The Emperor's Golden Invitation
On the finest parchment framed in a border of gold sat the grandiose seal of the empire's supreme authority.
[Praising the brilliant achievements of Lady Reina de Astrea, we urge her special admission to the Imperial Academy for the future of the empire.]
The morning after the banquet hall fiasco hadn't even fully died down. Staring down at the emperor's "invitation letter" that had landed on the ornate desk in the Astrea Ducal Residence's office, I pinched the bridge of my nose out of habit.
"Invitation my ass. It's just a fancy way for the imperial family to say they're locking the world's strongest uncontrollable beast in the academy cage for close surveillance."
A blatant political pressure play and the prelude to a hostage drama. Any ordinary noble house would have flipped out over a single sheet of paper like this, calling an emergency family council.
"Sniff… No, how could our delicate, pretty little girl eat that nasty dorm food? What if her classmates bully her out of jealousy? Ugh, screw it—maybe I should just buy up the whole academy grounds and build a ducal villa there?"
"Ah!! Cut the crap, you doting fool!!"
…Of course, there wasn't a single normal noble in this room.
Smack! With a sharp friction sound, the broad back of the empire's number one in rank—and the world's strongest in raw power—shook with a resounding crack.
And the one who'd mercilessly walloped him? None other than a lowly baron, my own father, Rowen Evans.
"It's because you've babied her like a flower in a greenhouse that she's glued to her sword all day! How long do you plan to let her hide in your skirts? You want the Astrea Ducal House to end with your generation before you'll snap out of it? Pack her bags and ship her to the academy right now!"
"No, brother! But as her father, how can I let our fragile Reina live alone in some far-off place? I'd rather take a job as the academy janitor…!"
"Janitor? You'd better hit the deck! If the previous duke—your father—heard that, he'd claw his way out of the grave!"
To the outside world, he was an untouchable grand duke, but in private, he was just a "hopeless girl-dad" getting his back smacked by his "fixer brother (the baron)" in a maddeningly hilarious back-and-forth.
The duke flinched at the mention of the previous duke and shut his mouth. I watched this bizarre skit stone-faced, swallowing a deep internal sigh.
"I thought the emperor was the real blackguard, but turns out this world's true villains are these two clueless parents…"
The imperial family's grand political schemes had long been downgraded to "dad doesn't want to send his kid to boarding school whining" in front of this comedy duo.
Channeling my instincts as a ten-year veteran high school homeroom teacher, I decided to intervene.
"Both of you, calm down. She has to go to the academy."
My firm words drew the eyes of the bickering pair straight to me.
"Lady Reina—er, that guy—is turning eighteen this year, the perfect age for academy enrollment. Sure, her martial prowess is the empire's finest, but she has zero social interaction with her peers, right? She needs that high school diploma—or at least the bare minimum socialization—to become a proper family head. Field trips, sports festivals, the works."
I framed Reina's normal schooling as an "essential tough-love opportunity" to persuade them. Father nodded approvingly—"That's my boy! Knightly virtue starts with dorm life!"—while the duke reluctantly wiped his tears and summoned Reina to the office.
Click.
"Cadel, you called?"
The moment she stepped in, the grand duke's grave expression—fresh off agonizing over the emperor's letter—melted away like snow in spring.
"Ooh! My flawless little princess! Come to daddy…!"
The duke spread his arms wide, beaming ear to ear, but Reina treated him like he was invisible and trotted straight to my side, plastering herself against me.
His outstretched arms hung limply in the air, forlorn.
The empire's top power broker, hurt by his own daughter's snub, sniffling in the corner.
"Cadel. You called."
Her eyes, fiddling with my collar, were fixed solely on me.
I subtly nodded toward the duke to remind her he was there. Only then did she reluctantly turn her head.
"Oh, Dad's here too. What?"
"Sob… Yes, my girl. It's just…"
Deeply wounded, the duke dabbed his eyes and spoke cautiously. He'd just been fact-slammed by Father and schooled by me on the need for discipline, but in front of his daughter, he shrank into a pitiful softie again.
"Y'see, His Majesty himself sent a letter… suggesting you go to the prestigious academy, make some friends your age, enjoy some tasty food—what do you think?"
The emperor's stern command, the empire's peace, a lady's dignity—all the lofty excuses were gone. It was pure tearful coaxing, like placating a kindergartener scared of school.
But before he could finish, Reina cut him off with a lazy drawl.
"So?"
Imperial orders, family honor—none of that complex logic existed in her head. She sliced away all context, boiling it down to one criterion.
She glanced at the duke.
"Does this mean I'm going to the academy with Cadel?"
Then she locked eyes on me, tilting her head up.
"You're coming too, Cadel?"
"Hey, I'm seventeen now. Academy starts at eighteen."
I shrugged, stating the obvious. Without a second's hesitation, she reached her crystal-clear verdict.
"Then we go together next year."
"Student, you think the Imperial Academy is some neighborhood cram school? I'm just a baron's heir—no special admission, no application for me."
My reality check hit home, and her face froze over in an instant.
Shrrk— Her fingertips twitched toward the air, and the office's heavy atmosphere crushed down suffocatingly. The tea set on the desk rattled grotesquely as it floated up.
The chilling prelude to smashing anything that annoyed her.
"If Cadel doesn't go, I don't go."
"No, Reina! You're the empire's representative lady—defying an imperial decree because your squire isn't there…!"
"Where my squire is, that's where I am."
A perfect inversion of host and guest in her blind obsession. As the sweating grand duke mentally drafted a refusal to the emperor, I desperately stifled a ridiculous laugh.
"Student, even if you hate school that much, threatening to stab the emperor in the neck is not okay."
In the end, that afternoon, the Astrea Ducal Residence sent a letter to the palace: [Without her squire, she'll throw a tantrum and enrollment's impossible.]
[Special Imperial Decree. The joint enrollment of 17-year-old Cadel Evans as 'Lady Reina de Astrea's exclusive squire' is hereby specially permitted.]
The palace reportedly erupted in chaos upon receiving it. Word was, the emperor nearly clutched his neck and collapsed.
An imperial decree personally issued, rejected over one 17-year-old baron's heir? But the emperor's faction—desperate to cage the beast somehow—gritted their teeth and mustered a miracle of flexibility.
Thanks to this absurd fiasco, I could picture the scandal ripping through high society and the upper echelons without even looking.
"A duke's daughter defying an imperial command over a lowly baron's kid?"
"Is that 17-year-old boy the real leash on Astrea's uncontrollable monster, not the grand duke?"
While the world eyed me with growing suspicion and unease, I simply gazed at my admission letter, feeling a humble thrill in my K-teacher mindset.
"Whoa, early high school admission despite the age mismatch, dorm included for free. Jackpot."
A few days later, inside the top-of-the-line carriage heading to the Imperial Academy.
"Wahhh… Reina… don't skip meals… Daddy'll send snack carts after every period…!"
The duke dangled from the carriage window, sobbing. Behind him, a legion of ducal servants stood in formation, witnessing this tearjerker(?) farewell.
Then my father, Rowen Evans, standing at my back, gracefully yet firmly gripped the duke's shoulder in elegant restraint.
"Your Grace. We're running late. A father's tears ill befit this glorious academy journey—please uphold the ducal dignity and see her off with composure."
Impeccably formal, polite, and refined honorifics, without a flaw.
But I clearly saw the thick veins bulging on the back of Father's hand clamping the duke's shoulder.
In private, he'd have smacked him with a "Cut it out, you fool!" but with all the eyes on this public stage, he was desperately maintaining noble face.
Having pried the duke off the carriage by force, Father turned to me with a stern, dignified tone.
"Cadel. As her exclusive squire, serve Lady Reina without a single lapse. Even at the academy, ensure she doesn't slack on morning sword training—watch her strictly."
The duke, blowing his nose out the window, and Father, pinning him with a perfect noble smile, gradually receded into the distance.
Would this homeschooled kid really adapt to school life? Half worried, half expectant like a true mentor, I peered out—until a lazy, sticky voice slithered into my ear.
"The academy… way better than I thought."
Reina had nestled her head on my shoulder, slowly tracing my nape with her finger, as if the noisy send-off outside never existed.
Thanks to my intensive tutoring, she had flawless, elegant lady poise—for everyone but me.
Her world held only me, anytime, anywhere. Crowds or not, she ignored all gazes and burrowed into me constantly.
"What's so great? You don't know the first thing about making friends. Pull a sword on someone picking a fight on day one and trash the place? Deducted from your allowance."
"Don't need friends."
She looked up, lips curling slyly. A lethally pretty, blindly obsessive smile—like a predator eyeing prey.
"Now I get to live alone with Cadel at the academy!"
Her pure fixation, hooked on one fact: living with Cadel.
I shook off that dizzying gaze and hammered in the facts.
"Listen, student! Not 'alone.' It's a school dorm. Group living."
"Tch…"
She pouted at my iron wall, then slipped seamlessly into my arms, hugging my waist tight.
Instantly, my 17-year-old teenage heart thumped and plummeted.
Crazy, Cadel Evans. Get a grip.
The world thought I was some scheming beast-tamer brainwashing her, but my real struggle was fending off this relentless, location-ignoring affection assault legally(?).
"First thing on arrival: hammer down brutal dorm rules…"
I ignored the cold sweat trickling down my spine, gritting my teeth against her soft, enveloping warmth.
A viciously perilous, heart-stopping saga—the K-teacher's 24/7 academy defense war—had just begun.