Love letters to Y

DNI IF U:  

racist/misogynistic/sexist   

homophobic/transphobic/lgbtqphobic   

interact with inc*st or support p*dophilia

ableist;   

And absolutely any other OBVIOUS DNI

Write: 

I only write sfw content  

The request can be either romantic or platonic  

I only write for the twst fandom, but I am in many other fandoms.  

I try to avoid describing readers' appearances, so you should too.  

Be respectful and patient with others and with me  

Also if you ask, I can decline your request if I want and/or feel uncomfortable 

Characters limit is 4-6 unless you're requesting specific groups (example: first-year, second-year and third-year students)  

You can send a request at any time, if it complies with the rules, then I will give you an answer;  

I may interpret characters differently (it may differ to some extent from your idea of ​​the character) or use my headcanons (without changing important aspects of the character)    

Won't write: 

Character x character or character x OC  

NSFW   

Bad/sad ending

Excessive cruelty (and all that stuff) 

Overly self-indulgent asks   

P*dophilia/inc*st/l*li-con etc.  

Teacher x student (If one of them is a minor, it's obvious, right?) 

Character!reader (If I don't know the character or the universe where the character is from, I can't describe them well.)  

I will not write about any mental illness. I don't mean to offend or mistype this. (but I can write hurt/comfort, etc.)   

The characters do not belong to me, they belong to their rightful owners

Actually, when I first started writing this series, I treated it as a one-off. I didn't think you'd like it so much lol

But seriously, I still think about everything I wrote and I partially understand that this is not my complete vision of this plot, but I didn’t want to make a sad, unhappy ending.

In all my original drafts, the reader's follow-up after rejection is much more drastic/radical. I've never been in the position of being rejected, but I know very well what it feels like when your heart and soul ache because of love. Unrequited love, too. Especially when you love someone more than they love you. The pain is literally felt on a physical level, it's terrifying. I would never wish such feelings on anyone.

I wrote open endings for everyone, but deep down I know who I would give a bad ending to.

Remember that one paragraph at the end of each section, something like, "Now the choice is yours," "What will you say?" That's because I wanted to leave it up to you to decide whether you're ready to consider such a scenario and whether you're ready to say something non-negative to such a person. I think I would say no to everyone. And I would say a firm refusal.

When I was writing the Ortho's Bonus, this was probably the only part that didn't make me stop writing and take a couple of hours to clear my head. I tried to be less emotional in all the parts, so in this bonus, I tried to make everything happier than it actually was (in theory).

But oh my god, when I was writing the separate piece about the Rook in this universe, I probably cried three times, LMAO. Not from sadness, I'm just REALLY emotional, I felt so sorry for the reader!! I was ready to just gather you all together and kiss you on the forehead, hoping everything would be okay for you all. Especially when I tried not to describe the self-harm themes too graphically, mostly because I didn't want to trigger anyone who is currently in remission. I think this piece is my favorite of the whole series, even though it made me cry lol.

I can understand why many people like this series - someone admits their mistake to you and suffers, but loves you - but I'm still more glad that I will not be taking requests for this series anymore :) I feel very emotionally sad after it. And sadness for me is probably the hardest feeling, because you can feel it physically, lmao. I love all my works, but there are still things that make me love some more. This series is finally finished and I am so grateful to you all!! I am so happy to see that you like it, I really am. You make me, as an author, happy. It means a lot to me.

Riddle 

Riddle genuinely admires that you don’t sit idle and don’t wait for handouts from Headmaster Crowley. For him, clear planning of time and work is a marker of a mature person. 

If you make something related to the Queen of Hearts symbolism or herbs/flowers, Riddle will definitely check whether it complies with the historical protocols and the College Charter! And then, perhaps, he’ll also think about buying it from you. 

When Riddle sees you working passionately past midnight, he strictly takes away your tools, sends you to bed, but… the next day he brings a perfectly organised planner or a tool stand with rose elements. 

If any Heartslabyul student tries to mock “handmade work without magic,” Riddle will give them an hour‑long lecture on the value of painstaking labour (and hint at “off with their heads.” Just kidding, it’s not a hint, it’s a direct threat.). 

One of his favourite moments, most likely, was seeing the spark in your eyes when another piece was finished. He carefully keeps a small souvenir item you made especially for him (for example, an elegant bookmark or a pen case) and never parts with it. 

“Your determination is commendable, but Rule №346 states that rest is just as important as work. Put down the scissors. Now.” 

Watching you draw another even line or fit parts with mathematical precision, Riddle catches himself thinking – a thought that initially frightens him: there is no magic in this process, but there is something much deeper. In his own life, everything had always been subject to strict rules and others’ expectations, where every step was measured to the millimetre under his mother’s stern supervision. But you create order from chaos with your own hands, driven not by fear of punishment, but by pure, creative inspiration. For Riddle, used to seeing discipline as mere dry duty, your genuine passion becomes a real revelation. 

He is sincerely amazed by the love and care with which you treat every material, no matter how cheap it may be. Riddle is used to luxury and impeccable items created by the finest craftsmen or powerful spells, but no golden goblet from the royal palace ever gave him as much warmth as a modest thing made by you. When he watches the soft lamp light reflect in your focused eyes, a strange, almost painful feeling of pride wells up in his chest. He wants to protect this small world of silence and creativity from any misfortunes and reproaches that might befall a magicless person at NRC. 

Secretly from everyone, Riddle has started a separate velvet box, where he carefully stores all the little things he received from you – whether it’s a test sample or a small imperfection you considered a defect. For Riddle, these items have no flaws. When evening inspections are over and the dorm falls asleep, he takes out a small custom pen case from his desk, runs his fingers over the neat seams, and smiles quietly. At such moments, he thinks that true magic is not the ability to command the elements, but the ability to put a piece of one’s soul into an object and make a strict housewarden’s heart beat just a little faster. 

Azul 

Azul immediately assesses the commercial potential. He is not so much impressed by the fact of “handmade work” as by your sincere passion and talent, which create unique value. 

He quickly realises that manual labour without magic is a rare exclusive, for which wealthy NRC students are willing to pay. 

Azul will carefully (and, of course, “completely free” as part of support) advise you on how to price things correctly so as not to undercut the market. Secretly, he might set aside a corner in Octavinelle as a display for your merchandise/goods. 

Understanding that you are short on funds, Azul will “accidentally” obtain quality materials at wholesale prices or through his supply channels. 

Azul enjoys simply sitting next to you while you work. For him, this pure, undisguised love and immense talent with the potential to create things with your own hands is something mesmerising and soothing. 

“Selling this at such a low price is a crime against art! Let me draw up the correct pricing grid. Your efforts are worth much more.” 

Azul is a person used to evaluating absolutely everything through the prism of profit, labour costs, and market value. At first, your business seemed to him merely a touching attempt to survive in a foreign world, but the more he watched the process, the more his attitude changed. Azul notices every little detail: how your fingers confidently flutter over the blanks, how your posture changes when the work nears completion, and with what reverence you evaluate the finished result. There was no falseness or desire for profit in it. For Azul, who is used to hiding his true essence behind a hundred contracts and a flawless mask, this open, pure passion for your craft looks incredibly attractive and even poetic. 

He often finds excuses to drop by Ramshackle dorm under the guise of a “business meeting” or “supply discussion,” although in reality he just needs to see your happy face again. Azul admires how you create things with character and history out of nothing, out of simple improvised materials and scrap paper. In a world where every second person relies on a wave of a magic wand, your skill seems to Azul like the truest elite art. He catches himself thinking that he is ready to spend any Octavinelle resources just so you always have the best tools, although he perfectly understands that it’s not the material that gives these things value, but your hands. 

Sitting in his office late at night, Azul sometimes turns over in his hands a small keychain or cardholder you made specially for him. He strokes the rough surface of the material and thinks that no contract in the world can buy the feeling of warmth that emanates from that little thing. Azul is genuinely proud of your success and dreams of the day when your brand becomes known far beyond Night Raven College. And it’s not about the percentage of sales – Azul simply wants the whole world to see and appreciate the talent of the person who managed to make his cold, calculating heart beat faster. 

Floyd 

Floyd quickly gets bored of everything, but watching you immerse yourself in work is his new favourite pastime. 

He likes to touch the materials, turn the blanks in his hands, and marvel at how a cool thing emerges from a pile of “trash.” (affectionately)

Floyd might suddenly bring you some strange but rare shell, a dried fish/crab, coral, an unusual piece of wood, or rare fabric with the words: “Hey, Shrimpy, you can make something cool out of this, right?” 

If you spend too long on a small detail and get nervous, Floyd might simply pick you up, drag you off for a snack, or start spinning you around in the air to “stretch your joints.” 

Floyd absolutely sincerely wears things you made (for example, bracelets, keychains, or custom clothing details). If someone asks where he got it, he puffs out his chest with pride and declares that it was made especially for him. 

He asks you to make something matching for him and Jade! 

“A-ha-ha! You make such a funny face when you cut that thing! Let me help? If I break it, will you get mad at me? Get maaaaaad!” 

It’s incredibly hard to make Floyd sit still or focus on anything for more than five minutes, but when you start working, Floyd turns into the quietest and most attentive creature for a mile around. He can lie on the floor next to your worktable for hours, propping his chin on his hands, and watch every movement. He is fascinated by this contrast: your fragile, seemingly utterly ordinary hands perform real miracles with materials. Floyd likes this measuredness and rhythm with which you work – it calms his ever‑boiling, chaotic mind better than any sedative.

His sincere delight is sparked by the moments when you show him the finished result. Floyd takes the thing in his long fingers, examines it from different angles, touches the texture, and makes happy sounds like purring. For him, this is not just “handmade” – it’s some special, incomprehensible magic of Shrimp. Floyd absolutely loves knowing that you put so much emotion into every stitch, every fastened detail. When you’re tired but smiling happily after a long workday, everything inside Floyd flips over with the urge to scoop you up in his arms and never let go. 

Deep down, Floyd is terribly proud that you let him be around while you work, and even sometimes trust him with a small operation like trimming threads or handing tools, no matter what mood he’s in. He wears your gifts as the highest reward, baring his teeth demonically at anyone who dares to look askance at his new accessory. For Floyd, thoughts of you are now inseparable from the smell of glue, wood, fresh fabrics, and coziness. He often thinks to himself that if anyone in this boring world has truly managed to tame him, it’s only that little Shrimpy with all their little knives, threads, and endless talent. 

Kalim 

For Kalim, who is used to endless wealth, the very fact that someone can create such a beautiful thing from scratch with their own hands is a real miracle. 

Kalim wants to simply buy EVERYTHING you make for a lot of madols, so you don’t have to worry about anything anymore. (After such incidents, Jamil bans mentioning your name in the dorm.) 

You have to politely explain to Kalim that the point of a business is to sell to other people, not just receive financial help from him. Kalim respects this decision, though he’s genuinely surprised. 

Kalim organises “fairs” or tea parties in Scarabia, where he invites people and enthusiastically shows off your goods to everyone: “Look what they made with their own hands! Isn’t it incredible!” 

Kalim loves to bring you the brightest precious threads, rare beads, or fabrics from his home as a “gift for inspiration,” just to see that light bulb go off above your head when you see beautiful materials. 

“This is so cool! I want to buy a hundred of these! What do you mean ‘you don’t have that many’? Then I’ll wait! And can I try making one together with you?” 

Kalim has been surrounded since childhood by the most incredible treasures, gemstones, and handmade carpets that cost fortunes. But none of it ever aroused in him such sincere, childlike awe as the process of your work. Kalim watches you with almost sacred reverence: for him, a person who can turn a piece of ordinary fabric or wood into a beautiful and useful thing from scratch, with their own hands, is a true magician. Without any spells, without magic, simply through patience and love. This seems absolutely incredible and wonderful to Kalim. 

When you work, Kalim is ready to sit next to you all day, continually admiring every step. He often catches himself thinking how much he wants to make your life easier and happier. Kalim is pained by the thought that you have to work so much due to lack of money, but at the same time he sees how your eyes light up when another idea comes to life. Kalim begins to understand that it’s not just about earning money – it’s your very essence, the expression of your soul. And this fact makes Kalim respect you even more, seeing in them an incredibly strong and inspiring person. 

Kalim keeps the things you made in the most prominent places in his room, mixing them with priceless family heirlooms. For him, they are far more valuable than any gold. Every time he looks at the amulet or keychain you gave him, his heart fills with sun and warmth. Kalim often dreams about how, after graduation, he will set up a huge workshop for you with the best views and materials from all over the world, so you can create whatever your heart desires without worrying about money. Kalim just wants to see that happy, absorbed smile again and again.

When you muster up the courage and beg Leona to play matchmaker (or just discreetly arrange a “random” date/meeting for you), Leona’s first reaction is a mix of dull irritation and mild interest. His ear twitches a few times. 

“Out of all the guys in this academy, this fool had to pick the most proper and boring thick‑headed wolf cub.” 

He won’t refuse outright, but first he’ll make you regret ever opening your mouth. He’ll start teasing you (affectionately. Sibling moment), joking about your flushed cheeks and asking if you hit your head during flying lessons. 

If Jack walks by, two seconds later he’ll say very loudly: “Huh? Repeat? Who‑who do you think is the most handsome and strongest guy? Ja–“ you tug his tail. Oops! 

But he agrees. Why, though? To be honest… he sees it as an amusing spectacle: watching two embarrassed and awkward teenagers is the best free show. 

And also… well, no one will tell you this, but… 

Actually… if he had to choose who you should be with, Jack is the safest option. Leona knows that Jack is hyper‑responsible, would never hurt you, would shield you from any danger, and respects boundaries.

“Are you serious right now? You chose the one who spends his free time doing crunches and reading the academy bylaws?.. Do you even have any taste? ..Fine, shut up. I’ll do it, but only if you promise not to scream in my ear for a month and bring me food from the cafeteria. And don’t expect me to sing romantic ballads, cub.” 

Before doing anything at all, Leona subjects you to a real, albeit lazy, interrogation. He drags you to the Botanical Garden, makes you sit next to him, and starts dissecting your crush literally bone by bone, checking whether you even realise what you’re getting into. With mild cynicism, he lays out Jack’s whole background for you – from his overblown sense of justice to his absolute helplessness in the face of a girl’s tears or directness. Leona bluntly warns you that Jack is a “wolf who’s as straight as a board and as stubborn as a mule,” who will start glitching like a broken spinning top at the slightest hint of flirting, so hinting is useless – you need to act subtly but clearly. 

“Do you even understand what you’ve gotten yourself into, herbivore? Jack doesn’t know how to play these riddle games of yours. If you bat your eyes and say you’re cold, he won’t hug you – he’ll bring your own blanket from Ramshackle and give you a lecture about toughening up. Want to attract him? Don’t beat around the bush. Ask for help, make him feel needed and useful. These pups have a thing for protecting the weak – so use it.” 

Leona is the king (haha) of laziness, so he won’t arrange candlelit dates with roses. His method is to make sure Jack finds himself in a situation where he has to take the initiative, thinking it’s his own decision or a “housewarden’s order.” 

Leona calls Jack over and burdens him with a work assignment. For example, he sends him to help you with some heavy boxes, cleaning at Ramshackle, or preparing for classes. 

“Hey, Jack. Go help this clueless herbivore. She can’t even lift anything herself again, she’s just getting underfoot. And I don’t want to see you back in the dorm before evening. Consider it endurance training.” 

Leona casually drops phrases that hit Jack’s sense of duty and his embarrassed side. 

“By the way, she only asks about you. Says you’re the only normal one in Savanaclaw. Don’t disgrace the dorm, wolf cub.” (After which Jack instantly blushes to the tips of his ears and starts wagging his tail in embarrassment, trying to hide it.) 

While you think Leona is just lazing around, he’s actually running a covert operation in his dorm. He starts deliberately “wearing out” Jack by piling tasks on him, and in parallel carefully plants the right thoughts into his head. Leona mocks Jack’s stern, “stone‑faced” way of communicating with you, framing it as concern for the dorm’s reputation. He makes Jack practice acting softer: for example, he teases him for frowning every time he sees you, and explains to the “oaken” first‑year that girls from other worlds aren’t used to giant wolves baring their teeth. 

“Listen to me, Jack. When you look at her, you have a face like you want to eat her or challenge her to a duel. She’s a human, not a wild animal on the hunt. Tone it down, hide your fangs, and learn to at least smooth your brow when she talks to you. If you scare her – you’ll be personally scrubbing the Hall of Mirror until it gleams, got it?” 

A couple of hours before the “meeting,” Leona drops by Ramshackle dorm with the air of a great martyr to assess your readiness. He critically examines your appearance, rejects clothes that are too uncomfortable or cold (because “he’s not going to treat your runny nose later”), and literally hands you a step‑by‑step plan. To keep the situation from looking like a date and throwing the shy Jack into complete stupor, Leona comes up with a perfect, ironclad excuse: supposedly he urgently needs certain herbal preparations from a remote corner of the academy grounds to “improve his sleep,” and he decides to send the two of you to get them. 

“Alright, stop fussing. Dress properly – it’s windy outside, and Jack will take you the shortest way through the hills. Here, take this paper. Tell him it’s my order: you need to find a rare type of mint near the lake. It’ll take about two hours. If he starts being a bore – say it’s a personal commission from the prince. And for Sevens’ sake, stop being so nervous, you reek of fear from a mile away, and he’s a wolf – he’ll smell it right away.” 

At the very last moment, when Jack and you are supposed to meet at the gate, Leona takes charge of organising the “escape route.” He personally intercepts Ruggie, Grim, and any other potential distractions (like first‑years who might tag along with Jack), loading them with pointless work or sending them to the opposite end of the academy for food. Leona creates an absolute vacuum around the two of you, guaranteeing that no one will ruin the moment with their stupid jokes. When you run out into the courtyard and see Jack waiting for you – completely alone, a little awkward, but honestly trying to smile without baring his teeth – you realise that Leona has quietly cleared the entire battlefield for you. 

“Ruggie, take that fluffy parasite Grim and scram to the cafeteria for donuts. I don’t want to see either of you within a mile radius for the next three hours. If anyone asks where Jack is – say he’s on a secret housewarden assignment. Got it? Now shoo, you’re disturbing my sleep.” 

When the “date” happens, Leona watches from afar – for example, sprawled on a tree branch, eyes half‑closed, but his ears alert. 

Jack is eternally flustered, scratches the back of his head, says proper and slightly awkward things, and you’re nervous next to him. Leona from above can barely stifle a groan at how awkward you both are. 

If Jack starts dragging his feet or you lose your words, Leona might “accidentally” drop a pinecone or a dry branch from the branch right onto Jack’s head to jolt him, or signal with his tail through the leaves.

After Jack and you finally make the first move (for example, agree to go for a walk without any pretext~), Leona meets you with a triumphant but tired smirk. 

“So, romantic? Satisfied? That idiot almost ran away from embarrassment three times. If I hadn’t sent him to you ‘by order,’ you’d have been just greeting each other until graduation. You owe me, cub. And may the Sevens forbid he hurts you – though more likely, you’ll embarrass him into a heart attack.” 

Leona is really having a great time, you have no idea. 

Ace 

OOHH He didn’t expect this, but trust me, he has a terribly smug grin all over his face. Terrible. 

Ace is used to everything in Heartslabyul having a price or being subject to strict rules: mistakes get you a scolding from Riddle, and for help you have to joke your way out or negotiate. So when you just casually shove that warm, slightly pastry-scented package into his hands, a short circuit happens inside him. His first reaction is to defend himself with his usual clowning and sardonic grin, so that God forbid no one thinks he’s been moved by some bun. But, clutching the thick paper in his palm, Ace feels real, simple warmth with no catch to it. 

First, he turns on his trademark sarcasm and light teasing: “Hey-hey, what do you take me for? Do I look like a starving student?” or “Are you giving this to me because you’re tired of it yourself?” 

However, he takes the container/bag instantly, without even thinking, lmao. 

Already walking along the dark path towards his dorm, he unwraps the package and takes the first bite. Something handmade, maybe even specially for him… Ace quietly chuckles with a genuine, unforced smile, looking up at the starry sky. He’s damn pleased to realise that in this chaotic college there’s a person who notices such little things and says goodbye to him not with a dry “see you tomorrow,” but with real home‑style care. 

On his way to Heartslabyul, he opens the package right on the go. If it’s a bun, he breaks off a piece, tries it, and quietly grins: “Hm, well… it’s edible. Didn’t even get poisoned.” 

If he runs into Riddle or Deuce on the way, he’ll hide the package or pretend it’s “nothing special,” so Deuce doesn’t dare ask for a share. 

Ace will save the last cookie/piece for later and before bed will send you a short message like: “Alright, cook this more often. 7/10” (though inside he’s saved it at a solid 10/10). 

Ruggie 

OH YES OH YES come on quick! Hee-hee-hee 

I hope we all remember that for Ruggie, food isn’t just a physiological need – it’s literally the equivalent of survival, security, respect, and, obviously, love. In the Slums, nobody gives anything for free, and in Savanaclaw you have to fight (so to speak) or curry favour with Leona for every bite. When you hand him a sturdy, heavy container, a kaleidoscope of thoughts instantly flashes through Ruggie’s head: he automatically calculates how much money and effort this will save him tomorrow. But immediately after comes something else, a rare feeling for him – deep, vulnerable tenderness. You’re not asking for a favour in return or for him to clean your room? Is this a gift given from the heart? 

You’ve hit him right in the heart, and it goes “BAM”! 

Ruggie’s eyes light up even before the container is in his hands. His saving instinct kicks in instantly: “Shi-shi-shi! Seriously? All for me? Do you even understand the value of food in this day and age?” 

He starts mock‑complaining that you’re too extravagant, but his smile is absolutely genuine. 

Ruggie carefully and thriftily stashes the food in his bag as if it were a treasure chest. (For him it’s not just a snack, but a saved budget. He’ll definitely gauge the weight of the container in his hand, lol.) 

“Note to self: They’re a useful person. I need to drop by Ramshackle more often.” 

The chuckle he lets out turns out much less sly and much more real than usual. In his eyes, at that moment, you transform from just a “very strange magicless student” into someone infinitely precious and reliable. Ruggie is genuinely touched that someone cared about his being fed – because usually it’s him hovering over everyone like a mother hen, but here the roles suddenly reversed, and it feels surprisingly cozy. 

Jack 

He’s an athlete; I think, unfortunately, he eats a lot. Especially since he’s a wolf. Even more?? 

Jack always finds it difficult to accept such gestures – there’s too much pride, upbringing, and simple boyish embarrassment in him. When you offer him food, the first thing Jack thinks is that he hasn’t done anything to deserve such attention. Embarrassment instantly hits him: his ears start burning, and he’s ready to sink through the ground at the thought that he looks helpless in your eyes. However, seeing how sincerely and without ulterior motives you care for him, his internal resistance breaks down. 

He starts refusing the gift out of politeness: “Uh? No, you didn’t have to… I’m fine! Savanaclaw has dinner!” 

His wagging tail (which he tries to hold with his hand or hide behind his back) completely betrays his real emotions. Cute. 

When you finally manage to thrust the container into his hands, Jack carefully takes it with both hands, showing great respect. 

He’ll eat the food late in the evening after his night workout. For him, it’ll become the perfect recovery fuel. 

If it was something like reusable tableware, Jack will definitely wash the container until it shines and bring it back to you personally the next day, quietly muttering: “Thank you… It was very tasty.” 

Already holding the neat packaging in his hands, Jack feels a strong, quiet, noble feeling blooming in his chest. His tail treacherously gives away his joy, even though he tries to keep a straight face. For Jack, this gesture is a sign of the highest trust and closeness. He perceives it as a silent oath: from now on, you are under his personal protection, and he will no longer allow any danger in Ramshackle. The taste of this food becomes associated for him with loyalty and that rare coziness that is so lacking among the harsh laws of Savanaclaw. 

Silver 

Silver is used to living in a constant half‑sleep and a slight detachment from the surrounding chaos, but your care he feels incredibly clearly. When a warming thermos or a package of cookies falls into his hands, his first thought is how pure and kind your intentions are. After Lilia’s strange and sometimes dangerous kitchen experiments, homemade food from you seems to Silver like a quiet haven. Not a single drop of suspicion or awkwardness arises in his head – only deep, calm gratitude. 

He looks at the package with a slightly hazy, sleepy gaze, and then his face softens into a very warm, sincere smile. 

“Thank you.. You always think of others… That’s very kind of you.” 

Silver puts the food in his inner pocket or carefully carries it with him. On his way to Diasomnia, he might well sit down under a tree, overcome by drowsiness, and fall asleep right there with the package in his hands. 

Birds or small animals might gather around the scent, but Silver will wake up and eat the snack late at night, when he’s on watch or wakes up hungry. 

He’ll take a sip, feel the warmth, and think that thanks to you, Ramshackle has become as cozy as home (even without Lilia’s specific cooking). 

Clutching the gift in his hands, Silver feels a soft warmth spreading inside him, like sunlight through the leaves in the Diasomnia forest. At that moment, his drowsiness recedes for an instant, giving way to a very clear realisation: you are the person next to whom even the coldest and most anxious evening becomes safe. Silver mentally makes a promise to himself to remember this moment, to keep this feeling of coziness, and to be sure to thank you at the first opportunity – perhaps by bringing something in return or simply promising that he will always protect both you and your Ramshackle. 

Riddle 

Riddle’s private office. They were supposed to be reviewing reports, but you made Riddle get distracted. The strict and perfect prefect loses all his haughtiness: his cheeks are burning, but he grabs your tie and pulls you into a surprisingly commanding and deep kiss, proving that he’s in charge here, despite his height. 

“This is a violation of every possible rule… but I think I can turn a blind eye for a few minutes… Look only at me…” 

“Rule 53… no! I’m the housewarden, I should behave flawlessly, but why do all these boundaries simply fall apart with you? Your lips are so soft… I want to remember this moment, I want you to look only at me and not dare think about anyone else in this college.” 

The door opens, Trey enters with a tea tray. He freezes on the threshold, sighs, sets the tray down on the nearest side table, carefully adjusts his glasses, and says: “I’ll come back in five minutes. And, Riddle… don’t forget to fix your collar, we have a tea party in half an hour.” 

Riddle instantly jumps back, blushing to the tips of his ears, and starts shouting at Trey hysterically, hiding his wild embarrassment behind his usual hot‑headedness. 

The outburst of anger at Trey is obviously just an attempt to hide his extreme shame. Inside, Riddle is burning: his heart is pounding as if he’s run a marathon, and his thoughts are jumbled. He’s terrified of looking unserious or stupid, but at the same time, deep down, he’s angry at Trey for ruining that second of pure, genuine happiness. 

Leona 

Leona’s cherished shady spot in the botanical garden. Leona pulls you down onto the grass, looming over you. His kisses are lazy but incredibly greedy and hot, he growls right into your lips and threads his fingers through your hair, completely trapping you with his long legs. 

“Stubborn potion… think you can just come to my spot and not pay the price? Forget about lessons. You’ll stay with me until I say otherwise.” 

“There you go again with your tenderness… But since you came into the lion’s mouth yourself — don’t complain. I’m too lazy to play romance, but I can’t let you go anymore. You belong to me here and now, and that scent… it completely clouds my mind.” 

Ruggie emerges from the bushes with a huge armful of food boxes. “Shishishi! Leona-san, I got you everything you asked for… Oh. You could at least put up a ‘Do Not Disturb, Hunting in Progress’ sign. By the way, since I interrupted you, I’ll take a silence fee!” 

Leona doesn’t even pull back immediately — he just bares his teeth in irritation and throws a small stone that was within reach at Ruggie, muttering for him to get lost if he doesn’t want to become a doormat. 

Ruggie’s appearance doesn’t embarrass Leona — it just annoys him pure and simple. He despises anyone intruding on his personal territory. The stone thrown at the hyena is only a small part of his irritation; Leona feels somewhat slighted because his “prey” was scared away right in front of him, and now he’ll have to find another excuse to be alone. 

Azul 

Azul’s private office after the Mostro Lounge closes. Azul carefully presses you against his desk, sweeping some important papers onto the floor. Without his glasses, his gaze is frighteningly intimate. Azul’s kisses are desperate, passionate, with an almost vulnerable greed — he gives away all his control. 

“I calculated everything, but I can’t calculate you… This isn’t profitable, it’s stupid! But right now.. Tell me you need me. Let me take all of your attention.” 

“This is completely irrational! There’s no commercial benefit in this at all! So why can’t I pull away? Your hands on my shoulders… it’s more intoxicating than any magic potion… just let me feel that I’m needed by someone for real.” 

The door opens quietly, and Jade appears on the threshold with a flawless document holder. He instantly assesses the situation, his smile growing even wider. “Oh my, oh my, Azul. I knew you were working hard on new proposals, but I didn’t think the negotiations would go… this far. Do continue, I’ll just leave the cleaning bills here.” 

Azul instantly fumbles for his glasses, drops his pen, his face burning. He tries to regain his business tone, but his voice cracks into a falsetto as he attempts to make excuses to the smiling Jade. 

When Jade ruins the moment with his perfectly polite smirk, Azul experiences a real emotional collapse (?). His carefully constructed image of a “successful businessman” crumbles in a second. He feels naked and vulnerable, and his brain panickedly tries to calculate how to make Jade keep quiet and not die of shame himself. 

Kalim 

Scarabia balcony under the starry sky. Kalim is sincere and impulsive: he simply wraps his arms around your neck and kisses you with pure, ringing tenderness and open passion that takes your breath away. All his gold and jewellery jingles softly in time with his movements. I think he’s the only one who doesn’t do it roughly. 

“I’m so happy! I want to give you everything I have - this whole palace, all the treasures! But most of all I just want to be with you like this. Please, smile at me again!” 

“This is so great! It literally takes my breath away! I want to give you this whole world, I want us to dance, laugh, and kiss for an eternity! Your warmth is the best treasure in all of Scarabia, I’ll never let it go!” 

Jamil walks silently down the corridor with a tray of sherbet. He stops, silently watches the scene for a few seconds. His eye literally twitches at the thought of potential danger/scandal. “Kalim… I told you not to hug guests at the edge of the balcony. You could both fall. And anyway… off to bed, now!” 

Kalim laughs cheerfully, not at all embarrassed, but he feels his face heating up slightly, and he pulls Jamil to join them in stargazing while you try not to burn up from shame. (Jamil declines, thank you. He, unfortunately, has already seen where your “stargazing” leads.) 

Kalim doesn’t feel any negativity or shame when Jamil bursts in. His heart is simply overflowing with tenderness. The only thing he regrets is that the moment ended so quickly. He genuinely sparkles with energy and immediately switches to the idea of throwing a huge evening just for the two of them (or three) in celebration. 

Vil 

Vil’s dressing room in front of a lighted mirror. Vil holds your chin with his impeccably manicured fingers. His kisses are a mix of exquisite art and wild, all-consuming flame. He appraises, directs, but gradually he almost loses his head himself, pressing you into the velvet chair. 

“You are imperfect, your movements are awkward… but why do you make my heart beat so un-aesthetically fast? Don’t you dare look away. I will make this moment perfect for both of us.” 

“Your gaze… there’s no falseness in it. It’s a beautiful imperfection… Your lips respond to mine, and I want to bring this script to perfection.” 

The door silently opens and Rook Hunt enters, dramatically pressing his hand to his chest. “OH! TRÈS BIEN! What an impromptu! What passion! Vil, your profile in this light is simply divine, and our little potato bud’s embarrassment is a true masterpiece!” (and he pulls out a camera lmao). 

Vil instantly pulls back, maintaining his royal posture, though his cheeks are slightly flushed. He snaps at Rook: “Rook! Put the camera down, or I’ll make you wash the entire costume department!” Meanwhile, you turn to the mirror and see that all of his lipstick is now smeared across your lips and chin. Oh! 

Rook’s arrival with his lens instantly brings back Vil’s protective “queen” mask. He’s annoyed not so much at being caught, but that someone dared to intrude on his personal, hidden-from-the-public “masterpiece.” But deep down, Vil is still pleased: he knows he looked flawless, though he secretly dreams of punishing (a little gently) Rook for ruining the climax. 

Idia 

Idia’s dark room, lit only by monitors. Idia is a panicking geek, but when you make the first move, Idia breaks down. He presses you back into the gaming chair, his blue flame hair flaring bright pink, and his kisses are unexpectedly hot and desperate. 

“I-is this a real romantic event?! I’m not levelled up! Damn, damn, their lips are so soft… My pulse is off the charts, I’m at like 99% load right now! Please let this title never end!” 

“SYSTEM ERROR! Sevens-Sevens-Sevens is this happening in reality?! Not in a simulator?! They’re so close, so warm… If I mess up now, I’ll embarrass myself across the whole internet! But… I don’t want to close my eyes. This is the best route in my life, please don’t let the FPS drop!” 

Ortho’s eyes light up as he flies closer. “Idia! According to my sensors, your body temperature has risen to 37.3°C, and your pulse is critical! Are you conducting a biological microflora exchange? Should I summon a medical drone?!” 

Ortho’s concern and his medical sensors turn Idia into a puddle of panic. He feels like his secret [REDACTED] screenshot has been displayed on the main college screen. His heart is pounding on the verge of arrhythmia, and only one thought is spinning in his head: bury himself under the blanket and not come out until at least next semester. 

Malleus 

An abandoned castle tower. Magical green flames swirl around them. Malleus is ancient and powerful, his presence is overwhelming, but his kisses are surprisingly tender, though carrying a terrible strength. He carefully holds you by the waist, as if afraid of breaking a precious porcelain doll. 

“Child of human… you are not afraid of me. You are so close. Your warmth fuels my magic better than any spell. I will not give you up to time or to this world.” 

“You are fragile as a petal, your heart beats so fast… But you do not run away. You clutch my clothes and answer my kiss. This feeling… it is stronger than any ancient magic. I want to protect this warmth from the whole world, from time itself.” 

From the shadow on the ceiling, Lilia drops down headfirst. “Oho-ho! Malleus, I was looking for you to discuss… oh. My apologies! Do go on, don’t mind an old man. I’ll just hang here!” 

Malleus takes a deep breath, covering you with the folds of his cloak to hide you from Lilia’s mischievous gaze, and says sternly: “Lilia… please, observe at least some decency.” 

When Lilia unceremoniously hangs around nearby, Malleus feels the quiet annoyance of an ancient being whose grandeur has been slightly shaken. There is no wild explosion of emotion — rather a mature, deep desire to hide his “treasure” from prying eyes. Under the cover of his cloak, he squeezes your hand tighter, giving a silent promise to continue later. 

Riddle 

A harsh, dry refusal by the rules. Riddle most likely stated that emotional attachments are not prescribed in the Queen of Hearts Charter, they distract from studies and lead to chaos. 

Some time passes and oh, no! 

Riddle will catch himself during another tea party or rule check frantically searching for you with his eyes, and what will finally finish him off is the moment he notices that you follow all the rules… but purely out of dry politeness, having completely erased Riddle from your personal life. Ouch. 

Riddle will become even more nervous. When he sees you, his face will instantly flush, and he will start making the stupidest slips in the rules (which is a disaster for him!). He will start “accidentally” assigning you the lightest punishments or finding excuses to reprimand you privately, just to be near you. 

“I’m just maintaining discipline! It’s my duty as Housewarden! My elevated pulse rate is the result of stress from non-compliance with the dormitory regulations!” 

The realisation hit Riddle in the complete silence of his office during a late-night review of disciplinary reports. He was habitually making notes in red ink in the margins when his hand froze over the line with your name. His heart suddenly skipped a beat, and an suffocating, unusually hot feeling spread through his chest. Riddle tried to brush it off as fatigue and academic burnout, got up from his desk to pour some water, but looking in the mirror, he froze in horror: his cheeks and the tips of his ears were burning crimson. He couldn’t recall a single Queen of Hearts rule that described such a state, and it was precisely this control slipping through his fingers that threw him into confusion. 

That night he couldn’t fall asleep at all. He went over every past conversation with you in his head, every little detail, and his own cold rejection, and with each memory the weight in his chest only grew. With terrifying clarity, it dawned on him: what bothered him wasn’t that you had started studying worse or perhaps avoiding the rules, but that you no longer looked at Riddle the way you used to. 

Oh? 

It was pure, untamed, and absolute love, which couldn’t care less about all the dormitory Charters. 

Through an official but terribly embarrassed “decree,” Riddle will invite you to his office, pour tea (which he will accidentally oversweeten from nerves), and, clenching his robes in his fists, with burning ears, read out: “I have reviewed the interpretation of Rule №142… And I have concluded that my previous verdict was erroneous. I… I would strongly insist that you give me a second chance!” 

Hm, but you will think before giving him an answer, or no? 

Ruggie 

A light, pragmatic, and joking “Oh-ho, love? It won’t fill my stomach, and I don’t have time for that nonsense, I’ve got work to do!” 

Well then. What a mistake he made! 

Ruggie will realise he’s ready to share… food with you. Or when he catches himself looking for a rare treat or a useful item not to sell or eat himself, but to secretly slip to you. What’s happening to him? 

He’ll stop asking for money or favours in return for small favours to you. Ruggie will start hanging around you, as if by chance bringing you packaged snacks, helping with cleaning or heavy physical work, grinning: “It was on my way anyway, hee-hee!” 

“I’m just investing in promising connections! If I’m useful, this person will share something with me later. This is purely financial gain!” 

The moment of revelation hit Ruggie right during lunch in the noisy cafeteria. He was sitting at his usual corner table, greedily wolfing down his portion while simultaneously calculating in his head how much he’d managed to save that week. Suddenly his gaze accidentally caught a familiar silhouette: you were sitting nearby, laughing cheerfully at someone’s joke, sharing your dessert with one of your friends. At that second, something inside Ruggie literally flipped. His usual wide grin instantly slid off his face, and a piece of bread got stuck in his throat. His ears rang from an unexpected, downright wild stab of jealousy. 

Ruggie lowered his eyes to his plate and with horror caught himself on an absolutely unthinkable thought: he was ready to give away his entire portion, all his savings, and even the hyenas’ trays, just for that laughter and that attention to be meant for him. For a guy who had been used since childhood to valuing only what could be sold or eaten, this was a real shock. 

He realised that he had managed to fall in love, for free and without looking back, with the person he himself had recently driven away for the sake of “financial gain.” 

How will he make it right? 

He’ll catch you somewhere in the back courtyard, scratch the back of his head, chuckle his usual “Shi-shi-shi,” but his gaze will be unusually sincere: “Listen… Remember when I said romance isn’t profitable? Well, I did the math. Losing you is the biggest loss of my life. How about we renegotiate?” 

Of course, only after he tries again, right? 

Azul 

A business-like refusal. Azul most likely formulated a clear response, something like: “A relationship won’t bring me profit, it’s emotions, and emotions are vulnerability and weakness. You’d better try your luck elsewhere.” 

But then? 

Azul will realise that after the refusal you didn’t run to beg him for a contract or ask for a “love potion” (a reference? If you know, you know), but simply accepted it with dignity and walked away. Azul will realise that for the first time in his life he has lost absolute control over a person, and his mind is occupied 24/7 with thoughts of them, not of Mostro deals. 

Azul will lose his flawless business composure. He’ll start adjusting his glasses three times as often, become incredibly generous specifically to you (offering free drinks, discounts at Mostro, the best seats), and will secretly compile a “dossier” on you to find out what you like (or who, but it’s better not to have that moment. You understand?) 

“This is a logical adjustment! I simply must study this object to regain control over my thought processes. This isn’t love, it’s calculation!” 

For Azul, the moment of truth came late in the evening when he was reviewing the day’s financial reports. The numbers on paper had always been his best sedative, but today they were blurring before his eyes. Suddenly the door opened and you walked in. Azul instantly straightened up, putting on his most flawless business smile, ready to offer a “profitable service,” but you simply walked past to Jade’s counter, politely placed an order, and sat in the far corner without even glancing at the Housewarden. At that moment, the ground seemed to disappear from under Azul’s feet. 

He adjusted his glasses with trembling fingers and fled to his office, locking the door. His breathing was ragged, and absolute chaos reigned in his head. No mathematical models, calculations, or contracts could explain why the lack of attention from one single person made him feel like that helpless little octopus from his childhood. Azul looked at the safe with his valuable deals and for the first time in his life realised he would give them all away without a second thought for just one sincere look from you. 

That very love he had been so afraid of. 

How will this problem be solved? 

He’ll organise a private dinner in the Mostro VIP room. With pressed cuffs, nervously gripping his cane, Azul will place a beautiful scroll before you… without conditions. “I’m used to making deals where I always win. But this time… I’m ready to give you all my assets and my heart without any collateral. Please sign… that is, reciprocate my feelings.” 

Well, isn’t that nice? Make your demands while he’s not looking, quick! 

Jade 

A polite, veiled, with a flawless and unsettling smile, “What a curious request! However, I’m afraid I cannot reciprocate your feelings. My interests lie in a slightly different plane.” 

Is that so? Fine. 

Jade loves observing people’s reactions, like rare mushrooms in the forest. But when he notices that you have stopped reacting to his manipulations and flinching at his polite tone, having become completely emotionally unavailable, Jade will feel not research curiosity, but a dull, unpleasant longing. Of course, at first he won’t be able to pinpoint if it counts as longing, but he will eventually arrive at that conclusion. 

He’ll start showing uncharacteristic directness. He’ll stop smiling his “predatory” smile around you, start speaking quietly, softly, and very carefully. He’ll start giving strange but incredibly thoughtful gifts (like dried rare flowers or taking you to secluded resting spots). 

“What an incredibly resilient specimen… My interest in them is absolutely scientific. I simply want to find out what can melt that coldness.” 

Jade understood everything during one of his favourite solitary walks through the Forest. He was standing by a rare species of spore fungi, intending to conduct his usual observations, but caught himself staring into space for half an hour already. In his head, your last conversation with him was replaying. Jade was used to analysing people as amusing test subjects, dissecting their emotions and enjoying how easily they fell for his little tricks. But with you, everything went off-script. You didn’t make a scene, didn’t cry, and didn’t get angry after the refusal — you simply stepped aside, becoming unreachable. 

And it was precisely this unreachability that broke through Jade’s stoic exterior. He touched his fingers to his lips and realised that his polite smile had long since vanished. In his chest, for the first time in a long while, there was not scientific curiosity pulling, but a dry, trembling longing. He no longer wanted to “observe” or “study” from the sidelines. He realised that he passionately, desperately wanted to be the cause of your emotions himself — to be close, hold your hand, and share what he hides from the rest of the world. 

He’ll invite you for a walk in the Botanical Garden. In the silence among the plants, Jade will speak without his usual elaborate phrases, very honestly and quietly: “I’m used to observing the world from the sidelines. But it seems you are the only one who has managed to make my own heart beat off-script. I made a mistake by regarding you as just another observation.” 

What will you answer? 

Floyd 

Impulsive and sharp. I think, even with laughter. Not at all nicely. 

Suppose he realises he was wrong, but now what? 

When Floyd goes through a bunch of “nicknames” and amusements at the college and suddenly realises that none of them bring him joy anymore if that (conditionally) “shrimp” isn’t around. The realisation will hit him like a sharp wave of mood. 

I don’t see anything gentle or good about it? I think for a while he’ll even be a bit angry/upset. 

He’ll become unpredictably clingy and melancholic. Floyd will literally start “swimming” after you, hanging on your shoulders, whining and groaning: “Why won’t you look at me-e-e? I’m bored without you!” His capriciousness will turn into desperate hugs and pressure. And now remember that it was he who rejected you. Mixed signals, hello? 

“I’m just bored! Yes! The shrimp is obliged to entertain me, because otherwise my mood settings are off for the whole day!” 

The moment he realised he was wrong, well… 

The realisation hit Floyd right in the middle of a basketball practice, and with such force that he simply dropped the ball and sat down right on the court in the middle of the gym, ignoring Ace’s shouts. All his usual hyperactivity instantly vanished, giving way to a strange, heavy apathy. He thought and didn’t understand why he felt so awful. He didn’t want to squeeze “sea urchins,” didn’t want to needle Azul, and even his favourite sweets seemed absolutely tasteless. Everything around him became unbearably boring and grey. 

And then through the open gym doors he saw you walking across the courtyard with a stack of books. Floyd impulsively stood up, took a step forward, but immediately remembered his own words: “I’m bored, you’re bland.” You didn’t even turn your head at the noise in the gym. At that moment, it hit Floyd with wild, almost physical pain: the only one who was bland and stupid here was him. His mood had soured not because of the weather or fatigue. He was simply, maddeningly, to the point of cramps in his fingers, missing the person he had thrown out of his life with his own hands. 

Will he try to make it right? 

He’ll grab you in a suffocating hug right in the middle of the corridor, bury his nose in your neck, and whine capriciously, with notes of genuine hurt and plea: “I’m stupid, aren’t I?! Clownfish! You’re not bland at all, you’re the tastiest! Hey, don’t be silent, take a bite out of me or say you still like me!” 

Your answer? 

Jamil 

You’re lying? Honestly, I think he won’t believe you at first. That’s where the refusal comes from. 

Secretive and cautious, “Sorry, but my life is too complicated. I don’t have time or opportunity for relationships, I’m busy with service.” Jamil was afraid that a relationship would become another chain binding him or putting him at risk. 

When Jamil realises that thoughts of you are the only thing that brings him peace and a sense of freedom from Kalim’s eternal whims, he will understand that you were not a “chain,” but his only breath of fresh air. 

He’ll start secretly looking after your safety and comfort. Jamil will slip you the best food (which he cooks himself), quietly remove obstacles from your path, and watch from the shadows, not daring to approach out of guilt. 

“I’m just minimising risks. If something happens to this person, it’ll create unnecessary noise. I’m doing this for my own peace of mind.” 

Oh? 

Jamil realised his feelings late at night on the Scarabia balcony, while the whole college slept. He stood leaning on the railing, inhaling the cool night air, trying to enjoy the rare moments of silence when no one was calling him and nothing was demanding anything from him. Usually in such moments he thought about his future plans. But today all his thoughts were occupied by one person. Jamil caught himself thinking that over the past few days he had been preparing dishes that you liked specifically and quietly placing them on the common table, hoping to see at least a shadow of pleasure on your face. 

Jamil gripped the stone railing with dry fingers until his knuckles went white. All his life he had learned to hide his true desires and conceal his potential, so as not to stand out and not create problems. He had refused this person out of fear that attachment would become another chain holding him in submission. But looking at the night stars, Jamil understood a terrible truth: this person was the only one next to whom he felt not like a servant or Kalim’s shadow, but like himself. And by rejecting them, he had robbed himself of that very happiness. 

He’ll find them in a quiet place at sunset. Jamil, usually so reserved, will for the first time drop the servant’s mask and, honestly, with deep fatigue and passion in his eyes, say: “I’ve been afraid all my life of tying myself to someone… I thought you would become my new burden. But I was wrong. You are the only thing I want to choose myself, of my own free will. Let me be with you.” 

It all depends on you. 

Kalim 

Oh??? I think he’ll try to refuse softly, but something like “we’re friends! Wonderful good friends, anyway!” Kalim, that’s not how it works. 

Confused, sincere, but blind, “A-ha-ha! You’re such a wonderful friend! Let’s just keep throwing feasts and having fun together with everyone!” Kalim by nature simply didn’t understand the depth of the feelings, translating everything into friendship. 

The voice of reason exists and its name starts with “J.” 

When Jamil or someone else explains to Kalim WHAT exactly they were trying to tell him, and when Kalim sees that after his “friendly” response you became sad and stopped coming to his lavish parties. 

Kalim will lose part of his irrepressible cheerfulness. He’ll stop inviting huge noisy crowds and start arranging small quiet parties “just for two.” He’ll constantly give you gifts, sincerely not understanding why you refuse. 

“I just want my best friend to smile again! Friends should give each other gold bracelets and sweets, right?” 

It all finally dawned on Kalim during one of his grand feasts in Scarabia, which he loved to throw so much. Music was blaring, tables were laden with sweets, dozens of students were laughing around, but Kalim sat on his embroidered sofa completely lost. He genuinely didn’t understand why he wasn’t having fun. He searched the crowd for a familiar figure, but the place where you usually sat was empty. Kalim remembered how light-heartedly he had laughed then, suggesting “just staying friends,” and how your gaze had dimmed at that moment. 

Suddenly, to everyone’s surprise, Kalim stood up, and the music in the hall stopped. He stepped out onto the balcony, where there was no noisy crowd, and looked out at the quiet dormitory courtyard. Something seemed to break in his pure soul. He realised that all these parties, gold, and gifts made no sense if that very person wasn’t at the centre of it all. Kalim pressed his hands to his chest, feeling his heart pounding wildly and painfully. I even think he might have cried a little when he realised he had rejected the person he loved. 

How will he make it right? 

He’ll fly to your window on a magic carpet with a huge armful of your favourite flowers. Kalim will step off the carpet and, with sincerity and tears in his eyes, say: “I was such a blind fool! I thought I loved everyone equally… But when you left, my feasts became empty. I don’t need you as a guest, I need you completely!” 

Your answer? 

Silver 

Calm, a bit sluggish, and honest, “I’m sorry… My duty is to protect the Young Master, besides, I fall asleep too often. I won’t be able to give you the attention you deserve.” 

When Silver starts falling asleep… and seeing only you in his dreams. And when he wakes up, feeling not the usual drowsiness, but a desperate urge to run and check that they’re alright. 

He’ll fight sleep with all his might when you are around. Silver will start pinching his wrists, drinking strong tea (which he hates), just to hold out for at least another ten minutes and sit next to you. 

“I’m just training my endurance and wakefulness. It’s necessary for a knight. My desire to be close is more of a discipline check.” 

For Silver, this moment came in the Botanical Garden, where he had habitually come to rest between patrols. The weather was perfect, birds were singing, and his eternal drowsiness overtook him almost instantly. Silver leaned against a tree trunk and closed his eyes, ready to sink into his usual, deep sleep. But instead of the usual darkness or vague images, he dreamed of you. In the dream you were standing very close, smiling and reaching out your hand, but the moment Silver tried to step towards you, an icy wall grew between them. 

Silver abruptly opened his eyes and sat up right on the grass, breathing heavily. His heart was pounding a deafening rhythm, and cold sweat broke out on his forehead. For the first time in his life, he woke up not from someone’s call or a sense of duty, but from his own internal pain. Silver looked at his magical pen and clenched his fist. He had always believed that his only purpose was to serve as a loyal knight and shield for Malleus and Lilia. But right now, sitting under the tree, he realised that his heart no longer belonged only to his knightly duty. He had fallen in love so deeply that even his profound, magical drowsiness could no longer drown out that longing. 

He’ll approach you during a rest under a tree, kneel on one knee (like a true knight), look at you with his pure, sincere eyes, and offer his sword or his hand: “I thought a knight could serve only his lord… But you come to me in my dreams and in my waking hours. I am ready to fight my weakness in order to guard your peace. Let me become your knight.” 

You should think about your answer. 

Trey 

The dorm kitchen after lights out. Trey is teaching you to bake a pie. The air smells of vanilla and cinnamon. 

You accidentally get flour on your nose. Trey chuckles and wipes it off with his thumb, your eyes meet. The atmosphere abruptly shifts from cozy to intimate. Trey presses you against the kitchen counter, kisses become deep and demanding, he takes off his glasses and sets them aside. 

Maybe that was the last straw. 

“Glasses get in the way… I just need to feel this right now. Your lips taste sweeter than any of my pastries… Please don’t stop me.” 

The door bursts open with a crash. On the threshold stands a flushed Riddle in his pyjamas. “Trey! Someone has painted the roses again in… WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! Queen of Hearts Rule №346 states: no public displays of affection in the kitchen after 10:00 PM!” 

Oh… 

When Riddle bursts in, Trey’s mind flashes with an uncharacteristic irritation at the Queen’s rules, but he quickly extinguishes it with a habitual sigh. Putting his glasses back on, he feels annoyed, but deep down he’s already thinking about how to lock the kitchen from the inside next time. 

Trey sighs heavily, puts his glasses back on, instantly switching to “dorm mom” mode, and in a calm tone promises to deal with everything right away, while you hide your red face in your hands. Riddle’s gaze burns a hole through you. 

Well, at least it’s not “off with your head!” right? 

Ruggie 

Savanaclaw laundry room. You were supposed to be washing Leona’s uniform, but instead you started messing around and throwing things at each other. 

Playful wrestling turns into Ruggie pinning you against the washing machine (which is loudly vibrating in the background). He grins, his ears twitching. Kisses are quick, hot, with light nips. Ruggie is already reaching under your shirt. 

“Well, this is completely off‑plan, but… Why is my heart pounding like crazy? Your breath is right at my neck… for a couple of minutes I can forget about Leona, about work, I want to take this moment fully for myself. You are the only luxury I can afford.” 

The door lazily opens. Leona walks in, rubbing his eyes. “Hey, Ruggie, where’s my…” Leona freezes, looks at the two of you for a couple of seconds with a completely unimpressed face. “You know what? I don’t care. But if my uniform isn’t clean tomorrow, I’ll feed you both to the hyenas. And keep it down, I’m going to sleep.” 

Ruggie’s fur bristles with embarrassment and mild indignation. He yells after Leona that for moral damage and work after hours he’ll demand double pay! 

The flash of embarrassment quickly gives way to his usual reaction – loud, almost joking indignation. But while he’s distracted, his tail betrays him completely, wagging chaotically from side to side, and his ears are burning. Ruggie makes a mental vow to squeeze a day off out of Leona to finish what you started. 

Jade 

VIP room in the Mostro Lounge, or Jade’s greenhouse. Dim light, jazz music in the background. 

Jade is talking about his favourite poisonous mushrooms, but his voice gets quieter and more velvety. He corners you on the sofa, smoothly pulls off one glove. Jade’s kisses are commanding, long, he possessively holds your chin, fully controlling the situation. 

“How interesting… Your pulse quickens, and your cheeks redden. You are so helpless under my weight, and there really is something about it that I like. I want to drink up this embarrassment to the last drop, capture all of your attention, so that there is no room left in your head for anyone else.” 

Azul bursts in with a stack of papers. “Jade! I found a loophole in the contract, we can increase profits by…” The papers slip from Azul’s hands. He clutches his heart (or his glasses lol) in horror. “In a place like this?! Do you have any idea how much dry cleaning costs?!” 

Jade calmly pulls back, his signature polite smile never wavering. “Oh my. Azul, your sense of timing, as always, is impeccable.” 

Even when Azul ruins the atmosphere, Jade’s heart continues to beat at an accelerated pace. Outwardly he is absolutely calm, but his vertical pupil narrows. Hiding his hands back into his gloves, he is already mentally constructing a subtle and elaborate plan to make Azul and Floyd work the Lounge alone all of next evening. 

Jamil 

Hold me, I’m feral. 

Jamil’s room. The only place where he can take off his hood, let his hair down, and exhale. Incense is burning. 

Jamil’s whole life is a constant suppression of his desires and playing second fiddle for Kalim. He’s used to keeping his feelings locked behind a gigantic number of locks, so as not to accidentally reveal his true strength or passion. Who is it that forces and awakens this passion in him? 

(The bottle points at you, smile and nod.) 

You slowly brush his hair, after another day when he worked more than he should have. Unfortunately, both you and he are used to it. Jamil catches your hands, pulls you towards himself. Finally, he allows himself to be selfish. These are passionate, desperate kisses, full of pent‑up emotions. The situation quickly spirals out of control, and you both fall onto the carpet. 

“Right now I don’t want to hold anything back anymore. Even if only for five minutes… We don’t need a Magic Order for you to look only at me. It’s incredible… to know that you are here of your own free will. Let me just dissolve into this and forget who I am.” 

The door flies off its hinges (or just bursts open loudly, but trust me, after a couple of times of such entrances the door will have to be replaced). Kalim flies in, beaming like the sun. “JAMIL! Look what a cool beetle I found in the courtyard! Oh… why are you two wrestling on the floor? Who’s winning?” 

Oh, Kalim, baby… 

Jamil freezes. In his eyes there is existential pain and a desire to go into Overblot right now. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and hisses through his teeth: “Kalim… Get out.” But he still gets up and helps you up from the floor. 

After Kalim’s appearance, Jamil experiences a mix of mild physical pain and wild frustration. He puts on his usual mask again, but inside everything is burning with unspent tenderness and passion. That evening, Kalim is definitely getting the spiciest and most tasteless portion for dinner. (Just kidding. Or maybe not. Who knows?) 

Rook 

The inner courtyard at sunset. 

Rook is used to observing others, admiring their beauty from afar, and being a Hunter who never reveals his cards. But when he gets this close to you, his theatrical aesthetics turn into wild, pure attraction. 

Rook starts with theatrical compliments, calling you his beautiful muse. He kisses your knuckles, then your wrist, slowly moving up to your lips. His pressure is frighteningly strong, his kisses full of possessiveness, he presses you against the wall, giving you no escape. 

“Beauté! Une beauté pure! I have admired so many things in this world, but your flustered breathing is the finest masterpiece. I don’t want to just observe. I want to imprint this kiss on your lips until you completely surrender to this hunt.” 

Vil Schoenheit in person. He was looking for Rook to remind him about the evening skincare routine. “Rook! Not only are you skipping the hydration step, but you’re also slouching! If you’re going to act like animals in mating season, at least maintain proper posture so you don’t ruin the aesthetics of my dorm!” 

Rook is not at all embarrassed, but only laughs loudly: “Roi du Poison! Love knows no rules of aesthetics, it is wild and beautiful!” Vil just rolls his eyes and pulls out a spray bottle of thermal water to “cool your ardour.” 

Vil’s remark about slouching and posture amuses Rook, but his inner Hunter is unsatisfied. In his laughter there is excitement. He looks at you with a sly gaze, promising without words that tonight the model/muse will definitely not escape him, and no Pomefiore rules will stop you. 

Lilia 

A dark hall in Diasomnia. Lilia, as usual, appeared out of nowhere, hanging upside down. 

After centuries of war, loss, and raising other people’s children, Lilia is used to looking at all students as naïve “little ones,” and at life as a joke. But at this moment, the ancient Progenitor of Progenitors surfaces, overshadowing the image of the eternally young jester. 

What starts as a joke abruptly turns serious. Lilia drops to the floor, his aura shifting to ancient and predatory. He presses you against a pillar. His kisses are unexpectedly commanding and experienced, stealing your breath, proving that you are by no means dealing with a teenager. 

“You think I’m just playing riddles? Let me remind you who I really am. Your trembling is so intoxicating… I haven’t felt anything like this in centuries. Let me take your breath away, and prove that it’s dangerous to play with me to the very end.” 

Green flames flare up right two metres away from you. Malleus appears, looking completely bewildered. “Lilia, I was trying to figure out this device, but it keeps beeping for some reason… Oh. Did I interrupt some kind of ancient human greeting ritual?” 

Lilia giggles cheerfully, licking his lips, and, as if nothing happened, turns to Malleus: “No‑no, my dear, let’s see what’s up with your little pet,” leaving you to slide down the wall in embarrassment. 

Malleus’s innocent question about the Tamagotchi instantly brings Lilia back to his usual track, but his eyes continue to glow in the darkness with a dangerous ruby fire for a while longer. While helping Malleus, Lilia mentally savours your reaction and makes a promise to himself that next time you will hide somewhere not even high magic can reach. 

Ace 

Ace had been gathering his courage for a long time and catches you after classes. He tries to confess with his usual light half‑smile, clutching a trick card in his pocket, but you don’t even stop. You look at him with absolutely empty, calm eyes and with a light, almost poisonous chuckle throw his own words back at him: 

“Are you serious, Ace? Come on, don’t dramatise. We’re just studying at the same college. There’s no need to take ordinary polite conversations for something more. Being cheerful suits you, so don’t ruin the picture.” 

??? 

The smile instantly slides off Ace’s face. Cards fall from his trembling fingers right onto the corridor floor. It feels like a cruel slap – you hit him with his own frivolity. 

Ace tries to turn it into a joke, but his voice breaks into a rasp. It dawns on him: back then, when he laughed at you, you felt that exact suffocating, humiliating pain. 

“I taught her to defend herself from me with that fake laugh. I gave her that weapon myself… And now she dealt me the exact same blow, right in the heart.” 

When you walk away, Ace remains standing in the middle of the empty corridor, slowly sinking into a squat to pick up the fallen cards. His fingers are trembling so badly that he can’t pick up the King of Spades for a long time. Your rehearsed, fake chuckle still echoes in his ears. The worst thing for Ace, I think, is to realise how flawlessly you copied his manner. You didn’t shout, didn’t cry, and didn’t reproach him; you simply put on his own mask of superficiality. At that moment, his usual Heartslabyul pride finally crumbles. 

In the following days, Ace catches himself unable to joke around in company anymore. During lessons he stares blankly at his notebook, drawing torn cards in the margins, and in the evening in his dorm he frantically goes over ways to break through that wall. “And now, even if I crawl to her on my knees and pour out my whole soul, she’ll just think it’s another staged trick. God, Trappola, what an idiot you are…” 

Deuce 

Deuce approaches you with all due respect, standing as straight as on a parade ground, clenching his fists, and honestly confesses that he made a mistake and wants to be with you. You listen to him with icy, impeccable calm, then sigh, adjusting your bag: 

“Sorry, Deuce. I’m focused on my studies and discipline. Didn’t you say yourself that relationships get in the way of being an exemplary student? I simply followed your wise advice. I need to think about the future, not about romantic nonsense.” 

Deuce freezes on the spot. His perfect posture breaks – his shoulders drop. He feels like he’s been hit by a truck. You used his “correctness” as an impenetrable wall. Oh… 

He wants to shout that he was a fool, that rules mean nothing without you, but he realises that he laid that foundation himself. Deuce silently bows so that you won’t see the tears of impotent anger at himself welling up in his eyes. 

“I wanted to look mature and proper… And in the end I showed her that she means nothing to me…” 

After you leave, having answered him with his own phrases about “correctness and studies,” Deuce simply loses the ability to move for several minutes. His hands, clenched into fists, turn white at the knuckles. An old anger rises in his chest, but this time it’s directed solely at himself. He was always so afraid of losing his temper, showing aggression, or appearing bad that he built a perfect shell of principles around himself – and with that shell he crushed your sincere confession. Now you’ve given him back his “correctness” as an impenetrable icy shield. 

That evening Deuce decides to go for his night run again, but physical exhaustion doesn’t drown out the suffocating guilt. He takes out his notebook with the code of “exemplary student rules” from his pocket and forcefully tears it in half, throwing it into the bin. “I wanted to be proper for my mother, for the college, for everyone… But in front of the person who believed in the real me, I behaved like a cowardly slug. She’s right. I chose that dry discipline myself. But I won’t leave it like this. I’ll prove to her every day that I’m ready to break any rules for her.” 

Jack 

Jack blocks your path during an evening run, turning his flushed face away, and hoarsely mutters that a wolf chooses a mate once and that he was a fool. You don’t even flinch, looking at his pinned‑back ears, and reply in a dry, indifferent tone: 

“I don’t need that, Jack. Lone wolves do just fine on their own, right? Keep training and don’t get distracted. I don’t have time for your sudden revelations.” 

Jack’s tail freezes convulsively, and his ears press back even harder at your stern tone. His wolfish pride instantly crumbles to dust. 

He wants to growl, punch a wall, or throw himself at your feet, but he understands: you’ve adopted his own harshness. You’ve become that very “wild and unapproachable” person he tried to seem like himself. 

“I hurt her with my toughness… And now she’s closed her heart so tightly that I have no chance to take it all back. I doomed myself to loneliness.” 

When you walk away without a glance, having returned his own dry words about the “lone wolf,” Jack feels physically sick. His ears press flat against his head, and his tail hangs limp. Despite his nature, he doesn’t even try to follow you. Wolves of Savanaclaw never back down from their goal, but now Jack feels he’s lost all moral right to do so. He himself pushed you beyond his “territory,” froze your bond himself, and now your utter indifference burns him more than any red‑hot iron. 

“I was proud of being strong and independent. I thought romance made a wolf weak… But in fact I turned out to be the weak one, because I was afraid of my own feelings. She’s become as cold and unapproachable as I tried to seem. And now I’ll have to beg for years for the right to simply follow her like a shadow.” 

Epel 

Epel musters all his courage, finds you alone, and, clutching a gift from home in his hands, passionately confesses his feelings, throwing off the Pomefiore mask. You look down on him – with that same slight disdain that Epel always dreaded from others: 

“Back off, Epel. I don’t need all that. Your harsh words back then showed perfectly how immature you are. Take your apples and don’t make this childish drama here.” 

Epel freezes, the apple slips from his weakened fingers and rolls on the ground. His chest heaves convulsively from an outburst of resentment and shame. 

His hot‑tempered nature shatters against your cold aloofness. He realises that your rudeness isn’t genuine anger but a response to the pain he caused you with his own rough‑hewn manner. 

“I was afraid of looking weak in front of her… And in the end I proved that I’m just a crude scarecrow who only knows how to hurt. And now she looks at me like I’m nothing.” 

Watching that very apple, which he had chosen for you with such love, roll into the dust becomes a real torment for Epel. Your words about “childish drama” and “immaturity” hit him with the precision of a combat spell. Epel is used to fighting against Pomefiore’s rules, used to proving his strength to Vil, but against your complete, icy disappointment he has no weapon. He realises: you weren’t rude to him out of anger, but simply because you adopted his own hot‑tempered and off‑putting manner, which he displayed during your first conversation. 

Back in his room, Epel closes the door tightly, sits on the floor by the bed, hugs his knees, and silently rages at himself. The choicest curses slip from his lips, but they’re aimed only at his own stupidity. “I was so afraid of being laughed at… afraid of looking like a girl or a weakling that I acted like the most ill‑mannered brute myself. I trampled her feelings just for the sake of my stupid pride. Now she looks at me like I’m empty space… But I won’t give up. I’ll melt that ice, no matter what it takes.” 

Sebek 

Sebek stands at attention in front of you and, with his loud voice echoing through the entire corridor, announces honestly that he admits his mistake and from this day on wants to protect and love only you. You walk past him without even slowing down and toss over your shoulder with cold distance: 

“INCREDIBLE STUPIDITY, Sebek. Your heart belongs to your Young Master, so return to your post. I have no intention of listening to this noise. Patrol somewhere else.” 

Sebek’s thunderous voice cuts off mid‑sentence. He remains standing with his chin raised, but his eyes widen from the silence you’ve wrapped him in. 

His own devotion and his own roar have been returned to him in the form of ignoring. You used Malleus’s name as a shield so that he could never approach you again. How could this be? 

“I shouted about my devotion to my lord to drown out fear… And now she uses that very same reason to erase me from her life forever. This is a well‑deserved punishment for my blindness.” 

Sebek’s thunderous voice finally dies out. The corridor fills with ringing, oppressive silence as you walk past, not even glancing his way, and hammer out his own words about “INCREDIBLE STUPIDITY” and the “Young Master.” Sebek remains standing at attention, but his fingers gripping his magical pen clench convulsively. For the first time in his life, his fanatical devotion to Malleus doesn’t bring him pride but settles on his shoulders like a heavy, shameful burden. He himself hid behind his master’s name like a shield, so as not to respond to a mortal’s sincere feelings. 

During the evening patrol, Sebek’s steps are much quieter than usual. Lilia, who notices his dull gaze and drooping shoulders, doesn’t even tease him – the situation is obvious without words. Sebek stops by a window, looking out at the dark courtyard, and inside him a heavy reassessment of values takes place. “She’s right: I’m not worthy of being called either a good guard or, even more so, her companion. But I’ll fix this. I’ll prove to her that there’s a place for her in my heart, and that place is inviolable.” 

+ 

I think that in this version of the story, the first‑years are left with broken hearts and the realisation that some mistakes can’t be fixed in one day with a simple “sorry.” 

Now they will have to not just court but spend a long time persistently proving through actions that their feelings are real, slowly melting the ice they themselves created, lol. 

Ace 

“Ace Trappola hides his feelings behind verbal aggression and tricks. Communication efficiency: 12%. Mental barrier removal required.” 

A plan is set in motion: forcibly arrange a “magic show.” Ortho hacks the schedule and books a classroom, sending invitations to Ace and the student from fake accounts. 

Ortho catches up with Ace right in the Heartslabyul corridor, hovering at eye level and casually scrolling through digital charts: 

“Ace, according to my calculations, your dopamine level has dropped by 40%, and your sighs per minute have tripled. Conclusion: you regret your rejection. I have developed the ‘Locked Trick’ algorithm! You only need to enter room №204, and I'll take care of the rest. This will optimise your chances of success to 89%!” 

Ace nearly drops his deck of cards in surprise, frantically looks around to see if any Heartslabyul students heard, and starts waving his arms wildly at the flying robot. His cheeks begin to burn: 

“Are you crazy, you little tin‑can blackmailer?! Shut up! I don't regret anything! And don't you dare meddle in my business with your robo‑schemes, or I'll tie your wires into a knot!” 

When Ortho flies away, Ace remains standing in the empty corridor, clenching the King of Hearts card in his fist. He is tossed by a mix of anger, shame, and a strange, nasty relief. “Sevens, that little Shroud with his sensors… But he's right, isn't he? I really do sigh at the thought that I messed everything up. If that idiot trap of his is my only chance to talk without going crazy from fear… maybe I should just give in and enter that stupid room?” 

Ace receives a Magicam notification from “Administration”: “Urgently retrieve props for the music club from room №204.” You receive a similar message from the “librarian.” The two of you enter at the same time. 

The door clicks shut and locks. 

Oh? 

Ace first tries to keep his cool. He yanks the handle, laughs nervously: “Ha‑ha, very funny, Ortho! Open up!” 

And then the speaker screen turns on. 

Ortho's voice calmly reads out data: “Ace Trappola. Yesterday at 23:40, you spent 47 minutes turning the King of Hearts card in your hands, sighing at a rate of 18 times per minute. You miss [NAME ENCRYPTED. ACCESS KEY: READER]. Unlock protocol: sincere confession.” 

OH? 

Ace falls silent abruptly, afraid to even look your way when you let out a surprised sound in response to Ortho's words. 

He wants to sink through the floor. He yells at the camera, tries to seal it with gum, but you just silently watch him. That silence breaks something inside Ace. He gives up, sits on the desk, ruffles his hair, and pulls out that very card from his sleeve. 

Well, if not now, then when? He sits in silence for a couple of minutes, watching your movements out of the corner of his eye, until he starts nervously fidgeting with the card in his hand. 

He finally dares to look you in the eyes. 

The trick comes out a bit clumsy because of his trembling fingers. From the card “flies” a folded note with a crooked “Forgive me, I'm an idiot.” Ace turns away, ears burning: “I was really scared back then, okay?… Don't laugh! I, maybe, don't want to be just a ‘friend’.” 

On the way back from the room, Ace hides his face in your shoulder. It's awkward to walk, but he can endure it for a couple of minutes. 

Deuce 

“Deuce Spade shows symptoms of a panicked fear of appearing rude. Heart rate when seeing the student — 140 bpm. A situational scenario ‘Hero saves victim’ is required.” 

What's in our plan? Stage a “danger” that Deuce will definitely handle in an “elegant” way! A gentleman and saviour. Success chance – 97.3%. 

Ortho waits for Deuce near the training ground, blocking his path and projecting a cleaning‑bot movement diagram onto the wall: 

“Deuce Spade, your current behaviour is emotionally inefficient. You spent three notebooks on rules but never made a serious move. I will stage a controlled equipment malfunction where you can show off your physical prowess and save the object of your affection. All you have to do is read out pre‑prepared words!” 

Deuce straightens up as if before an officer, blushes to the tips of his ears, and frantically hides his notebook behind his back: 

“O‑Ortho?! A malfunction?! But that's cheating! A true exemplary student and man should not use staged situations! And… and how do you know about the notebook?! Ortho, don't you dare set anything up!” 

Deuce walks to the dorm, nearly bumping into doorframes. His mind is a complete mess: panic that his secret notes have been exposed mixes with a desperate desire to be saved by that very “plan.” “He really will stage some kind of disaster… But what if I'm truly hopeless? I can't even say ‘hello’ properly without stuttering or looking like a thug about to fight. Maybe… if Ortho arranges this stupid thing, I can just prove that I'm able to protect them?” 

Deuce walks down the corridor, constantly checking his pocket notebook (“Rule №4: Don't be rude. Rule №5: Help carry heavy things”). Ortho intercepts his route and, via remote control, sets a malfunctioning heavy cleaning robot on you, who are completely unsuspecting. 

Time to intervene! 

Deuce sees the robot speeding towards you too fast. All his “exemplariness” vanishes in a second: Deuce lets out a wild cry, “HEY, TRASH CAN, BACK OFF FROM THEM!” and kicks the bot, smashing it into gears. A few seconds later you see a kettle flying into the robot. Oh, Sevens… 

…Did Deuce talk like that back in his delinquent days? You try to hide a smile behind your hand. 

Deuce breathes heavily, strikes a nice pose, and wants to politely ask: “Are you hurt?” but from the speaker of the crushed bot comes a half‑destroyed voice of Ortho: “Attack repelled. Deuce, proceed to item №7 from your blue notebook: ‘Confess that after the rejection you couldn't sleep for three nights and punched your pillow.’” 

All confidence and bravery vanish from his face as a bright blush creeps up his neck. Oh, cute. 

A deep breath. 

Deuce freezes with his leg in the air. His face turns crimson. He panickedly tries to crush the speaker with his heel, and then, realising there's no point in hiding, simply bows deeply: “I was a complete idiot! Please, you can even read that notebook, it's all true! It's all for you!” 

Jack 

“Jack Howl uses verbal denial, but his body language contradicts his biometrics. Tail amplitude is 45 wags per minute. The subject lies to himself and others.” 

And now the plan! To visually prove to Jack and to you that a wolf cannot hide from his instincts. 

Ortho finds Jack during his morning run, easily flying nose‑to‑nose with the running wolf: 

“Jack, your tail makes treacherous oscillations every time you see the object [NAME ENCRYPTED. ACCESS KEY: READER]. Your wolfish pride reduces the probability of reconciliation to 12%. I will visually demonstrate your biometric indicators via hologram in the library to ease your confession stage!” 

Jack brakes sharply, so his sneakers squeal across the gravel. His ear vectors twitch nervously, and he literally looms over the robot, growling low and threateningly: 

“…Have you completely lost your mind? What hologram?! Just try projecting my impulses in front of people – I'll take you apart for spare parts, Ortho! I'll deal with my own problems, got it?” 

Jack sits in the reading hall, trying to focus on the history of magic, but at the other end of the hall you are sitting. Jack's ears are pinned back, his tail nervously knocks against the chair leg. 

It's all self‑deception. You think it's a hallucination. 

Ortho flies into the library under the guise of an “archivist's assistant.” He doesn't just speak – he projects a huge translucent histogram right above Jack's head. On it, sensors run in real time: Pulse: 130, Temperature: 38.2 °C, Jealousy level: CRITICAL. Ortho flies up to you and loudly (throughout the quiet library) explains: “Look, this data confirms: Jack Howl lied when he said he wasn't interested in a relationship. His verbal rejection was a perceptual error.” 

…What do we say on the count of one, two, three? Thank who? 

Everyone in the library starts whispering. Jack, from shock and shame, covers his face with his wide palms, and his tail starts thumping the floor convulsively. 

Unable to bear it, Jack stands up, instantly closes the distance between the tables, takes your bag, grabs your hand, and practically carries you out of the library into the fresh air. There, under a tree, turned away and burning with embarrassment, he growls quietly: “That tiny robot… It's all lies. Except that I really do feel something for you… from that very day.” 

His tail wags harder. 

Epel 

“Epel Felmier tries to fit the standards of Pomefiore, which causes emotional constriction. Recommendation: provoke a sincere outburst of emotions in his native dialect.” 

What's the plan? Arrange a “random” delivery of a package from Epel's home! 

Ortho flies into the apple orchard, where Epel is privately trying to tie a neat bow on a box of apples: 

“Epel Felmier, your current stress level exceeds the Pomefiore norm. You spend too much time on masking. I will intercept your package and play an audio recording of your nightly confessions to relieve you of the burden of perfectionism!” 

Epel jumps in surprise, squeezing an apple so hard that juice squirts, and his delicate face instantly twists into a grimace of absolute Gremlin fury: 

“WHAT?! What recording, Ortho?! You recorded me secretly?! Just try touching my package or turning on your speakers! Ortho, come back!” 

Epel crouches in the grass, breathing heavily and clenching his fists. He trembles at the thought that someone heard his real, unpolished, helpless sobs into his pillow. “Oh… Sevens! He really will steal the apples and play that stupid recording! Everyone will know what a real fool I am and how much I miss them… But… on the other hand, Vil taught me to fight for what I care about. If that little thing (Ortho. Our company censors incoming material) leaked my secrets, I have nothing left to lose. I'll have to go all the way and take back what's mine.” 

Epel receives a package from home with apples. He wants to give the best apple to you, but he's afraid to show one of those traits he tries to avoid. His ears start burning as he thinks about whether you will smile and thank him. Oh. Ortho intercepts the package right at the doors of the botanical garden. 

Ortho brings you the apples and plays an audio recording on his built‑in speaker. It clearly captures Epel's voice, in his Pomefiore dorm at night, thinking no one can hear him, complaining to his pillow: “May I never listen to Vil with his grace again! I blurted out something stupid, and now I can't even say anything directly to them! Although I miss them so much…” 

Epel runs into the garden shouting, “ORTHO, TURN IT OFF! STOP!” He trips over a watering hose, crashes into the rotary rose bushes, crawls out with dishevelled hair, and furiously tears out the speaker. 

Epel looks at you, breathing heavily. The mask of the “delicate boy” finally falls. He speaks in his harsh, sincere native dialect: “Never mind! With him! You heard it all? This is the real recording! I'm an idiot! Take the apples and let's – uh… let's get out of here, we need to talk without extra ears!” 

One of the roses he fell into is now in your hand, as he pulls you towards the exit of the botanical garden. 

Sebek 

“Sebek Zigvolt has a voice volume of 90 decibels, but his romantic efficiency is close to zero. He masks sympathy as military service. Redirecting his energy is required.” 

Ortho's plan: Make Sebek read a “report” about his true feelings under the guise of a security report. 

Ortho materialises right in front of Sebek during his patrol near the Hall of Mirrors: 

“Sebek Zigvolt, your loud voice does not help in romantic communication. Your devotion to Malleus creates false obstacles. I have prepared an official order from the administration that will oblige you to read a report of your feelings before the person!” 

Sebek instantly straightens up, furrows his brows, and roars so loud that an echo runs through the entire corridor: 

“AN ORDER?! FROM THE YOUNG MASTER?! Ortho Shroud, you dare to use the name of the Great Malleus in your dubious experiments?! I am a loyal guard! My heart belongs to service, and I do not need fake papers to perform my duty!” 

He takes the bait. Little crocodile, how? 

Ortho sends Sebek an official form with the Diasomnia seal and Lilia's signature: “Urgent order: Read a report on your emotional state before [NAME ENCRYPTED. ACCESS KEY: READER] to maintain discipline.” 

Sebek, who cannot doubt orders from the administration, finds you in the main courtyard. He stands at attention, pulls out the sheet, and in his thunderous voice that echoes across the whole college, begins to read Ortho's fake text: 

“Point 1! I, Sebek Zigvolt, acknowledge my past rejection as an act of unforgivable blindness! Point 2! When I see your face, the frequency of my thoughts about the Young Master decreases by 40%, which is unacceptable but a beautiful symptom of falling in love!” At Point №2, Sebek finally reads the text, realises WHAT he just shouted to the whole street, and his voice breaks into a high squeak. 

Poor little guy, he's as surprised by his own words as you are. 

Sebek crushes the paper in his fist, blushes so hard he rivals Heartslabyul robes, but because of his honest nature, he straightens up even more and says firmly: “IT WAS A SET‑UP! But… but the text is accurate! I demand permission to correct my mistake!” 

You ask to take that paper, just to remember this moment. Strange, but quite amusing. 

Epilogue 

The Ignihyde system unit hummed quietly as the overall statistics updated in real time on the main screens. Ortho, with a deep sense of mechanical satisfaction, pressed the save‑report key: 

Operation Project_FirstYears_Fix.exe completed with 100% success! 

On the monitors, fresh security camera footage lit up: Ace hiding his burning face in your shoulder right in the middle of the corridor; Deuce awkwardly holding your hand and saluting with genuine seriousness; embarrassed giant Jack nuzzling his nose into the crown of his “prey”; Epel happily sharing that very apple in half; and Sebek, still flustered but incredibly proud, walking beside his new “charge.” All dopamine indicators in the subjects’ bodies were off the charts, and stress levels dropped to historic lows. 

Ortho cheerfully chimed his built‑in speaker and pressed the “Mass Mailing” button. At the same second, all five first‑years received an official system notification from Ortho with attached reports: 

“Dear users! Your romantic communications have been successfully optimised. As a bonus, archive photos and videos of the confession process (including the moment Ace dropped his card in fright and Sebek glitched on the word ‘arrhythmia’) have been uploaded to your Magicam profiles. Congratulations on starting your relationships! P.S. Attempts to get revenge on me for data disclosure will result in automatic sending of the video recordings to your dormitory heads!” 

Somewhere in the Ignihyde dorm, sleepy Idia stretched sweetly, completely unaware that his younger brother had just rewritten the personal lives of half the first‑year class.