“I’m your knight, remember?”
“Heh…” Irina blinked. Then a laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “Oh, so now you’re playing into the bit.”
“It was your bit to begin with.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d actually commit.”
Astron gave the faintest shrug. “You seemed entertained.”
Irina rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the pleased glint in them. “Great. Now I’ve got a man who improves my combat skills and humors my ego. What more could I ask for?”
Astron didn’t respond right away. He turned his gaze forward again, back to the empty dueling floor where the afternoon sun was beginning to dip lower across the marble.
Then he murmured, just low enough for her to barely hear:
“Hopefully nothing more than this.”
Irina’s breath caught—not enough to show, not enough for him to notice, probably—but just enough for her grin to falter for a heartbeat.
She glanced at him again.
And for a moment, didn’t say anything.
Instead, she leaned back, arms folded behind her head, her smirk returning—but softer this time.
“You really are getting good at this banter thing,” she muttered.
Astron didn’t respond.
But she swore—she swore—his lips twitched. Just slightly.
And it was enough.
Then….the sound of footsteps approached from the side, casual but undeniably aimed in their direction.
Julia was the first to arrive, arms crossed, jaw set, her expression carrying the same tight edge it had since the end of her match. She didn’t say anything right away—just stopped in front of Astron and looked at him like she was waiting for something. A word. A confession. Anything.
Astron returned her gaze with calm indifference, his violet eyes unreadable. After a beat, he spoke.
“Is there a problem?”
Julia’s eyes narrowed, but her voice came flat. “No.”
A pause.
Astron gave the faintest tilt of his head before turning his attention away, as if the matter had resolved itself.
Julia didn’t say anything more. She just sat down heavily on the bench beside Irina, letting out a huff that was too controlled to be a sigh but too bitter to be silence.
Moments later, Lucas wandered over with his usual loose-limbed gait, tossing a water bottle from hand to hand. He slowed as he caught sight of the trio sitting together, and the faint smirk on his lips grew into a full grin.
“Well, well. Don’t you two look cozy.” He wiggled his eyebrows slightly. “What’s this? Loverbirds moment?”
Irina didn’t even flinch. “Are you a kid or something?”
“Everyone has that kid inside them,” Lucas replied, feigning innocence.
“Yes, but not everyone feels the need to broadcast it to the entire room.”
Lucas placed a hand over his heart. “Wow. And here I was trying to bring some levity to this grumpy little corner.”
He gestured broadly to Carl—who had joined them silently moments ago and now stood like a wall at the edge of the group—and then to Astron, who had barely shifted since Julia’s arrival.
“Look at these guys,” Lucas said. “Stone-faced, steel-spined, emotionless. It’s like someone handed them a tutorial on how not to smile.”
Carl glanced sideways. “I smile.”
Lucas raised an eyebrow. “When?”
Carl paused. “Privately.”
Julia actually snorted at that, her mood easing a fraction.
Lucas turned to Astron. “What about you? Don’t tell me the routine comes with a no-happiness clause.”
Astron gave a quiet breath, not quite a sigh—more like a matter-of-fact exhale.
“It’s not that I don’t smile,” he said, tone even. “I just don’t have much reason to.”
That silenced the group for a moment—not because it was sad, necessarily, but because of how simply he said it. No self-pity. No dramatics. Just honesty, as plain as the air they breathed.
Ethan let out a soft chuckle. “Damn. That hits harder than I expected.”
Lucas raised a brow, then nodded. “Yeah. Kinda relatable, actually. Though let’s be real, Astron—you have to be doing it on purpose. That’s peak edgelord delivery.”
Astron didn’t even blink.
Lucas tilted his head, grinning. “No comeback? Not even a deadpan retort? You’re just gonna stand there and look mysteriously tragic?”
“I’m ignoring you,” Astron said flatly.
“See?” Lucas nodded sagely. “Peak edgelord.”
Julia, who had been quietly absorbing the exchange, felt the last bit of tension slide off her shoulders. Her smirk returned, faint but unmistakable. And, as if instinctively, she turned to her next target.
Her eyes landed on Ethan.
“Well, speaking of tragic,” she said, stretching her arms overhead with faux innocence, “how’s our brave little lightning bolt doing? Still brooding from your heartbreak with Victor?”
Ethan gave her a sidelong glance, his mouth twitching upward. “I’m not brooding.”
“You’re totally brooding.”
“Just resting.”
“With the exact facial expression of someone who watched their favorite spear get snapped in half.”
“It’s not broken.”
“Your spirit is,” she said with exaggerated sympathy, patting his shoulder.
Ethan rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Julia.”
Julia leaned in, grinning. “Aw. You sure you don’t need a hug? A snack? A rematch with someone who doesn’t rewrite the laws of physics mid-fight?”
Ethan’s smile returned, dry and tired. “I’d rather fight Carl again.”
Carl, from the side, grunted. “Accepted.”
Lucas snorted. “That’s what we call ‘dodging the question.'”
Irina glanced between all of them, lips quirking upward as she leaned back slightly against the wall. For a group of misfits recovering from tension, defeat, and too many unsaid things, they were holding together pretty well.
Just then—
the rhythm of conversation faltered.
The sharp, measured sound of footsteps echoed across the now-quieting training hall. Slow. Unhurried. Precise.
But the silence that followed wasn’t born from curiosity.
It was pressure.
An intangible weight pressed down on the air like a tide pulling in. A presence that didn’t need to declare itself. It was felt—in the shift of posture, the quieting of voices, the sudden stillness of breath.
Victor Blackthorn had entered the room.
His uniform, immaculate as always, caught the fading light in a way that made the fine threads of its weave shimmer faintly. His golden eyes, brilliant and unwavering, swept across the hall with the detached calm of someone who didn’t need to seek attention—he simply commanded it by existing.
And now that the duel was over—now that the administrative restraints on his “limited presence” were no longer in effect—the full scope of his aura returned, as if a veil had been lifted. The air around him pulsed faintly, not with violence, but with dominance. His mana, reined in yet undeniable, hummed in the background like a lion breathing beneath polished steel.
He made his way toward the group without hurry, his expression unreadable, posture effortless. The sea of cadets parted without needing to be asked.
When he reached them, he stopped just a few steps away.
And looked.
Not at Astron. Not at Ethan.
But at Julia.
Victor’s gaze was unreadable—cool, inquisitive, intense. Not a challenge. Not quite curiosity either. Just… attention. Total and singular.
Julia, for her part, didn’t move. Her eyes locked onto his the moment his presence washed over them. The weight of his gaze might’ve made others shift, flinch, turn away.
Not her.
She didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk.
But her eyes, sharp and glinting with fire, held steady. Not in defiance. Not in posturing.
Just refusal—to yield. To look away. To shrink beneath someone else’s shadow.
The two stood like that—silent, unmoving, the entire group suddenly subdued between them.
“What?”
Then the one to break the silence was at the end Julia.
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