#about jack

Leona Kingscholar does not fall in love the way others do. There are no fireworks, no awkward confessions, no naïve trembling that betrays someone discovering something new in their chest. What happens with Yuu it is an internal displacement. A shift of axis. Like when a predator decides, without announcement or ceremony, that this territory will never be empty again.

After the Overblot, Leona does not become gentle. He becomes aware. Aware of his anger, his talent, his place… and, above all, of what he needs in order not to rot from the inside again. And that is where Yuu enters. Not as a savior, not as a romantic redeemer, but as something far rarer and more addictive: a point of pure validation, non-hierarchical, unconditioned.

Yuu does not know who Leona is when they meet him. Not truly. Not the way the world knows him. To Yuu, Leona is not “the second prince,” nor “Falena’s shadow,” nor a political piece. He is just Leona: a large, dangerous, intelligent man with a bad attitude and an obscene amount of potential wasted on laziness. And Yuu treats him that way. Naturally. As an equal. With an honesty that is almost insulting.

That, for Leona, is a fracture.

Because his entire life he has been seen through someone else. Compared. Measured. Evaluated. Even admired… but never isolated from the system that condemned him to second place. Yuu does not participate in that. Yuu comes from another world, another logic. They know nothing, expect nothing, demand nothing. They simply observe, survive, adapt. Like an animal thrown into a hostile habitat that, even without fangs or magic, learns not to die.

Leona sees it. Of course he does. He is not stupid. He sees the determination. He sees the resilience. He sees that almost brutal way of continuing to exist even when the environment is openly hostile. And he envies it. A clean envy, rare, without poison. Because before the Overblot, Leona could not have done the same. After it… yes. After it, he understands that surviving without a throne, without a name, without expectations, requires a different kind of strength. A strength that is not inherited.

That is where everything begins.

Not as romantic love, not yet. It begins as active interest. Leona starts to move. To improve. To do things he always could have done, but never wanted to. Not to prove anything to the world — that no longer matters — but to provoke something very specific: Yuu’s gaze. That brief, honest smile, without calculation, that appears when Leona does something surprising. When he shows that he is competent. When he lets slip, just barely, what he could be if he wanted to be.

That gesture becomes addictive.

Leona needs recognition, yes. But not the court’s, not lineage’s, not fear’s. He needs warmth. Attention without an agenda. Something that cannot be used against him. Yuu is exactly that. That is why Leona needs them. It does not matter whether the bond is romantic or not; Leona can live with either. What he cannot tolerate is losing that neutral point, that gaze that does not reduce him to anything other than himself.

So he acts. In his own way.

He does not invade. He does not claim. He does not cage. Leona integrates.

At first, he disguises it as a whim: Yuu ruined his plans, so now they have to take responsibility. Accompany him. Help him. Put up with him. Leona takes Yuu’s time like someone collecting a minor debt. Shared naps, casual closeness, comfortable silences. It is strategic, but not rigid. Just enough. Always just enough.

Then he stops pretending. He starts going because he wants to. And he says it. Shameless. Without drama. He sits next to Yuu just because. Sleeps nearby because he feels like it. Stays. And without realizing it, he makes Yuu get used to it.

Leona begins to put in a little more effort. Not much his pride would not allow it but enough to have something to show them. He likes it when Yuu asks. He likes answering. He likes, though he would not admit it under torture, to show off. Especially physically, athletically. It is a language Yuu understands without magic. Strength. Technique. Mastery of the body. It is good to be good at something… and to have it acknowledged with purity, even if you already knew it.

And here is where the truly dangerous part comes in.

Leona is territorial by nature. Not as a conscious choice, but as something inscribed in the flesh. In the DNA. He does not notice it at first. He only realizes that it irritates him when others interrupt certain moments. When he is alone with Yuu, that space becomes his. That time is his. That silence is his. He does not roar. He does not set explicit boundaries. The atmosphere simply… changes. And others, if they are sensible, feel it.

There are even subtler gestures. Animalistic ones. Sleeping with Yuu is not just comfort. It is care, yes. Yuu needs rest, needs to feel safe but it is also something else. It is prolonged closeness. Contact. Scent. Leona leaves his on Yuu without making it obvious. It is not a conscious act of “marking.” It is something that happens because they spend time together. But Leona does notice when that scent fades, when other environments replace it… and then he draws close again. Sleeps near again. Imprints it once more.

Not for Yuu to notice. For others to. (Especially certain fae...)

With Yuu, Leona is indulgent. Surprisingly gentle. Protective in his own way. He lets them eat with him when they have no money. He declares, privately and in a low voice, that no one in his dorm is to intimidate them. And not because it is a rule: because if it happens, he himself will deal with it. He allows things he would never allow anyone else. Letting them touch his hair to distract themselves while he sleeps. Letting them use his presence as a refuge. Letting them exist beside him without paying anything in return.

With the world… it is another story.

Leona is not impulsive. He is not loud. He leaves no traces. When someone is hostile toward Yuu, when he detects twisted intent, when he smells danger, he does not react with open violence. He reacts with disappearance. Opportunities that evaporate. Reputations that erode. Paths that turn barren. Everything becomes sand. Who would go looking for what the wind carried away?

That is what makes Leona truly terrifying: he does not need cages. He does not need threats. He does not need Yuu to realize it.

It is enough for him to exist nearby. To improve. To be admirable. To be necessary. To be, for the first time, just Leona… seen by someone who does not compare him.

And if the world tries to take that away from him, if someone tries to touch what he now considers his — not out of romantic possession, but out of vital necessity — Leona will not hesitate.

Because losing a throne hurts. But losing the only one who looked at him without hierarchy…

That would be unforgivable.

Yuu starts noticing it too late.

Too late.

The beastmen of Savanaclaw bow their heads as they pass by. It's not courtesy: it's recognition. Some even step aside. Others frown, sniff the air, and mutter under their breath that Yuu "smells strange." Familiar. Dominant.

And Yuu turns to the only one who could help them; They go to ask Leona. When They does, Leona barely opens one eye, smiles lazily, and displays that dangerous, unapologetic glint.

“Of course you smell like that… What did you expect? Relax, herbivore. No one with two brain cells messes with what's mine.”

Ruggie Bucchi doesn't fall in love like others. He doesn't fall. He calculates. He doesn't idealize. He evaluates.

He doesn't surrender. He secures his position.

That's why, when affection appears, it doesn't arrive like a romantic whirlwind, but as a slow, almost undetectable infiltration, first disguised as convenience… and then becoming a need.

Ruggie was always good at spotting those who didn’t belong. Not out of cruelty, but out of necessity: on the savanna, if you don’t know who’s out of place, you become the prey yourself. Yuu stood out to him from the very beginning not as someone weak, but as something far more unsettling: someone stripped of context. Not stripped of clothes—though even that, compared to uniforms, insignias, layers of belonging everyone else carried, mattered—but stripped of a world. Arrived from nothing, without magic, without a known surname, without a clan, without rules learned since childhood. A functional adult thrown into an ecosystem that could kill them without them even realizing it.

That, to Ruggie, was pure terror.

Because he had had something, even if it was little: a language, a familiar hunger, a hostile ground that was still known. Yuu didn’t even have that. Night Raven College wasn’t just a dangerous school; it was a place where rules are not explained, they are punished. Where not knowing something basic could mean debt, humiliation, injury, expulsion—or worse. And everyone seemed to forget that, distracted by Grim, by crises, by their own dramas. Ruggie didn’t forget. He never forgot those things.

At first, his approach was practical. Natural. Almost automatic. A comment here: “Don’t go into that hallway after a certain hour.” A warning there: “If the cafeteria’s closed, Sam sells leftovers cheaper near closing time.” Advice that didn’t look like much, but made the difference between going hungry or not. Between owing dangerous favors or staying afloat. Ruggie didn’t deliver it solemnly. He did it with that sideways grin, that casual tone, as if he were talking about the weather. Because that’s how you pass on important things when you don’t want to scare someone who’s already living scared.

Yuu listened. Really listened.

That was… unexpected.

Most people nodded, thanked him, and forgot. Yuu didn’t. Yuu came back days later and said, “I did what you told me. It worked.” Or asked something else—something small, something basic—as if there were no shame in admitting they didn’t know. That honesty disarmed Ruggie faster than any heroic gesture ever could. There was no wounded pride there. No performance. Just a raw willingness to survive properly.

After Leona’s Overblot, something in Ruggie sharpened.

Not crueler—more aware.

Seeing Leona lose control, watching how power, status, and strength weren’t enough once resentment festered too long… it taught him something he’d always sensed but never wanted to fully accept: there is no absolute shelter. Not even under a king’s shadow. Not even by being useful. Not even by doing everything “right.” Everything could collapse.

And in the middle of that collapse, Yuu stayed. Not in front. Not behind. There. Enduring. Listening. Mediating. Putting their body on the line without magic to protect them.

Ruggie started watching without realizing it. Not like someone spying, but like someone checking the perimeter before sleeping. Where Yuu was. Who they talked to. Who got too close too fast. Who asked questions they shouldn’t. Not because he distrusted Yuu, but because he distrusted the world. The world always wanted something. And Yuu had that dangerous way of offering themselves without knowing it.

Ruggie’s protection wasn’t visible. He didn’t always step in. He didn’t openly mark territory. He simply adjusted the odds. A rumor redirected to keep a troublesome person busy. A favor collected at just the right moment to divert attention. A minor “accident” that taught boundaries without leaving a trail. Nothing traceable. Nothing Yuu could see.

Because Ruggie didn’t want Yuu to fear him. He wanted to be reliable.

Sometimes he stopped by Ramshackle and frowned. He didn’t say much, but his body said enough: that place was a constant risk. Cold. Old. Too exposed. A roof is a roof, sure—and Ruggie understood that better than anyone—but still… no. Not for someone like Yuu. Not for someone who hadn’t grown up knowing how to sleep lightly, how to listen for footsteps, how to tell when a silence was dangerous. That’s why the invitations to Savanaclaw were casual. “There’s leftover food.” “Leona’s paying.” “Don’t be dramatic.” But underneath there was always more: warmth, protein, a place where the floor didn’t creak like a threat.

Ruggie cooked efficiently, but when Yuu was there, he adjusted details. More salt. More heat. Slightly larger portions. Not because he was charitable—he wasn’t—but because feeding someone well was an emotional investment. A stable body thinks better. Survives longer.

Yuu always welcomed him with open arms. Even when tired. Even when buried under problems. Even when Crowley had dumped yet another absurd responsibility on them. That consistency started doing something strange to Ruggie’s chest. It wasn’t euphoria. It was… relief. A place where he could lower his guard for five minutes without the world collapsing on him.

Ruggie had no time. He never did. Jobs here, favors there, Leona’s errands, vice-warden duties, improvised shifts, silent negotiations. His life was constant motion. That’s why Yuu became a fixed point. Somewhere to recharge. Not with big words, but with presence. With shared tasks. With comfortable silences. With small favors: walking with him to the Mostro Lounge, buying him lunch when he couldn’t leave, helping with homework while he ran back and forth across campus.

Ruggie asked for little. On purpose. Asking too much exposed attachment. And attachment was dangerous.

Still, he began to need it.

Not as possession. As an anchor.

He knew Yuu shone. He knew it better than anyone. He knew they drew eyes, alliances, affections bigger, brighter, more impressive than him. He knew incredible people were looking at Yuu. And he accepted it. Truly accepted it. Because Yuu wasn’t something you could cage without breaking. A star doesn’t dim without consequences.

Ruggie was willing to be just the friend. Because even from there, he could protect. He could help. He could stay close. And if he wasn’t chosen, he wouldn’t leave. Never completely. He’d find a way. He always did. A shared job. A favor owed. A legitimate reason to stay connected. Because disappearing from Yuu’s life would be… like going back to childhood. To hunger. To emptiness.

But if Yuu gave that warmth back—even clumsily, even just a little—then there wouldn’t be a force on that campus capable of tearing him away. Ruggie would cling with claws and teeth, with brain and networks, with favors and silences. Not out of ego. Out of emotional survival.

And here was the part no one saw.

Ruggie could be really dangerous.

Not through brute strength. Through social leverage. Through information. Through timing. Through carefully applied magic. Well-placed rumors. Exposed histories. Accumulated pressure. Plausible accidents. A student who hurt Yuu and—what a shame—ended up expelled by rules that had always been there. Another who couldn’t withstand public scrutiny. Another who simply vanished from the social radar.

Yuu worried. Ruggie shrugged. “People are weak.”

He would never let Yuu know.

He would never allow them to look at him with fear.

He preferred being seen as a clever, joking, useful hyena. Even when defending Yuu publicly, he did it with words—with a sharp tongue, with facts that left the other person humiliated. Nothing physical. Nothing that stained Yuu’s hands. Watching someone bigger crumble verbally in front of them made Yuu look at him with gratitude. And Ruggie laughed, nervous, awkward, satisfied.

There was something else. Something instinctive.

With Yuu, Ruggie made sounds he didn’t make with anyone else. Small clicks, low vibrations, subtle variations in his laugh. Hybrid, animal, unconscious body-language. He didn’t notice until someone pointed it out. Then he stiffened, embarrassed. But Yuu… Yuu started to understand. To respond. To read those nuances. And that completely disarmed him.

Because it meant that without realizing it, he was teaching his true language.

And Ruggie only taught that to those he considered pack.

He didn’t dream of cages. He dreamed of making sure Yuu survived even when he wasn’t there. But if he could be there… he would be.

Always.

Because in a world that doesn’t take care of anyone, Ruggie chose to take care of someone.

And that, for a hyena, is love.

And when Yuu came to talk with him one day, as if the day still weighed heavily on their shoulders. Ruggie didn't say anything at first. He just listened, leaning sideways, tail still, eyes attentive. Then he clicked his tongue softly, that familiar half-smile appearing on its own.

“Don't worry, Yuu… I'll help you somehow. Shishishi~”

Jack Howl does not fall in love the way other students at Night Raven College do.

There are no fireworks. No clumsy confessions. No impulsive fantasies or exaggerated idealization.

Jack falls in love like a wolf: first he watches, then he recognizes… and finally, he chooses.

And when a wolf chooses, there is no turning back.

After Leona’s Overblot, Jack’s world does not shatter—but it becomes more honest. He loses a dangerous lie: the belief that strength always leads to righteousness, that leadership is justified by power alone, that being strong is enough to be right. Watching Leona fall—not physically, but morally—carves a quiet fracture into Jack’s inner structure. He does not verbalize it. He does not mourn it. Jack learns.

And in that learning, Yuu becomes impossible to ignore.

Yuu is not strong. Not fast. Not dominant. They have no magic, no fangs, no claws.

But they stay.

They stay when running would be reasonable. They stay when the situation is unjust. They stay when fear would be the logical response.

To Jack, that is not weakness. That is courage without spectacle.

And that kind of courage is the only kind he truly respects.

Jack does not think, “I like Yuu.”

Jack thinks something far more dangerous:

“Someone like this should not exist in a place like this.”

Night Raven College devours the fragile. It reshapes them, twists them, corrodes them. Jack knows this because he sees it every day. And yet Yuu remains Yuu. They do not harden, they do not manipulate, they do not use others to survive. They do not become a villain out of necessity.

That awakens something in Jack he has never allowed himself to nurture: tenderness.

And Jack is romantic—deeply, undeniably romantic, (canonically if you look good enough)—but his romanticism does not know how to speak. It only knows how to act. So he begins in the only way he understands.

He positions himself slightly in front of Yuu when they walk. He shortens his stride so they do not fall behind. He listens more than he speaks. He memorizes routines without realizing it.

He is not aware that he is already protecting them. He only knows that doing so feels… right.

Jack’s love is not born of desire, but of recognition.

And when he recognizes Yuu, something irreversible happens: Jack integrates them into his internal value system.

That is where the bond forms.

It is not possession. It is not immediate obsession. It is something older, more instinctive, deeper.

Wolves do not collect. Wolves bond.

And once a bond forms, protecting it is not a choice—it is natural law.

Jack does not think, “Yuu is mine.” He thinks:

“If something happens to them, it will be because I failed.”

That thought lodges itself in his chest with the weight of an oath.

Jack’s yandere side does not manifest in shouting or threats. It manifests in structure.

Jack begins to organize the world around Yuu without announcing it:

He evaluates which dorms are more dangerous. Who stands too close. Who smiles in a way he dislikes. Who carries ambiguous intentions.

Not from jealousy. From responsibility.

Jack trusts Yuu…but he does not trust the world.

And that is where the fracture lies.

Because slowly, without realizing it, he begins to decide for Yuu.

“That place isn’t safe.” “You shouldn’t go alone.” “Let me come with you.”

He is not authoritarian. He is firm. And the worst part is—he is almost always right.

His love becomes dangerous not because it is irrational, but because it is too functional. Too efficient. Too stable.

Jack does not cage Yuu. Jack becomes the perimeter.

And yet, beneath all that firmness, Jack is still a big softie who refuses to admit it.

He blushes when Yuu thanks him sincerely. He goes rigid when Yuu leans against him. His ears relax when Yuu smiles without realizing it.

He has unconscious wolfish gestures: Tilting his head to listen better, moves is tail when Yuu is around, furrowing his brow when he senses sadness, remaining perfectly still if Yuu falls asleep nearby—as if moving might break something sacred.

If someone called him sweet, he would growl. If Yuu noticed… Jack would simply stay there.

Not moving. Not fleeing. Not denying it out loud.

Because denying it in silence is the only "tsundere" thing he has left.

The real danger appears when someone threatens the bond.

Not with romantic competition. Not with flirtation.

But with manipulation. With exploitation. With corruption.

If someone tries to turn Yuu into a tool, a pawn, a sacrifice… Jack does not hesitate.

Not out of rage. Not out of jealousy.

Out of duty.

In his mind, the logic is clean, simple, terrifying:

“I am the strongest. I chose them. Therefore, it is my responsibility.”

And if fulfilling that responsibility means becoming the villain in someone else’s story… he will do it without remorse.

Because Jack does not love in order to possess. He loves in order to hold to protec.

Jack Howl in love with Yuu does not say “I love you.”

He proves it by staying. By protecting. By choosing them again and again.

He is a yandere who does not chain but marks territory with body and will.

A wolf who loves only once. A big, rough boy on the outside, devastatingly soft on the inside. A silent guardian who, if the world burns, will stand in front of Yuu even if that means becoming the monster the world needed so that Yuu could remain safe.

And if one day Yuu were to ask what his feeling is, Jack would answer with absolute honesty, without embellishment:

“I don’t know. What else can i call it if is not love?”

Wow, this was a satisfying writing experience. I was fascinated by my writing in this; it feels good to write without stress and with time to spare. I feel like it was quite long. Is that just my imagination? On the other hand, I think it's the first time I've had to research animals and their general behavior. It was interesting, but also, it's not like I was writing about animals; I just wanted to give the characters a more personal touch. I don't know why, but people often forget that fantasy is quite broad, and using real-world data is quite interesting in stories about characters of different species based on something real. And I thought, why not? Twisted Wonderland has a vast world to encompass and explore, so adding a little extra touch wasn't a bad idea; it just felt right. Appropriate.

I'm currently on break from my job, and my university vacation is coming up soon, so I'll be able to update a bit more often. Go ahead and make requests without fear; I've already read two requests that I'll be working on soon once I finish writing for the remaining five dorms.

But please be clear with your requests. You can request a single character or an entire dorm, but not mixed dorms. I apologize for the inconvenience, but I don't yet feel mentally capable of dividing my mind between characters from different environments at the same time.

It might seem strange, but I have parameters for excessive daydreaming. These are symptoms of something more, but I haven't had time to see a professional to determine what it could be. And because of this, my mind constantly struggles when I write because it delves too deeply, and it's exhausting when I try to juggle things I don't yet feel capable of handling simultaneously. I enjoy writing deeply, but I would appreciate your understanding with future requests.