On the night of the ball, the dorm room was permeated by the scent of Enid's perfume and the faint aroma of old camphor wood and preservatives from Wednesday's dress.
Enid wore that starry blue ombre gown. The fine shimmer on the hem flowed under the lights, looking as if a piece of the night sky had been cut out and draped over her.
She looked at Wednesday, who was standing quietly to the side, her tone carrying undisguised surprise and a hint of provocation.
"I really didn't expect you to want to attend the ball. I recall someone precisely defining school dances as 'meaningless and stupid collective social entertainment'."
Wednesday was facing a small mirror, adjusting the pleats of her black mesh gloves. Hearing this, she didn't turn her head. Her voice was steady and waveless, yet pierced with the precision of a cold scalpel.
"I had no choice. Someone invited me personally."
She emphasized the word "personally" heavily.
"Hmph!"
Enid immediately crossed her arms and turned her head away, her cheeks puffing up like a little squirrel whose pinecone had been stolen.
She felt she had lost a round—
After all, she was the one who had invited Victor to the ball first.
"Wait."
Enid suddenly realized something and looked at the tightly closed bathroom door.
"Why isn't Victor out yet?"
From behind the door came vague sounds of suppressed, exasperated roars, like some large beast gnawing on an iron cage.
The corner of Wednesday's mouth moved imperceptibly, revealing an arc bordering on amusement.
"To purchase our attire, Victor advanced a fund of several hundred thousand dollars. A significant portion of which came from a certain symbiote gentleman's 'Private Chocolate Reserve Vault'."
"Now, the legal owner of the funds has awakened and is providing intense... 'feedback' regarding this matter."
"Several hundred thousand dollars?!"
Enid's eyes widened in shock, her voice rising.
"What kind of dress is that expensive?!"
Her gaze abruptly landed on the dark, antique dress on Wednesday, which exuded an aura of complex craftsmanship and history.
Wednesday turned slightly, letting the layered black gauze of her skirt flow like night mist. Her tone held a matter-of-course arrogance.
"A Victorian antique. Custom-made for a notorious widow."
"Hey! That's not fair!"
Enid couldn't help but yell, feeling the "gear level" gap between her and Wednesday was too wide.
"Do I need to remind you of the appraisal value of that 'Tears of the Deep Sea' sapphire necklace around your neck?"
Wednesday raised an eyebrow, her dark eyes sweeping over the brilliant deep blue on Enid's fair neck.
Having been called out, Enid stopped hiding it. A happy and slightly smug smile instantly bloomed on her face as her fingertips gently stroked the cold gem.
"Victor said it suits me."
Wednesday offered no comment on this, only letting out an extremely faint hum.
"But..."
As Enid's excitement faded, doubt surfaced.
"Where did Victor get so much money? I remember last week at the Weathervane, he was wailing that his limited edition chocolate procurement fund for next month was hitting rock bottom."
"If you observed carefully enough."
Wednesday's voice carried a chilling insight.
"You would discover that at least seventy percent of the people in this academy have conducted purchases of 'special equipment' from Victor."
"Purchases? What does he sell? Handmade cookies?" Enid was blank.
"Glock 17s, 9mm Parabellum rounds, standard extended magazines. Available colorways include but are not limited to Sakura Pink, Tiffany Blue, and Fluorescent Green."
Wednesday rattled off the data, her tone as flat as if reading a menu.
"As far as I know, Madam Principal ordered a pearl-white one with gold rims. Paid in cash. Rumor has it she keeps it in her desk drawer to... 'soothe her emotions'."
Enid's jaw almost hit the floor.
"He... he sells guns in school?! Even the Principal bought one?!"
"Madam Principal believes the most effective way to ensure student safety is to empower them with reciprocal deterrence sufficient to 'persuade' others to remain polite."
Wednesday explained, the amused arc at the corner of her mouth deepening.
"Moreover, the 'after-sales service' Victor provides is quite comprehensive, including but not limited to free modifications, ammunition replenishment, and... 'practical application guidance'."
"Oh my god..." Enid muttered to herself, staring blankly. "Did I... find myself an arms dealer boyfriend?"
Just then, the bathroom door clicked open.
Two Victors walked out simultaneously, clutching their heads with unsteady steps. Their faces wore identical expressions of blank exhaustion, looking as if their souls had been yelled out of their bodies.
When Venom cursed people out, his vocabulary was rich and penetrating, delivering both physical and mental damage.
"Victor! Are you okay?"
Enid immediately stepped forward with concern.
Victor-White (Serum) rubbed his temples, his voice relatively gentle: "I'm fine..."
Victor-Grey (Riot) followed up with a look of bad luck: "But Venom couldn't handle the stimulation and fainted from anger again."
Both Victors let out a long, synchronized sigh of relief, still lingering with fear:
"Thank god he fainted." 2
Outside the window, the noise of the Nevermore Academy ball drifted in faintly, like the call of a distant tide.
Victor-White (Serum) tilted his head slightly, his fingertips brushing over the crisp collar and cuffs of his white suit.
Every movement carried an elegance and precision amplified by Serum, almost instinctive, as if performing a silent ritual.
Synchronized with him, Victor-Grey (Riot) appeared extremely impatient. He rudely hooked a finger into the collar of his British plaid suit and tugged it outward, trying to fight against the rigor that the Riot trait perceived as "restriction."
The line of his collarbone appeared intermittently under the silk shirt due to this action, adding a touch of restless wildness.
Their gazes met briefly in mid-air. Within the shared consciousness, a command was issued synchronously.
Almost at the same moment, they turned and extended their hands to the two girls in the room.
Victor-Grey's palm reached straight for Wednesday, the movement carrying the unquestionable dominance enhanced by Riot.
He nodded slightly, lips curling into a near-unruly arc, his voice low and full of certain magnetism:
"My respected Queen."
Meanwhile, Victor-White's hand reached gently toward Enid, the invitation in his fingertips revealing the warmth and sincerity endowed by Serum.
His eyes rippled with a smile, his tone brisk and full of care:
"My lovely Princess."
The next moment, their voices overlapped perfectly, carrying the absolute synchronization of a shared consciousness and a trace of manic expectation that feared the world wasn't chaotic enough, ringing clearly in the dorm:
"Let's stun the whole venue, and let the ball burn." 2
Wednesday's deep pool-like eyes glanced at Victor-Grey's extended hand. She didn't respond immediately.
Her gaze swept between his loosened collar and those eyes written with aggressive expectation.
Finally, she slowly placed her hand, gloved in black mesh, into his palm with a gesture like accepting a tribute.
No emotion could be seen on her cold face, save for an extremely faint, near-satisfied arc at the corner of her lips that vanished in a flash.
On the other side, almost the instant Victor-White's voice fell, Enid placed her hand in his.
A brilliant smile mixing shyness and excitement bloomed on her face, the starry blue skirt rippling with her movement.
"Let's go!" Enid's voice was full of joy.
Wednesday said nothing, merely lifting her chin imperceptibly.
The two Victors smiled at each other—one smile flamboyant and domineering, the other warm and sincere.
Then, with tacit understanding, they led their partners, turning in unison to walk out the door toward the intertwining light and shadows of the noisy dance floor awaiting them.