The Bitter Masquerade
The masquerade ball was underway. Bitter. The drinks were truly bitter. No matter how sweet they were supposed to be, they all tasted like ash. Yet everyone seemed fine. Even chugging nothing but alcohol didn't make them drunk—in fact, their minds grew sharper by the minute. And it wasn't just one person. All four young men were experiencing it: Kalligo, Flam, Portus, and Rel.
It was only natural. They had all believed, without a doubt, that at least one of them would emerge victorious. After all, they were the only ones who had shown any desire for that beautiful flower they all longed to claim. Even if it wasn't now, they were certain they could confess to Seria someday. The others could accept defeat to some extent, knowing they were all rivals in the race. Sure, it would sting—they'd be lying if they said it didn't—but they'd at least offer congratulations on the surface. Like men. Like true gentlemen. They were prepared to watch the couple dance and clap with good grace.
But that required a certain mindset: "Ah, if I play my cards right, I could still have a shot." It meant spotting even a sliver of an opening from Seria, a chance to slip in. Without that confidence, it was impossible.
"They look perfect together," Flam muttered without thinking.
Portus, who would normally argue against anything Flam said, nodded in agreement. Beside them, Rel spouted something odd like, "A true warrior radiates presence no matter what he does."
Watching them, Kalligo thought back to yesterday—or rather, just an hour ago—when he'd considered these three his rivals. What a fool he'd been.
There, at the center of the ballroom, Seria danced with a radiant smile. Her partner, Abel, clearly had no affinity for dancing; he flailed awkwardly. He probably thought he was keeping up decently, but from afar, his fumbling footwork was painfully obvious.
Yet the profound sense of defeat weighing on Kalligo wasn't just because Seria was smiling. Abel had overwhelmed him from the moment he appeared. The guy who never bothered with appearances looked like a completely different person now that he'd cleaned up—his features sharp and striking. Even Kalligo, a fellow man, was stunned. What must the women think? And Seria, who already harbored feelings for Abel?
Recalling all that made his stomach churn. For the first time, he felt a surge of desire to wield the power of his imperial status.
...Am I losing my mind? Kalligo shook his head sharply. Come on. What was he thinking, you idiot? Even if he wanted Seria that badly, for a prince to misuse his authority like this? As if it would even work. They were foreigners. And even if it did, how would he deal with the fallout? Would his brother just sit idly by?
More strangely, his feelings for Seria were strong, but not this strong. He'd spent over ten years mastering self-control, hiding his true self. It wasn't perfect, but reining in emotions was no longer a challenge. So why had he just briefly fantasized about lording his title over them? He'd had a few drinks, sure, but not enough to get drunk.
"Ahh, Abel's got it good. Holding hands with Lady Seria and all. Right, Portus?"
"Yeah. Should've danced with those other girls earlier if I knew it'd be like this, Flam."
"...?"
It was an unnatural scene. Flam and Portus, of all people, bantering amiably. They were fire and water incarnate—always snapping at each other, picking fights over nothing. Yet here they were, chatting peacefully.
Hold on. Portus just called Flam by name instead of 'pyromaniac'?
Suspecting something, Kalligo glanced at Rel on the other side. And realized things were wrong. Rel, who had been acting every bit the refined noble moments ago, had rolled up his sleeves and was flexing his muscles like some young beast calling itself a warrior.
This time, Kalligo scanned the entire ballroom. Nothing seemed drastically twisted, but it was far from normal. The atmosphere had shifted noticeably. Was it sinister? Not exactly. Those who had been laughing were now roaring even louder, or had gone completely silent. The boys desperate to cozy up to girls earlier now wore cold expressions. Groups of giggling girls had suddenly turned on each other, bickering.
As if they'd all been wearing masks that had slipped, revealing their true faces.
What about Lady Seria?
At the center, Seria and Abel still danced. But her expression was off. The flush on her cheeks was too deep for mere dancing. The smile on her lips lacked the pure innocence Kalligo knew—it was something entirely different.
Suddenly, Kalligo realized the air in the ballroom felt strangely heavy. Breathing was difficult. It had been comfortable before, but now it was oppressively stifling. He quickly extended a tendril of darkness toward the nearest window. It rattled but wouldn't open. Come to think of it, every window and door in the hall was sealed shut. As if someone meant to trap everyone inside... and introduce something new.
When crisis strikes, people instinctively cry for help—from whoever they trust most. So it was natural for Kalligo to call his name without hesitation.
"Abel!"
Fortunately, Abel snapped to attention at Kalligo's shout and looked his way. Meanwhile, the other students just kept dancing and grinning, and Seria clung even closer to Abel, twisting the scene further.
"Something's wrong! The ballroom's atmosphere... it's like... Ngh!"
His head buzzed. With rational thought crumbling, jealousy toward Abel resurfaced. He didn't even want to talk to that guy. Someone who'd never properly gotten drunk was dancing with the first girl he had ever fallen for. The foreigner hadn't given it a second thought.
His heart wavered. A wavering heart shook the body. And a shaken body led to one of two paths: striking out or embracing. Or both.
Then Kalligo spotted someone among the students holding a communication orb, its glow indicating it was transmitting the scene elsewhere. With that, everything clicked.
Why does the academy keep having these incidents...? Unbelievable.
* * *
Something felt off. Seria, his dance partner.
At first, she was just smiling happily. But as time passed, she began emitting a strange aura. She stumbled as if her steps had tangled. For Seria, who had danced flawlessly until now, it was unmistakably abnormal.
It got worse. Not content with staggering, she practically threw herself into his arms, lifting the corners of her mouth as her red lips parted. She even slyly intertwined her fingers with his, closing the distance. He didn't remember any dance moves like that. This was the distance of lovers about to kiss.
It wasn't the pure, elegant Seria he knew. She seemed suddenly seductive. If he sensed a sultry allure, it wasn't his imagination. Her eyes were glazed, her body leaning into him repeatedly.
Even while dancing, Abel scanned the surroundings. That's when Kalligo called out to him, gesturing urgently. And it hit him.
Ah. This damn academy again. How long had it been since the last incident? What, was it cursed or something?
He tried to move quickly, but Seria beat him to it, wrapping her arms around him gently.
"Where are you going, Abel?"
"Seria, snap out of it. This isn't..."
"To those other ladies? Leaving me behind?"
Her eyes fully unfocused now, she asked with a drowsy voice, her whole body pressing the question.
Seria's hand suddenly stroked up to his chest. Startled, Abel tried to pull back, but she closed the gap even more.
"I went to all this trouble... Won't you tell me I'm pretty? It's not for anyone else. Just for you, Abel. This dress. This makeup. This hair. And..."
Something soft and yielding pressed against him all at once. Abel let out an involuntary gasp at the indescribable sensation.
"...even my body."
Stop. Right there. Any more, and his composure would shatter. His heart was already pounding so hard it hurt. One wrong move, and it'd be a disastrous first for both of them. Abel valued romance in beginnings, at least.
Without another thought, he scooped Seria into his arms and bolted from the ballroom. Around them, students kept dancing, embracing, or even fighting.
Now he saw it: the unidentified smoke filling the hall. And there—from the windows—it wafted into view.
Hallucinogen? Or something else? Either way, mass intoxication spells disaster! Physical or mental damage will be massive!
The Seria in his arms kept coquettishly teasing him, giggling about heading straight to his bed. That alone confirmed it was a potent hallucinogen. The other ability users were all losing it, flailing wildly.
Yet only one remained unaffected. Only Abel.
His mind sharpened with every breath. Strange. He wasn't holding his breath. The more smoke he inhaled, the clearer his thoughts became. While others could barely stand, his body brimmed with vitality. It felt like he was absorbing every bit of harm entering his body, converting it to nourishment.
Whatever it is.
Who was behind this one? At least it wasn't an explosion or a massacre. Small mercies.
Abel thought that and smiled.