Crisp ‘n dips trying to afford that one lipstick, and now it’s all gone. Every single thing you’d worked your bones off for are nowhere to be seen, thrown into the system’s savage bin, and once again, you suppress a bitter laugh from bubbling over, they truly spare you no pity. 

“Miss?”

Miss. That’s what they call you here. Miss, because you have no name attached to you. Shuffling off your bed and realizing just how enervated you must look, you slowly open the door, peaking through the gap. 

Luckily, it’s just a second year. 

“Housewarden Schoenheit wants everyone to be up and ready. Take a shower, trim your nails, iron your orientation robes.. And—er..”

“And make sure not a single strand is overlooked.”

“Yes, that’s right!”

Your respawn point is orientation. Well, before it. Due to such unadulterated generosity, you are given a few hours of respite before all hell breaks loose and takes you up into its flames. 

A few hours. 

You gave up on the flunkers, went to bed, and ditched them to partner with Ortho, because at least the little Shroud had the decency to cheat through his metalworks and not a way that will result in anemones on your head. You also don’t trust any other first year to cast a spell on you with a ten-foot wand. Robot and the magicless twink. Easy A by default. 

Now, with Professor Crewel pacing at the front of the room and the whole class lined up for the practical portion of the test, Ace and Deuce were standing together with matching expressions of undeserved confidence. That’s fine. Every idiot needs to get knocked on their ass once in a while to remember it hurts. 

“Alright, you two,” Crewel said sharply, flicking his whip once against his palm. “Your assigned spell is a simple exchange transference. One casts, the other stabilizes. If you cannot manage that, then perhaps you should both be wearing bibs and sitting at the kiddie table.”

Ace’s grin turned a little strained. Deuce straightened up like he had just been personally challenged by the concept of failure.

You leaned toward Ortho, muttering, “How long do you think they’ll hold it for?.”

Ortho tilted his head. “Ah. One moment – according to my calculations, they have a 36% chance of success!”

“Peachy.” Your eyes rolled, though a hint of worry tucked into your tone.

Ace rolled his shoulders and gave Deuce a look. “Okay, this is easy. We swap spots, we don’t explode, and then we get to rub it in Housewarde’s face…”

Deuce nodded far too hard. “Right. Simple. Clean. Efficient.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You guys sound like a pair of raccoons trying to operate a microwave.”

Ace pointed a finger at you without looking away from Deuce. “See? That. That attitude is why we’re the strongest group in this room.”

“Please,” you said, popping open a sour gummy from your back pocket. “I could knock both of you over with a strong breeze.”

To prove your point, you took in a breath and blew at Ace’s face. Even at a distance his nose scrunched up. 

“Focus, mangey pups!” Crewel snapped his whip, and the room went quiet.

Ace lifted his wand. Deuce did the same.

A thin, shimmering circle of magic bloomed between them, wobbling like a bad reflection in water. For one brief second, it actually looked like they might manage it.

Then Ace smirked.

Deuce frowned. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“That’s exactly what someone who did something wrong would say.”

“Bitch.”

Crewel’s eye twitched. “Language, Trappola – Both of you, stop yammering and cast already.”

They tried. You had to give them that. 

The spell pulsed once, bright and unstable, and the air in the classroom suddenly hissed like a live wire. Papers lifted off desks. The chalkboard rattled. Your hair blew back from your face as the magic snapped tighter and tighter between them.

“Uh,” Ace said, his grin finally gone, “is it supposed to do that?”

“No,” Deuce said, voice climbing an octave. “I do not think that is supposed to do that.”

Crewel’s whip cracked against the floor. “Fix it. Now.”

You started to rise, already reaching out, but the circle between Ace and Deuce collapsed inward with a violent flash.

There was a loud pop.

Then they were gone.

“Oh for fuck’s sake! Someone get a stretcher because I’m gonna rip those two from their buttcheeks to their eyeballs later!” 

–

The first thing Ace did when he came to was swear loudly enough to make his own ears ring.

The second thing was slap at the floor, a wall, and then Deuce’s shoulder all in the same motion before finally managing to sit up.

“Agh! This is the last time I partner with you for anything, Juice?! Hear me?!” 

“It’s Deuce! For the final time you asshole, it’s Deuce!” 

They were in a living room.

A nice one, too. Not fancy in the way of a wealthy noble house or one of those museum-looking estates Heartslabyul liked to show off with, but lived-in. Warm. Familiar in a way that made Ace’s stomach do a weird, uneasy flip. 

Mainly because he doesn’t recognize a thing and they were clearly trespassing on someone’s property. Great. A failed test and made criminals in one day? Fucking fantastic. 

Sunlight came in through the front windows. The curtains were half-drawn. A couch sat in front of a low coffee table littered with books, a charging cable, and what looked suspiciously like a half-empty bag of dried fruit snacks. There was a blanket tossed over one arm of the sofa like someone had abandoned it mid-nap.

Deuce moved first, crossing the room in quick, tense steps. He reached the window and carefully pulled the curtain back with two fingers.

Then he went still.

Ace frowned. “What?”

Deuce stared out for a long second before letting the curtain fall back into place. His face had gone pale in a way Ace did not like at all.

“That’s…” Deuce swallowed thickly. “This is Crimson City! We somehow got sent to the Queendom!”

Deuce pointed, not even bothering to hide how shaken he was now. “Don’t you remember from Riddle-Senpai and Trey-Senpai’s pictures?! Look! We’re right by the town square that’s not too far from where they grew up.”

Ace pushed himself up and looked out the other side of the curtain. Sure enough, the road outside was familiar. There was the plaza Trey talked about when they first asked where he knew Chen’ya from Royal Sword Academy. Ace was shocked Deuce remembered, but then again he clung to anything their upperclassmen said like a toddler at storytime. 

If Ace shoved his head out the window, he might be able to see Clover bakery or catch the eye of the police department. The latter would be of big use to get them both back to campus in one piece. 

Though, as he let the curtain fall back, Ace had a gut feeling that it couldn’t be that easy. 

“Somethin’ isn’t adding up. I just…can’t pinpoint what.” 

Ace turned back to the empty room, counting his blessings that whoever lived here wasn’t home. They just needed to find a key out. Fast. He ran towards the front door and made to look for the lock, yet balked in the face of a STYX keypad staring him in the face. 

Upon closer look, it’s the same kind of lock Ace knew Idia Shroud had installed on Ramshackle’s front door. He wanted to test the code you set for some reason, but these things are the kind that alert the owner of a failed attempt. He better not. 

“What the hell? Why’s there something so high-grade in an old house like this?” Deuce pokes over his shoulder, gripping Ace’s shoulder like he didn’t know his own strength. Ace pried Deuce’s hand off, his mind wondering the same thing as he turned to survey their domestic prison. 

No sign of whoever lived here having left more than a minute ago. There were shoes by the door, a cardigan slung over the back of a dining chair, and a charging pad on the counter with a phone sitting on it.

Deuce looked like he was about ten seconds from pissing himself. Which would be funny in any other situation. “We shouldn’t be in here, man. My permanent record can’t handle a B & E charge!”

“Yeah, no shit. Just shut up and let me think.”

Ace wandered forward, dragging a hand through his hair. His eyes kept catching on little things. A mug with a chipped handle. A stack of mail. A bowl on the kitchen counter full of wrapped candies. The decor felt familiar. A glance in the bowl showed a mix of cinnamon disks, sour gummies, and milk chews. His jaw set. 

Then he settled on the fireplace mantle, and more importantly, the photos and trinkets lined up atop it. A staple for any normal Queendom home, really. 

Deuce seemed to have the same thought only sooner, having beat Ace there. He stood dead still in front of something hand hovering over as if touching it would burn him. 

Ace squinted.

Medals.

A whole row of them, sitting there in neat little frames or on hooks with their ribbons carefully straightened. Some looked old. Some looked newer. All of them were the kind of medals you only got from Blastcycle racing.

Deuce made a strangled noise. “No way.”

Ace stepped in for a closer look. 

One of the medals had a tiny engraved plaque beneath it, the name ‘SPADE’ etched next to first place.

“These are mine,” Deuce said, voice barely above a whisper, “B-but this isn’t my house? I…I stored these away under my bed back at home when I decided to stop street racing. Why are they here?” 

Ace was about to answer when he caught a glimpse down the nearest hallway. His mouth went dry. 

His guitar. Specifically the electric hand-me-down he got from his brother back when he tried to impulse learn to impress a girl in middle school. 

Hanging up neatly, strung on the wall like it was a piece of decor instead of the old beat-up thing he knew. It had the same chipped edge on the body. Same worn strings. Same tiny scratch near the neck from the time he’d dug his nails in and chipped the varnish. 

Before Ace could admit to owning such a sad piece, he heard Deuce gasp and was ripped from that nostalgic feeling. His partner in crime moved onto examining the photos mounted on the walls and was eyeing them like he was stuck in some low-production telenova. 

He came to see what the big hullabaloo was and was met with your face staring back at him. Whomever owned this house either knew you or was a stalker – because how else would they come to have a picture of you when Ace had to fight tooth and nail just for a selfie? Damn gremlin. 

Though…the longer he stared, the less it looked like the you he knew and someone else entirely. He wonders who convinced you to sit poised for a hand-painted portrait. 

….Draconia, maybe. Though he doubts Malleus lives in a townhome in briar valley. 

Ace moves on to the picture Deuce couldn’t seem to tear away from and nearly chokes on his own spit. 

You again. Of course. Though not you at the same time. He recognizes Night Raven’s graduate regalia by nature, but the photo’s context is clear as you’re proudly polishing a rolled-up diploma.

And next to you – on either side – ? Ace. Deuce. Brandishing their own diplomas with an arm thrown over your shoulders. 

Deuce made a noise that sounded like his soul had briefly left his body.

Ace stared at the photo for one beat longer, then looked sideways at him. “Why are you making that face?”

Deuce pointed at the frame with a hand that was suddenly not very steady. “D-do you think we got transported to Yuu’s world? They look so much like their mother…oh hell! How are we going to get home?!”

Ace blinked, because what? 

Then promptly slapped Deuce upside the head. 

“Do you even hear yourself right now?”

Ace didn’t wait for Deuce to blow up or get defensive. 

“First of all,” he said, deadpan, “We’re in Crimson City. Second? That is a picture of us, you dolt. Have you ever met Yuu’s mom? Huh? Unless she’s a mage capable of crossing dimensions like her whacko kid then I don’t think so!.”

Deuce’s expression went blank. Ace couldn’t fault him for grasping at straws but he wasn’t in the mood. 

Ace pointed at the picture. “Third, that is Yuu. You know. The person whose voice you would recognize if they called you from inside a trash can.”

Deuce squinted at the frame again, still not fully convinced. “How can you be sure?”

Ace made a helpless motion toward the whole photo arrangement like the answer should be obvious to anyone with functioning eyeballs. “Because that is literally the same face they make when they are about to say something that will ruin my day. I bet five madol this was taken moments before prime bitch-craft.”

“And you know what this means?” Ace continued, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“What?” 

Seven, why is it that today Yuu kept their shared braincell. 

The next photo sat beside the graduation one.

It’s a picture of the house’s front steps, matching the view from outside the window. The two of them grinning like idiots, each holding one half of a key ring, with you standing between them and holding Grim in your arms.

“We’re in the future, dumbass! We didn’t just get sent to the Queendom, but another time!” 

Ace tried really hard not to think further, because if they went into the future…then what? Is this another timeline? God, does future you keep your fridge stocked with beer? He needs a drink. 

“N-no way! Are you serious?!” Deuce freaked, moving to the next picture. A photo of Grim with his face stuffed full of dried nori, paws on the table, looking like a tiny criminal caught mid-heist.

Ace snorted before he could stop himself. “And there’s our little menace.”

Taped beside it was a handwritten note in neat, familiar-looking script. Not a formal label. Just a date and a little heart…which was set nearly ten years ahead. Deuce pulled his phone out to double check and only then did the reality settle in. 

Ace found the last picture on the wall.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

It was all three of you on the couch.

The two of them—older them, future them, whatever the hell this was—were kissing your cheeks. Not pecking them. Not leaning in awkwardly for a skit. Not some blurry, accidental motion caught mid-frame.

Full-on, obvious, shameless cheek kisses. One on each side, both of them looking pleased with themselves in the exact kind of smug, annoying way Ace knew he himself would absolutely make if given the opportunity. Meanwhile you’re grinning from ear to ear and not trying to murder the cameraman for getting you in frame.

Ace made a face so disgusted it could have curdled milk, burning his burning cheeks in his collar. Deuce went rigid so fast it looked like somebody had yanked a wire through his spine. 

“Fuck! Ugh. Gross. My eyes! My eyes are gonna melt off!”

For a second, Ace realizes he sounds far too much like you and guts himself even further. 

Deuce ignored him, still fixed on the photo like he could will it to make sense if he stared hard enough. The older versions of them looked so comfortable there it was unsettling. 

Like this was normal. Like this was one tiny piece of a much bigger life they had somehow already lived.

Ace narrowed his eyes at the frame. “Who keeps a picture like this on the wall?”

“Them,” Deuce said automatically, then looked troubled by his own answer. He referred to his future self as another entity. All three of them, side-eyeing Ace for his reaction. The two shared a look that barely lasted a split second, before Ace broke it and started down the hallway. 

Deuce braced to be tugged along, maybe with another barb, but Ace merely gestured for him to follow as if touch was too much. Both boys walked the path carefully, keeping an intentional foot between them. Nothing more was said as they entered the first room available, yet didn’t need to be. 

Clearly there were some…developments. 

They come up to the office. Nothing fancy at first glance, though highly organized. Nothing like the chaos of their dorm room or the dilapidated state of Ramshackle. Whomever worked here clearly liked their things put together. 

Desk. Floor lamp. Sofa for visitors. Yet another candy bowl. The computer that Ace was itching to dig through now that he knew the password would be something he could guess. Maybe. 

On the wall furthest from the door were the same diplomas from the graduation picture. Ace recognizes his own John Hancock – he never learned why you call signatures that, but would have to ask – along with Deuces. 

He comes up on the third hanging scroll and his stomach does a twist. Each student who graduates from Night Raven comes out with a specialization from their fourth year of study.

The name scrawled on this Diploma is not one he recognizes. Their internship in Psychology. Huh. 

“You know who this is, man?” Ace tests the name on his tongue. 

Deuce moved closer to the psychology degree, squinting at the name beneath it. “No. I can’t say I know anyone from our school with that name.”

“Neither do I,” Ace said, already walking to the desk. “But I hate them already. Ten years and we still have three roommates? This future sucks.”

The lie comes easy. He just didn’t like the idea of a fourth…roommate. That’s not how he imagined their situation turning out. 

He dropped into the chair, hit the power button on the computer, and watched the screen wake with a bright little lockscreen. That name sat in the corner, clean and unfamiliar, and it pissed him off even more. His chances of guessing the password just nose dived. Ace narrowed his eyes at it, then started trying every password that came to mind, from obvious dates to guesses so dumb they counted as insults. 

Ace typed another guess, then another, jaw tightening when the screen refused to budge. He was midway through a third, increasingly petty attempt when the front door opened somewhere behind them.

Both boys froze.

Then a voice drifted in from the entryway, clear and familiar enough to make Ace’s stomach drop.

“Ace? Deuce?Is anyone else home?”

For one stupid, suspended second, neither of them reacted. Then they looked at each other, wide-eyed and silent, and slowly, carefully, both poked their heads out of the office doorway.

–

You stood in the entryway toeing off your shoes, one hand full of grocery bags, the other already dragging a little at your lower back to support yourself while balancing upright. Your hair was shorter now, cut to your chin in a way that made you look sharper around the face, and your voice—when you muttered something under your breath about the shoe rack—hit his ears with that same sassy pitch, just richer, worn in around the edges after a long day judging by the curses spoken under your breath. 

Ace’s brain made a sound somewhere between a screech and a system error.

Then his eyes dropped to the way you moved, slow and careful, belly rounded enough that there was no polite way to pretend not to notice it.

Oh.

Oh, fuck. 

You were pregnant.

Ace had exactly half a second to process that before Deuce came barreling past him like a helpful golden retriever and immediately took the grocery bags from your arms.

You blinked at him, then at Ace, and for one brief moment the three of you just stared at each other like the universe had launched a brick through the window. 

“Why are you guys brats?!”

“What the fuck?!” 

Both yourself and Ace shrieked at the same time. Deuce’s shoulders drew up to his ears at the volume as he stumbled, swerved not to hit your stomach, and whacked his knee on the doorframe. 

Ace paid Deuce’s cries no mind. “How are we here? What is going on? Explain the pictures on the walls, explain why you’re—” his hand gestured wildly at your stomach, because subtlety had clearly died in this timeline, “—like four sizes bigger than I know you?! What the hell is going on!”

You stared at him.

Then, without warning, you stepped forward and smacked both him and Deuce upside the head in one quick, practiced motion.

“Both of you get your dirty ass sneakers off my carpet, ya heathens!” 

Operating on pure instinct, having heard those same words back at Ramshackle, both boys practically jump out of their shoes. Deuce was a bit more sluggish as he nursed his knee and head. 

“Can you guys stop hitting me today?” 

“We will if you stop being yourself,” Ace joshed, though with more bite than intended as he helped Deuce balance by his elbow. 

You’d taken the chance to collect your bags and sidestep them both, stress across your brow but not enough to bite your tongue. 

You exhaled through your nose, eyes sweeping over both of them like you were taking inventory. “God, you’re both as loud as ever. Remind me to gift you matching muzzles for our anniversary.”

Ace narrowed his eyes, choosing not to ask. “That’s not an answer to any of my questions.”

“No,” you said, deadpan, “it really isn’t, but it’s the only one you’re getting until you stop acting like feral animals in our foyer.”

“Our foyer?” Ace repeated, skeptical?

You pointed at the hall, then at the office, then at the living room, each gesture sharp and certain. “Yes. My house. My foyer. My grocery bags. My very unfortunate afternoon, it seems.”

Deuce, bless him, looked like he might actually be trying to help. “S-should we put these away?”

You gave him a look that softened by a fraction. “Thank you. Please. Kitchen counter.”

Deuce nodded and disappeared into the kitchen with the bags.

Ace stayed where he was, still staring at you, trying to put your face, your voice, the photos, the office, and the very uhm - round - state of your body into a shape that made sense. He wasn’t an idiot but this is a lot for a guy who only had some jellybeans for breakfast to process. It didn’t help that you were eyeing him with that same scrutiny, though like looking at a memory rather than a prospect. 

You watched him watch you, then sighed.

“All right,” you said. “Dinner first. Questions later. You two are helping me make spaghetti.”

Ace blinked. “What?”

You already turned toward the kitchen. “Spaghetti. With cut-up hot dogs. Because someone,” and here you gave him a long, pointed glare over your shoulder, “spent the grocery budget on a new muffler for his car.”

Ace’s mouth fell open. “I didn’t! Well - uh, me? This me didn’t! God, does this mean you’re gonna be nagging me for my whole life?!”

“You’re lucky I love you enough in the future not to throw that car at your head, Trappola.”

Deuce made an audible choking sound from the kitchen, and Ace glared in that direction on principle before following you in.

The kitchen looked lived in too, cluttered in a way that made the house feel real instead of staged. A pot sat on the stove. A carton of eggs on the counter. A half-read manga near the sink.

Ace leaned against the counter while you moved around it with familiar ease, like you’d done this exact routine a thousand times. Deuce, meanwhile, filled a pot with water and kept shooting confused little glances between the two of you like he was trying to solve a puzzle without the picture on the box. 

Ace’ll have to explain later. Like usual. 

You noticed both of them staring and rolled your eyes.

“What?”

Ace shrugged. “You’re weird. This is weird. You should be freaking out and you’re not. I’m waiting for you to turn the knife on me.”

You snorted. “That’s rich coming from you.Luckily I’m not feeling very stabby today.”

He should have answered with something smart, but then you looked over at him with that same old expression he knew from the present—half fond, half exasperated, entirely capable of turning into a threat—and his brain tripped over itself again.

Deuce wasn’t fairing any better, unable to keep from looking at your stomach so he busied to help wherever you needed. Ace took to setting the table, not missing you call him lazy as he parked himself at the spot closest to the exit. You look at him like you have a joke on the tip of your tongue but let it go. 

Damn. Self-control? Maybe he likes this version of you better. 

The silence between the four walls felt strangely domestic for something that started with a magical mishap and a disappearance.

By the time they sat down, Ace was still waiting for the punchline.

You took the first bite and, to his surprise, looked almost wistful.

“This is nice,” you said.

Ace glanced up. “Nice?”

You nodded, eyes flicking between the two of them. “I miss seeing you both this young. Ace, with your mid-ass haircut. Deuce, my sweet summersunshine sweet tea with no social awareness.”

Deuce nearly dropped his fork.

Ace almost choked on his spaghetti.

You rested your chin in one hand and looked at them with maddening calm. “News flash, by the way. You do not get more tolerable with age.”

Ace scowled. “Wow.”

“Bet,” you added, and now your mouth tipped into something warmer, “but you’re still cute.”

Deuce went red immediately. Ace sat there for a full second, frozen, then looked away to check his hair in the reflection of his fork.

Across the table, they both exchanged one of those silent looks they’d perfected over a year of understanding each other too well. Ace caught the moment everything clicked in place for Deuce, when all the little unspoken aligned and he blushed from the ears down. 

Stay delulu, Deuce. Let your dreams fly high, as you’d say.

What they could be in the present, what they would become in the future…if this was the right timeline. 

Though a question still clung to the back of Ace’s mind that made these hotdogs taste like rancid socks soaked in pineapple juice. 

He lifted his eyes to you.

“I got one question that I want answered,” he said slowly, because the thought was too ridiculous to speak in one go and also because his face was getting hot for reasons he refused to think. He made little finger quotes around the word when he finally forced it out. “This whole… “situation” thing. Is there another person? I wanna know who.”

The name back on the psychology diploma. It was nagging his jealous bone, sue him.

Deuce kicked him under the table.

Ace shot him a look. “What? I’m asking.”

You blinked, genuinely confused. “Uh. No?”

Ace narrowed his eyes. “No?”

You leaned back in your chair. “Were you simping for somebody else back then that I didn’t know about?”

Deuce made a strangled noise and kicked Ace again, harder this time, as if body language alone could save them from this conversation.

Ace ignored him and tipped his chin toward the office. “Then explain the psychology diploma in your office. Who’s the name? Someone we know or are going to know?”

You went very still.

For half a second, the only sound in the kitchen was the weak hiss of a pop can cracking and the clink of Deuce’s fork against his plate.

Then you barked a laugh, sudden and delighted and way too amused by their suffering.

“Oh,” you said, wiping at the corner of one eye. “That.”

Ace’s suspicion sharpened instantly. “That, what?”

You shook your head, still grinning. “There is no  fourth person. Legit, I can barely handle both of you and you think I have the patience for another? Relax your jelly gene. If you want to know who owns that diploma, ask my younger self when you get back home.”

Wow. You’re really just as – 

The front door opened.

Grim’s voice rang out through the house. “Yuu! Are you still alive, or did you finally sit down and get stuck in the recliner again?”

Ace barely turned before the cat himself appeared in the kitchen doorway, eyes narrowing immediately at the sight of the two boys before he recognized them. 

Then, with a soft pop and a burst of magic that smelled faintly like burnt ozone, both boys vanished from their chairs in the middle of the room. 

“Welp,” you lean back, taking a drag from your soda “guess that’s the end of younger me’s trauma. Grim? Are they back yet – ” 

Que a thump followed by two familiar groans. 

Lilia tried to talk to him about it. Get him to make a move so his son can be happy. Totally not because he’s excited for potential grandbabies

Anyways

Silver dismissed his father’s proposal of setting the two of you up for a date. He said that he wasn’t sure if you even liked him back, thinking you probably liked one of your first year friends due to your closeness with them.

Which almost made Lilia laugh

ALMOST

It’s painfully obvious of your relationship with those two heartslabyul guys. He once heard you say how you view them as siblings, which made him cackle from seeing the reactions of your two friends who looked absolutely mortified. Leaving you confused on why the older fae found it funny.

But that was during the first few months of you being here, after that the duo started seeing you as a very close friend/sister.

ANYWAYS ENOUGH OF THAT

Lilia is sick and absolutely TIRED of seeing his son sulk and love you from afar. Trust me he’s seen his son stare at you like a divorced man that fumbled his beautiful ex wife and wants her back. So he’s going to finally take matters into his own hands and start setting up plans and ways to get you and his son together. (And maybe also pray to the great sevens for extra measures)

-

“In the count of three, we all show our results”

“One…”

“Two…”

“Three!!” You all turn your papers around and stare at your scores. You visibly cringe at seeing your barely passing score. The loud noise from Ace made you turn around as you saw him jaw slacked. Staring at his own paper in horror.

“No way”

“This can’t be! I studied for weeks!” You patted deuce back gently. Feeling a bit bad for both of your friends.

“At least crewel is giving us a second chance to get a better score than the one we have!” You tell them. Ace slowly turns his head to face you, you smiled as you ignored his eye twitch.

“Second chance? Yeah no I’m screwed” You hear a loud thud come from your side, you turn to see deuce head on the table.

“We can’t have riddle find out about this…he’ll kill us and make us clean vorpal stables…” He slurs. You sigh and set your paper down.

“I wish I had someone to tutor me…”

And like a genie, Lilia appears out of nowhere.

Seriously, he just spawned out of nowhere.

“I know the perfect person!” The three of you scream.

“What the- Lilia?!” The fae ignores Ace as he beams at you.

“Why don’t you let my son tutor you? Silver is very good at history of magic! In fact, he scored a 100 on the recent test-”

He went on a full 30 minute rant about silver’s academic achievement as you, Ace, and deuce endured it all, much to silver's horror as he quickly came in and dragged Lilia away as he apologized with a red face.

But you did come to him and nervously asked if he could tutor you! (And he obviously said yes)

-

The next attempt happened when you were in Vargas class. You and epel were busy doing your daily stretches when vargas suddenly told everyone to partner up. Since you and epel were already together, the two of you decided to pair up.

Well imagine both of your surprise when you turn to hand Epel a broom only for you to bump straight into silvers chest.

“Oof!”

You look to see a very red faced and embarrassed silver while Epel was straight up confused on how he got to the other side of the field with a giddy Lilia next to him. Epel's eyes narrowed as he looked between you and silver before turning back to look at Lilia who was next to him. Again…how in the great sevens did he end up on the other side of the field?!

“I’m partnered with Epel! You and Silver get toget- uh partner up!” Lila shouts as he clutches onto the broom in his hands.

“But I was alrea-”

“Don’t ruin this for me”

-

The attempts went on for a while. From silver being your history of magic tutor to him showing you how to ride a horse, to then teaching you about the different animals twisted wonderland had, to-

Well, you get it.

Lilia noticed how much more his son started falling for you. The both of you sit together outside for lunch now, you’re busy talking about what went on with your day while silver just sits there quietly admiring you.

Lilia feels like shedding tears and already hears the sounds of wedding bells.

But after two weeks of trying to get his son to make a move, an old man gets tired eventually.

So now here he is, standing in the common room of diasomnia as he paces back and forth.

“I tried everything already! I love to see that the two grew closer BUT! I need silver to make a move already!”

Both sebek and malleus look puzzled. The two of them looked at each other before looking back at a stressed out Lilia who was busy ranting out his thoughts.

“Um, lil-”

“Not now sebek” The poor first year couldn’t do anything but sigh as he watched the older fae mumble.

Mallues clears his throat, Lilia looks over for a second before going back to his rambling, clearly letting the younger fae know he’s listening despite his situation.

“I’m surprised you’re stressing yourself out about young silver happy love life” Lilia pauses. He turns to mallues with a confused expression.

“Happy? I do-“ He gets cut off as the door to the common room bursts open. The three of then turn around to see a very happy and giggling silver and you as the two of you walk hand and hand.

Lilia jaw drop.

“W-when did this happen?”

“A month ago”

A MONTH?!

Mallues greets you both with a welcoming smile as sebek lets out a disappointed sigh.

“I tried to tell you Lilia-sama”

A loud thud echoes through the room as you all gasp.

“Father!”

“Oh no! Lilia are you okay?!”

The old fae has passed out. But the four of you didn’t miss the big ole smile he had on his face as he mumbled about his future quote on quote, “grandbabies”.

Having to move to another city to enroll in one of central Tokyo's most prestigious universities had never really been a problem. You adapted quickly to your part-time job at the ramen shop, where the kind owner also offered you a roof over your head. Before you even realized it, you found yourself sharing your days with a black cat who revealed the power tied to your soul.

Being a Persona user had brought both misfortune and precious moments into your life. Through it, you met other students burdened with the same fate, sharing the weight of your mistakes and the consequences of every decision together.

You had lived too much.

Well... in truth, you'd been given the chance to start over after a black carriage struck you one night while you were heading to a nearby laundromat, your laundry basket overflowing with clothes that needed washing.

Arriving in Twisted Wonderland wasn't all that different from your life in Tokyo. Once again, you had a talking cat by your side—one who caused far more trouble than he ever solved; an old man—considerably less trustworthy than the last one—who gave you a damp, dust-covered room to sleep in; and, of course, a group of friends who were just as troublesome as they were dear to you, whom you met only a few days after arriving in that strange new world.

Oh, and there were the Overblots, though they never truly frightened you. After your first battle against a monster in that long-abandoned mine, you discovered that the power still remained within you—and that you could still summon it, even in a world completely different from your own.

And naturally, the dorm leader fighting beside you noticed the majestic entity rising behind your back, nearly as massive as the Phantom looming behind the Overblot you were trying to stop. Yet despite its overwhelming presence, your expression remained perfectly calm.

Riddle

♡ The crimson leader was utterly astonished. While everyone else chose to run away and hide, selfishly protecting themselves, you stood your ground before the Overblot—one notoriously taller and far more dangerous than your small frame.

♡ He had faint, blurry memories of that very same expression you wore now before the Ink Lion: your narrowed gaze fixed unwaveringly on the target you were determined to stop. You were so resolute that not even Leona's deafening roar made you flinch.

♡ With the same determination, he took his place beside you, gripping his staff tightly, ready to fight at your side.

♡ Out of the corner of his eye, he couldn't help but notice how tightly you clutched the weapon you carried everywhere around the school under the excuse of it being for self-defense—and how your hands still trembled around the trigger. Riddle trusted that you would never hurt anyone with it.

♡ What he never expected was to see you raise it directly to your own head without the slightest hesitation after shouting, "Persona!"

♡ He barely had time to react, fear gripping him over whatever might happen next. His surprise only grew when blue flames burst forth, forcing him backward and halting his movements.

♡ His eyes lit up as an entity nearly as massive as Leona's Phantom emerged behind you, obeying every one of your commands without hesitation. He noticed how lost you seemed within yourself, yet even then, you never stopped worrying about the people around you.

♡ The moment the battle ended with you standing victorious, Riddle hurried to catch you in his arms before you could collapse to the ground. You had exhausted far too much energy, and your anxiety had consumed you beyond what your body could endure.

♡ Without a doubt, once you had fully recovered, the two of you would have a very long conversation about that "magic" you seemed to wield—and how deeply it was intertwined with your very soul.

Leona

♡ The lion had never been one to look after others. Yet, a part of himself quietly urged him to do just that. So when Azul's Overblot spiraled out of control, Leona was the one who chose to remain on the front lines and stop the prideful octopus.

♡ He never expected a mere herbivore—someone he barely knew and who was already causing him more trouble than he cared to deal with—to flatly refuse his order to leave. And while he wasn't about to turn down an extra pair of hands, what truly caught him off guard was the moment you drew the weapon that always rested at your right hip.

♡ What happened next was almost impossible to believe. Without the slightest hesitation, you raised the weapon, pulled the trigger with conviction, and shouted, "Persona!"

♡ Leona held his ground for as long as he could, keeping his eyes on you as blue flames engulfed your body, leaving only your glowing eyes visible. All he could hope was that, whatever this turned out to be, it wouldn't become a problem on the same scale as the Overblot.

♡ When he was finally able to look up, he found a grotesque-looking entity standing behind you. Despite its terrifying appearance, it seemed to acknowledge only your voice, obeying every command you gave without question as it mercilessly attacked the Overblot before it.

♡ His muscles tensed as he watched you issue each command with unwavering confidence and calm precision. You moved as though this was far from your first time doing something like this—a detail that certainly didn't escape the dorm leader's notice.

♡ Once everything had settled, Leona pulled you aside to a secluded spot so the two of you could talk about what he had just witnessed. Had you lied to them about who—or what—you really were?

♡ That was when you told him the story of your life before arriving in this world: how you had constantly fought to stop disasters caused by others, risking yourself to protect people while never expecting anything in return. Leona found himself at a loss for words. Even for someone who had grown up surrounded by magic, what you described sounded utterly unbelievable.

♡ Even so, he chose to stay by your side and help however he could. From what he had come to understand, the path you walked was one filled with danger—and he wasn't about to let you face it alone.

Azul

♡ The heart-wrenching scream that tore from your throat snapped him out of his thoughts. Azul had been so absorbed by the Overblot before him—and by the plan he was already devising—that he had barely noticed your presence behind him.

♡ The moment his eyes landed on you, he had to shield his face from the intense wave of scorching air radiating from your body. Through narrowed eyes, he watched as your school uniform transformed, changing before his very eyes while the blue flames surrounding you slowly faded away.

♡ He didn't even have the chance to speak before his pupils shrank. Without realizing it, he instinctively took a step back at the sight of the figure that had appeared behind you—an imposing entity that seemed to mirror your every movement.

♡ He remembered very little of what happened afterward; the memories were frustratingly blurred. But one thing he was absolutely certain of was that the graceful fighter before him was the very same prefect from another world.

♡ For weeks afterward, Azul couldn't get those events out of his mind, even after everyone else had stopped talking about them. As far as he understood, you didn't possess even a trace of magic. So then... how had you—

♡ After conducting an extensive investigation through methods that were... ethically questionable, yet remarkably effective, he finally decided to pay a visit to the abandoned dormitory. He had been fully prepared to strike any kind of contract if that was what it took to learn the truth behind what had happened that day.

♡ As it turned out, there was no need. The moment he arrived and asked his question, you simply invited him inside, and before he knew it, he was sitting in the dorm's lounge, quietly listening as you told him your story.

♡ He hadn't known you could speak so well with black cats, too. Though yours seemed considerably grumpier than Lucius.

Kalim

♡ Before anything else, Scarabia's sun thought only of protecting you from Jamil's Overblot—the very one he had unknowingly caused. Kalim knew you could take care of yourself, but what kind of person would he be if, once again, he let others bear the consequences of his own mistakes?

♡ Although he felt proud to hear you refuse to leave him to fight alone against the monster his right-hand man had become, worry gripped him once more as he watched you step forward to claim your place on the battlefield against the boy blinded by blot.

♡ He tried to pull you back and create some distance to keep you out of danger, but a powerful gust of wind erupted from your direction, pushing him back several feet. The force was so strong that he instinctively shielded his face and squeezed his eyes shut.

♡ When he finally opened them again, the world had been bathed in an eerie blue glow from the flames pouring out of your body. He noticed that your school uniform had changed, and that you were holding a mask tightly in your hand before slowly placing it over your face.

♡ What followed was a battle unlike anything he had ever witnessed, not even in the most fantastical movies. The entity standing behind you mirrored your every movement with unwavering precision, obeying each of your commands without the slightest hesitation. Kalim could only stare in stunned amazement, his mouth hanging open at the unbelievable sight unfolding before his eyes.

♡ And of course, once everything had finally settled down, Kalim wasted no time visiting your dorm to ask what had happened and what all of that had been. If you were Overblotting as well, then you needed to tell him as soon as possible so he could find you help before you ended up like the others.

♡ A few weeks later, when things had finally calmed down, Kalim couldn't help telling everyone just how incredible you had been in battle—while doing his best to keep your secret safe.

Vil

♡ The leader of Pomefiore had heard about your achievements against the previous Overblots that had occurred at the school, but no matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't understand how a human with no trace of magic could possess enough strength to stand against the black blot.

♡ It wasn't until he was personally caught up in the battle against Idia that he finally realized why. You never backed down—instead, you rushed headfirst into the fight without a hint of fear.

♡ Vil didn't stop you when you hurried to fight alongside him, though his curiosity wasn't enough to let him allow you to put yourself in more danger than you could handle. His wand remained at the ready, prepared to strike the moment it became necessary.

♡ The deafening crash, accompanied by your piercing scream, was what finally made him react.

♡ You looked like something straight out of a movie scene. No special effects could ever compare to how magnificent the blue flames looked as they engulfed you.

♡ And then he understood your power when he saw the entity standing behind you. It resembled the Phantoms he had only ever read about in ancient magic books, yet it also seemed far more subdued and sorrowful than any of them.

♡ Some time later, once peace had returned, the dorm leader summoned you to the library. You found him waiting beside a small stack of books, all of them about the Phantoms of his world, eager to learn more about the being that seemed so deeply connected to you.

♡ Everything finally made sense once you explained that it was tied to your soul and the way your mind worked.

♡ So that was why your Persona seemed so melancholic...

Idia

♡ For the love of the Great Seven, you had almost given him a heart attack. Right in the middle of the battle against Malleus's Overblot, he caught you pressing a gun to your temple—one he hadn't even realized you'd been carrying beneath your uniform vest this whole time.

♡ His fingers flew across his keyboard with the same speed he used to snag limited-edition merch online, desperately trying to stop whatever you were about to do. But your movements were faster.

♡ He barely had time to react when you shouted, "Persona!" An entity that looked like the final boss of a turn-based RPG materialized behind you, standing tall without a hint of fear.

♡ The battle ended before he could even process what had just happened. By the time he'd finally started piecing everything together, the Overblot had already vanished. Once life returned to something resembling normal, he asked to speak with you in private about what seemed to be something only he had noticed—everyone else was convinced that Idia himself had somehow programmed the Phantom.

♡ Wait... seriously? Everything you were telling him was actually real? This was a goldmine. Your story could become an entire RPG franchise. Hold on a second—he needed to grab his tablet before you continued so he could write down every single idea and anecdote you had.

♡ After the biggest scare of his life had finally worn off, the explanation you gave him about how every Phantom you could summon was tied to a different facet of your psyche completely captured his attention. It felt just like one of those games where you had to collect dozens of rare and unique companions to complete the entire roster.

♡ Oh, and of course, he was absolutely fascinated when you explained how the switching system between them actually worked.

♡ ...Are you absolutely sure he couldn't have one? You know... without having to risk his life every time he tried to summon it?

Malleus

♡ The dragon had encountered countless warriors who never feared battle, each possessing the courage that a seasoned fighter needed to keep under control in order to continue fighting with honor. But you... You were merely a human who refused to run from trouble, choosing instead to face it head-on without asking anyone for help.

♡ Needless to say, you had done more than simply catch his attention—you had awakened a deep curiosity within him. You were as fragile as any magicless human, and yet you hadn't taken even a single step back when the Overblot erupted right before your eyes.

♡ From your hip, you drew a weapon. Malleus watched with quiet anticipation, waiting to see what you would do next. For the first time in a long while, the serious expression he always wore faltered when you suddenly pressed the weapon against the side of your head and shouted, "Persona!" with a strength he had never heard from you before.

♡ What followed was seeing you engulfed in flames, much like the fire that surrounded him whenever he appeared somewhere. But your flames were warm, shimmering in shades of blue as they completely enveloped you before revealing your face once more. Behind you, an imposing figure rose into view.

♡ Malleus hadn't realized that this was how human weapons worked... He would have to ask Lilia about it later.

♡ And a few days later, while recounting the incident to Lilia, he watched in confusion as the older fae let out a startled cry, his face turning pale with horror. It was then that Malleus realized this was probably not something normal after all.

♡ That very night, he appeared in the garden outside your dormitory window, still full of questions. Lilia had practically forced him to go and make sure that his Child of Man was still alive.

♡ You couldn't help but laugh at Malleus's innocence. Sometimes, his lack of understanding when it came to human matters was almost unbelievable. Even so, you patiently explained everything that had happened.

♡ He listened attentively, asking question after question whenever something confused him. By the end of your explanation, he fully understood that your Persona was deeply connected to both your mind and your soul. Though he never voiced it aloud, he had noticed that the beings who appeared alongside you carried an unmistakable air of melancholy... and, quietly, he resolved to find a way to help you bear that burden.

♡ Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. You’re going to die. You want to cry. You want to wail and jump out the window. You’ve lots of qualms about the dorm placement too. You? Pomefiore? You couldn’t have gotten it any worse.  You and the mere mention of Pomefiore does not mix. Never has, never will. Come to think of it, had said dorm even expressed grief over the death of the first victim? There wasn’t any mention of them after their purpose was served, which is to say, their purpose: die. That’s all you’re here for. Without your death, you serve no purpose. Without your death, there is no plot. You’re going to die. That is final. Unchanging, even.

Opening your lids once more, feeling the sting of salt-born dampness that has yet to spill freely, you take a clear look at your surroundings. The brightness takes you by surprise, and your vision is spotty- but soon enough, you realize one thing.

You’re in a detention room.

Well, that was.. expected. 

♡ Funny enough, you don’t understand why there’s even one here. Plot convenience, you suppose.

 ♡ The next thing you feel is the warmth of the sun on the bare of your skin, the one thing grounding you to this place- unspooling over you like a shroud. Furnished with rows of desks and chairs, detention fits the quintessential type you’d find in any wacky slasher movie, with motivational posters ejected out onto walls and a large grandfather clock staring all of your peers down. The window overlooks Night Raven’s verdant field below, with some students relishing in their freedom. This is supposed to be your deathbed, and as per your fate, you watch the clock’s black arcs slicing the afternoon into agonizingly slow increments.

♡ A couple of candles sputter, and your purse sits on your desk. There's a cute little lip balm in it, a bunch of cosmetics, and things you don’t even know about. Isn't that justtt peachy?

♡ It’s a visual reminder that while time is moving, it was in no hurry at all. You still have some time left. You don’t how much, you only know one thing. You don’t want to die. You can’t die. You don’t want to go out so brutally, so horribly, so hopelessly. This is not how you imagined it.

“Dude, I don’t even understand why they put me in here with these guys.” Grumbles a familiar voice. “ ‘S not like this is the first time the cafeteria’s seen a food fight.”

“You threw an entire tray at the headmage’s face.”

“That was an accident, okay? Sure, the tea may have been hot, but I seriously doubt it got past his feathers. Sue me.”

♡ Ace Trappola sits not far from you! He’s the closest, in fact. You remember why he’s in here, guilty as charged, the headmage snapped after his third food fight. He’s chatting Yuu’s ear off — you realize you have no idea as to why they’re here — (it was never expressed clearly in the game, then again, you didn’t make it past the remainder of the storyline) — with his leg propped up on his table and his arms folded behind his head. Yuu sits on that same table, from the sight alone, anyone’d know they’re quite close. It’s the same reason Ace had survived alongside Yuu. 

 ♡ The rest are far from you, though you doubt anything could elude Rook Hunt’s ears, your Vice Housewarden. Found hiding in the rafters of another dorm. You remember when you’d died, he’d been the first to act, propping you up and taking charge just to save you a brutal end. Comforted you in his own way- though you seriously do not want to think about that right now. He’s staring out a window, typical. Speaking of typical, Azul is the farthest, having been exposed by virtue of his unauthorized business activity. He does not deign anyone a glance, resolving to write down.. something onto the pieces of paper everyone has on their desks. 

♡ The loudest one is Sebek, even when he’s far away, you can hear his voice like he’s yelling into your ear.

You nearly face-palm. 

♡ Ugh! When playing the game initially, you did not think of how horrible this team actually was. They were the worst match, and always managed to get caught up in deep waters, the kind whose sheer amount of stupidity you’d yell at. You were playing as Yuu then, so you didn’t fret over things like that, but the events have taken a drastic turn now, and you’re at one of the biggest disadvantages in the history of mankind... You're not playing this game from Yuu’s perspective anymore— you’re not guaranteed survival, you’re guaranteed death, and the clock’s still ticking.

♡ You mull it over for a second. How did the first victim even die? You remember this character... had taken a sip of some tea, traditional Pomefiore style, and had suffered a reaction. It hadn’t been described what type. A seizure? Something else? The staff only ascertained one truth: it had clearly been tampered with, and off they went. But who handed them the tea? No, there’s a little teacup set positioned in one of the corners, maybe having been left by its earlier residents - your character had taken the tea themselves. But if it was tampered with.. it was surely meant for the first victim. Ugh! One of the major cons of this is that you don’t know shit about this Pomefiore person, except that they’re..

♡ .. Not all that relevant? You’re going to be a goner at this rate. Miraculously enough, the first victim had survived the ordeal, but then had been subsequently murdered in the Nurse’s Office. You remember the art, a brutish display of crimson and bone-deep gashes, but flick the thought away amid the constriction of your throat. Your heart is beating, erratically, voraciously, helplessly.

A chair scrapes.

“You have remained unusually silent today.”

You blink, a slow realization creeping upon you. You stare into the eyes of your Vice Housewarden, who stares back with his signature, elusive smile. The light limns the countours of his face as he takes his seat, unsolicited, opposite you, chin perched upon his gloved hands.

“You would ordinarily have offered at least three  remarks regarding their appearances by now. My, it appears you've forgotten your daily critique.” Delighted, he closes his eyes and professes. You don’t know what to do, so you gulp down the water amassing in your eyes and give him an equally watery smile. He seems surprised. “..How moving! I knew today's sunlight felt particularly transformative!”

♡ Why did he..? Oh, wait! What did he say? You’d have ordinarily offered three remarks regarding their appearance. That’s right. That’s one of your character’s innate qualities.

♡ They were mean. Not overtly so, but in the ways you could feel it. Self-conceited, two-faced, if you will. Anyone could dislike them, and anyone could want to dispose of them-  it’s no surprise they died the way they died but.. this is a slasher game, isn’t it? If the first victim’s death came with the price of several others being ticked off, then it wasn’t merely a revenge kill, was it? 

Whatever. You don’t why you’re worrying about this. 

The Prefect of Ramshackle isn’t someone who others will consider having a rainbow personality nor a sunshine smile.

Instead, you will be greeted with a sight of two baggy eyes, a judgemental look, and unfiltered mouth. Her appearance isn’t soft. It’s like meeting someone who screams, God Imma go apeshit, and then gulps four cups of espresso. 

The first magicless female student of a prestigious institute that glorified the story of the Great Seven. That's the bigger picture shouldered by the Prefect.

And yet, she is pretty.

A pretty baddie.

No one can refute that.

But the infamous students of Night Raven College aren't people that easily fall to something shallow like that. 

The news of her arrival had long been circulating on the Isle of Sages. After all, people can’t shut their mouth when something odd occurs.

Started with jokes about the chaos at the entrance ceremony, then whispers, turning into a curiosity when hearing the ghosts’ story that work in NRC about The Prefect. Later, it changet into hot gossip  when some saw her in person at the Magift tournament.

No one knows where she came from. Some say she is a spy sent to target one of the students. Others say she is someone sent by the Board of Education to monitor the school. Others say she is a daughter of an influential figure, whether a wealthy merchant, an organization founder, a noble family, or even a king, who dared to enter and fulfill her wild fantasies of surrounded by many promising boys.

As time passed, the people on the Isle of Sages learned the Prefect's name.

Kokoro. 

Not because she introduces herself, nor because she flaunts her status. 

It is because they keep calling out to her name.

“KOKOROO I WANT THAATT!!!”

One day, it was a cat with fiery ears that ran through all the food stalls. The girl ran after it without running out of breath and paid for all the food. At the end of the walk, she pinched the cat's cheek until it stretched very wide.

“There you are, Kokoro-san. Have you already bought the supplies?”

They also often saw her shopping at the town's convenience store. Often accompanied by a pair of twin boys who were taller than most people. They had sharp teeth and a smell that seemed to come from the deepest ocean.

“Hey, Kokoro, you love me, right? Let me taste your crepes.”

Or they'd see her buying snacks and sitting near the fountain. There were two boys who seemed closer to her than the rest. Every time they came to town, they took off their blazers and entrusted it in the Prefect's hand, leaving only their red vests. The heart and spade symbols on their eyes were the trademark. They sat for a long time, sharing food and feeding each other.

“Kokoro, don't wander around.”

Sometimes she'd be seen wandering around alone, only for the town people to find someone else following her. This time, it was a man with long hair and spice-scented. He was wearing a sleeveless hoodie. His face looked troubled, like someone burdened by babysitting. But once he found the Prefect, he immediately took her hand.

People never know that Night Raven College students could create a bond. Let alone to a magicless person who is far lesser than them.

It grows more terrifying.

Because they don’t understand.

The Prefect has many strange companions. The very unique case is a small robot child and a floating tablet. Along her visit, she tended to bought something from the game store based on the tablet's instructions.

In some occasions, the town people will see her coming from above. They would see silhouettes flying across their blue sky. The one directing the broomstick was definitely the proud Second Prince of Sunset Savannah. They had often seen him on TV, especially during tournaments. His hair was tied loosely. The Prefect's eyes were fixed on the ocean, her arms around the waist of the prince, whose eyes were looking to another away.

The people on the Isle of Sages rarely heard the Prefect speak, unless necessary. But from time to time, when they heard her voice, out of her own volition– it was revealing.

“Pretty.”

“Pardon?”

Some accessory stall owners stared in awe at the figure of the famous actor Vil Scoenheit. Even with a proper disguise, including a hat, glasses, and a mask, no clothing could conceal his aura.

The Prefect held a precious stone to Vil's eyes. It was an uncut stone. Just a display at the end of a stall. Not a necklace, a ring, or any other fine jewelry.

"It's pretty like your eyes."

If one wants to swear by the name of the Great Sevens, then that was the right moment. Because the famous Vil Scoenheit, despite his years of training, looked stunned for a moment .

Another time, there was a beautiful festival on the Isle of Sages, where everyone would be releasing lanterns. The villagers felt like they were walking on thin ice when realizing the Future King of Briar of Valley was attending. Everyone stepped aside. Everyone was afraid because they hadn't prepared a feast worthy of the high-ranking Fae. Nor they prepared a lantern for him

But the Perfect, who managed to get the last lantern tugged on his sleeves, making Malleus Draconia's attention diverted to her.

She brings the lantern to him.

“Together?”

And like she has a hidden magic, the features of the future king grow relaxing in front of her. That night, people swore all the stars in the galaxy were clearly visible because of the clear weather.

Again.

The Perfect of Ramshackle liked to wander alone. She would sometimes sit on the shoreline, or anywhere overlooking the beach, with a look that said she shouldn't be there. But it wouldn't last long. Because every silence would be broken. Sometimes a tap on her shoulder, sometimes another figure joining her, or sometimes a jacket or shirt thrown over her head to shield her from the cold wind.

Then, those students—always different each time—would lead the Prefect back to Night Raven College. Up on the hill, the building felt haunting, as if declaring its claim to the magicless Perfect.

The people of the Isle of Sages don't understand.

Of course they don't.

But they were also sure the Perfect shared the same sentiment with them.

It's not like she smiles at them.

It's not like she uses sugary words to boast about their ego.

Heck, no.

The Prefect—again—has an unfiltered mouth.

“Scram or a high-five to the face with this chair. Choose,” said the Prefect to the town delinquents who kept picking a fight with NRC students.

“Grim, if I enter your mama mode, Boy, you better start praying,” said the Prefect to her companion.

“Go back then study. Keep playing, and next week we'll hold a funeral for your degree,” said the Perfect while dragging the ace and spade duo.

But even in that interaction, somehow the Prefect only grew closer to them. She never noticed the eyes watching her path, didn't notice the hands that reached out a little tighter, didn't notice every gaze that changed because of her words and behavior. It was so subtle, cleverly masked, and no one dared to describe it.

But it existed. Who knows since when. Whether it was permitted or not. Actually, maybe no one knows the real reason.

The magicless Prefect fit right into their place, their territory—their heart.

Kokoro.

It is an otherworldly name. But for them it's sweet, it's addictive.

Timelapse🩷

“I beg your pardon?”

Your head dips low. Since when were you type to stoop so low as to seek asylum from a first year, magicless, homeless student? “Hide me. From Yuu. Please. I’ll turn in all my missing assignments. Please.”

♡ That’s exactly how you’ve found yourself concealed behind his height, well-cloaked in whatever edges of his fur coat find you. The room is rife with suffocating quietness as the door creaks, slowly, taking its time, just so you can feel Yuu’s fingers graze the wood, and their eyes scavenge the vicinity for a trace of you. Closing your eyes tight-shut, you strengthen your grip on the fabric. Just this once - just this once - and you’ll survive. 

♡ “Professor, have you seen them?”

♡ Them. They don’t name you, and painfully so, Crewel immediately recognizes who they’re talking about. Nameless, colourless, faceless. There is no one here other than you. 

“As usual, no.”

“I can see them behind you.”

♡ Unfortunately, your breathing gave it away, and you're not exactly invisible, so you make do with just legging it again and stumbling into whatever room you get your hands on.

♡  Finally you come across a good one, and remember one thing: don’t  breathe. 

♡ Don’t breathe. Don’t let a single hint of your presence scrape against the floor, or taper off your lips. Don’t breathe, don’t look anywhere past the rows of ornate shelves or the very confused ghost librarian. Don’t breathe as you shimmy inside a cranny of dust, untouched newspapers and shield the crown of your head forevermore. Don’t breathe as you squeeze your eyes shut and imagine yourself anywhere else.

♡ Don’t breathe when the door creaks open. A slow, inevitable croak gliding against polished panes.

“Hi, mister. Have you seen -- well, uh -- a Scarabian student anywhere?”

♡ Don’t breathe even when you know it’s pointing straight at you. Traitor. 

“Hey..”

♡ You don’t look up.

“Why’re you hiding from me?” Behind your lids, you imagine the dark cusps of their irises gleaming with sincerety. “I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong? Did I scare you?”

♡ You don’t like it. You don’t like the way they’re talking to you, slow and genuine and all too dehumanizing, as though you’re but a small rabbit in their eyes. They don’t know, they don’t know you’re an actual human being - one with conscience, humanity and awareness. They don’t know you know them, and they don’t know who you really are, all that’s left in their eyes is a perfect little image of a non-playable character - one that’s bound to come in their hands, in a way, or a thousand others. 

In lieu of a response, you clamp your lips tight shut. Your eyes cinch into a glare; one you hope is full of the aversion you feel. “I thought I made it clear I want nothing to do with you.”

♡ You don’t know what to do. Give in. You’re doomed. Rebel. You’re doomed. Earning Yuu’s affection, or earning their loathing - neither option is good. 

“...Oh.”

“Listen,” You crack one eye open in spite of yourself. Yuu looks devasted - you have to save yourself. Brain straining for excuses, you spout out a career-ending one. “... It’s  not  you, it’s just that..”

...

“...That?”

“That you’re not my type.”

♡ Yuu blinks - okay, this is your chance. You can’t just go into things that can be changed, look into things that are definitie. Look into.. ah, what would particularly steer your way clear of them?

♡ You look at the schedule in their hands. First year, huh?

“I’m into older people.”

“...How much older?”

You scramble. “A lot older.”

“...Like a year?”

“No. I like mature people.”

Their shoulders relax - you take that as a bad sign. "I can be mature."

"No, no.  They need to look like they have taxes."

"...Taxes."

"Taxes. I also like people who are tall."

Yuu visibly straightens.

"Very tall."

Yuu visibly un-straightens.

"Like, concerningly tall. Like if they stand up too fast they're a threat to low ceilings."

"..."

"And older."

"..."

"And emotionally unavailable."

"That sounds unhealthy."

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Actually, preferably unhealthy. I like people who look at me and immediately decide I'm none of their business."

Yuu's face falls, a slope to their brows as they frown, unknowingly, to themselves. What you’ve just said might just give you some time to prepare, because you, and any sane person in the world, know that a simple barrier like a preference won’t stop them. That’s how Yuu has always been. In a way, they need to get to you, no matter what. That’s how it always will be. "I like people who forget I exist."

It falls further, you realize. Something, the one thing, actually, that the latter is not able to do.

"I like people who don't text back. Oh, and they must have weird hobbies.. Like birdwatching, or growing mush-”

Ah. Hands clasped over your mouth, with horror, do you realize you’ve begun matching your interest to a certain Mountain Lovers president. Mission abort, the withdrawal symptoms must really be getting to you, huh?

"And NOT teal hair."

Yuu touches their hair, hopeful.

"NOT first-years."

Yuu lowers their schedule, hopeless. 

"NOT extroverts."

Yuu winces.

"NOT people who follow me around."

Yuu winces harder.

"NOT people who keep asking for my number."

At this point, Yuu looks like every word is physically striking them. Relishing in the blow, you stand up, pivot on your heels and leave them to wallow in the destruction you’ve left in your wake. Not without picking up your belongings, which happen to a little journal you keep to maintain track of the plot, a chewed-up pencil, and an apple - shooting Yuu a confirmatory glare in case the thief is actually them. On the way, you realize the ghost librarian has tears in his gargantuan eyes. Oh-well, it seems like Yuu’s favoribility does not only extend to suitors, but ghosts as well.

♡ Something is going to go wrong today. Very, very wrong. You’re sure of it. 

♡ And no, you don’t just say that because of your disastrous, almost-disastrous- encounter with Yuu.

♡ Your NPC  sixth sense tells you there’s double trouble on the horizon, waiting to get a taste of you. Double trouble.. you work your throat around the words, and try to imagine anything of the sort - but your brain stalls, because apparently, rolling out of bed (literally) and forcing yourself through the daily morning rituals was still as bad as ever. It didn’t help Kalim was particularly loud today, something about the prefect, probably, you didn’t quite hear. Ugh, Vil’s going to slime you out if he ever finds out you’re skipping yet again-

“And just what are you doing in that flower bush, spud?”

♡ Speak of the devil, and he shall come. 

Pretty purple eyes do not bode well with you. 

“Uhh..” Tongue twisted, you crush one petal in the cusp of your palm,  and bring it over your eyes, hoping to block out his face. Pretending very, very hard he’s just a figment of your imagination, because really, what are the chances you meet him in the very same place you thought he’d never come? “Well, er... I’m doing something very important and class-related right now, so I’d appreciate it if you left me alone.”

♡ Oh, no, he’s caught you dead in your right!  Above, the glass dome over the botanical gardens greets you;   limpid and beautiful, and if you squint your eyes just right, you can imagine the sky back at home. Homesickness, or whatever the afflicted call it, has taken a toll on you only after you’ve come to realize just how much of your life’s gone into a perpetual state of destruction. Teeth gnawing on lip, tarnishing Vil’s self-care advice right in front of him as you revert back to sqaure one; it doesn’t take a genius to figure out you want to vanish. 

♡ Why exactly are you here? Somewhere in the middle of picking out a thorn from your thumb, you toppled over your boots and landed straight in a pile of.. whatever these are called. Now you’re just mulling your life over your tongue, wondering why you’ve just lost every ounce of hope in your life -—Jade (the scapegoat, you tell yourself) , normalcy, living in the shadows  —  and the blissful stretch of time in which you had not yet encountered Vil Schoenheit. Matter of fact, it seems he’s bound to run into you everday - much to yours and his very mutual chagrin. 

♡ Hold on!  The only reason he’s not turned on you is because he’s not yet privy to Yuu’s ever-growing and laughably one-sided affection for you, and the same can be said for everyone here.. you’re lucky he’s caught you alone, and not with Yuu, (the same person who confronted you outside your class, only to have you bolt away like they’d just set you on fire).

“Unbelievable.  I  was out on my usual morning run and I see this.” Vil points a long, long nail at you. You shudder, but don’t make a move, needle-like thorns prickling your uniform. “You’re sprawled over the Convallaria majalis batch, the very things I’ve planted. Dear me.. why am I not surprised? It seems your inclination of spelling ruin comes naturally.”

♡ Oh! By the miracle of the Sevens, it seems the damage you did to Vil’s Corona Marvellous or whatever they’re called, is mild. Otherwise, he’d not be letting you off with a mere shoo and one of those signature scowls. Taking his sweet time to inspect the bell-shaped heap with gloved digits, he tuts. 

“Hm.”

”..What?”

“Nothing that should be of concern, to you, of course.” He says, reading your mind. “.. These look like they withered long before your  weight.” The slope of his brows deepen into a fully-manifested, vexed frown. “Unbelievable! Whoever’s in charge of groundskeeping hasn’t been tending to them properly. Again.”

You blink. “Wait. So I’m not the floral equivalent of a hit-and-run?”

Vil exhales through his nose, already sounding exhausted by your existence. “You flattened perhaps three stems, I’d say that’s hardly catastrophic.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. It was anything but a compliment.”

“Okay, but the Corolla-”

“Convallaria majalis.”

“…Bless you.”

♡ Vil pays you no heed, opting to not dwell on your eccentricity any longer. 

 “Well. Since you’ve already made yourself part of the issue, you may as well prove useful.” Bells retreat to their home as the male ponders it over his tongue. Something sparkles in those of eyes of his before he straightens with a satisfied hum, glancing over at you.

 “ Poor maintenance, trampled soil, half-dead roots…” Vil dusts off his gloves with visible disdain. “Why am I not surprised? Honestly, spud, you have a remarkable ability to entangle yourself in things beyond your understanding. Come along.”

“Wait- where-”

♡ In place of a response, he grabs your hand. 

♡ And unlike the feeling you had when Kalim did the same, this one action has chills dancing down your spine. Frigid air pushes your words back in as Vil - suddenly - rotates your wrist, brow quirking. Tipped nails perch upon exposed skin as he momentarily gives you a look. 

“Hm. New bracelet?”

“No-”

“You run away from me, yet you’ve no qualm catering to Al-Asim. I suppose he is your housewarden, after all..” Purple coalesces into an inscrutable suit. “But  loath as I am to admit, do you realize just  how terrible it is to take up so much of the precious time I spare you?”

♡ Huh? Squeezing your eyes open, you realize his focal point is.. a traditional Scalding Sands bracelet - one of the many Kalim had gifted you during his visits. Oh.. shit, you must’ve accidentally put it on rather than-

..“Take up?” you repeat carefully.

Vil stills. For the briefest second, something unreadable crosses his face, then it dissolves. 

“Don’t misunderstand.” His grip loosens, though not entirely. “You’re the one repeatedly neglecting your studies. Naturally, the responsibility falls upon me when you fail to meet basic academic standards.”

“Wow,” you mutter. “You almost sounded a little emotional there.”

“I’d sooner drink diluted apple vinegar.”

“Isn’t that, like, healthy?”

Whether he seems apalled or disgusted by you, you can’t place your finger on it. “Why, you... Forget it.”

♡ Before you can formulate a viable escape plan involving perhaps a sudden, career-ending tumble down the nearest staircase, Vil pivots on polished heels and expects you to follow as naturally as one expects ducklings to trail after their mother. Oh, no.

 ♡ You want to bolt off, hide beneath the benches or do anything, instead- blurs streel your legs forcibly in the wake of his footsteps, and you chew the thick clump of dread down your throat.  Glass arches overhead catch the amber spill of drowning afternoon sunlight, drenching Vil in celestial phosphoresence.

♡ Why is it so hard to just.. refuse him? You don’t know. Eyes straining, vision skewed, you try to focus on anything. But the slivers of parted sunlight bend around his frame, the back of his head, and it’s almost as if, painfully so, your attention is tethered towards him. 

♡  Hmph! No one should look this gorgeous while actively ruining your life. Which begs the question: where exactly is he taking you?

“Ahh… there you are, Roi du Poison.”

♡ Your soul exits your body.

Vil barely pauses at the interruption, though the minuscule quaver in his brow suggests he’d hoped to avoid this exact scenario. Through the hanging curtains of ivy emerges another Pomefiore student, feathered hat unfurled and eyes glinting beneath panes. Rook - so, your luck has decided you’d do well being hunted for sport. 

“Rook,” Vil says flatly, not even turning. “I should’ve known you’d be here.”

“Can a devoted admirer not seek the radiance of his beloved housewarden?” The hunter places a hand dramatically atop his chest. “Cruel, cruel Vil. I merely wished to deliver the pruning records and instead discover a most enchanting tableau.”

When his gaze lands on you, your muscles go rigid, being pinned to a board and encased without mercy. He seems to take pleasure in the way your gaze tries to settle on anything but him. Weirdo. 

“Ahh…” The hunter breathes. “So there is our elusive little evader.”

“I’m an evader?” you ask, then chew down your words. Well, you are actively trying to act uninteresting, aren’t you? 

“You vanished from Professor Crewel’s classroom through a window last Tuesday, did you not?”

Vil pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t remind me.”

“…Huh, I thought that was last Wednesday. Oh well.”

You don’t question how he knows, how the both of them know. It’d be futile as it is. Miraculously, as if reading your mind (which you’d argue he can), he directs at you a content little smile. “As a hunter observes the rustling of grass, the flight of birds, the trembling of leaves, so too do I observe the habits of those around me.”

Rook circles once around the Convallaria patch, boots silent against the stone path. His sharp gaze skims over the crushed flowers, then the dirt shrouding your weathered sleeves, the bite-rife state of your lips, and the fatigue pulling down your lids into a perpetual scowl. It takes less than three seconds for the both of them to concur on one, concrete agreement. 

Vil starts. “I’ve said as much already. They insist on treating their body like an afterthought.”

“Mm.” Rook nods solemnly. “A neglected garden wilts all the same.”

You stare at the both of them. “Oh, cool. So this is an intervention now...”

“Far from it, actually. It would only qualify as an intervention if you intended to listen,” Vil replies smoothly. “You absorb perhaps one sentence out of every five.”

♡ Rook laughs then, rippling across the greenhouse’s feather-light air. It pulls his attention back to you again, unbearably focused. 

“The way you shrink whenever attention settles upon you.” Pointing, tipping his head back, Rook croons. “And yet, despite this, attention finds you endlessly. Oh, what a haplessly ardent predicament you’ve found yourself in!”

Before you can recover, Vil abruptly thrusts a pair of gardening gloves against your chest. You stumble, and your belongings kiss the ground, thrown out of your bag. Vil’s left to wonder how such a light nudge could have you one with the ground, bare confusion written over those features before ebbing away with an ahem.

“Since you’ve already ruined my morning, you’ll assist us.”

Your jaw drops. “Us?”

Rook beams. “Bienvenue.”

“Bird Avenue? I dunno what that means.”

“Don’t absorb your setences. For all your resistance,”  Vil says with immense satisfaction, “you’re staying right here.”

“Seriously?? Just ask Rook to use his signature spell and track the- ah..” You realize the chances of him setting a mark on the culprit beforehand are slim to none, cinching your lips shut. “Nevermind, but I’m sure we have some sort of camer.... don’t give me that look, please.”

♡ Silence. 

♡ You close your eyes shut. Good golly, this is probably about the signature spell bit, isn’t it? Ugh, he’s going to be all up in your face within a  minute, demanding you tell him why you know such a thing. This makes room for one more entry in your journal.. and wait, your journal-

♡ As if on cue, you hear papers rustle. 

♡ “Interesting.”

♡ Double trouble. 

“So this is where your prowess lies. Story-writing?”

Though he tries his best to pull his brows together, there’s a little glister in his eyes. A relieved one, a midlly proud one, a..

“How original.”

♡ Your Scarabia room is really, really bland. That’s the first thing you notice. In the middle of your bed is a journal you exert all your pent-up vexation and guides in - and in a shelf by the side, you keep your belongings (which are, admittedly, lessening by the second. You’ve no clue whose wreaking havoc upon them. You have absolutely no idea who's responsible. Frankly, you're too tired to investigate, and  if somebody wishes to steal your half-finished notes and collection of mediocre pens, then they deserve whatever curse comes with them.) Tomorrow is a new day, and judging by your luck, tomorrow Yuu will probably discover your class schedule, blood type and favorite brand of toothpaste.

♡ You sling your bag at the bed when you enter your cave of hiding.

 ♡ As you dive face-first into the mattress, you ponder on today’s events. Jade Leech has officially stood you up - there’s been no sign of him at all. He does not deign to loiter beside your class after its conclusion, he does not show up to your club (though you know, somewhere, he’s still fixating on his hobby without you). Your plans have gone awry, haywire and well... 

♡ You don’t need another anomaly. 

♡ Right on cue, knuckles rap against your door. Knock. Knock. Knock. Your housewarden’s airy voice bursts in:

"Hey! Are you awake?"

Even if you were, with the sheer volume of his voice, you'd be forced to come to. You groan- delving deeper into the plush mattress. If you were to pretend to be dead right now, you’d be steered clear of this burden. Fatigue coaxes your lids down, spots gyrating in your vision - but with another knock, Kalim shoves you off balance. 

“You wouldn't happen to know why Yuu was wandering around Scarabia asking strangers what toothpaste you use, right?”

As falsely naive as Kalim seems, you quickly find out he knows just the right way to usher you out. Ripping the barrier between you open, he greets you with his ritualistic smile. “Aha!”

“Housewarden.”

♡ This is the first time you’ve had anyone over, and this is also the last. Seeing him without his sullen retainer is a novel sight, but to dissuade you from the anomaly, he places a basket of fruits in front of you.

♡ Well, there you go.  Your arms now teem with different colours and hues - but you don’t tell him to leave, because well..

“Anyway, I brought fruit.” 

“Thank you. You can leave now.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you've already delivered the fruit.”

“But we haven't hung out yet.”

“Close the door on your way out-- wait, what? Why?”

♡ After your little opportunistic venture, you doubt he’d listen to you so easily, and you don’t particularly want him  to leave as well. Those pouches and jewellery he gifted you have all gone missing, and.. well, you'd be lying if you said you didn’t want him to compensate the loss. 

♡ Inviting him in as per hospitable custom, he makes himself at home quite easily. You don’t know what you’re doing, you have a whole Housewarden in your room - albeit he did mention something related to friendship.. you suppose you have no complaint here, then - (except one related to the fact he’s in the middle of an excuse for a room while donning his sleepwear. He looks so out of place it’s actually shameful.)

“Oh, man!” He gives a bright laugh. You stand near, not wanting to admit you’re awaiting his approval.  “I sat on the bed and the frame nearly fell through!”

“Oh...” 

Kalim laughs again, bright and unbothered. "Sorry! I didn't mean it in a bad way. It just surprised me."

He gives the bed frame an experimental shake. The bed responds with an alarming creak, and you wince. It doesn’t do that when you lay on it, in your defense.

"There it is again."

"Don't."

You don't understand why he's so amused, your room isn't funny, it’s a room. A rather miserable, downtrodden room, perhaps, but still a room. Instead of criticizing it further, however, Kalim cranes his neck around, taking in the sparse shelves and barren walls.

“Huh.”

You brace yourself. “Huh?”

"It's kind of nice. It looks like someone forgot to move in, but I think that’s where its charm lies, y’know?” He points at your empty shelf. “There’s practically nothing stored there! It must be so easy to access whatever you need.”

“There’s nothing I need.”

♡ Somehow, your very loud exchange has, inevitably, amassed the scrutiny of yet another boy, and there he is, door opening, posture taut in the entry. This is arguably the first time you’ve ever seen Jamil in his sleepwear, and with his long tresses trickling down his shoulders in mild disarray, you get the feeling you’ve woken him up from his sweet slumber. As if you haven’t already garnered enough of his dislike, the universe still manages to blindside you with more.

“Kalim.”

“Jamil!”

“How many times do I have to tell you to-”

Though, you suppose Kalim didn’t intend for it to come out as such, the way it was worded seems to inevitably grab Jamil’s compliance. You don’t miss the way he stares at you, though, completely and utterly aware that misery will bring its company. Reluctance brews itself upon the tip of his tongue, and he wants to refuse, you can tell. At one point, he may have tried to veil it beneath his usual exterior, but now, after a most unexpected turn of events, he knows you know, and you know he knows you know, so what’s the point in putting up a façade?

“Come!” Kalim makes space on your bed, mind you. Your bed. “Loosen up a little, and play with us.”

Oh, no. You do not need this right now.

He trudges in, a breath of incredulity blooming in the air before he lowers himself to your level. Seated comfortably, he tries to get a good look at your surroundings.

At one point, his gaze lands straight on your journal. But before he can comment on it, you let a hand jut forward and snatch it away just as quickly. Now, he’s eyeing you openly, tenfold the usual suspicion he has.

“I’m surprised you’re awake at this hour.” He deadpans when you point at the fellow white-haired culprit. “I’m talking about you, not Kalim. Given his track record of doing the same, he doesn’t rouse as much disbelief as..” He pauses for a moment. “You.”

You droop. “I sleep when I can.”

“Ah, well, that explains nothing.”

“You're welcome.”

“No need for the formalities,” A crease in his brows as he looks at you, lips jolting. “For what it’s worth, I was expecting that answer.”

♡ Five minutes later, the board is spread between the three of you. You still aren’t entirely certain how this happened.  One moment you were trying to sleep, and the next you’re participating in what appears to be an ancient strategic game involving polished stones. Eyes combing through its structure and language, it appears to be a Scalding Sands tradition, and with the way they both speak of it, dwelling in the past and mulling the game over their tongues, you realize they’re already familiar with it. 

“Remember when we played this when we were kids? Huh, Jamil?”

“Yes. I remember you taking up half the pieces.”

♡ Kalim explains the rules, he then explains them again, then gets distracted halfway through his own explanation when you pester him with another question. Jamil finishes it for him - though, and even now, he has yet to relinquish that look in his eyes, that look, rife with wariness, caution and the feeling that he’s treading very, very carefully with you. Jeez, he probably thinks you have some sort of Kalim-assassination or tax fraud plan cooked up in that head of yours. Which you do. Just not as severely.

“You need to protect your centre, that's your only objective. Do you understand it now?”

“Sure do.”

♡  Anyways, three rounds later, you've somehow managed to eliminate your own piece. Jamil stares, Kalim stares, and you crane your neck at them. 

“What?”

“You took your own piece.”

“It was in the way.”

“It was your strongest piece.”

“Soo? It was still in my way.” Despondently, you caress the stony object. “Oh, well, if you insist, Jamil, then its sacrifice shall be remembered.”

An eye roll. “..By who?”

“Me, who else?”

Jamil pinches the bridge of his nose, but just when you think he’ll respond in that quietness, he supplies. “I don’t think I've ever seen someone lose a game quite like this.”

“Yeah, well, you’re letting Kalim win every time, so I think I have a reason.”

He lets you go with an indecipherable look on his face, and you spend the night dealing with it, in your mind, in your memory, in your thoughts.

How predictably unpredictable.

♡ “Didja’ know?”

♡ You try to rub away the fatigue in your eyes.

“Know what?”

♡ Currently, you're trying to focus on the work at hand. Pen scribbling lines regarding history, you desperately try to ignore Ruggie Bucchi, but to no avail. Whenever you do so much as lean back, he tips his chair back and replicates the motion until you’re forced to give him a sliver of your attention. That gets him going, it seems. 

♡ Apparently, waking up first and foremost - earlier than Jamil, surprisingly - and realizing that having two boys dead asleep on top of you was not ideal if you were looking for some sort of salvation. You’re not even sure what had happened that led to Jamil, of all people, knuckling under sleep and forsaking that strict demeanor. It seems atypical, atleast for him, but what’s more atypical is that you’d spent another hour trying to tip-toe around your room, lest you wake them up and cause them to actually remember you in the room with them. Ah, if you stretch, you can still feel the soreness in your limbs. Only the deities who sent you here would know how you even managed to breathe with that load on you.

♡ What’s good, though, is that you seem to have taken your mind off of Jade completely. Like a leech had he plagued your mind, now you like to think he’s an afterthought, and a bygone memory that served his purpose and left when he lost interest. Hah.. you’re finally, finally improving. You’re finally..

“Eh? Didn't ya know? Vil's been askin' around Octavinelle about ya. Somethin' about gettin' you to switch clubs, I think. Heh, maybe that's just the rumor mill talkin', though. Shishishi...”

“Mm- wait-”

♡ What.

 “WHAT?!”

♡ The entire class looks at you now. Grumbling beneath their breaths, and with Professor Trein giving you the most scorching scowl known to man, you’re compelled into quietening down, but not allowing the cold knot in your stomach to simmer, nor the rapid staccatos of your pulse. This time, you willingly lean into Ruggie. Vil? Granted, he did see your.. journal work, but him going as far as to head to Octavinelle to strike a deal with them? It didn’t seem so far-fetched given the circumstances, but at that time, he'd tried his best to appear staid and unaffected by your entries. This.. this is bad, bad news. If Vil succeeds, then - you’re destined for failure. 

​​​​​​♡ If Vil succeeds, then you are the failure. 

“Who- where’d you hear that from?” You gawk, perspiration roving down your nape, pen abandoned. You don’t know what to say. Your heart is beating.

♡ Ah, what a dumb question. Ruggie is known to work odd jobs, it’d make sense he’d catch sight of Vil, of all people, amid the Mostro Lounge crowd during his shift. But really, Vil? Stooping so low as to seek Azul’s help?

♡ What even was in that journal? A few scribbles about Twisted Hearts, and the usual jargon.. nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that would ultimately catch his interest. You hadn't even focused on it that much yourself, nor did you mention names, even if someone did manage to get their hands on it, you thought they’d just call you absolutely maniacal and do away with it.

♡ And you, stooping so low as to seek Ruggie’s help? 

“You have to help me.”

“Whoa, hold it right there.” His lips pull into a moue, hands tugging at his tie from where you’d  absent-mindedly rendered it askew. “ Remember all those times I asked, and ya told me to mind my own business? Why'do I go and help ya now?”

“I-”

“Besides, I got a pretty sweet side gig at the Mostro Lounge. If I stick my neck out for ya, who's gonna make up the difference, huh?”

He grins, teeth on display.

“Now, if you've got somethin' worth tradin', that's a whole different story. Shishishi.”

♡ Worth trading? You haven't got anything, you..are a lost cause. Your room is laughable, your grades are despicable, the company you keep is non-existent, and your pockets.. Ah. 

“I can give you anything you want.”

A gleam in your eyes, your hands form a bridge to let your chin perch upon. The brightness that you’d once lost reclaims its reign over your face, and if this world were any more ridiculous, you are certain he would see a lightbulb forming over your head.

“Now we’re talkin’.”

“Anything. I have access to Kalim’s bank account. Trust me.”

.

.

♡  “You....”

♡ Ruggie holds up the uniform. 

“You want me to infiltrate them?”