Serendia Academy offered several uniquely aristocratic classes absent from ordinary schools, such as ballroom dancing. Among these was an entire course devoted to the art of the tea party—attended exclusively by the girls.
For the daughters of noble families, tea parties were far more than pleasant social gatherings. In high society, one's ability to host and be hosted reflected refinement, dignity, and grace. The class drilled etiquette into the students' minds, then gave them a chance to put it into practice.
These sessions were held in the central courtyard. Students of the same year divided into groups of four or five, each bringing her own tea to brew and evaluate. The teacher announced in advance which tea snacks would be served. The first challenge, therefore, was selecting a tea that paired well with the prescribed confections. Though each student was expected to bring her own leaves, most noble girls simply instructed their servants to purchase the finest blends available.
Under a clear autumn sky, tea-party practice began. Though technically only an exercise, this was Serendia—the tables gleamed with first-rate tea sets and crystal vases overflowing with flowers in every color. The surroundings could easily have passed for an actual court gathering, were it not for the students' uniforms.
The girls sipped the teas they had brought and conversed lightly. Whenever the teacher approached, the topics shifted dutifully to tea, tableware, or seasonal blooms. But once she moved on, they slipped back into chatter about trends—or, more often, gossip about romance. One especially popular subject was the second prince and student council president, Felix Arc Castina.
Caroline Simmons, daughter of Count Devilla, spoke of him as if enchanted, her caramel-brown hair swaying with every word.
"I'm certain the prince will choose his fiancée before he graduates."
Naturally, the others joined in at once.
"Who do you think suits him best?"
"What about Lady Eliane of House Rehnberg? Their bloodlines match beautifully."
"Lady Bridget would be fitting too. She serves on the student council with him."
All the names belonged to the academy's brightest noble girls. Yet deep down, each girl at the table—Caroline included—nurtured the same dream: that the prince might choose her.
How wonderful it would be to have that handsome prince smile at you, or offer his hand during a ball...
Inevitably, the conversation shifted to tearing down the person they viewed as the least suitable candidate.
"Oh yes, speaking of others on the student council…" Caroline lowered her voice behind her fan. "Have you heard about her?"
The girls' eyes sharpened instantly.
Her—a correspondence student, yet chosen for the student council.
Lillian, the academy's assistant medical officer.
"I heard the prince gave her dance instruction."
"I saw it myself! And she danced with Lord Cyril too!"
"Lessons from both the prince and Lord Cyril? Who does she think she is?"
"I'm sure she's just a nobody from the countryside who guilted the kind prince into humoring her."
"She doesn't even have a servant to make tea for her. Isn't she ashamed?"
"Just wait—she's bound to embarrass herself today."
Caroline and the others tittered behind elegant fans, their malice sweetened by polite laughter. Ridiculing Lillian eased Caroline's bruised pride.
Lillian… It's her fault Lord Cyril scolded me and made me submit a letter of apology.
When Lillian had first transferred in, Caroline had been indirectly responsible for an incident where Lillian stumbled on the stairs. She had shoved Lana, who bumped into Lillian. But in Caroline's mind, Lillian's quiet, deliberate presence—so unlike their own—made her seem unrefined, unfitting, and thus fair game for resentment.
How she disgusts me. Having her on the council is a mistake. Just you wait, Lillian.
...........
Lillian took her seat and immediately sensed an oppressive heaviness. It came not from herself, nor from Lana, nor from the new girl—Casey—joining them for the first time.
The source was the black-haired young woman at the head of the table: Claudia.
Lillian had seen her once before, just long enough to remember her striking beauty. Claudia's sleek black hair framed lapis-blue eyes that were cool and unfathomable. If Bridget Greyham was a radiant rose, Claudia was an iris—elegant, serene, and enigmatic.
Today, however, she radiated such a somber gloom one could believe she carried a tragedy in her arms.
After her servant distributed her tea, Claudia offered a thin smile—white, sharp, and chilling.
"…Please drink."
The expression vanished an instant later, leaving her face blank, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Her silence felt heavy enough to press upon the table itself.
Lillian quietly adjusted her expectations. There would be no shrill laughter, no grandstanding. Claudia seemed too exhausted for theatrics.
People sometimes called Lillian reserved, but Claudia existed on an entirely different plane. Where Lillian's composure stemmed from discipline, Claudia seemed to deliberately cultivate an aura of suffocating distance.
A chill settled over the table.
Lillian, Lana, and Casey lifted their cups together. The aroma was lovely—but the tension made everything taste muted.
How unnecessarily uncomfortable, Lillian thought.
"This tea is delicious! What kind is it?" Casey asked brightly, attempting to shatter the gloom.
"…The most basic black tea in the empire. Hardly worth discussing."
Casey wilted.
Lana tried next. "I—I like milk tea. Is there any milk?"
"…These leaves aren't suited for milk tea. Is your tongue so dull you can't tell?"
Lana froze, smiling stiffly.
The air sank further.
Eventually Casey's turn came. She brewed her tea—a strong, robust blend that paired beautifully with milk. Lana followed with a cheerful, sweet, fruity tea.
"Lana, your tea is lovely," Casey said warmly. "I really like it."
Lillian nodded. "It's refreshing."
Lana puffed up. "Of course it is—the season's most fashionable tea."
She flicked a pointed glance at Claudia.
Claudia didn't react, though she eventually observed,
"…A strong first tea dulls the tongue for all that follows."
Lillian paused. So Claudia's plain selection had been strategic.
When Claudia tried Lana's tea, she said flatly,
"…Florendia's Golden Chips. This season's most expensive."
"That's right!" Lana declared.
"If you were the hostess, it would be fine. As an invitee, however, it's out of place."
"What?!"
"If only your tea is expensive, it appears as mockery."
Lana flushed scarlet.
Casey panicked. "T-that's not it at all! Right, Miss Lillian?"
"I don't interpret it that way," Lillian replied calmly.
Claudia's gaze finally shifted to her. Lillian met it evenly.
"…So you agree only because your friends expect you to."
Lillian's brow tightened—not in fear, but in quiet irritation. "No. I answered because that is my honest opinion."
Lana slammed the table. "Enough already! All you do is insult people! You're the one out of place!"
Claudia didn't flinch. "…You seem to believe you warrant being addressed."
"What?!"
Several seconds passed before Claudia murmured,
"…Have you heard of the Silent Witch?"
Lillian's fingers froze on her cup.
"Genius mage. Youngest of the Seven Sages. Creator of new formulas. Famous for her silence…" Claudia's voice softened to a kind of reverence. "Even at her induction, she did not utter a single word."
Lana, who knew the truth, fell quiet.
Claudia's eyes fixed on Lillian.
"…A wise person knows when silence is more valuable than speech."
Lillian lifted her chin slightly. She did not agree—but she would not rise to provocation.
"So you're saying smart people won't talk to idiots?" Lana snapped.
Claudia ignored her.
"…The Silent Witch's name is Lillian Islar. The same first name as you, Assistant Medical Officer."
"Oh? That's interesting!" Casey said, oblivious.
Claudia's lips curved faintly.
"You've been quiet for some time now, Lady Lillian. Is it because you find this conversation beneath you?"
Lillian answered evenly, "I speak when I deem it necessary. Not when I am provoked."
Casey blinked. Lana stared. Claudia's expression remained unreadable.
"…I see." She finally looked away.
The table fell silent—none of the girls realizing that Claudia had spent the entire tea party observing only Lillian.
Lillian leaned toward her maid, Tanya, and whispered instructions. Tanya's eyes widened but she bowed without question.
"Understood. I will fetch it at once."
She hurried off. Lillian soon excused herself to prepare her tea.
..........
Opening the door to the tea prep room, Lillian stepped inside.
The bustle from earlier had faded; most servants were now serving outdoors.
Good. Fewer witnesses.
She walked toward the shelves where she had placed her jars. Her footsteps were steady, unhurried—because she already knew what she would find.
Casey's jar sat untouched.
The space beside it, where her own had been, was empty.
Lillian did not even blink.
"…As expected."
She opened the garbage bin. Inside were her tea leaves—both jars—mixed into damp dregs. Even the carefully folded bellows-paper she had laid beneath them was tossed in.
A familiar ache stirred in her chest. She had hoped, quietly and foolishly, that today might be different.
Still, she knelt with calm resignation and drew a thin, trembling breath.
Without the leaves, she had no tea. Without tea, she could not return to class.
…What should I do?
Her fingers gripped the bin's edge as she steadied herself. Her throat tightened; her eyes stung.
"Miss Lillian? Are you all right? Do you feel sick?"
Casey hurried to her side and knelt, rubbing her back gently.
"What are you doing here?" Lillian asked softly.
"I—I got worried when you didn't come back," Casey admitted. "Well… and I couldn't stand the tension at the table anymore…"
She glanced into the bin, and her expression hardened.
"That's awful… Who would do this?"
She dabbed at Lillian's eyes with a handkerchief, gentle as if comforting a child.
"Do you have any spare leaves in your dorm? Anything at all?"
"…No."
Lillian drank tea rarely; she had no personal stock she could rely on.
Casey thought for a moment, then lifted her own jar.
"Use mine. At least you'll have something to serve."
"…But that would hurt your score—"
"It's fine!" Casey insisted, waving her hands. "Tea parties should be fun. Who cares about the rules?"
Lillian stared at the ruined leaves. Casey was right. Returning empty-handed meant certain failure.
…But…
She bit her lip, steadied herself, and rose on shaky legs.
Then she suddenly darted for the exit.
"Lillian! Where are you going?!"
"I-I'll be right back!"
...........
Glaring at Claudia, Lana chewed a bite of cake—one of their tea snacks—still clearly irritated. Claudia's gaze had followed Lillian as she left, but once the other girl was out of sight, the table sank back into its melancholic, stifling quiet. Claudia's downward gaze, half-hidden by her long black lashes, lent a fleeting, ethereal softness to her perfect features.
…What is this? What is this? What is this?
Lana bit her lip, staring down at the cup of tea she had prepared so earnestly.
Her father was wealthy now, but he hadn't been a noble by birth. He came from an affluent mercantile family, and only after years of contributing to the town's growth had his deeds been acknowledged and a peerage granted—shortly before Lana was born.
Since childhood, she had lived surrounded by fine luxuries and lovely dresses. Everyone saw her as a fortunate young lady.
But Lana had always been alone.
Among families without titles, her fancy clothes and refined speech only marked her as different. Whispers followed her everywhere: haughty rich girl. Pretentious. Spoiled.
When she enrolled at Serendia Academy, she hoped noble children would understand her better.
Instead, they whispered too—this time about her father buying his title.
Ill-mannered. Lacking refinement. Oblivious to the unspoken rules of nobility.
Every comment hardened her stubbornness a little more.
The first time she spoke to Lillian had been on a whim. Lillian stood out: calm, composed, always quietly focused on her studies while working as an assistant medical officer. Helping her had soothed Lana's pride. Yet more than that, there was something undeniably warm about Lillian's soft gratitude—her gentle smile whenever Lana lent a hand.
Each time Lillian looked at her with genuine appreciation, Lana's lonely heart felt a little less empty.
So she had wanted Lillian to look at her that way today too. That was why she had carefully chosen her tea leaves.
But Claudia's offhand remark—that her tea was out of place—had shattered her confidence.
Why does this always happen?
All I wanted…was for my friend to drink tea I chose just for her.
She remembered a painful childhood memory—serving the best tea and snacks she had, only to be mocked later for flaunting her wealth.
"Hey. Sorry about that. I'm back."
While Lana scowled at the memory, Casey returned to the table, slightly breathless. But Lillian wasn't with her.
Lana shot her a questioning look. Casey winced a little as she sat down. "Miss Lillian is, well… how do I put this…? She'll be here soon."
"Didn't you go to help her prepare her tea?" Lana asked.
"Yes, but… w-well…" Casey trailed off.
Lana felt unease prick at her. Did something happen to Lillian?
She was about to get up when a pleasant, unfamiliar aroma drifted toward the table.
"I'm sorry for the wait."
Lillian approached, walking steadily despite the weight of the tray she carried. On it were clean cups and a strange metal pot. She set it down with practiced care and wiped a light sheen of sweat from her brow.
This wasn't surprise—Lillian had clearly expected something to go wrong. Her calm gaze remained steady, betraying none of the earlier sabotage she must have discovered.
Claudia's eyes lifted. "…That isn't the smell of tea."
"I-it's coffee," Lillian said, voice wavering only slightly as she met Claudia's stare head-on. "A strong taste numbs the tongue… Since I'm the last one, I thought serving something strong would be fine."
"…Coffee is a man's drink. It isn't suited for a ladies' tea party."
She wasn't wrong. Coffeehouses were popular enough, but mostly among men. Its harsh bitterness wasn't widely loved. Lana had tried it before and never found it appealing.
But Lillian stood firm. "I know it's unusual. But it's really good. So…"
She poured the coffee into each cup, then added warmed milk to three of them.
"You're supposed to drink it after a meal as a palate cleanser, so I'd recommend trying it plain. But if you don't like bitterness, you can add sugar."
After passing out the cups, Claudia was the first to raise hers. She sniffed it, then took a small sip.
"…"
No reaction. At all. Terrifying.
Lana and Casey added sugar and took hesitant sips.
Lana's eyes widened.
"What is this…? There's no odd taste or sourness at all!"
The milk softened the bitterness beautifully. Lana had never tasted coffee like this.
Casey stared at her cup. "Hey, I've never had coffee before, but…is it supposed to go down this smoothly?"
Until recently, coffee was brewed by boiling crushed beans and sugar together, producing a harsh, uneven flavor. The siphon had improved things, but even that couldn't explain this.
Claudia eyed the silver pot. "…The longer it takes to extract coffee, the harsher the flavor becomes."
"Yes…" Lillian replied. "So this pot extracts it quickly. It uses water vapor pressure to draw out the coffee in a short time, which means—"
"I've never seen a tool like that before. Not even in books," Claudia murmured.
Lana and Casey exchanged looks of shock. Claudia, the Walking Library, hadn't read about it?
Claudia finished her cup and fixed her cool lapis gaze on Lillian. "…It's an excellent tool for catching someone off guard. But this is a tea class. Serving something that isn't tea is rather absurd."
"I—I know… Um…"
Lillian picked up her own cup—black, without milk or sugar. The bitterness didn't bother her at all.
"I just… wanted my friends to try something I really love. So…"
She wrapped her hands around the cup and gave a small, crooked smile. "…I suppose I'm the one most out of place."
Lana's breath caught.
What is this? What is this? What is this…?
A moment ago she had felt miserable for being out of place—and now Lillian had gone even further, bringing something completely inappropriate for a tea party, something that could cost her points… all to share something she loved.
Lana swallowed the rest of her coffee.
"…It's delicious… I love it," she said, blinking back tears.
A warm smile blossomed across Lillian's face.
...........
That night, in her room at the girls' dormitory, Lillian sat at her desk, quietly working on her report.
She had, of course, been docked points for serving coffee at the tea party. Lana and Casey had stepped in to explain the situation to the teacher, so she hadn't failed outright—but she had been assigned a written report in exchange.
Nero sat beside her, holding a coffee cup in his front paws, snout buried inside.
"Hmm, hmm. Not bad at all, eh? So this is what they call a mature flavor."
Considering he had added an absurd amount of sugar and milk, Lillian wasn't sure the word mature applied. Still, she didn't comment—she only offered a tired smile.
Once she finished the report, Lillian set her quill back in its stand and exhaled softly. Her thoughts slid back to the sight of her tea leaves scattered in the garbage bin.
They hadn't been thrown out by accident. She knew it the moment she walked in. She had expected something like this—she had prepared herself for it.
…It would be nice if it had just been a mistake, she thought with a faint, wry expression.
She lowered her gaze.
"This time, it was only tea leaves… but I wonder if things will get worse."
"Don't like it anymore?" Nero teased. "Ready to tuck your tail between your legs and scurry back to your little clinic room in the mountains?"
"…I'll keep going a little longer," she murmured.
Nero narrowed his golden eyes, grinning. "Heh. A while ago, you would've been bawling—'I can't do it, I want to go home'—over and over."
"U-ugh… W-well… maybe that's true, but…"
She fidgeted with her fingers, flustered. Nero hopped into her lap and lightly smacked her thigh with his paw—almost like giving a companion a reassuring clap on the shoulder.
"Who cares?" he said. "If you're starting to like it here, I'd say that's a good thing."
"…Do you really think so? …Yeah. Maybe you're right, Nero."
This academy no longer held only bitter experiences. There were good things now—small, precious things. Friends. People who would step forward for her when she needed them. For someone who had kept her distance from everyone for so long, it was all unfamiliar… and strangely warm.
…But Lillian—the calm, unassuming assistant medical officer who studied quietly and tried her best to blend in—was only a guise. When her mission here ended, she would leave the academy and return to her solitary work.
And the people she had met here would likely never see her again.
Because she was not only Lillian the assistant medical officer. She was Lillian Islar—the Silent Witch. One of the Seven Sages.
Holding that thought close, she rose and prepared for the next day's classes. The breeze drifting in through her open window carried not the sharp chill of Turin, but the soft fragrance of the dormitory's flower beds.
A scent she was starting to grow fond of.