The afternoon sun baked the academy gardens, drawing a heady, steeped aroma from the surrounding herbs. At the heart of this fragrance sat a gold-veined gazebo, draped in rare blooms imported from every corner of Geenna. Yet the true display lay within: a gathering of the Honor Class's finest, high-born daughters.
In a social circle where status, magical potency, and intellect struck a rigid equilibrium, beauty dictated the hierarchy. But the most striking flower among them—a girl of distinctly common origins—preferred the margins. Alice Noctiliene simply sipped her tea and listened.
"That alchemy lecturer from the Sporelands was simply delightful," one noblewoman chirped, swirling her cup.
"Infinitely better than those dusty relics from Viera, or the brutes out of Varethal," another agreed. "A tragedy he only graced us first-years twice."
"My brother in the third-year Honor Class wrote to me this morning. He actually met the lecturer during Head Instructor Vigo's midnight engineering sessions. Apparently, the man distributed velvety slices of rich, sweet chocolate cake to the entire room."
"Oh, to taste that," sighed the first. "Let us pray the next guest possesses even half his charm. Though, regardless of who it is, at least the Academy has finally sailed clear of those repulsive Sporelands."
A delicate chorus of laughter chimed through the gazebo.
The ringleader shifted her gaze, her smile sharpening as she turned. "And how are you, Alice? It feels like an eternity since you last graced our little gatherings. We were beginning to fear you despised us."
Alice returned a flawless, apologetic smile. "Forgive me. I've just been utterly buried in my studies."
The only reason I tolerate this, Alice thought, maintaining her polite facade, is because Ms. Noctiliene ordered me to socialize today, and you serve exceptionally expensive tea.
"Tell us, Alice," the noble pressed, leaning forward. "Are you engaged?"
Alice lowered her porcelain cup to its saucer with a soft, controlled clink.
"No. My family has arranged nothing, to my knowledge."
My family couldn't bribe their way into a baron's foyer, she noted dryly. Who exactly would they arrange a marriage with?
She raised the cup once more, allowing the hot, amber liquid to coat her tongue, anchoring her patience in the complex floral notes.
"So," another girl leaned in, eyes glittering with predatory curiosity. "What kind of boys do you favor?"
Alice kept her expression perfectly serene, turning her bright eyes toward the speaker. "I couldn't say. I have never afforded the subject much thought."
I nearly choked.
Why this sudden pivot? She hadn't realized her carefully calibrated proximity to these girls had breached the threshold of intimate gossip.
"Oh, perfect! We can deduce exactly who you belong with!"
Is this an ambush to humiliate me?
"I appreciate the enthusiasm," Alice countered smoothly, her voice a soothing balm, "but the period is nearly over. I would hate to make anyone tardy for my sake. Perhaps we could shelve this evaluation for another afternoon?"
"It's just academics, Alice. We hardly mind a slight delay," the ringleader pouted, deploying a practiced, theatrical sorrow. "Besides, it will be quick. It would truly break my heart if you refused."
The overt emotional manipulation cornered her flawlessly.
Such childish tactics, Alice mused.
"Well," Alice conceded, softening her gaze into reluctant compliance, "if you insist, how could I refuse?"
"Excellent! First question: do you favor the broad, muscular build of a swordsman, or the refined, slim frame of a mage?"
Alice's mind raced. If I must play this game, I need to provide highly specific, neutral answers. Leave them no gaps to insert their own scandalous narratives. She needed a template. A harmless, unassailable phantom.
"If pressed, I suppose... I appreciate a balance of both?" she answered, infusing her voice with just enough breathless innocence to sound authentically embarrassed.
Forgive me, Arthur, she thought, projecting the memory of her childhood friend over the snare. I must borrow your likeness.
The noble nodded in triumphant approval. "Impeccable taste. Question two: Do you desire someone to protect you, or someone you must protect?"
Alice let a thoughtful pause stretch. Arthur was undeniably brave, she remembered, a flicker of genuine warmth piercing her tactical veneer. He constantly placed himself between me and the world when we were small. He even shielded me from that wretched rooster when we were eight. But... does he still possess that strength?
"I find I am indifferent to either extreme," she murmured.
"Really? Well," the girl shrugged, "I suppose with your capabilities, you hardly require a savior. Next: personality. Do you prefer a kind romantic, or someone stoic and detached?"
"Is it impossible for a person to embody all of those traits?" Alice countered, tilting her head.
It remains the most accurate summation of him.
The nobles exchanged a sudden, electrified glance, a silent revelation sparking between them.
"Wait. Just wait," the ringleader gasped, raising a hand. "Final question: Does status matter to you?"
Status. The invisible, suffocating wall Alice had battered herself against since birth. She despised it with a venomous intensity, yet hungered for it just the same—the sole irrational flaw in her otherwise perfect armor.
She swallowed the bitter truth. "Not particularly."
"I knew it!" the noble squealed, clapping her hands. "It's Cedric, isn't it?"
Alice froze.
"I was slightly confused by the 'kind and stoic' paradox, but it makes perfect sense! The Saint-candidate has grown devastatingly stoic these past two months, ever since his brother perished."
"The tragedy merely polished his appeal," another girl swooned. "He's so utterly captivating, I might even overlook the stain of his common blood!"
A chorus of airy laughter drifted through the gazebo.
Beneath the table, Alice's fingers curled into tight fists. Do they view commoners as nothing more than livestock? Is the butchery of his twin brother merely an aesthetic upgrade to them? How casually cruel.
"You hail from the same region as him, don't you?" the ringleader asked, recovering her breath. "The Western Plains, just beyond the Druid's Forest?"
A sharp tension coiled in Alice's chest.
"The Academy will chart a course over that territory quite soon. Where precisely does your family's estate lie? I plan to dispatch a servant to procure local delicacies at the next docking."
"The Manderjik Federation does not observe the nobility system," another girl interjected, sipping her tea. "Citizens do not hold private lands there."
"Oh, what a shame. Still," the ringleader looked to Alice, her eyes searching for reassurance, "you certainly aren't a commoner, are you?"
"Heavens, no," Alice laughed—a silken, effortless sound. "While my nation lacks formal class titles, my family commands significant standing."
A complete fabrication. Yet, observing their relieved expressions, Alice recalibrated her threat assessment. Perhaps they weren't attempting to humiliate me after all. They are merely blind to their own arrogance.
The heavy, brass toll of the second lunch bell echoed across the garden, shattering the afternoon lull.
"Well, duty calls," the ringleader sighed, rising gracefully and smoothing her skirt. "We shall see you later, Alice. Don't be late for the memorial assembly!"