The academy's dueling ground was alive with whispers and half-hidden glances.
"Did you hear? The Third Prince visited Evelyne last night."
"I heard he called her Empress."
"Wasn't she a villainess in the old games? Why is everyone suddenly watching her?"
Up in the stands, a boy clenched his fists.
Caelum Winsworth.
The marquis's heir. Top swordsman of the first years. The academy's golden boy.
And someone who really didn't like how often Evelyne's name came up lately.
He'd watched her—quietly, from afar. At first out of curiosity. Then suspicion.
Now?
Now it was something else entirely.
He watched her arrive at the dueling arena, her dark uniform brushing against her ankles, her expression unreadable. Beside her was Elisse, holding a bundle of books like a precious shield.
She laughed.
Not a cruel laugh. Not a rehearsed one.
A real, small laugh.
Caelum felt his chest tighten. He stood before he could think.
"Lady Evelyne."
She turned. "Yes?"
"I challenge you."
The arena fell silent.
Elisse gasped. "What? Caelum, why—?"
Evelyne looked him over. "You don't like me, Winsworth."
"That's not why I'm doing this."
"Then why?"
He hesitated.
"I want to see what kind of person you really are," he said.
She stared at him. Then slowly walked toward the center ring.
"So be it."
The match began.
Their swords clashed—metal singing against metal. She was fast, clever, utterly unpredictable. He was precise, powerful, like a drawn arrow.
He expected a fight.
He didn't expect to lose.
But as she held her blade at his throat, eyes cool and distant, Caelum saw something else.
Sadness.
Loneliness.
Power hidden behind armor no one could touch.
He dropped his sword.
"You're… not what I thought," he said quietly.
Evelyne sheathed her blade. "No one ever thinks they're the villain in their own story."
She walked away, leaving him breathless on the ground and the crowd too stunned to clap.
---