Night had fallen completely over the upper block, leaving the stone walkways bathed in the cool glow of the spirit lamps.
Iver stood outside Adela’s quarters and knocked twice on the heavy oak door. The sound echoed down the silent corridor.
No answer.
He waited. After a long minute, slow footsteps approached. The lock clicked, and the door opened an inch.
Adela stood in the gap. Her hair was slightly unkempt, and dark circles under her eyes made her look as if she hadn’t slept in days. When her eyes met his, weary confusion turned to shock. She pulled the door back, ready to slam it.
"Adela." He put a hand against the frame. "Can we talk?"
She hesitated, her hand trembling against the wood. For several tense seconds she struggled with herself. Then she let out a quiet, defeated breath and stepped aside.
"Come in," she whispered, eyes fixed on the floor.
The room was dim, lit only by a single desk lamp. They sat across from each other at a small tea table.
"Are you okay?" Iver asked. "I saw you near the courtyard earlier. You looked upset."
Adela crossed her arms and leaned back. "I’m fine," she said, flat and distant. "If that’s all you came to ask, you should leave."
He frowned, watching her posture. "If someone is bothering you, or you need something, tell me. It’s my job to handle it."
Adela gave a dry, bitter laugh and looked toward the window. "Why do you even care? Don’t you have a girlfriend to keep you busy? Go back to her."
Iver froze.
’Wait. Is she jealous?’
It felt ridiculous the instant the thought crossed his mind. ’Is that why she ran from the courtyard? Because of Ciel? Am I the reason...? No. That doesn’t make sense.’
He looked at her again. Her shoulders were rigid, her lips pressed into a tight, miserable line.
He weighed his options. Adela was technically his employer, and her family’s sponsorship was the only reason he stood in this Academy. Leaving her in the dark about something that touched his position here seemed counterproductive. Read the latest chapters at g.com.
"Adela." He leaned forward. "Don’t repeat what I’m about to tell you. It’s a secret."
She blinked and turned back to him with a quiet, guarded stare.
He laid it all out: Ciel’s letter, Gideon’s persistent harassment, and the fake relationship contract in exchange for Tier 2 monster cores and a new blade.
As he talked, the tension in her posture slowly unraveled. Her eyes widened as the pieces fell into place.
Of course, she thought, a faint blush creeping up her neck as relief washed over her. A girl like Lady Ciel wouldn’t suddenly fall for a stranger. And Ares would never waste time on campus romance without a practical reason.
The gloom over her face lifted, replaced by a small, bright spark. She cleared her throat and tried to regain her composure.
"Well... you should have told me beforehand!" She huffed and crossed her arms again, though this time without any venom. "If you’re going to make big decisions like that, let me know first, so I don’t have to hear absurd rumors from gossiping cadets."
"Understood," Iver said.
The mood had shifted completely. Seeing that she was fine, he stood. "I’ll go. Get some sleep."
"Goodnight, Ares," she said, her voice noticeably lighter.
In the hallway, he activated Presence Erasure and let his presence fade into the shadows as he moved through the female dormitory sector. Once he cleared the restricted boundary and stepped back onto the main terrace, he dropped the skill.
A tall figure stepped out from behind a stone pillar, directly into his path.
Gideon.
Iver didn’t break stride. He meant to walk right past, but Gideon clamped a heavy, gloved hand on his shoulder.
"Wait right there, commoner," Gideon growled, his voice shaking with suppressed rage.
"I don’t have time for this." Iver shrugged off the grip without stopping. "I’m going to sleep. Whatever you have to say, save it for tomorrow."
"You arrogant bastard!"
The dismissal snapped the last thread of Gideon’s control. He drew a short dagger from his belt and lunged, thrusting at Iver’s ribs. This story is hosted at g.com.
Iver leaned back an inch. The steel grazed empty air.
"If it weren’t for you..." Gideon swung wildly, in a string of heavy, unrefined strikes. "Why can’t I hit you?!"
His form was ruined by blind anger and ego. Iver dodged every swing with minimal effort, stepping around the broad slashes like a ghost.
Unimpressed.
When Gideon overextended on a heavy downward cut, Iver stepped into his pivot and appeared at his right flank. Before Gideon could turn his head, Iver brought the edge of his palm down on the side of his neck.
The strike hit the nerve cluster perfectly. Gideon’s eyes rolled back, his body went limp, and he collapsed onto the dirt path.
Silence returned to the terrace. Iver stood over the body, rubbing his wrist with a quiet sigh.
’Is this what my daily life is going to look like now?’ he thought. ’There really is no such thing as free money.’
He couldn’t leave a ducal heir sprawled unconscious in the middle of the path at midnight. That would cause its own problems. Dragging a breath, he hoisted Gideon over his shoulder, carried him down the corridor to his assigned room, laid him on his bed, and quietly closed the door.
...
The next morning, the Class S lecture hall was as quiet as ever as cadets filed in for the theory module.
Iver took his seat beside Ansel and leaned back. A few rows away, Gideon sat at his desk, his face pale and his jaw clenched so tightly it looked ready to snap. His eyes were locked on Iver with raw, bloodthirsty confusion.
He remembered fighting on the path. He remembered swinging his blade. Then nothing, until he woke in his own bed.
Ansel looked from Gideon’s furious, bewildered glare to Iver’s perfectly blank face, and a small, intrigued smile touched the corner of his lips.
’What on earth happened last night?’ the Prince wondered, resting his chin on his hand as the instructor stepped up to the podium.