The next morning at Central Academic Plaza & Vanguard Complex B1.
It was the heart of Aegis Royal Academy, pale grey flagstone worn smooth down the middle of the walkways.
A four-faced, 40-meter tower stood at the exact center, ringing every hour.
It was a place every student crossed at least twice a day to get anywhere, and Lucian was no exception.
He was in the same blazer he'd worn to Ground 4, the worn black-and-silver one, silver trim frayed at the cuffs, sleeves rolled to the elbow.
Dark charcoal hair still damp from a cold wash. Ash-gray eyes half-lidded against the grey morning light.
"Did you see Cole's hand after? It wasn't broken. It was wrong. It didn't close."
"So? Good. He's a thug."
"He's a Committee officer, you idiot. If a Rank One can do that to him, what do you think he'll do to us?"
Murmurs spread after his duel with Travis Cole, and as Karin had said, people were already suspecting him of using a ward.
But as usual, Lucian didn't glance at any of them, treating their words like empty noise.
"A ward. Had to be. Nobody takes a Piston Lunge bare-armed."
"My cousin's in 3rd year. He says you can buy them off the Carrion Guild for thirty sovereigns."
"Thirty? Then he's got money from somewhere, because the Crofts don't have thirty coppers."
The whispers came in clusters. He passed one knot of students and they went quiet; he passed the next and they started up again behind him.
He finally arrived at the Vanguard Complex, the Aura Knight division, Block B, Basement Level 1. The usual narrow stone staircase, bare bulb lights along the walls, half of them out.
Heading toward the familiar basement classroom, Class 1-D. But perhaps because of yesterday's duel, something had changed.
"Morning, Croft," said a few classmates who had never spoken to him before. Lucian gave them a brief glance.
"Morning," he replied.
"Nice day, isn't it? Cold, but, you know. Nice." The student even pressed on. Lucian squinted at him.
"...I'll just. Go sit down."
He sat, and as always Tobias Renn gave him a slightly longer, deeper nod than usual, which Lucian returned.
It was a strange atmosphere, but compared to being looked down on constantly... This is much better. The corner of his mouth curved up.
...
Another day passed, this time in the Grand Cafeteria, a huge vaulted hall with ceilings around 15 meters at the peak and long communal tables of dark wood in rows and rows.
The Grand Cafeteria at midday was its usual wall of noise, three hundred students, benches scraping.
Lucian sat at a corner table, far from the serving line as usual, eating his regular Mana Broth, forcing it down in one gulp.
"Tsk, disgusting!" His lips twitched and his face soured the way it always did when he had to eat this. The usual routine, until...
An older man, somewhere in his late forties, wearing a black formal servant's coat with silver piping, walked straight toward him. He stopped, crossed one arm over his chest, and gave a slight bow.
"Lucian Croft," he said, calmly, neither arrogant nor overly polite. He set a basket down on the table, eyes briefly closed as he did so. "Compliments of House Lysander."
He placed a pale silk card on the table beside the basket, then turned and walked out.
How could a commotion like that not draw a crowd, when a Lysander servant had just walked up and stopped right in front of Lucian?
It was as if every student who had actually been minding their own business suddenly had eyes for nothing else
"...Is that the Lysander crest?"
"On the basket?"
"On the courier, you idiot."
Lucian had been watching from the moment the man walked in, and he looked down at the basket with a frown.
Must be my beloved fiancée, Seraphina. His ash-gray eyes didn't move, but something at the corner of his mouth did, not quite a smile, just a small dry twitch he couldn't have explained if asked.
He set the card between two fingers and turned it over in the grey cafeteria light.
He read it once. Then he read it again, slower, the way he read everything now, looking for the part that wasn't written.
Exactly what he expected.
"For my dedicated fiancé, to soothe your fatigue after yesterday's unfortunate drill. Your Seraphina."
He opened the basket. Inside was an arrangement of pale cream-white fruits with a faint blush, slightly translucent flesh. About the size of a fist.
Southern White Peaches? It wasn't him who recognized the name immediately, but the original Lucian, who had perhaps been gifted them before.
According to the memories, they were a mana food, a luxury restorative said to taste like pure sugar.
Compared to Mana Broth they were already an improvement, but they were also said to cost 12 Silver Crowns per peach, with a basket of eight running 1 Sovereign Gold.
His monthly stipend was 5 Silver Crowns.
Truly expensive. But instead of immediate excitement, how could he not be suspicious? Sending a gift out of nowhere? His nose was already twitching before the basket even touched the table.
He sniffed it. Silk. Wicker. A trace of glove oil from the courier's hands, already fading. And then the fruit.
Sugar. Floral esters. Water. A thin mineral tang underneath, volcanic soil, sulfur-bearing but natural, not processed. And under that, a thread of mana, cold and bright, wound through the sugars like a wire through candy.
He breathed again. Slower.
Nothing. His brows drew together.
Zero poison, nothing even resembling a poison smell, no miasma, no chemical markers. His expression darkened at the thought.
The fruit even looked delicious, which made it 100% clean?
What is she trying to do?
Having confirmed there was nothing dangerous, he thought: If there's a trap, it isn't in the fruit. And if there is one, I'll find out.
He only frowned over the question of his beloved fiancée's intentions. As for poison?
[Toxic Immunity] would handle anything ingested.
Itadakimasu!
He bit into it. And stopped. His mouth fell open slightly, and his gaze froze for a moment.
The sweetness hit him first.
It wasn't like the fruit from the capital, the hard, sour, waxed things sold three for a copper on street corners.
This was soft and cool and it melted.
Ohhhh. So this is what food is supposed to taste like.
He chewed slowly, swallowed, and looked down at the peach in his hand, half gone, the flesh pale cream, the skin faintly blushed.
It was the best thing he'd ever eaten.
He set the pit down on the edge of the tray, picked up his napkin, and wiped his fingers. "Tasty."
While he ate, the other students watching him were burning with jealousy, of course.
"Wait, is that Southern White Peaches?!"
"She sent him peaches."
"She sent him Southern Whites. Do you know what those cost?"
"I know what they cost. That's the problem."
Yeah, just shut up. I'm the one who got the gift. Why do you care?
He picked up another one and chewed, frowning at the noise around him. He glanced over and they immediately looked away.