Chapter 70: A Small Push in the Right Direction [3]

The mana contract flared between them.

Runes crawled across the parchment, glowing faintly before settling into permanence. Freya felt the binding snap into place. The feeling of a mana contract was something not unfamiliar to her, as she’d initiated many throughout life, but somehow the sensation felt weird every time.

The Hare stepped back, then reached up.

"Great. Looks like everything went well."

His hands moved to the ceramic mask.

He pulled it off.

Freara’s breath stopped.

Ronan Ashbourne.

She stared.

The black-haired Ashbourne heir stood before her, expression neutral, eyes calm. Not mocking. Not threatening.

Just... watching.

Freya’s mind raced backward through fragmented memories.

She’d met Ronan before.

Many times, actually.

Ballroom gatherings after tedious noble functions where children were shuffled into side rooms while adults conducted business.

She remembered him sitting near windows, quieter than the other boys, answering questions politely when adults asked but never volunteering conversation.

He’d been nice.

Not warm, exactly. But decent. Thoughtful, even. She remembered once when another girl had tripped and spilled her drink across the floor. Most of the children laughed. Ronan hadn’t. He’d grabbed napkins without a word and helped her clean it up.

That had been when he was younger – maybe ten or eleven.

Embarrassingly enough, she even remembered having a small crush on him back then.

It was minor, something she got over quick, but seeing him more mature than most kids their age must have stirred something in her.

Then his mother died.

And everything changed.

The Ronan who returned to noble society after that was vile.

Lazy. Disgusting. Lecherous. Disgraceful.

A stain on the Ashbourne name that even Vulcan Ashbourne couldn’t fully control.

She’d heard the rumors. Gambling debts, inappropriate advances toward serving girls, public drunkenness, fights started over nothing.

When she’d confronted him about Elara weeks ago, she’d noticed something different. A sharpness beneath the surface, a sense of unusual competence. But she’d dismissed it as temporary – grief, maybe, or desperation before the Academy exam.

Then she heard about his contributions to Class B. The statue captures. The alliance negotiations. The node retrieval operation.

She’d thought maybe he was changing. Slightly.

But this?

The Hare – this figure who’d cornered her in a courtyard at midnight, exposed Clara’s murder with surgical precision, commanded Aura like an equal, and manipulated battlefield events with terrifying foresight – had been Ronan Ashbourne the entire time?

Freya’s mouth hung open.

She couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t process.

The boy who’d helped a crying girl clean up spilled juice was the same person who’d just threatened Elara to force her signature. She wasn’t sure what exactly she was surprised about, maybe all of it.

Ronan tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering across his face.

"Your mouth’s open."

Freya snapped it shut, heat rushing to her cheeks.

Ronan’s smile widened fractionally. "Shocked?"

"I–" Freya’s voice cracked. She steadied herself, forcing composure back into place. "Yes."

"Understandable."

Freya’s hands clenched. Questions flooded her mind, each one louder than the last.

How long have you been planning this? How do you know about Clara? How did you predict Luca’s arrival? How do you know Aura’s identity? What are you?

Ronan raised one hand before she could voice any of them.

"I know you have questions." His tone remained calm, almost sympathetic. "But we don’t have time for them right now."

"What do you mean–"

"There’s about to be a massive war for the final statue," Ronan interrupted smoothly. "Taking too long here wastes time. Yours and mine."

Freya’s jaw tightened. She wanted answers. Needed them.

But Ronan was already moving forward, closing the distance between them.

"What do you want?" Freya demanded, voice sharp despite her internal chaos. "You wouldn’t pull me aside like this for no reason."

"Smart." Ronan stopped a meter away. "I want you to do something. Something that will benefit you as well."

"What are you talking about?"

Ronan’s expression shifted slightly – not quite a smirk, but close.

"Do you remember the conversation we had in the courtyard?"

Freya’s eyes narrowed at the dumb question. "How could I forget?"

"Then you remember the letter."

The letter.

Freya’s mind snapped back to that night. The warning scrawled in neat handwriting: Delay your plan against Iris. She has a powerful ally. Wait until after the inter-class war.

At the time, she hadn’t understood what it meant.

Now she did.

She’d spent days watching Class S, observing patterns, studying Grace’s leadership and Iris’s movements. And she’d noticed something that hadn’t been there before.

Luca Underwood.

Rank one. The protagonist. The boy who’d defeated three S-class students without moving from his spot.

Iris had gotten close to him. Extremely close. Not like lovers – nothing like that – but Luca clearly cared about the girl. And strangely enough, Iris saw him as a friend too. That Iris. The one that treated most coldly, and the same Iris who it had taken years for Freya to befriend.

Freya didn’t know how it happened – whether Iris initiated contact or Luca sought her out – but the friendship was there. It was real.

If Freya had gone through with her original plan to sabotage Iris before the war, Luca would have crushed her.

The Hare – Ronan – had known that.

Before Luca ever arrived.

How?

Freya opened her mouth to ask, but Ronan’s gaze sharpened, reading the question before she voiced it.

"Later," he said firmly, with a firmness she’d never heard from him.

Freya bit back her frustration.

"Fine. How is that relevant now?"

Ronan’s smile returned – extremely uncharacteristic, now that she thought about it. It was unnerving.

"Because during this next battle..." He paused, letting the weight settle. "You may finally get your chance."

Her chance.

Against Iris.

Against the main family.

Against everything that had kept the branch family beneath them for years.

She stared at Ronan, searching his expression for deception, manipulation, or ulterior motive.

She found only cold certainty.

"What do I need to do?" Freya asked, her tone firm.

Ronan’s smile widened.

"I’ll tell you on the way."