#awkward situation

The Observants cut a deal with Vlad to make him King of the Infinite Realms.

First, they use their control over Clockwork to force him to trap Danny, who, not being crowned officially yet, is still vulnerable.

Their plan is to use a Persephone Marriage Bond, as it has been colloquially named, to forcibly Marry Danny to Vlad, legitimizing his claim to the crown.

Danny is saved by Dark Danny, now going by Jordan, and Dani, now going by Ellenor, who Clockwork managed to summon without disobeying the Observants orders, by the 2 of them pushing Vlad out of the ritual circle at the last second.

The Marriage Ritual binds the 3 together, and simultaneously splits the power of the crown and ring between them equally.

Jordan immediately turns and dusts the Observants, breaking Clockwork free at the same time, before turning and tearing Vlad into very bloody confetti, eating his core.

It wasn’t unusual for students or colleagues to slip him notes—requests for feedback, invitations to debates, or even philosophical challenges. But this one was…different. The words scrawled across the page struck him like an unsolved paradox.

"Get out of my school."

For a moment, his brilliant mind short-circuited. He read the message again, tilting the note as if a different angle might offer clarity. Ratio frowned, a rare crack in his ever-confident façade. Was this…a declaration of rivalry? A disgruntled student's rebellion? A threat to his very presence in the academic world?

“Impossible,” he muttered, crumpling the note with an uncharacteristically indignant flourish. “Who would dare suggest such an intellectually void sentiment?”

Little did he know, hidden behind a bookshelf nearby, you—his most dedicated (and nervous) admirer—were suppressing a panic attack.

You hadn’t meant to insult the man you admired most in the universe. Quite the opposite, in fact. Your original intention had been to ask Ratio—genius extraordinaire, passionate educator, and your longtime crush—on a date.

But writing the note was harder than expected. You’d rewritten it at least twenty times, the final draft intended to read:

"Go out with me after school?"

But in your anxiety-fueled haste, you’d swapped the words. Now your awkward attempt at romance looked like a straight-up expulsion notice. And Ratio? He was thoroughly unimpressed.

You peeked around the corner just in time to see him march out of the lecture hall, his alabaster headpiece under one arm, and the offending note in his other hand. His muttering grew fainter as he strode away, but you caught snippets: “Ignorant…crude…unworthy of my intellect…”

You sank to the floor, face buried in your hands. “What have I done?”

The rest of the day passed in a haze of guilt and dread. By the time the final bell rang, you’d resolved to find Ratio and explain the misunderstanding. You tracked him down in his private study—a grand, duck-adorned sanctuary filled with intricate charts and shelves overflowing with books.

He was seated at his desk, his posture immaculate, the crumpled note smoothed out before him. His eyes bore into it as if trying to extract its hidden meaning. When you entered, his gaze snapped to you.

“Ah, the instigator of this…” he gestured dramatically to the note, “intellectual atrocity. Care to explain yourself?”

You winced. “I—I didn’t mean it! I swear!”

Ratio leaned back, crossing his arms with a mixture of suspicion and intrigue. “Then what, pray tell, was the intent behind this baffling message?”

Your face turned crimson as you fumbled for words. “I, um… I was trying to ask if…if you’d go out with me after school…”

Ratio blinked, his formidable intellect apparently momentarily unable to process your words. “…Go out? With me?”

You nodded frantically, every fiber of your being screaming for the floor to swallow you whole. “Yes! I wanted to ask you on a date, but I—I panicked, and I messed up the note…”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, to your utter disbelief, Ratio threw back his head and laughed. It wasn’t a mocking laugh but rather a genuine, amused chuckle that softened the sharp edges of his usual demeanor.

“By the Aeons,” he said, still smiling, “you managed to turn a simple confession into what I assumed was an eviction notice. Fascinating. Truly, you may be the only person alive capable of such…creative phrasing.”

You stared at him, mortified. “I’m so sorry. I understand if you think I’m ridiculous—”

Ratio stood abruptly, his imposing presence suddenly a little less intimidating. “Ridiculous? Hardly. Your error was unique, if nothing else. And as someone who values ingenuity…” He offered you a small, rare smile. “I suppose I can forgive it.”

Your heart soared. “Does that mean…you’ll go out with me?”

He studied you for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. But only under one condition.”

“What is it?”

He leaned in slightly, his eyes gleaming with intellectual mischief. “You must promise never to write me another note unsupervised.”

You burst out laughing, relief washing over you. “Deal.”

As the two of you left his study together, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, your disastrous confession had been the start of something extraordinary.