Raiden Alaric

  The sun had barely started creeping over the horizon, and I was already awake, dressed, and bracing myself for the inevitable. Shopping, with my parents.

  I still didn’t know how I had let this happen, but here I was, up at a time that felt illegal, mentally preparing myself to be dragged through an assault of clothing racks and fashion lectures. To be fair I’d be up at this time anyways. Chronos can take credit for my messed up sleep schedule.

  With a deep sigh, I stepped out of my room, stretching my arms over my head as I made my way toward the kitchen.

  I wasn’t surprised to find Dad already up. He was by the door, adjusting his jacket, looking just as ready to leave as I was. Because, of course, he was prepared.

  I leaned against the doorframe, "You’re up early.”

  He gave me a pointed look, "So are you.”

  I grunted, rubbing my neck, "Yeah, well. Figured I’d get this over with.”

  He smirked, pulling out his wallet to check for his card, y’know, the one that was technically still in my possession.

  “Good. Then let’s go over a few things before we head out.”

  I raised an eyebrow, "Like?”

  He slid his wallet back into his pocket and turned to me, “Like what exactly you’re looking for in terms of clothes. Do you even know what you want to wear?”

  I thought about it and shrugged, “Something nice?”

  Dad sighed, "Son. That means nothing.”

  I sighed back at him, "I don’t know. Something clean, presentable. Not too fancy but not too casual either. You know, like a normal person?”

  He folded his arms, "Alright. What do you know about her?"

  I blinked, "Ella?"

  "No, your other date."

  I squinted.

  Dad rolled his eyes, "Yes, Ella, Rai."

  I took a second to filter through my answer, making sure to edit out the more problematic details.

  "Well," I started, "she’s a high elf. Family’s got money. Pretty sure her parents are into the whole ‘nobility’ thing since she could be from one of the realms where they have those systems for all I know."

  Dad nodded slowly, rubbing his chin, "Okay, high elf, wealthy family. That means she’s used to a certain standard when it comes to appearances.”

  I shrugged, "Yeah, but she doesn’t seem like the super traditional type. She’s a little… different from what you’d expect.”

  Dad hummed, thinking it over, "Alright. So, well-dressed but not extravagant. You need something that says, ‘I care’ without screaming, ‘I tried too hard.’”

  I nodded along, mentally checking off the fact that I successfully dodged giving him any real red flags.

  Nothing about her being from a sect.

  Nothing about how the guy she was trying to avoid was actually her fiancé.

  Nothing about how she was using me to get some temporary freedom.

  Yup, everything was going great.

  “Sounds good to me,” I said casually, "So what are we thinking? Button-up? Polo? Do I need to break out a blazer?”

  Dad smirked, "One step at a time, kid.”

  Yeah, one step at a time, and preferably far away from the inevitable disaster I was walking into.

  As Dad and I finished discussing the battle plan for my wardrobe, I stretched, rubbing the back of my neck.

  I was about to suggest we leave when I spotted movement from the hallway.

  Mom emerged from the bathroom, brushing her hair, her golden blonde strands catching the morning light. Her bright blue eyes, the same shade as mine, scanned the room as she casually walked past.

  I exhaled, watching her for a moment before I spoke, “Mom, why are you coming?”

  She didn’t even hesitate, "Because I need to make sure my son is on his father’s level."

  I blinked, "…Huh?”

  She turned slightly, arching an eyebrow as if the answer was obvious, "Leo’s level, Rai. Your father’s. The bar has been set.”

  Dad, who had been quietly observing this exchange, suddenly grinned, standing a little taller, arms crossed over his broad chest like he was posing for a portrait.

  “She’s right, son.” He ran a hand through his thick black hair, smirking, "You don’t just inherit this level of excellence. It has to be crafted.”

  I stared blankly at him, "Dad."

  He gestured to himself, flashing a dazzlingly over-the-top smile, "Look at me, Rai.”

  I refused.

  Mom just sighed dreamily, brushing her hair with slow, deliberate strokes, "Ah, my wonderful husband. The only man I’ve ever needed.”

  I groaned, "Oh my god, I’m actually leaving.”

  Dad turned toward the door dramatically, "Try as you might, son, you can’t run from genetics.”

  I walked faster.

  Mom called after me, smirking, "You may have inherited my hair, but the Leo standard is still within your reach.”

  Dad clapped a firm hand on my shoulder before I could escape, "And that is why she's coming with us."

  I sighed in defeat, dragging my hands down my face. This was no longer just a shopping trip. This was a mission to forge me into a ‘worthy heir’ to my father’s ridiculous charm.

  Not… that I’m entirely against it. I mean, let’s be real, Dad always looks good. I can’t recall a single time he’s ever dressed poorly unless he’s literally at home doing nothing.

  Wait. No. Even then, he somehow still looks good.

  I frowned.

  What the fuck.

  I replayed yesterday in my mind. I walked in, and there he was, just lounging on the couch, eating junk food, watching random TV, looking like he had just stepped out of a goddamn mythological painting.

  The man could be elbow-deep in a bag of chips and still exude effortless attractiveness.

  That’s when it hit me. This is what I need. This is the passive ability I must obtain. I had an immediate switch in mindset. Today… I’m going to learn everything I can about Dad’s style. I will achieve this aura of ridiculous handsomeness. I will reach the level where I can sit down doing absolutely nothing and still look like I belong on a goddamn magazine cover.

  I turned to him, eyes burning with newfound determination, “Dad. Teach me your ways.”

  Dad blinked.

  Then smirked, his red eyes gleaming, “You’ve finally awakened, my son.”

  Mom just sighed, shaking her head with a knowing smile, "What have I done?”

  The drive to the mall was relatively peaceful, which was suspicious.

  Considering that both Mom and Dad were on a joint mission to upgrade my wardrobe, I was fully expecting more lectures about style, presentation, or whatever nonsense Dad was going to spew about "effortless allure."

  Instead, it was quiet. So naturally, my brain latched onto something else.

  “Hey,” I spoke up, glancing at Mom from the back seat. “What about Iris? Are we just leaving her at home alone?”

  Mom waved a hand, dismissing the thought, “Oh, she’s fine. She spent the night at a friend’s house and picked up some clothes for school last night before you got home. She’s going straight there from her friend’s place.”

  I raised an eyebrow, "Huh. Didn’t know she had a sleepover planned.”

  Dad smirked, glancing at me through the rearview mirror, "Maybe if you weren’t so busy being evasive about your own personal life, you’d notice things.”

  I deadpanned, "Wow. Incredible parenting, Dad. Truly inspiring.”

  Mom chuckled, shaking her head, "She mentioned it at dinner, but you were too busy shoving food in your mouth to listen.”

  I sighed, leaning back against my seat, "Fair enough.”

  Alright, so Iris was taken care of. No distractions. That meant we were free to focus on the mission.

  The mall parking lot was already filling up, but Dad found a spot effortlessly, pulling in like a man who had memorized every layout of every shopping center ever built.

  I stepped out, glancing around at the usual mall chaos—groups of teenagers, early shoppers, and people who looked like they had no idea why they were here in the first place.

  But I wasn’t focused on that. I was focused on where we were going. And as we walked through the entrance, we didn’t stop at any high-end luxury store.

  Instead, we made our way to a store that, while clearly stylish, wasn’t some pretentious overpriced brand.

  The clothes in the display windows were sleek, modern, and effortlessly clean-looking. The type of fashion that made people look put together without trying too hard.

  Dad nodded approvingly as we walked inside, "Alright. This place fits what we’re looking for.”

  I raised an eyebrow, "So what exactly are we looking for?”

  He turned to me, his red eyes sharp with purpose, “Clothes that make you look good without screaming, ‘I spent three hours picking this out.’”

  I blinked.

  Huh, that was… actually useful advice.

  Mom stepped forward, already browsing through the racks, "Alright, let’s get started. Rai, let’s find your size first.”

  I sighed, "Great. Let’s see how much damage we’re about to do.”

  Dad patted my shoulder, "Don’t think of it as damage, son. Think of it as an investment.”

  What followed could only be described as a full-fledged shopping montage of suffering.

  “Try this on!”

  Mom practically shoved a pile of clothes into my arms, her eyes shining with an excitement that I had never seen before.

  I groaned but took them without complaint, I wasn’t escaping this, and I knew it.

  After slipping into the first outfit, I stepped out of the dressing room with mild hesitation. It was a cream-colored knit sweater, slightly oversized, paired with fitted dark jeans and clean white sneakers.

  Mom gasped dramatically, "Oh my god. My baby. My precious, handsome boy.”

  I deadpanned, "Mom, please.”

  She ignored me entirely, circling me like she was admiring a rare painting in a museum, "This is so nice. You look so put together! So mature!”

  Dad, who had been silently browsing in the background, finally looked up.

  He tilted his head, "Not bad. Bit too soft, though. Doesn’t quite say ‘effortless charm.’”

  I exhaled sharply, "Great. Next.”

  I came out in a pastel-blue button-up, a light brown wool cardigan, and beige chinos.

  Mom clasped her hands together like she was about to cry at a wedding, “Look at you! You look like a perfect gentleman!”

  Dad glanced over, “…You look like you were raised in a private academy and call your butler ‘Alfred’ unironically.”

  I turned back around immediately, "Yeah, that’s a no.”

  Mom pouted, "But you look so refined!”

  “I look like I should be debating stock market investments over tea.”

  Black leather jacket. Slim-fit dark jeans. Black boots.

  Mom tilted her head, "Hmm…”

  Dad snorted, "You look like you’re about to star in a CW drama.”

  “…If I ever dress like this, kill it, because it isn’t me.”

  A fitted burgundy turtleneck paired with black tailored pants and sleek dress shoes.

  Mom was beside herself, “RAI. LOOK AT YOU. YOU LOOK SO SOPHISTICATED—LIKE A LUXURY BRAND MODEL.”

  I turned to the mirror.

  …Damn. Okay, this one wasn’t bad.

  Before I could voice that thought, Dad finally walked up, placing a neatly folded pile of clothes onto the counter. Mom and I both turned to him.

  He nodded toward me, "You had your fun. Now try this.”

  I glanced down at what he had chosen… This was way more curated.

  Mom gasped, "Leo.”

  Dad smirked, "Trust the process.”

  I sighed, "Alright. One more time.”

  The moment I stepped out of the dressing room in Dad’s selection, I could feel it. This was it.

  A fitted charcoal gray t-shirt, layered under a slim-cut olive bomber jacket, light, casual, but clean as hell. Paired with black slim-fit jeans and white minimalist sneakers, it had that effortless balance between put-together and relaxed.

  Mom’s jaw dropped, "Oh.”

  Dad simply nodded in approval, arms crossed like a sensei watching his student finally master the technique, "There you go.”

  I turned to the mirror, adjusting the bomber jacket slightly.

  Damn… This was good.

  Sleek, stylish, but not too flashy. The kind of look that didn’t try too hard but still made an impression.

  Mom fanned herself dramatically, "My son. My handsome son.”

  Dad patted my shoulder, "You have now ascended.”

  I exhaled sharply, turning to both of them, "Alright. Let’s get this and go before you two start making a shrine in my honor.”

  Mom sniffled, pulling out her phone, "Too late.”

  The flash went off as she began rapidly snapping pictures, circling me like she was capturing historical evidence of my glow-up.

  I groaned, "Mom—seriously?”

  Dad chuckled, clearly enjoying every second of my suffering, "Welcome to the Leo Standard, son.”

  I rolled my eyes, about to head for the register, when I noticed Mom lean up on her toes, whispering something in Dad’s ear.

  I narrowed my eyes.

  Dad smirked, "Already have this outfit in different colors.”

  Mom let out the most adorable squeal, clasping her hands together before planting a quick kiss on his cheek, "You’re the best.”

  I blinked, "Wait. What was that?”

  Neither of them answered.

  Instead, they both turned back toward the racks, suddenly grabbing more clothes.

  I frowned, "…Uh. What are you doing?”

  They both turned at the exact same time, speaking in unison: “You’re not just getting that outfit. You need variety.”

  I stared.

  Mom gave me a sweet but firm smile, "Don’t worry, honey. We’re building you an entire wardrobe.”

  I felt a chill crawl up my spine.

  Dad clapped my shoulder, "This is only the beginning.”

  Is this what they call an intervention?

  I should’ve known this wasn’t going to end with just clothes. No, that would’ve been too easy.

  Now, I was lugging a mountain of shopping bags through the mall, forced to carry every single piece of my new wardrobe under the justification of: “Your clothes, your responsibility.” Dad had said it so matter-of-factly, like it was some ancient law of the universe.

  Meanwhile, he and Mom walked ahead of me, hands free, chatting like they hadn’t just ruined my morning.

  Eventually, we pulled up to a sleek-looking salon, the kind of place that had class but wasn’t obnoxiously expensive. The moment we walked in, a woman immediately turned toward us.

  She was well-dressed, rocking a form-fitting dark blouse, stylish fitted pants, and heels that somehow looked both practical and expensive.

  Her beautifully done purple hair was tied into a low bun, a few loose strands framing her sharp, angular face. Her glasses sat perfectly balanced on the bridge of her nose, making her look like she could destroy you in an argument and then style your hair afterward.

  The second she laid eyes on Mom, her lips curled into a bright, familiar grin, “Regi!”

  Mom matched her energy immediately, stepping forward, “Amari!”

  Then, like they had perfected this routine years ago, they pulled each other into a dramatic high school reunion hug, rocking side to side like they hadn’t seen each other in decades.

  “Oh my god, you look amazing!” Mom gushed, "And the hair?! It’s gorgeous.”

  Amari flicked a hand through her perfectly styled locks, "Please, you’re still glowing like you’re twenty-five.”

  I just stood there, still carrying all my damn bags, wondering if I was meant to be here for this conversation.

  Then, mid-laugh, Mom suddenly pointed at me, “Alright, enough catching up. I need you to fix that.”

  Excuse me?!

  Amari turned to me, adjusting her glasses as she scanned me up and down. She was judging me. I could feel it.

  Then, after a solid two seconds, she simply pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and muttered: “Say no more.”

  Before I could even protest, she grabbed me by the wrist and started dragging me into the back room. I looked back desperately at my so-called parents, but Dad just smirked in amusement, and Mom waved proudly.

  “Be good, honey!”

  “I AM GOOD! WHY AM I BEING DRAGGED AROUND SO OFTEN!.”

  Too late. I was gone, and my hair was about to get a full-blown transformation.

  After what felt like an eternity of snipping, styling, and occasional threats from Amari to ‘sit still or else’, the chair finally spun around to face the mirror.

  I blinked.

  Holy shit.

  My hair, which had once reached my shoulders, was now cut to a stylishly tousled, layered look. The slightly messy-yet-intentional volume made it look effortlessly cool, and my natural waves added just the right amount of edge.

  I ran a hand through it, my fingers sliding easily through the shorter strands. It was a little weird, feeling the weight gone from my head, but…

  Damn, I looked good.

  Amari adjusted her glasses, then raised her chin and puffed out her chest like she had just won a prestigious hairstyling award.

  "Perfection."

  I huffed a small laugh, shaking my head, "Not bad.”

  She gave me a side-eye, "Not bad? Not bad? That is a masterpiece, Rai.”

  Before I could argue, she grabbed me by the shoulders, turned me toward the door, and shoved me out into the main salon where my parents were waiting.

  I barely had time to react before Dad let out a sharp whistle, “Now that’s an upgrade.”

  Mom? She was beaming. Hands clasped tightly in front of her chest, her eyes wide, practically shining like stars.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  I blinked, "…Uh, Mom?”

  She grabbed my face immediately, turning it side to side, examining every angle like she had just discovered a priceless artifact.

  “Look at you! My handsome boy! My beautiful, stunning son! I always knew you’d be a heartbreaker, but this—this is criminal.”

  I groaned, "Mom, please—”

  She gushed right through me, "Ella is going to love this—oh, oh, we should take pictures! No, a full photoshoot—Leo, do you see this? He looks just like you when we were younger!”

  Dad just smirked, rubbing his chin, "Well, what can I say? Genetics are a gift.”

  I was never going to hear the end of this.

  Amari, still standing off to the side, crossed her arms with a satisfied nod, "Told you. Say no more."

  The moment we got home, I wasted no time in heading to my room to get ready for school. Luckily, I had already texted Chronos earlier to let him know what was going on today.

  His response? "Noted. No training today."

  …

  That should’ve been a relief, but something about it felt off. Chronos wasn’t exactly the “let’s take a break” type of person. Which meant… I was probably going to regret this later.

  Shit.

  With a sigh, I shook off the thought and focused on getting dressed. I wasn’t going overboard, just one of the new clean, casual outfits Dad picked out. I intend on changing into the first outfit that he suggested after school. So something casual should be good.

  Also I figured out why Dad didn’t say much of anything on the trip to the mall. It was because he wanted to have me look over the clothes on the drive back and then give me a TED talk on how to style the clothes.

  I went with a fitted dark gray tee, layered under a light beige bomber jacket, paired with black slim-fit jeans and the fresh white sneakers Mom had been weirdly excited about. It was comfortable, nothing too flashy, but still felt different compared to what I normally wore.

  I ran a hand through my freshly cut hair, still getting used to how light it felt.

  Damn, this really was an upgrade.

  With everything set, I grabbed my bag and headed out the door.

  The moment I stepped onto campus, something felt… off. I barely took ten steps before I started noticing the stares. It wasn’t subtle either. People were actually stopping to look at me.

  A group of girls near the entrance literally turned their heads in sync, whispering amongst themselves. A couple of guys glanced my way, double-taking before muttering something I couldn’t hear. Some dude who was mid-conversation with his friend literally lost his train of thought and just stared at me, mouth slightly open.

  The hell?

  I resisted the urge to check if I spilled something on myself. Then it clicked.

  …Oh, right.

  The haircut. The clothes. The Leo Standard.

  I exhaled, running a hand through my hair as I kept walking.

  Great, this was gonna be a long day.

  Walking through the hallways of school today felt weird.

  Not the normal kind of weird I was used to, like, “Hey, that guy was definitely trying to follow me for some reason” weird.

  No, this was a new kind of weird. It started with the stares. At first, I thought maybe I was just imagining it, that I was being paranoid. But then I started noticing patterns.

  People kept doing double takes. Not just random students either. Teachers. Upperclassmen. People I didn’t even know.

  A girl I had never spoken to before literally stopped mid-stride, looked at me like she was trying to do some kind of facial recognition scan, and then immediately turned to her friends to whisper something.

  I caught a few words:

  “…Wait, is that really him? That’s Rai?”

  “…What happened? Did he always look like that?”

  “…The hair. The clothes. Is this a glow up?”

  I kept walking.

  Okay, maybe it was just the initial reaction.

  I mean, I did look different today. My hair was actually styled, my clothes weren’t just thrown together last-minute, and I had apparently absorbed the full power of the Leo Standard overnight.

  Still, this was a lot.

  I walked into first period, expecting things to go back to normal. Big mistake, because as soon as I took my seat, I felt it. The subtle shift in energy.

  The girl sitting next to me, someone who had never acknowledged my existence before, suddenly gave me a bright smile, “Hey, Raiden! You cut your hair, it looks really good on you.”

  I blinked, “…Uh. Thanks?”

  Then, another voice, “Oh yeah, it really suits you.”

  I turned, another girl, also smiling.

  Then, from behind me, “Did you always dress like this? It’s a good look.”

  This wasn’t normal in the slightest.

  I gave them all a slow nod, muttering some half-assed response, before facing forward and trying to act like I wasn’t going through a mild existential crisis.

  Things only got weirder when the teacher walked in.

  Mr. Clarkson, a guy who normally had the enthusiasm of a dead fish, walked in, took one look at me, and actually paused.

  He adjusted his glasses, squinting at me, "Mr. Alaric.”

  I braced myself, "Uh. Yes?”

  A slow nod of approval, "…Looking sharp today.”

  Excuse me?

  The entire classroom turned to look at me.

  I let out a dry chuckle, shrugging, "Yeah. Uh. Thanks?”

  Mr. Clarkson, usually quick to start the lesson, then did something completely out of character. He smiled, and not in the ‘I’m about to ruin your GPA’ kind of way.

  No, this was a genuine, almost amused smile, “Keep it up.”

  Then he turned and started writing on the board like nothing happened. I was stunned.

  Dude, what?

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  This man had never been nice to me before.

  What is happening?

  By the time lunch rolled around, I was convinced something magical had happened. Everywhere I went, people were more talkative, more friendly, more… aware that I existed.

  It wasn’t even just the girls.

  A few guys who normally wouldn’t bother looking in my direction actually acknowledged me. One even went as far as to fist-bump me when I walked past.

  My guy, we have never spoken before.

  Even the lunch lady, Ms. Rodriguez, gave me extra fries. I stared at my tray, slowly turned to her and she winked.

  No way…

  My mom and dad had actually worked magic. I had been transformed. Was this what they felt like all the time? The attention, the weird admiration, the completely different treatment just because you looked better?

  I sat down at my usual spot, still processing everything. I ran a hand through my hair, letting out a slow exhale.

  Damn.

  If I knew just a haircut and better clothes could do this… I would’ve let them intervene sooner.

  If I thought the staring was bad earlier, I was completely unprepared for what was coming next. I wasn’t the biggest fan of swimming days in P.E. Not because I hated swimming, but because public school locker rooms were a different kind of hell depending on who you are.

  Still, I went through the routine. Got changed, tossed my stuff in my locker, and walked out toward the pool area.

  That’s when I felt it, the silence.

  The kind of silence that only happens when you walk into a room and everyone suddenly decides to shut the hell up. I raised an eyebrow, looking around. A few of the guys in my class were still getting ready, but the ones who were already out had their eyes on me.

  Oh… that’s right.

  I had forgotten about my physique. Thanks to Chronos’ insane training regimen, I had gone from pretty fit to ridiculously cut in just a few months.

  My entire upper body had muscle definition that wasn’t exactly normal for someone my age. I was lean, but every movement showed the kind of tone and structure that screamed combat athlete. So now, everyone was seeing it. I was starting to feel a little self-conscious.

  I was about to just get in the damn pool and ignore it, but then I heard a familiar voice behind me, “Damn, Rai.”

  I turned my head to see Wren, my friend since middle school, standing there with his arms crossed, looking me up and down like he had just made a groundbreaking discovery.

  “When the hell did you get shredded?”

  I groaned, rubbing the bridge of my nose, "Dude. Don’t start.”

  Wren just grinned, "Nah, man, this is wild. I knew you were training, but this?” He gestured at me dramatically, "You look like you just stepped out of a goddamn Greek statue.”

  I exhaled, "Blame Chronos.”

  He whistled, "I knew training with that guy was hardcore from what you had said, but this? This is just borderline unfair.” He said while rubbing his developing abs.

  I rolled my eyes, "Oh yeah, super unfair. I totally had fun getting my ass kicked every day for this.”

  Before Wren could respond, I felt another set of eyes on me, or… more than a set.

  I turned my head slightly and caught the reactions, and that’s when I knew I was now under everyone’s radar.

  Because it wasn’t just a few girls, it was all of them.

  Even Irena, one of the more composed, level-headed girls in our year, had visibly blushed before quickly turning her head away.

  That made my stomach drop, because if Irena, of all people, was reacting like that?

  Do… do I look bad?

  I could already hear some of them muttering amongst themselves.

  “…I knew he was working out, but—holy shit.”

  “…Okay, but why is he built like that?”

  “…This isn’t even fair. How did we not notice before?”

  “... Maybe I should have talked to him more often.”

  One girl just straight-up whispered:

  “… Someone take a picture and post it in the group chat.”

  Ma’am?!

  I tried to ignore it, but then I noticed another problem. The P.E. teacher, a woman in her mid-thirties, who had always been fair but strict, was stealing glances at me. Not in a weird way, but in a “what the hell, this kid has more muscles than anyone at the school” kind of way.

  I was so close to walking straight out of the gym and never coming back.

  Two more weeks… two more weeks and I can leave this place for another three months.

  I took a deep breath, forcing myself to walk toward the pool like nothing was happening. I was just here to do my damn laps and leave.

  No big deal.

  Wren, of course, was having the time of his life watching me suffer, “Dude, you okay? You look kinda tense.”

  I glared at him, "I hope you drown.”

  He just laughed, "Man, I forgot how humble you are.”

  I ignored him and jumped into the pool, letting the water wash away my shame. But as I swam to the surface, I could still feel it.

  The stares.

  The whispers.

  I had unintentionally ascended the school’s social ladder overnight. So now, I am stuck up here.

  When I emerged from the water on the other side from taking a lap I heard a few of the girls give a little “oooo.” I’m not going to lie… I was feeling a bit self-conscious at first, but hearing the girls and seeing the guys click their tongue, it boosted my confidence.

  After I finished P.E., I was more than ready for the day to be over. All of the new looks and advances I’m getting are something I need to sit down and think about.

  While walking toward my homeroom, I suddenly heard heavy footsteps approaching from behind, “Damn you, Rai.”

  I barely had time to turn my head before Wren appeared beside me, looking half-betrayed, half-annoyed.

  I blinked, “What the hell did I do now?”

  He just stared at me, shaking his head dramatically, “You ruined me, bro.”

  I frowned, "...Okay, you’re gonna have to explain, because I feel like I’ve done a lot of things in my life that could fall under ‘ruining you.’”

  Wren let out a deep sigh, rubbing his temples, "Alright. So you know how I’m a social guy, right? I talk to a lot of people. Especially girls.”

  I narrowed my eyes, "Uh-huh.” Wren was very extroverted. He knew a lot of people and he was relatively handsome so he has no shortage of girls he could date either. So what is it I could have possibly done that I didn't intentionally do to mess with him? Because as far as I know, I always do those things intentionally.

  “Well, imagine my surprise when, out of nowhere, I suddenly have way more girls coming up to me.”

  I raised an eyebrow, "And that’s a problem because…?”

  He pointed a finger at me, looking absolutely done, "Because they weren’t coming up to me for me, Rai. They were coming up to me about you.”

  I stopped walking, "...What.”

  “Oh, you heard me.” He crossed his arms, "Do you know how many times I had to answer ‘Is Rai single?’ today? Do you?! I felt like your goddamn PR manager!”

  I stared.

  This was not the conversation I expected to be having first thing in the morning, “You’re joking.”

  “I wish. Some of them weren’t even smooth about it. Straight up just, ‘So… Rai, huh?’ Like, what do you even want me to say to that?!”

  I dragged a hand down my face, "Holy shit.”

  “Yeah. Holy shit.”

  I tried to process this, but Wren wasn’t done. He kept ranting, throwing his hands in the air as we walked.

  “I had girls who never spoke to me before suddenly trying to be all buddy-buddy—only to slide in with a ‘Sooo, Rai…’” He then pointed at my face up close, “There were juniors asking about you. JUNIORS, Rai.” Backing up he then spread his arms around in frustration, “One girl literally stopped me just to ask what shampoo you use. BRO, HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW?! NOT TO MENTION THAT QUESTION IS A RED FLAG UNLESS YOU WANT TO LEARN HOW THIS HANDSOME LITTLE…” He paused and looked me up and down, “NOT SO LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT MAINTAINS THAT HAIR.”

  I tried to hold in my laugh, but Wren was in too deep, “This is all your fault.”

  I finally lost it, bursting into laughter, “Bro, I didn’t ask for this either!”

  “Oh, don’t ‘bro’ me. You did something. You put a spell on yourself, I swear.”

  I exhaled, shaking my head, "Look, man. Just tell them the truth. That I’m single, but also very emotionally unavailable.”

  “Oh, trust me. I already did. And you know what happened? One of them went ‘I can fix him.’”

  I groaned, "Oh god.”

  “Yeah. Oh god.”

  I patted his shoulder, "Well, good luck, my guy.”

  Wren scoffed, "No. No, you don’t get to just ‘good luck’ me. You owe me for this.”

  “What do you want me to do? Make myself ugly again?”

  “YES.”

  I laughed again, shaking my head. Okay, I guess there were more benefits I’m getting out of this than I thought.

  I pulled out my phone to check my notes again. I keep checking them mostly due to my dad. Apart from the lessons and on how to style my clothing, he was also giving me tips and ideas to make the date better than just going out for froyo. He even suggested just how I should arrive. I was beginning to wonder, since everyone here at school is reacting this way, how would Ella react?

  Ella Vel’aeris

  The morning sun filtered through the grand windows of my room, casting soft light across the lavish interior of my family’s estate. I sat before my ornate vanity, adjusting my earrings while Ysolda, my personal maid and, more importantly, my best friend, tended to my hair.

  Despite her graceful movements, she was clearly annoyed. I could tell from the way she was braiding my hair just a little too tightly.

  I sighed, "Alright. Spill it.”

  She huffed, "I just don’t get it, my lady.”

  I gave her a pointed look in the mirror, "Ysolda.”

  She rolled her eyes, "Fine. Ella. I still don’t get it.” She crossed her arms, stepping back to analyze me like I was some kind of puzzle, "Why are you going on a date with him?”

  I raised an eyebrow, "Him?”

  “Raiden Alaric.”

  Oh? So she was using his full name. This was serious.

  Ysolda sighed dramatically, placing a hand on her hip, "I watched the footage from the competition.”

  I smirked, "Did you?”

  “Yes. And let me tell you, nothing about that boy screamed ‘mentally stable.’”

  I chuckled, leaning back slightly, "That’s part of the fun.”

  She groaned, "Ella.”

  “Ysolda.”

  She threw her hands in the air, "He’s human, Ella! A human! You’re a high elf!”

  I turned, giving her a knowing look, "And?”

  “And? And?! You know how your family would react if they knew you were willingly spending time with some reckless, battle-hungry human. I’d understand it if he was some upstanding human but… this?”

  I let out a slow exhale, running my fingers over the polished surface of my vanity, “That’s exactly why I’m doing it.”

  Ysolda froze, eyes narrowing, "…So this is rebellion, then?”

  I tilted my head, "If it was rebellion, wouldn’t I be spending my time with someone far worse? No, this is different.”

  She crossed her arms again, "Then enlighten me.”

  I sighed, folding my hands in my lap, “Because he doesn’t care.”

  Ysolda blinked, "What?”

  I turned back toward the mirror, admiring how my hair fell over my shoulders, “Raiden Alaric looked me in the eye, accepted the challenge at the contest, and didn’t hold back.”

  I saw Ysolda’s reflection, her expression shifting slightly.

  “He doesn’t put me on a pedestal,” I continued, "He doesn’t look at me and see some untouchable noble girl, or some prize to be won. He sees me. He talks to me like I’m just another person.”

  Ysolda didn’t respond immediately.

  I smirked, twirling a loose strand of hair, "And he’s amusing.”

  That finally made her scoff, "Oh, so that’s what this is about? You just like his jokes?”

  “You’ve met the men in my circle, Ysolda.”

  She grimaced, "Ugh. Fair point.”

  “Raiden matches my humor. I don’t have to filter myself around him. I don’t have to pretend to be some proper, noble lady at all times.”

  I leaned forward, resting my chin on my palm.

  “I can just be me.”

  Ysolda was silent for a moment. Then, with a sigh, she placed her hands on my shoulders.

  “You know this can’t last forever, right?”

  I smiled, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes, "Nothing ever does.”

  She frowned while I stood up, “Come on. We’ve got a long day ahead.”

  And I had a date to get ready for.

  Ysolda was silent for a moment. Then, with a sigh, she placed her hands on my shoulders, “You know this can’t last forever, right?”

  I smiled, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes, "Nothing ever does.”

  Her frown deepened, but I didn’t give her the chance to press further.

  I stood up, stretching slightly before making my way toward my walk-in closet. Sliding the doors open, I scanned the rows of pristine, carefully curated outfits, each one meant for a specific occasion, each one designed to reflect the noble image I was expected to uphold.

  I hummed, tapping a finger against my chin, "Nothing too fancy…” My eyes drifted over the more extravagant pieces, skipping right past them, "Something effortless and relaxed.”

  I pulled out a few options, holding them against myself in the mirror. Then a thought crossed my mind.

  What if Raiden shows up in joggers?

  I paused. No, that was absolutely something he would do.

  I had no doubt in my mind that he’d put zero effort into his outfit, showing up in athleisure wear like this was just another day out.

  I exhaled sharply, shaking my head, "I swear, if he shows up in joggers, I might just leave him there.”

  Ysolda snorted, "No, you won’t.”

  I scowled at her through the mirror, "…No, I won’t.”

  Damn him.

  A slow smirk curled on my lips as I glanced at the outfit I had settled on. A cozy yet effortlessly stylish look.

  A soft gray oversized sweater, comfortably loose but still flattering, tucked just slightly into sleek black leggings that hugged my legs perfectly. Over that, a black puffer vest added an extra layer of warmth without being bulky. White sneakers, clean, simple, and functional. And, to top it all off, a black cap, letting just enough of my blonde hair flow freely.

  I admired myself in the mirror. Simple, relaxed, effortless, and still better dressed than Rai would be. A quiet chuckle escaped my lips. I was already mentally preparing myself for the inevitable moment he showed up in sweats and a hoodie, looking like he just got out of bed.

  Ysolda, still watching me from the side, raised an eyebrow, "You seem amused.”

  I grabbed my bag, adjusting the strap over my shoulder, "Oh, I am.”

  She narrowed her eyes, "Why?”

  I turned to her with a knowing smirk, "Because I already know I’m going to be better dressed than him.”

  She blinked, "…You’re enjoying this way too much.”

  “Absolutely.”

  If Rai thought he could get away with showing up in joggers, he had another thing coming.

  I pulled out my phone to check if Rai had messaged me again. Nothing, the only text from him was the one detailing where to meet and what time. We are supposed to meet at 4:30 PM in front of the store.

  I stared at the message for a moment before locking my phone and tucking it away. I was going to show up a little early, not because I didn’t trust him to pick a proper meeting spot, but because I wanted to make sure it was the right place.

  That was the only reason.

  Definitely not because I was an absolute glutton who might, possibly, maybe, hypothetically, buy a little something to snack on while I waited.

  Absolutely not, that would be ridiculous.

  I adjusted my bag on my shoulder, catching Ysolda’s skeptical look from the corner of my eye.

  “What?” I asked.

  She smirked, "Nothing.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her, but she only shook her head and resumed tidying up.

  Fine, let her think whatever she wanted. I had a date to prepare for.

  At least until I heard Ysolda mumble to herself, her voice light and casual, “Ah, it’s only 9 AM… I suppose I should see if the other girls have begun preparations for lunch. Hm, but that’s too soon, I still have plenty of time to get more done.”

  Then, as if she wasn’t already being insufferable enough, she turned to me with a knowing look. I froze, my fingers tightening slightly around the strap of my bag.

  It took a solid three seconds before my brain processed what she was implying. I was ready to go.

  At 9 AM.

  For a date that wasn’t happening for another six and a half hours.

  I swallowed, my face growing slightly hotter at the realization.

  Casually, very casually, I lifted my chin and folded my arms, "I’m simply efficient.”

  Ysolda hummed, unconvinced, but mercifully didn’t press the issue. Still, the damage was done. I could already feel the embarrassment creeping up my spine.

  I was ahead in all my lessons, so I couldn’t exactly bury myself in studies. I could go train, but I was already dressed up, and the last thing I wanted was to sweat through my outfit before I even left the estate. Nor do I feel like changing clothes after I already went through the effort.

  I tapped my fingers against my arm, debating. I needed something to kill time. Something that wouldn’t make me look like an absolute fool.

  Then an idea came to mind. I needed something to kill time, and what better way than to seek out my eldest sister? If nothing else, she’d be a good distraction. With that in mind, I left my room, stepping into the wide, open halls of the estate.

  The soft padding of my sneakers barely made a sound against the polished white marble floors, their surface so smooth they reflected the gentle glow of morning light streaming through the tall windows.

  Everything in the Brightmoor Estate was a reflection of our family's standing within the Skyhaven Sect, elegant, but purposeful. The architecture was spacious, designed to accommodate movement rather than excessive ornamentation. Pale stone walls curved seamlessly into arched ceilings, reinforced with subtle enchantments to withstand both time and force.

  Tall banners hung at regular intervals, bearing the insignia of our family, a silver spear piercing through an expanse of deep blue, symbolizing the legacy of the Sky Piercer technique. The image wasn’t just for decoration. It was a reminder of our duty, to stand above, to strike with precision, and to never waver once we set our sights on a goal.

  Though the estate was grand, it was never meant to be excessive. There were no gaudy gold trimmings or unnecessary displays of wealth. Everything had its function. The wide corridors allowed for unrestricted movement, the reinforced pillars bore subtle traces of sigils for protection, and the courtyards were built for training just as much as they were for leisure.

  I passed by one of the many training halls, hearing the faint clash of practice spears and the rhythmic movements of sparring drills. The Skyhaven Sect prided itself on discipline, and even here, in one of the most prestigious estates, training never stopped.

  Somewhere within these halls, my eldest sister was either honing her skills or buried in her study.

  She was the one I was closest to, not just as a sister, but as something more. A mentor, a protector. In our mother’s absence, she had taken on so much more than she should have had to.

  Not that she ever complained. I let out a quiet sigh, shaking my head. If I had to guess, she was probably training. And if that was the case… maybe I should have changed.

  I stepped into one of the training halls, the doors parting silently as I entered. The room was vast and open, the polished stone floor lined with faint markings from years of intense practice. Light from the high windows cast long shadows along the walls, illuminating the lone figure in the center of the room, was my eldest sister.

  She moved with an unshakable grace, flowing seamlessly from one stance to the next, her spear carving arcs through the air with lethal precision. Every movement was deliberate, controlled, the epitome of mastery.

  I didn’t interrupt. I simply watched.

  Even without looking directly at her aura, I felt its presence. A constant, suffocating pressure rested in the room, making my chest feel compressed, as if my lungs had to work harder just to keep up.

  Violet Rank, a level so far beyond me that I might as well have been an insect beneath a storm. My fingers drifted to my wrist, scratching lightly at the bind wrapped around it. A reminder and a limitation.

  I wanted to be there, to be able to wield a spear the way she did, to step into a battle and not feel like I was drowning under the weight of my own shortcomings.

  But I wasn’t there yet. Because I still struggled with controlling my aura. I swallowed down the frustration that threatened to rise, focusing instead on my sister.

  She had been at this for a while. I could tell from the light sheen of sweat glistening on her skin, the way her breathing was measured, yet deep. Her long platinum blonde hair was tied up high, a few stray strands clinging to her temples. The ends of her hair had purple highlights that had a subtle glow to them.

  She finally came to a pause, lowering her spear to rest against her shoulder.

  Reaching for a rag nearby, she picked it up and wiped the sweat from her brow, her piercing purple eyes flickering in my direction for the first time.

  I straightened my posture, already expecting her to have something to say.

  “You know,” she began, her voice smooth but edged with amusement, "The last time I saw you wearing something that either wasn’t something easy to move in or a dress Ysolda picked out for you, was when you and I snuck out to eat what the humans call pizza.”

  I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorway, "Oh come on Illya, that was years ago.”

  Her lips curled into a knowing smirk as she wiped the back of her neck with the rag, "Exactly.”

  I sighed, already regretting coming here, "Are you implying something?”

  She tilted her head slightly, that look in her eyes, the one that said she already knew the answer but was going to make me say it anyway, "I’m just observing, that’s all.”

  I rolled my eyes but didn’t reply. Instead, I let my gaze drift back to the training floor, the spot where she had just been moving so effortlessly, where I should be if I wasn’t still stuck trying to control my aura.

  She followed my eyes, and for a brief moment, there was silence.

  Then she sighed, tossing the rag onto a nearby bench, "Still struggling?”

  I didn’t answer right away. Instead, my fingers absentmindedly scratched at the bind on my wrist, the soft fabric rough against my skin.

  “…It’s frustrating,” I admitted.

  Her expression softened, the teasing edge replaced with something more thoughtful, "You’re thinking about it too much.”

  I clenched my jaw, "I don’t have a choice.”

  She hummed, stepping closer. The pressure of her aura eased, just enough to let me breathe easier, "And that’s why it’s holding you back.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek, my fingers still scratching at the bind on my wrist. She made it sound so simple. Like all I had to do was stop thinking about it, let go, and suddenly my aura would flow the way it was supposed to.

  But that was easy for her to say. She wasn’t stuck beneath the weight of expectation, caught between what was expected of her as a warrior and what was expected of her as a daughter of the Brightmoor family.

  She didn’t have the looming shadow of an arranged future, the unspoken truth that, no matter what she accomplished, her fate might never be hers to decide.

  I swallowed hard.

  No.

  I couldn’t think about that now. Not here, not in front of her.

  I exhaled slowly, keeping my voice steady, "You’re saying I should just… stop overthinking it?”

  She folded her arms, tilting her head slightly, "I’m saying that the more you treat it like a burden, the heavier it’s going to feel.”

  I let out a sharp breath, half frustration, half exhaustion, "That’s easy for you to say. You never had to—”

  I stopped myself before the words slipped out, but her sharp purple eyes narrowed.

  “Never had to what?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

  I hesitated, my hand tightening around my wrist.

  Never had to worry about being married off like a bargaining chip?

  Never had to prove yourself just to feel like your own future was still yours?

  Instead of answering, I just shook my head, "Nothing. Forget it.”

  She sighed, rubbing her temple before sitting down on the bench beside her spear, "Ella.” I didn’t move and she continued, “You can talk to me, you know.”

  I clenched my jaw, "Not about this.”

  Because if I said it out loud, it made it real, and I wasn’t ready for that.

  I turned to leave wanting to push this conversation aside, but before I could, a wooden spear was tossed at me, landing just inches from my feet. I barely had time to react when Illya was already upon me, her movements swift and purposeful.

  “You look like you need a distraction.” She smirked as she charged, her own spear held high, ready to strike.

  I barely had time to raise my arms, the weight of the wooden shaft feeling far too familiar in my hands. Illya was always like this, she never gave a warning, never waited for an opening. She just went for it, and you either kept up or got knocked down.

  Rai would love her.

  I raised my spear to block the incoming blow, feeling the impact jolt up my arms.

  She didn’t relent, “What’s the matter? You look distracted.”

  Her words were taunting, but I wasn’t in the mood to entertain them. Instead, I twisted my body, swinging the spear low to catch her off guard. But she was faster. Illya always was faster.

  With a fluid motion, she sidestepped, her spear slashing down at my exposed side. I barely had time to twist my body to the side, the tip of her spear grazing my shoulder. I gritted my teeth, frustration surging. I wasn’t focused enough.

  With another smirk, Illya backed off for a split second, giving me enough room to regain my stance, “Come on, Ella. I thought you were supposed to be a Skyhaven warrior.”

  I swallowed my frustration, pushing it aside. I needed to focus. I watched her carefully, her body coiled like a spring. The moment I made the first move, she’d retaliate, and I had to be ready.

  I swung my spear in a wide arc, aiming for her midsection. But, as expected, Illya ducked under it, spinning on her heel to strike at my exposed back. She was too quick, and once again, I barely managed to block.

  Her voice came, teasing yet serious, "You’re holding back.”

  The words stung, but they hit home. I was still trapped in the same cycle, still afraid to fight at full strength. I needed to let go, of the weight on my shoulders, of the future I couldn’t control, and of the bind restricting my aura’s flow.

  But in the heat of the spar, I didn’t have time to think. I raised my spear, gritting my teeth as I launched myself at Illya again.

  Just as I lunged forward, Illya raised her hand, stopping me mid-motion.

  I skidded to a halt, grip tightening around my spear as I frowned, “What?”

  She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she pointed directly at the bind wrapped around my wrist.

  “Take it off.” Her voice was calm, but there was no room for argument.

  I stiffened, “Illya…”

  She met my gaze, unwavering, “Come at me with everything.”

  I stared at her, my heart pounding in my chest.

  She knew, she always knew. No matter how much I tried to hide it, no matter how well I masked my hesitation, she could see it, the way I held back, the way I restricted myself. She was calling me out on it.

  I swallowed, my fingers drifting toward my wrist, hesitating just above the gem.

  Removing it meant baring my weakness.

  It meant facing what I was afraid of. Illya didn’t move, simply waiting, her spear lowered, patient.

  She wasn’t going to force me. This was my choice. I took a slow breath, steeling myself, then, with one decisive movement, I touched the gem and removed it.

  Once the bind clattered to the ground, I felt my aura revitalize. Power surged through me, a force both exhilarating and overwhelming. My muscles felt stronger, my senses sharper, my very being humming with untapped energy.

  But just as quickly as the power came, the emotions came alongside it.

  A deep, suffocating frustration. An overwhelming sense of pressure. It clawed at my chest, twisting, coiling like a storm that had been waiting for release. My thoughts became louder, the weight of my obligations pressing down on me all at once.

  The expectations. The rules. The looming reality that no matter what I achieved, I might still be married off like a negotiation piece.

  My hands clenched around my spear, my breath shaky, my body tense.

  This is why I keep the bind on. Because when I let my aura flow freely, so do the emotions I work so hard to suppress.

  I felt Illya’s gaze on me, steady, observant.

  "You feel it now, don’t you?" she asked.

  Her voice wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t taunting. It was understanding. I nodded stiffly, my grip tightening.

  She adjusted her stance, fingers flexing around her spear, "Then control it."

  I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to breathe through the storm raging inside me.

  Control it. Like it was that simple.

  Illya knew it wasn’t. She knew exactly what my problem was, and she wasn’t going to let me ignore it anymore. No more hesitating. No more holding back. This time, I was going to come at her with everything.

  I barely had time to steady myself before Illya’s aura flared to life. The weight of it crashed down like a storm breaking over the horizon, dense, suffocating, absolute.

  Her Violet Rank aura didn’t just exist in the room; it commanded it. The very air shifted under its presence, pressing down on me like an unseen force, making my body feel sluggish in comparison.

  She wasn’t even moving yet. She was simply waiting. Waiting for me to act.

  I gritted my teeth, heat rising in my chest, emotions swirling dangerously close to the surface. I couldn't hesitate. I bolted forward. I closed the distance in an instant, striking first. My spear lashed out, a precise, calculated thrust aimed straight for her abdomen but it never landed.

  Illya shifted her stance just slightly, her own spear tilting at the last second to deflect mine with effortless precision.

  I followed up immediately. A second strike. Then a third. A fourth. I didn't stop.

  My spear tore through the air in rapid succession, each blow faster, heavier, more aggressive, aiming to overwhelm, to force her onto the defensive.

  But Illya, she blocked, parried, dodged, and countered effortlessly.

  She weaved through my attacks, her form perfect, her counters coming just close enough to make me second-guess my next move.

  I pressed harder. I swung low and she stepped over it. I feinted a strike to her shoulder, she read the movement instantly, shifting her weight just out of range.

  She wasn’t just defending. She was studying me, and that only made me angrier.

  My frustration built, my aura flaring with it. I adjusted my grip, stepping in even faster, forcing her into a close-quarters exchange. If I couldn’t break her defense through speed, I would through pressure.

  I pushed harder.

  Our spears clashed repeatedly, sending shockwaves through the training hall. The floor beneath us cracked, light fractures forming with each powerful strike.

  I swung my spear with everything I had and Illya sidestepped.

  I missed, in that instant, I felt it—her aura tightened, her stance shifted, and before I could recover, she moved, fast. Faster than I could react. Her spear caught mine and redirected it completely, my own momentum working against me.

  The force of the deflection sent me stumbling back, my grip momentarily unsteady, and that was all she needed.

  I barely had time to see it before I heard it, a sharp snap.

  My spear fractured under the impact, splitting at the midpoint. The broken piece clattered to the floor just as Illya closed the distance, her unbroken spear stopping just shy of my throat.

  The fight was over.

  My chest rose and fell rapidly, my body aching, my aura still simmering under my skin.

  Illya on the other hand? She looked completely unfazed.

  The pressure of her aura vanished as quickly as it came, and with one smooth motion, she lowered her spear.

  She glanced at the cracked floor, the splintered weapon in my hand, then met my gaze with that same, calm certainty.

  “You’re still relying too much on raw emotion.” Her voice was steady, matter-of-fact.

  I swallowed hard, my grip on my broken weapon tightening. She was right. She was always right, but that didn’t make losing any easier.

  “You’re letting your emotions get in the way. Because you can’t properly control your aura, you can’t properly react or defend.”

  I took a slow breath, forcing myself to calm down.

  I walked over, picking up the bind I had taken off. The weight of it felt familiar, grounding as I wrapped it back around my wrist, securing it in place once more. The moment it locked in, I felt my aura dull, retracting inward like a tide pulling away from the shore.

  Illya stepped beside me, brushing off some of the debris that had gotten on my clothes from our spar. It was a small gesture, one she had done countless times before when we trained together.

  Then, without a word, she hovered her hand over the back of my neck, and immediately, I felt a cool breeze wash over me.

  It was light and refreshing, almost soothing, a stark contrast to the heavy exhaustion settling into my limbs.

  This was another reason why I envied her.

  She had begun to learn Wind Esoteric Arts, forming a contract with a Wind Ethereal, an achievement far beyond what I had accomplished so far.

  I swallowed down my frustration, my voice coming out more casual than I felt, "Where’s Aella? I didn’t see her here.”

  Illya took a few steps forward, lifting her hand slightly. From the chandeliers above, a small bird fluttered down, its feathers shimmering as it landed delicately on her finger.

  Aella, she had been watching the entire time. The small bird, with its purple and black feathers, looked delicate, almost ordinary to an untrained eye. But I knew better.

  She was a Wind Ethereal, a being of elemental essence, far beyond the comprehension of most. I had asked before, countless times, but no matter what I did, neither Illya nor Aella would ever tell me anything about the Esoteric Arts.

  Not even going through the Veritas Vault, a vast archive of knowledge within our sect, would reveal anything to me until I reached Blue Rank.

  Blue Rank, the prerequisite for even beginning to learn Esoteric Arts.

  It felt unfair. I could stand in a room with knowledge that could change the way I fought forever, but I wasn’t allowed to touch it until I was strong enough.

  But I knew why. I understood why. Take my situation, for example, I couldn’t even control my own emotions properly. Trying to learn something as complex as Esoteric Arts when I couldn’t even master my own aura was already telling.

  I clenched my fists, my eyes flicking to Aella, who simply tilted her head at me, as if amused by my frustration.

  It wasn’t her fault, but it didn’t make it any less frustrating.

  Illya gently stroked Aella’s feathers, her gaze still on me, but there was a noticeable shift in the air. A moment of silence.

  Then she spoke, “You should wear your perfume for your date.”

  I froze.

  A cold sweat crept down my back.

  I turned my head slowly, feeling a sharp pang of regret for even coming here today, “…What?”

  Illya finally looked up, and to my absolute horror, her entire expression had changed.

  Her sharp, battle-hardened, unshakable warrior’s focus? Gone. In its place? A beaming, wide-eyed, practically glowing look of excitement.

  She gasped, clasping her hands together in front of her chest, "Oh, Ella~!"

  I took a slow, cautious step back, "Illya—”

  She practically vibrated with energy, bouncing slightly on her heels, "I knew something was up the moment you came in looking all distracted! And here I thought you were just brooding again, but no~! It’s a boy, isn’t it?”

  I felt my soul leave my body, “Illya—”

  She gasped again, even more dramatically this time, her eyes shining with curiosity, "Is he handsome? Oh! Is he a warrior?! Did he challenge you to a fight first? Oh Celestial’s wings, did you fall for him mid-fight?! That’s so romantic—”

  I grabbed her shoulders before she could spiral further, "Illya, breathe!"

  She actually fanned herself, her excitement completely uncontained, "This is amazing—I finally get to talk about this with you! I always knew you’d find someone first! Tell me everything! What’s he like? Which family is he from? Is he a noble? Ooooh, is he one of the Skyhaven prodigies I haven’t met yet? Is he someone I know? Is he a—"

  She stopped abruptly, her purple eyes narrowing in realization.

  Then she leaned in, squinting at me like she was about to see through my soul, “…Wait. Is he a human?”

  I flinched. It was the smallest movement, barely noticeable, but Illya caught it instantly. Her jaw dropped, not in disgust, not in disappointment, no her entire expression transformed, from excitement to scandalous intrigue.

  A slow, dramatic gasp escaped her lips. Her hands flew to her chest as she took a step back, "Oh. My. Stars."

  I sighed, "Illya, don't—"

  "A forbidden love?!" she whispered, as if saying it any louder would make the heavens themselves strike us down.

  I rubbed my temple, "It's not—"

  She ignored me entirely, pacing now, her mind racing, "A High Elf and a human! The world will never understand your love, Ella! They will keep you apart! You must fight against the odds!"

  I groaned.

  Then, suddenly, she stopped mid-step as a new thought had struck her, and her eyes widened.

  She turned back to me, slowly, deliberately, “…Wait a second.”

  I stiffened.

  I didn’t like where this was going. Illya’s expression shifted once more, from forbidden romance enthusiast to a detective connecting the final piece of a crime scene.

  Her eyes locked onto mine, sharp with certainty, “…It’s Raiden, isn’t it?”

  I went completely still.

  She grinned, a victorious, all-knowing, I-solved-the-mystery grin.

  “It is Raiden! From the martial arts contest! I knew it! You need to bring him over! Father is going to be in Europe for another week so you must bring him.”

  I groaned, dragging my hands down my face. She had seen the footage. She had watched the entire contest, and now, she knew.

  She wouldn’t tell anyone, but she was absolutely never going to let this go. I sighed, already exhausted.

  4:30 PM couldn’t come soon enough…