The Empire's Wrath Ignites the Continent
The war had begun. First came the assault from the Ability Supremacists, followed by what seemed like terrorism from the revivalist forces(?). The Continental Academy had weathered its share of incidents before, but nothing on this scale. Naturally, the ones losing their minds were Principal Ludwig Rich and the academy staff. On top of that, the Empire hosting the academy was furious to its core.
They'd tarnished the social reputation the Continental Academy had built up over the years. It wounded the pride of the Empire, which had risen as the continent's strongest power after its conquest wars. Staying silent in this situation would only invite bigger headaches. So, it was only natural that the Empire wouldn't hold back any longer. The Empire was making even more noise than the academy.
"Boost our intelligence capabilities against those Ability Supremacist bastards tenfold! Regular spies aren't cutting it? Then we'll hire ability users en masse! We'll impose special taxes to cover it—spread the word!"
Better to dodge or block a punch before it lands than to brace after. The Empire immediately summoned existing ability users and cherry-picked those suited for espionage. This even dragged retirees back into the fold—some grumbled about not getting a break, while others rejoiced at the job offers.
"Crea Kingdom? It's been twenty years since it fell, and they're still yapping about revival? Let them know how the royal descendants are living now! Fat and happy as Empire nobles, and even the former subjects see themselves as Empire citizens!"
The revivalists probably hoped to reignite resistance among the old kingdom's people and drum up support from other nations. But as the Empire pointed out, after two decades, the former subjects had no reason to pick up swords again. The initial grief of losing a homeland fades; people live for their families. And the Empire knew that well, constantly offering incentives: cooperate with us to take care of your loved ones. Other kingdoms weren't keen on pouring gold into a long shot either. Unless the Crea revivalists had a bunch of ability users—or allied with the Supremacists—there was zero upside. Support would be wasted.
That was the gist of the continental situation: the Empire raging like a beast. Other students hearing the news were awestruck, murmuring, as expected of the Empire! Abel nodded along, then lit up with an aha! moment.
So, no more academy raid events for a while!
The Empire's fury was a clear warning: don't even think about touching the Continental Academy again. After two incidents already, recycling the plot would feel too stale to the world's flow. Abel, who'd been seriously fretting that the academy might shut down, let out a quiet sigh of relief. Now he could finally enjoy some real academy life. Classes again. Training. Exams. And clubs…
"Ugh."
Abel groaned, clutching his forehead at the thought of the gardening club. It didn't hurt just thinking about it. He could handle Seria and the four guys circling her, but then the two duchesses got added. Over there, they kept courting Seria. Here, the two girls were courting him. Caught in the middle, Abel and Seria exchanged awkward glances, racking their brains on how to handle it. A perfect clusterfuck of an academy club.
Did I join for nothing?
He regretted it a bit now, but it wasn't all bad. The biggest perk was mental discipline—and it was working better than expected. Gardening, especially flower arranging, turned into disaster if your mind wandered even slightly: dropped blooms, mangled leaves. It wasn't carving stone; it was nurturing living things. Total focus required. And with focus came clarity—stray thoughts vanished, leaving only the task at hand. Bonus: his fine motor skills improved unintentionally. He got used to delicate work and even tried his hand at other fiddly tasks. Great for building composure, which suited Abel perfectly.
The academy was safe now. Or at least, no external intrusions. He needed to grind gains whenever possible. Do whatever it took—even if the club kept filling with weirdos. He'd deal.
"Ah."
A presence made him turn. Seria stood there awkwardly. At a glance, she looked surprised by a chance encounter—but no. If so, she'd ask when he'd arrived. She'd been nearby for a bit, just standing, pondering something. How to make this meeting seem natural, coincidental. He could tell.
Oblivious types might've said, you've been here a while, why'd you just show up? Abel almost slipped but had basic manners. Those novel side characters? Not oblivious—brainless.
"Oh, didn't know you were here. W-we just bumped into each other, huh?"
"Yeah. Have a seat, Seria?"
He scooted over; she claimed the spot quick, like someone might steal it. Then she scanned around, checking for lurkers.
"Irshu and Tarshu aren't nearby."
"Ah… that's a relief…. Wait, how do you know exactly?"
"They gave me their daily schedules. Charts and all."
Abel pulled a paper from his pocket and showed her. A timetable, with free slots marked. They'd come or he'd come during those—whatever. He'd debated not showing it, but forewarned was forearmed. Same starting line meant less bitterness in defeat. Not that Abel wanted this race at all.
"…The duchesses are something else, huh."
"Tell me about it. What'd I do to deserve this?"
Seria stared at him silently. After a beat, she turned away and spoke.
"Sorry, Abel."
"Apology out of nowhere?"
"Well… yeah. We're not even officially anything yet. I mean—not that I'm saying we will be…!"
"Haven't said a word. Go on, Seria."
He smiled gently, nudging her along.
"…Anyway. We're nothing official, but I keep acting jealous… making you deal with weird misunderstandings for no reason…."
"Why apologize for that? The misunderstanders should. Or maybe it's me for not cutting ties coldly."
Abel had pondered it. If no feelings, ghost them clean. Right now, honing abilities beat romance. That thrilled him more. Who knew later? For now, chase the dream. But sometimes, cowardice crept in. Stunning beauties chasing him—the protagonist, no less. Why not let them? Switch up later, claim her easy.
"N-no, Abel's not at fault! It's all me!"
"No one's to blame. Let's skip that talk. Guilt on top would make classes and club awkward."
Spot on, so Seria had no comeback. Had she just stirred him up needlessly?
"…Seria."
"Y-yes?"
Abel stood, offering his hand. Seria grabbed it reflexively, rising to face him.
"…."
What? What now? How to play this? The vibe was weird. Guy grabs your hand mid-chat, pulls you up—why? Then Irshu and Tarshu's words from their estate visit hit: "A guy's skinship means one thing: he wants something.""And girls know what."
She'd ignored the steamy topic then. Why are northerners so shameless? But now it clicked. Passionate, surviving cold with hot hearts. Now she felt it too. No more hiding.
Face-to-face. Next up was probably….
"Practical exam season's coming. Let's prep."
Kiss…. "Abel…."
"Yes, Seria?"
"You're so confusing."
"?"
Sharp one minute, clueless the next. No clue the rhythm. Seria shot him a glare, then tugged him toward the training grounds.