"You are essential to it," Milena confirmed, the warmth returning to her eyes, yet it felt like the heat of a furnace, not a gentle fire.

"Arthur is a threat because he seeks to claim you for his own purposes, to use you against Selene. My purpose—my corrected path—is to prevent that. To ensure you remain in the fold, where you belong."

I pushed the bowl away with a clatter.

"I don’t belong to anyone. And if I’m such a threat to Arthur, why don’t you just kill him yourself? Why involve me in this battle at all?"

Her smile finally widened, losing its perfection just enough to reveal a sliver of something genuine—a cold, ruthless delight.

"Ah, but that would be far too easy. And Selene rarely chooses the easiest path when a more educational one is available. You, Kairi, need to learn what you are truly capable of. You need to understand the weight of your own existence in this game. Facing Arthur is your final lesson before you take your place. Think of this... niceness... as preparing you for the Finality exam."

"Ah, absolutely. That exam with my life is on the line," I muttered bitterly.

"Indeed," she said, rising to her feet. The static calm returned, settling over her like a mantle.

"But don’t worry. I’ll be watching. And you have my guarantee, Kairi, that the faithful outcome will be achieved."

She walked toward the doorway, her silhouette briefly blotting out the dim morning light.

"Eat," she repeated, her voice soft but final.

"And when you’re done, we begin your ’preparation.’ You have less time than you think."

Then she was gone. The room felt colder, the silence heavier, and the scent of the sweet oatmeal was suddenly nauseating.

I stared at the closed door, Milena’s words echoing:

Correction. Faithful outcome. You are essential.

I wasn’t being shown kindness; I was being fitted for a cage. I had to assume everything she had just done was a calibrated move in Selene’s terrifying game, and I was the unsuspecting piece being moved into checkmate.

The ’battle’ with Arthur wasn’t a choice; rather, it was a deadline.

I leaned back, my head thudding against the wall.

I needed to get Helena and Azalea out of their bubble head, but how?

My entire world felt like it was shrinking down to the size of a battlefield.

I then sighed to myself and said, "Maybe I shouldn’t have lived here at all."

* * *

The corridor’s lights dimly lit the tunnel’s entrance as I walked swiftly through the early morning, perhaps searching for something far more intrinsic than yesterday’s battle.

And at the edge of dawn’s silence, that same silence draped itself over the corridors. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

I really had to ’separate’ myself away from her. Or else, she would have to find out something that shouldn’t have been disclosed since the beginning.

I then sneaked around and found myself peeping into someone’s room.

To be precise, Helena’s private room. The exact place where the accident had occured.

It’s a conducted investigation surrounded by two of the higher-ups of Aethelgarten Akademiya...

"So, how is it... dear Aethelgarten’s Warden, Professor Richard?"

The aforementioned man was standing near the so-called crime case, tracing the faint remnants of magic that had been utilized in the explosion.

Warden Richard Archibald Dunne, a man renowned for solving countless bizarre cases such as this one, examined the traces with a quiet precision.

"Before I begin to conduct this case, I must recall something first, Mistress Valeria," he said, his tone calm yet edged with thought.

Valeria, who had worn a stern and cold expression earlier, let out a faint, knowing smile.

"My my... and who am I to give you permission for something you’ve long been known for? You’re far too overqualified to wield such a powerful spell, Richard."

Wait—did she just address him by his first name?

Also, the instant his name left her lips, the silence in the room shifted—denser, quieter, almost aware. It felt as though they had known each other far too well once before.

Archmage-Dean Valeria truly was something else.

But oh well, to be fair, I hadn’t planned to linger.

All I needed was just a glance—that was all.

Merely a glance into the room where Valeria and Warden Dunne spoke in hushed, deliberate tones. Observation, not intrusion. Nothing more.

Or so I told myself.

The conversation had taken a strange turn, one that pressed faintly against memory.

Richard, she called him. First name.

I repeated it all over again, as much as I was in-disbelief of this breathtaking overturn.

My fingers rested against the doorframe. I leaned closer.

And then—

"What the hell are you doing here?"

The voice snapped through the corridor like a whip.

I flinched before I could stop myself. The sound was too close, too real. I turned sharply, and there he was—Dellaetrix Sephirot L’Etrange, my fiancé, standing by the threshold like an accusation made flesh. His expression was somewhere between disbelief and irritation, though he tried to hide both behind a studied calm.

For an instant, I felt caught—like a child stealing glances into something forbidden.

My mind scrambled demanding for composure.

"...No," I said, my tone sharper than I intended.

"You don’t get to ask me that question."

His brow furrowed—just slightly—but the look that followed was almost a wordless Why?

The tilt of his chin, the faint lift at the corner of his mouth—arrogance dressed as curiosity. It was that same infuriating, cocky gesture he’d always had, even years ago.

"Because," I continued, stepping forward, matching his stare with one of my own,

"that’s supposed to be my question here."

The silence that followed felt different—no longer the stillness of dawn, but the tense quiet that exists between two people who’ve said too little for far too long.

He exhaled slowly. "Still as deflective as ever, huh."

"And you," I said, lips curling faintly, "still think everything revolves around your so-called ’charismatic’ presence, Professor."

And before we could bicker even further, it was interrupted by a sudden shout from inside the room—

"Who’s peeping there?! Professor L’Etrange, is that you?"

Valeria. Her voice could break anyone’s reverie—sharp, commanding, the kind that entered a room before she did.

Hearing that question aimed at him, he immediately caught my wrist and pulled me close, hiding me behind the door’s shadow.

"We’ll continue this silly quarrel later," he whispered, his breath steady against my ear. "Now, please stay away from here."

His tone—low, protective—calmed my head for a fleeting moment, as if he genuinely wanted to protect me.

Which was expected of him. How usual, how amiable... how infuriatingly gentle.

How typical of him.

Always the gentleman when it suited him.

Always disarming in the most inconvenient ways.

And I hate him for that.

Yet still... hate. As always, it was simply fear—a mask, neatly disguised as anger.