With the guidance and vitality it provided—along with using its own essence reluctantly to lead him—the moonlit orchid managed to help Theo. More importantly, Theo himself was able to persevere through the pain and follow the orchid's guidance. His innate talent, combined with sheer grit, allowed him to slowly repair his core and ultimately survive the dangerous process of mana mutation.
Blood soaked both him and Yuna, though most of it came from Theo. The moonlit orchid, now weak and drained, retracted its vine limply back into Yuna's wrist. It was far from its peak; long ago, it had divided itself and attached a portion to another child—the "friend" of its host—the one with the dimensional stone. Until the moonlit orchid could retrieve that missing half, it would only function at a fraction of its strength.
Theo slowly opened his eyes, exhaustion written across his face. The first thing he saw was Yuna, slumped tiredly beside him on the ground.
"Yuna, thank—"
SLAP
Before he could finish, a sharp slap landed across his cheek. Despite her exhaustion, Yuna didn't hesitate. Now that the danger had passed, she let go of any restraint and lashed out, furious and trembling.
"Who gave you permission to gamble with your life?!" she snapped.
Theo, now with a fresh red mark across his cheek, lowered his eyes. "I just wanted to be stronger... for you."
Yuna scoffed, her voice dripping with scorn. "Oh, so it's my fault now? Fine, since you listen to me so well, why don't you just stay weak from now on? Never try to grow stronger again!"
"I didn't mean it like that…"
But Yuna wouldn't even look at him. She turned on the rest of her classmates, her fury spilling out like an unstoppable tide.
"And you all!" she barked. "If any of you dare pull something reckless like this, I swear—I won't look after you anymore! I'm done! I won't speak to you, I won't help you. You'll be strangers to me."
Her voice trembled, and so did her legs, but she pushed on, too angry to stop. "I worked my ass off thinking of ways to train safely, I set up a system so you all could grow stronger without getting hurt. I planned out safety hunts, alchemy sessions, apothecary lessons—because I wanted to make sure we had ways to survive! And this is how you treat your lives?"
Yuna's voice cracked, her frustration bleeding into desperation. "You just—throw it away like it means nothing?! Then why am I even doing all this?!"
She stood up shakily, batting away any hand that tried to support her. She didn't want comfort. She wanted to be mad. She deserved to be mad.
Pushing past the stunned students, she stormed out of the room.
As she passed the doorway, the moonlit orchid, having stretched itself too far, finally withdrew fully into her body. A deep wound opened on her wrist where the vine had emerged. Blood trickled onto the library floor, but before anyone could move, the orchid flickered faintly and sealed the wound itself. The bleeding stopped.
The Heart Class remained inside, stunned into silence.
This is the first time they saw Yuna anger much less directed at them.
Theo sat on the ground, a vivid handprint still burning on his face.
"…This is your fault, Theo," someone muttered.
"You made Yuna angry."
"You hurt her."
One by one, they quietly chided him—not with anger, but with a strange awareness. For the first time, they began to realize something: Yuna truly cared about their safety. Her outburst wasn't just leadership or duty—it came from a place of deep, genuine fear. She didn't want anyone of them to truly get hurt.
Even if they'd always seemed like a united class, it had only ever been Yuna holding them together. At their core, the Heart Class were still cold, indifferent individuals, each caring about only themselves. But now, a crack had formed in that apathy—just enough for some light to leak in.
At the very least, for Yuna's sake, they couldn't allow any of their classmates to suffer serious injuries—because they knew it would deeply upset and distress her.
Yuna, being the petty grudge-holder that she was, didn't forgive them easily and show her anger equally to everyone even if they are innocent.
For days afterward, she refused to speak to anyone, ignoring Theo entirely. If he approached, she'd simply turn and walk away. The rest of the class fared no better—Yuna avoided them too, keeping her distance as if building a silent wall between herself and them.
Yes, she cared about their well-being—but not for any noble, rosy reason. It wasn't affection, it was responsibility. She was the class rep. She was the one who built their training system, their safety protocols, their routines. If anything happened to them, it was on her. It was her burden. Her fault.
And yet, even as she poured herself into making things safer, they went behind her back and threw their lives away so carelessly.
It felt like everything she did… was worthless.
Like her efforts meant nothing.
Yuna missed her grandfather—how he doted on her, spoiled her, and let her live without worries. Life had been so simple then, with nothing to focus on but herself. Now, she couldn't help but wonder: when would this exhausting academic life finally come to an end?
She hadn't even spent a full year at the academy, yet she already felt utterly drained.
....
For the past two or three weeks, Yuna had been attending lectures like clockwork, but that was it. The moment class ended, she left without sparing anyone a glance. She no longer joined the Heart Class combat practices, didn't check in on the cafeteria business, and avoided every hunting trip they organized.
The only place she still frequented was the academy's garden—quietly tending to her little patch of plants, away from everyone's eyes.
Their homeroom teacher, Professor Veyne, finally addressed the growing tension when another class ended and Yuna, as usual, packed up and walked out without lingering. He turned to the remaining Heart Class students, brows raised in mild curiosity.
"I haven't received any updates on your progress in two weeks," he said. "Your class representative hasn't come to consult with me either. Did you do something to her?"
The students looked down, their lips pressed into tight lines.
"She's… upset with us," one of them admitted in a low voice.
Actually, it was Theo's reckless act that started everything, but now that Yuna had made her displeasure clear to all of them, they shared the blame. One person had crossed the line, but all of them were punished with her silence.
They were frustrated, but more than anything, they were uncomfortable—deeply, achingly uncomfortable. The atmosphere without Yuna's steady presence felt hollow. It was like the foundation they'd unknowingly relied on had suddenly vanished, and they were left to flounder.
It felt like being abandoned by a parent.
"She really might leave you all behind," Professor Veyne said lightly, almost teasing, but the hint of truth in his voice struck them like a blow. "She's always wanted to ditch the role of class rep. If this keeps up, she might actually go through with it."
Faces drained of color.
A sharp jolt of panic settled in their chests.
No. That couldn't happen.
Without her, they were just a group of apathetic strays with no direction.
Theo clenched his fists, his expression grim as guilt twisted in his chest.
He had always been reckless—chasing thrills without a second thought, making impulsive decisions without considering the consequences. In his clan, there were countless descendants. His existence was just one among many, and his absence wouldn't leave a ripple. That belief had made it easy for him to disregard his own safety, to stop valuing his life just as they didn't seem to value him.
But now… he regretted it deeply.
Yuna cared.
She cared about him enough to cry, to fight for his life, to scream at him when he tried to throw it away at his impulsive and one of his many whimsical idea.
And if someone like her could care about him that much—
Then maybe…
He needed to start caring about himself too.
They had to fix this. Before it was too late.