The War Has Begun
The effects of the hallucinogen wore off within a single day under the academy's investigation. None of the freshmen showed any lingering symptoms from the incident. What a relief. The academy staff and the Empire's top officials all breathed a collective sigh.
Just to be safe, though, they decided that only the students exposed to the drug would get one extra day off from classes. Unlike before, there were no casualties this time. Maybe that's why the upperclassmen joked around, saying things like, If we'd known it'd turn out like this, should we have gotten hit with the hallucinogen too?
Meanwhile, the freshmen made the most of their unexpected free period, each in their own way. Some holed up alone in their rooms. Others hung out with friends in the gardens. Still others headed to club rooms to spend time with the new friends they'd made at the academy. Everyone killed time however they preferred.
Of course, for the infamous training fanatic Abel, the training grounds were the obvious choice. But strangely enough, his favorite spot sat completely empty.
"Hm."
And in a shocking twist, Abel was currently sitting in the gardening club's sub-room. Surrounded on all sides by the flowers Seria had lovingly tended, he waited quietly.
"Flower. Flower."
"Curious. Curious."
Of course, he hadn't come here of his own free will. And he sure as hell wasn't alone. Flanking him were the two duchesses, poking at his cheeks while chattering away.
At a glance, it looked like childish play, but these were grown women—surely not. They usually came off as cold as winter itself. So why were they acting like this now? It was their way of protesting—in the gentlest terms possible—to the scoundrel sandwiched between them.
He'd danced only with Seria at the ball, leaving them behind. He hadn't even asked to teach them the steps. They were making it abundantly clear how hurt they felt.
"Irshu. Tarshu."
"Yeah."
"What."
"How about sitting still for a bit?"
"Don't wanna."
"Nooo."
"Why are you suddenly acting like kids?"
Abel still vividly remembered their first impressions—dry, aloof, and utterly detached. There'd been no hint of this restless playfulness. He just couldn't get used to it.
More importantly, why hasn't anyone else shown up? Seria said these four always arrived even earlier than her, waiting around.
Just as he wondered if they were still suffering hallucinogen aftereffects, the sub-room door swung open. Flam strode in first.
"Hey—"
Flam started to greet Abel but froze at the sight of the duchesses. It was awkward. As an Imperial noble, he knew the Winter Duchy princesses all too well. And as a pyrokinesis user, ice wielders weren't exactly welcoming company.
"A guest."
"Guest."
"Not a guest—a club member. Club member."
Abel gently nudged the duchesses aside and offered a greeting. Flam reflexively started to respond, then cleared his throat awkwardly and turned away. It was blatantly obvious he was dodging the hello.
Flam wasn't the only one. Portus, following behind, barely acknowledged Abel's greeting. Kalligo entered next and did the same. Rel, the last to arrive, gave the lightest nod—and that was the best of them.
What's going on? Are they finally giving me the cold shoulder now?
It was a real possibility. Honestly, Abel had no ground to complain if they were. Those four had openly shown their interest in Seria—right in front of everyone, over and over. He was the only one who hadn't joined in.
He'd even told Kalligo straight-up that he had no real interest. Yet here he was, the one getting closer to Seria, not them. Anyone who could watch that unfold without a twinge wasn't capable of liking someone in the first place.
Sorry, guys. But I'm feeling a little hard done by too.
Should he apologize? On second thought, what for? If he was this far ahead, wasn't it their fault for talking big but never overtaking him? Serious lack of effort. In a romance fantasy, who did the losers blame? Themselves. If they were turning into background air, that was on them. Blaming others was just foolish.
Maybe he'd start calling those four the "Idiot Quartet" from now on. Whatever. They could handle themselves—talk or not.
Scratching the back of his head, Abel turned to the final arrival, Seria, and greeted her warmly.
"Seria. Come on in."
"Eek!"
But her reaction wasn't great either. Worse than the Idiot Quartet, even. She ducked her head as if afraid to meet his eyes, scurrying to her seat. Pure avoidance.
She'd said her piece yesterday, and now she was embarrassed? What a mess. Abel decided not to overthink it. In romance fantasies, the thinkers always lost. Better to go with the flow. Besides, wasn't it a law of this world that even the oblivious got taken care of?
"Seria."
"…"
"Seria?"
"Y-yes! Abel, sir? Did you call me?"
"New applicants for the gardening club."
He gestured to Irshu and Tarshu on either side. For a brief moment, embarrassment flickered across Seria's face.
"Uh, um. Club recruitment ended ages ago. And I thought the two duchesses were already in other clubs?"
"We quit."
"Quit."
"That's what they say."
Switching clubs wasn't common, but it happened. Following close friends. Or when internal drama soured things. No issue there. Or so Abel figured—but to Seria, hearing it was gut-wrenching.
This was her sanctuary, the one place she could be alone with Abel. Sure, those four guys were here, but she could shoo them off. The duchesses were different. No matter how much she pushed, if Abel didn't decide, nothing changed.
And they'd beaten her to the punch. No wonder they called the Winter Duchy the Land of Swift Leopards. Once they locked on prey, they pounced fast and sure. The second she slipped, they'd snatch Abel right from under her.
"…Fine."
But she couldn't outright refuse. Seria spoke in a slightly subdued voice. Just as the duchesses murmured thanks and snuggled back beside Abel—
"A moment."
Kalligo, who'd been sitting quietly, raised a hand.
"As a gardening club member, I'd like to offer one opinion."
"What is it, Kalligo?"
"It's not recruitment season. For someone joining at a time like this, an entry test seems appropriate. We've all done some actual gardening as club members. Taking on someone with zero knowledge feels off."
Huh? Seria—and the three guys beside her—tilted their heads at Kalligo's words. An entry test? The gardening club was already short-staffed and risky enough. They weren't blocking dropouts; now they wanted to test newcomers?
And these duchesses hailed from the Winter Duchy—a land with barely any flowers. Demanding horticultural skills from them was like asking mountain folk to prove their swimming prowess.
Flam was about to object that even he thought this was too much when—
"I agree."
Portus spoke first, casting his vote.
"What the hell, water boy? You too?"
"What's that supposed to mean, pyro? I just think Kalligo's right."
"…I agree as well."
Now Rel too. Suddenly, all three were blocking the duchesses' entry. Flam finally caught on to their scheme.
Aha.
Seria clearly wasn't thrilled about the duchesses joining. Kalligo had spotted it first and pitched this as a way to score points with her. Portus and Rel jumped on board to pave the path she wanted.
"Ahem. I agree too."
"Look at the pyro jumping in late."
"Ugh, shut it, you damn water boy."
Rel quickly cut off their bickering. Meanwhile, Kalligo addressed Irshu and Tarshu.
"What do you say, duchesses? If you want to switch clubs, you'll need to pass an entry test."
"Hold on, everyone. Seria hasn't said anything yet. And the gardening club president isn't even—"
"Hm? Oh, didn't you know, Abel? Seria's the president now."
"What are you talking about?"
No seniors had graduated. He'd never offered it to her.
Abel's baffled look drew a sly smile from Kalligo.
"I just talked to the upperclassmen. No one shows Seria's passion and talent for gardening, so we should hand her the reins early."
"And?"
"Got the approval. Even signed."
Like it was a wedding gift, Kalligo handed Seria the appointment letter. The newly minted president let out an "Ehhh?!" of dismay.
"Well then, President. What's the verdict? Accept them outright? Or run the test?"
Seria glanced between the duchesses and Abel, clearly conflicted. But her deliberation didn't last long.
"…We'll do the entry test."
Now she was fully committing to this war.