Rivals Rekindle: The Grand Ball Beckons
Envy-inducing! The promised month had flown by. The academy announced the resumption of all activities. Students who had briefly left returned. Some vowed never to come back, but many chose to return. The perception we'd sown in the public eye during that time was bearing fruit. The natural assumption that anyone with an ability belonged at the academy. It was a perfect demonstration of why the Empire had gone to such lengths.
“Phew.”
In that single month, he'd put in quite the effort. Flam's hair was redder than ever. His flame techniques had improved beyond compare—not just in power, but in sustained control as well. Even his father, the continent's greatest pyrokinesis master, Akin Phoenix, had been stunned by his son's growth. And all in just one month. Such progress was impossible without life-or-death stakes. The Phoenix family's ability users marveled at it, saying as much.
But they didn't know. Flam faced a threat greater than death itself: no less than three formidable rivals had emerged. Threats to him as a man.
Good. This should be enough to show off in front of Seria.
Flam had no doubt he still held the advantage. And why not? Seria was an ability user like him—pyrokinesis lineage. Sure, her awakening had morphed her flames into butterflies, but that hardly mattered. They could exchange advice, share insights. Bonds formed that way ran deep. He'd even heard his own parents had met like that and married. No wonder his confidence was sky-high.
“Hey, arsonist.”
A vein bulged on Flam's forehead. After a month without it, his hard-earned tolerance from academy life had vanished.
“Back, huh, water boy… What the hell happened to you?”
Flam stammered, pointing in shock. And no wonder—Portus looked utterly transformed from a month ago.
“What do you mean? I just stopped wasting time primping like some pyro freak.”
When he'd first entered the academy, Portus had that wild, wavy vibe—longish hair tousled like crashing surf, clothes loose and carefree. Now? The total opposite. Dressed to the nines, hair impeccably styled. He looked every bit the handsome young noble from high society. Flam fit that mold too, but he hated dressing up. He'd planned to win on personality alone, but who saw Portus pulling this?
“Figures. You haven't changed a bit.”
“Haven't changed? I've gotten way stronger this month!”
“You got stronger, sure. But I improved. Arsonist, what good's brute power alone?”
“You just got better at being a pain in the ass.”
They snarled at each other on sight. The mood soured, and other students quickly backed away. These two had caused a massive brawl on day one. Get caught in the crossfire, and you'd get hurt!
“If you two fight again, it won't end well for either of you.”
Luckily, someone was there to intervene this time. Someone who could physically hold them back. Outwardly intellectual, but harboring the wild spirit of a warrior. Rel stepped between them, keeping hands off but forcing space.
“Cut it out. You're scaring everyone.”
“Tch. Buncha cowards.”
“Not cowards—just sensible. Haven't your abilities both leveled up another notch?”
Unlike Flam and Portus, who hadn't kept in touch, and Kalligo, who was far removed from such desperation, Rel had a subtle political instinct for this. The last to join this rivalry, he'd realized what role would secure his place: mediator.
To Rel, Seria wasn't the type to enjoy men fighting over her. Some women thrilled at that spectacle, but Seria seemed to hate it. So playing peacemaker would make him shine brightest. He remembered his father's words: know your place, and you'll thrive.
“Speaking of, Kalligo's late.”
“Isn't he the Empire's third prince? Shouldn't he be first? Hey, arsonist, hear anything?”
“Your Highness. Ahem. Kalligo hardly shows in politics or society. Idiot—that's prying into his business and putting him in a spot.”
Here they go again. I'd just told them not to fight—ten seconds ago. Was mediator the right role? As Rel wavered—
“Enough, all of you. Planning another day-one fiasco?”
Kalligo entered the main building, largely unchanged. From his view, change was risky. It could give enemies leverage. So he'd stayed hidden. At least until meeting Seria.
“Anyway, I have news for you all.”
“Oh? As expected from Kalligo—always on the pulse.”
“What is it? Something about Lady Seria, perhaps?”
“Hardly.”
They'd hear it today or tomorrow anyway. But sharing first subtly asserted his edge.
“To signal the academy's resilience, they're holding a special grand ball.”
“A grand ball?”
“Whoa, first I've heard. Kalligo, has the academy ever done that?”
“News to me too.”
Portus, Flam, even Rel—all baffled. The academy had events, but a grand ball? Unheard of. High society did that stuff; ability users had no need.
“As I said—to show we're unshaken despite the attacks and damage. Better to dazzle than just flex strength.”
“Hm. Understood.”
“But a grand ball? Wise move for the Continental Academy?”
This wasn't some polite social club. Nobles aplenty, but not their exclusive turf. The Continental Academy was a microcosm for the continent's ability users—a world with its own rules.
A grand ball? Fine. But what if tempers flared amid the elegant dances and sweet music? The academy was the last place for that.
“That's not our worry. Flam.”
“Kalligo's right. Why stress, pyro?”
“Seems you and Portus align more than with your fellow Empire native, Flam.”
“Hahaha. Do we now?”
Indeed, Kalligo and Portus seemed thick as thieves. As Flam fretted—
“No need for that, Flam.”
“Rel? What do you mean?”
“They're not close right now. They're watching each other.”
“...That?”
Flam stared, baffled. Laughing, chatting, even complimenting—that's rivalry?
“In battle, rivals clash head-on. Here, they smile and chat—to spot weaknesses.”
“But why?”
“They're alike. Opposites are easy; mirrors are toughest.”
That's why Portus bickers with hotheaded you but doesn't press hard. He knows your strengths, weaknesses—exactly where to poke for a reaction. Fire and water? Clash spectacularly.
“Ah!”
Flam whipped around. There—she whom they'd awaited.
“Lady Seria!”
“Lady Seria?!”
The four men's first love. The pink-haired angel who'd stolen their hearts. Kalligo, Flam, Portus, Rel—all rushed to her. Before she could even greet them properly, they unleashed their lines.
“Lady Seria, well these past days?”
“How's your ability? I could take a look!”
“Ignore the arsonist. I can help.”
“Missing you this month left me a tad miffed.”
Swarming her like that, no wonder Seria looked flustered. As she tried calming them for turns—
“Gentlemen, you're making Lady Seria uncomfortable.”
A sturdy build. Towering height. Natural warrior frame. Yet strikingly handsome. Or rather, the beauty came from honing that body. Abel appeared, and Seria's lips curved into a bright smile. She slipped through the four to his side, greeting him warmly.
“...”
“...”
“...”
“...”
The four fell silent at the sight. Rage? Jealousy? If they loathed this Abel that much...
“Did... Abel just call Lady Seria by her first name?”
“He always said 'Lady Seria.' What gives?!”
“Abel, how'd you get so chummy with her?!”
“A born warrior indeed. So quick...”
To their chagrin—and Abel's fortune—they cared more about that than hatred.