The Continental Academy's First Ball
The grand ball had commenced.
"Principal."
Ludwig Rich, standing by the window in his uniform, turned his head. He took the situational report from his secretary, smacked his lips with a tch, and opened his mouth.
"The Empire's certainly paying close attention since it's the first one."
"If any accident happens, it's a problem for the Empire now too. Their prestige has already taken a hit from that incident."
The event had occurred near the capital. The imperial palace was less than half a day's journey away. An attack on the academy meant the palace could be next at any time.
Those on this side were furious, feeling dismissed by the Ability Supremacists. But the Empire saw itself as a laughingstock to other nations.
To change that, the Empire—not the academy—had taken the lead this time. They hosted the ball to show that the incident was a mere trifle.
It felt a bit rushed, but no major issues had arisen.
Yet.
Even on the historic day of the Continental Academy's first ball, Ludwig's face wasn't bright. That was why.
No matter how he thought about it, this was too reckless. Decided too hastily, executed too quickly.
The Empire said not to worry, but was it that simple?
Events like balls were normally planned and prepared months in advance. Especially with foreigners involved, the timeline should double or triple.
With so much to verify and new checks required, such a tight schedule inevitably led to oversights and corner-cutting.
"Principal, your expression doesn't look good."
"Of course not. We've both seen plenty of times when politics mixes with events like this and it ends in disaster—always the bad way."
"Don't say it out loud; words can become seeds."
"That's why I'm anxious. That's why."
It hadn't even been half a year since the Ability Supremacists' attack—let alone a full year. Security at the academy and patrols nearby had been maxed out since then.
For an important event like today, it could rival imperial palace defenses.
Unless they were utterly insane. Unless they had a death wish.
No one would attempt infiltration, let alone an attack, under such conditions. Even optimistically, it'd be a suicide charge by death-wishers.
If there were some irresistible force defying all logic and reason, maybe.
Right. Nothing would happen. No—nothing could happen.
If something did, it wouldn't end with the academy. The Empire, pride wounded repeatedly, might shift its entire course unpredictably.
Since the Continental Academy's founding and its societal impact, the Empire had naturally halted territorial expansion. There were still minor conflicts, but no more mass deployments of ability users for large-scale slaughter and the destruction of cities and fortresses.
This was the Empire's peace signal. A vow not to antagonize other nations anymore. They'd set aside their strongest weapon—ability users—to advance together.
Foreign diplomats had caught on, sending their ability users despite internal opposition.
They'd accepted that large wars yielded only ruins and corpses, proposing—and embracing—a new path.
Those who opposed saw it differently. They craved massive armed conflicts and bloody wars. The recent Ability Supremacists were a prime example.
Awe and fear of ability users stemmed from war, not peace. To grow their ranks, they needed fresh blood—new comrades transfused from the frontlines.
Those recruits were often ability users who'd earned merits in battle but faced fearful glares and had to hide simply for what they were.
"Speaking of which, what does the Imperial Intelligence say?"
"They've gone to highest alert, suspecting the Supremacists are plotting something odd again. Fortunately, the target isn't the academy."
"If they have any brains, they won't hit a place with defenses this tight again."
Neither the principal nor the secretary believed the Supremacists had given up. But they'd lie low for months at least.
They'd gained something, suffered losses—time to regroup moderately, bide their time.
That past large-scale Supremacist raid was seared into everyone's minds: academy staff, key Empire figures.
Vigilance against Supremacists was at its peak. But humans tend to obsess over big threats and forget the small ones, even when plenty remained.
"…."
Abel's eyes darted ceaselessly, rolling this way and that.
Lumine, watching, finally couldn't hold back and warned her brother.
"Bell. Just so we're clear, you know you can't bolt from the ballroom because you're too restless, right?"
"…."
"If you don't want to waste the over an hour your big sis invested, behave."
I didn't even ask you to do it, so why bother? Staying here long makes me nauseous enough to die.
Abel barely suppressed the urge to complain. He knew his sister's nagging could go on forever once started.
Thanks to Lumine, his escape attempt fizzled before takeoff. He'd scanned for exits anyway, but too many eyes would pin him down.
"More importantly, how long are we stuck here? Go dance or something. You practiced, didn't you? Why act like a kid?"
"I practiced, but actually doing it feels off. Look over there, sis. How could I step out there?"
He hadn't noticed as a student, but as a participant, the ballroom crowd was stunning. A feast of handsome men and beautiful women. No wonder they were nobles.
Even Abel, with his low aesthetic sense, felt intimidated by the sheer beauty radiating from them.
"Why? I think you'd be fine."
But Lumine acted like it was no big deal. Like that wasn't a reason.
And fair enough—Abel had already drawn stares from numerous students before the ball even started. Lumine's doing, teeth gritted and all.
From the moment the family invited three girls, she'd anticipated this and prepared relentlessly. With parents' will and help.
Seeing it as Abel's first and last chance before he shut out romance entirely.
The result? A perfect apex predator claiming all the girls' gazes.
Looks, build—nothing lacking. Objectively, not even as a sister could she deny it.
Why's Bell hesitating after practicing dance? He pushes through anything once decided. No idea.
As Lumine tilted her head, Abel kept scanning around.
One reason: scouting escape routes. Bigger reason: the possessor's instinct to preempt incidents.
A ball. At the academy. All key figures present.
Could this pass quietly? Everyone laughing, enjoying, waking to a normal tomorrow?
Even optimistically, the conclusion was one: probably not.
Something would happen today, somehow. So his eyes naturally drifted from the ball to potential trouble.
"Um, Lord Abel?"
But a pink flower appeared, erasing even his unease.
"Ahem. Would you dance this song with me?"
Men asking women to dance was common. The reverse? Rare.
Rejection stung a woman worse than a man—requiring supreme confidence that he'd never refuse.
Or immense affection, unable to wait longer.
"…."
She'd asked boldly, but her eyes trembled faintly. What if he refuses? she fretted internally.
One answered small courage with response—duel or dance alike.
"I'm no expert, but please, Seria."
As Abel took her hand, Seria's face lit up. She led him straight to the ballroom's center.
"No stepping on toes this time, Lord Abel?"
"Maybe you dodging like last time is better."
With slightly clumsy steps, Abel and Seria danced. Black and pink intertwined.
Then—
Shhh!
Mysterious fog began seeping in from outside the ballroom, bit by bit.