A Hellish Morning of Flying Papers
The morning sun pierced through the grand arched windows of the dormitory cafeteria, but my vision remained a dull gray.
"……Haa."
Forcing my sodden, cotton-like eyelids open, I kneaded my stiff, aching nape over and over. Every blink brought a dry, abrasive pain, as if bloodshot conjunctiva scraped against the inside of my lids like sandpaper. It was the badge of honor from burning the midnight oil—no, the wee hours until dawn—wrestling with parchment.
The scene at the table before me stood in perfect contrast to my wretched state. Scrape, scrape. A serrated steak knife sliced effortlessly through a thick, rare cut dripping with red juices. Reina stabbed a hefty chunk with her fork and shoved it into her mouth, her cheeks bulging with the lively vigor of a beast. For the culprit behind the massive incident just days ago—shattering six marble tables in the cafeteria and cleaving half a centuries-old pillar in the dorm hallway—this was an impressively hearty and voracious breakfast.
I sipped my steaming black coffee, which tasted of nothing, and stared quietly at the sight. My eyelids weighed a thousand pounds from the all-nighter, yet a strangely contented smile tugged at my lips.
Good, she's at that age where she's growing. Even if she causes trouble, at least she eats well. Lucky.
It was exactly the sentiment I'd felt in my past life as a high school homeroom teacher, watching my teenage girls stuff their cheeks full of cafeteria bread.
Sensing my blatant gaze, Reina paused mid-chew, fork hovering, and tilted her head.
"Why aren't you eating, Cadel?"
Her round purple eyes peered out from puffed cheeks. Propping my chin on the table, I replied in a languid drawl.
"Watching you eat fills me up. Eat plenty."
This was 100% sincere, straight from a decade-old ex-teacher too exhausted for food, now full-time handler of a walking disaster.
But that very moment—
"……Eek! Hnng, haa, haa……!"
A sticky, unpleasant sensation crept up my spine, suddenly erupting into choked, ragged gasps from the corner of the cafeteria. It wasn't sharp like killing intent or malice—more like being trapped in a sweltering midsummer greenhouse, humid and clammy at 90% humidity.
I glanced sideways to trace the source. In the right corner behind a massive decorative planter, a thick hardcover floated midair. Its garish gold-embossed title read The Duke's Secret Shackles. Or rather, someone was using the hefty tome to half-hide their face while glaring intensely our way. Silver-pink hair peeked over the top, and skin flushed beet-red from ears to nape.
Seraphina von Lumière, the romance-novel zealot from Class 1-1.
Damn, the stalker lady again, first thing in the morning.
I sighed inwardly. Elarra von Sterling's "19+ rumor" about me and the dorm supervisor had been debunked as pure fiction, but whatever warped romance filter Seraphina had installed in her head seemed only more entrenched.
Her hands trembled on the book as she clutched her mouth, hyperventilating like she'd witnessed a legendary romance scene firsthand.
If she pants like that, won't she pass out from lack of oxygen? Tsk, not my problem. She'll calm down.
Extreme fatigue numbed even my nosiest impulses. Ignoring her overt, gooey stare, I gauged the weight of the thick leather approval binder tucked against my side.
[Report on the Damage to the 1st Floor Dormitory Cafeteria and Urgent Request for Repairs on the Aging Marble Pillars at Risk of Collapse]
"Lady Reina. Are you finished with breakfast?"
I set down my empty coffee cup and stood.
"I have to deliver these damned scraps to the admin office. Head to Class 1-1 first. And absolutely no mana bursts in the hallway or breaking things if someone annoys you on the way. Got it?"
She nodded nonchalantly at my stern warning and left the cafeteria ahead. I readjusted the heavy binder at my side and dragged my leaden feet toward the admin office to shake off the remnants of hellish overtime.
——
The academy's main building hallway was filled with cool early-morning air. Sunlight filtered through stained glass, scattering colorful shards across the long marble floor—but to me, it was just an endless march dragging at my ankles.
One more corner to the admin office. Drop the papers, grab the receipt, straight to class for sleep. Perfect plan.
Half-asleep like a sleepwalker, I shuffled mechanically. Was it fatigue dulling my senses, or eagerness to escape paperwork hell speeding my steps? As I rounded the final corner—
Thud!
"Kyaa!"
A dull impact and a delicate, girlish scream hit my ears as I collided head-on with someone leaping from a blind spot. Then, an unbelievable horror unfolded in slow motion.
The shock jarred the leather binder from my side. It sprang open, and dozens of premium parchments—stacked meticulously, paginated without a millimeter's error—exploded into the air.
Flutter, rustle, whoosh.
In the sun-drenched hallway center, my all-nighter's fruits—[Marble Pillar Cross-Section Diagram], [Mana Explosion Table Fragment Trajectory Equations], [Urgent Repair Budget Request], all densely inscribed—scattered like wretched winter snowflakes, white and pathetic.
Oh, fuck! My papers! The fruits of my all-nighter!!! My blood-and-ink reports, still wet!!!
Inside, I wanted to clutch my neck and spew blood, but my body followed a decade-honed teacher's reflexes for crises. My sturdy 182cm frame held firm, feet planted solidly on marble without stumbling.
My opponent fared worse. Her slight build couldn't withstand the impact, tumbling backward to sprawl helplessly on the floor.
"Ah, seriously… Watch where you're—"
Swallowing my irritation, I looked down—and my brow twitched faintly.
Beneath the vast shadow of my broad shoulders, backlit by the sun, sat Seraphina von Lumière, silver-pink hair disheveled, staring up blankly.
From panting behind the cafeteria planter to blocking my path here—who knew? But cause or not, she was a marquis's daughter. As a mere knight, I couldn't scowl or snap in a hallway collision.
Haa… My fate. Gather papers later—damage control first.
Ignoring the fluttering parchments, I plastered on a maxed-out social smile. Softening my half-lidded, fatigue-glazed eyes, I knelt slowly on one knee before her, extending my large, firm right hand like a romance play scene—courteous and gentle.
"My lady. Are you hurt anywhere?"
My voice, husky from the all-nighter, sounded impeccable—tender and gentlemanly.
"I failed to watch my step, committing a grave discourtesy. May I help you up?"
Inwardly wailing over my pages in chaotic disarray, I flawlessly acted the world's most considerate, mature man.
But Seraphina staring at my hand was going seriously wrong.
"……Ah, ah……."
A deflating whimper escaped her lips. Her wild pupils darted between my face and hand, then froze midair. Instantly, a fierce crimson blaze—far beyond the cafeteria's—engulfed her from nape to ears.
Cheeks burning like burns, ragged breaths rising to her jaw, slender fingers trembling toward my hand but neither advancing nor retreating. Her eyes no longer "observed" me. Like paralyzed before a first-seen colossal entity, she gazed up blankly, focus lost.
Eh? Really hurt bad? Face that red and panting—definitely the flu.
Keeping my hand extended, I diagnosed realistically from ex-teacher experience.
Leave her, and she'll collapse right here. Fever's messing with her brain.
Tsking softly at her quivering fingertips frozen midair, I couldn't ignore a marquis's daughter gasping on the academy floor. If she fainted, I'd be the sole culprit, buried in more reports and apologies.
"My lady. Can you hear me? You seem very unwell—let's get you up."
But she just panted raggedly, unfocused wet eyes staring up, deaf to my voice.
I made the call. Ignoring my snowflake-scattered all-nighter, I bent my aching knees.
"My lady, forgive my presumption."
No waiting for permission—one arm under her knees, the other behind her slender back. A light lift at the waist, and I scooped her up in a perfect princess carry.
"……Hngh!!"
At skin contact, her narrow shoulders jolted like lightning-struck. Her thin wrists and spine boiled unpleasantly in my grip. Her pulse throbbed madly through thin uniform shirt into my palm, as if bursting her pale skin.
Whoa, feel that temperature. Not just a cold—acute flu? Look at that pulse.
Frowning seriously, I noted her feather-light weight, like lifting paper. Without hesitation, I strode toward the infirmary at the hall's end, her cradled in my arms.
Her gaze glued stickily to my jawline the whole way, round eyes boiling with moist heat. No teenage girl's shock or shame at a stranger's embrace—just delirious, swamp-deep delusion.
Lips a straight line, I glanced down at her trembling against me. Definitely not normal.
Deep inside, my inner decade-old K-nag teacher switch clicked on cheerily.
"My lady. Running recklessly in hallways is dangerous—it's in the academy student handbook, Chapter 4."
My low, dry voice echoed; her silver-pink crown flinched.
"Your face is aflame. Breathing's way off normal. Hiding behind that pillar in the cafeteria, sweating cold and panting—looks like a full-blown cold now."
My steps quickened steadily; nagging gained speed.
"In group living, hygiene and immunity are courtesy to others. You always skip veggies for dessert—stop picky eating, train your stamina steady to dodge seasonal bugs."
A picturesque knight dashing hallways in princess carry with frail lady—peak romance. But my lines were pure dry health teacher's lecture.
My earnest nagging seemed unheard.
"Ahh…… So rough, yet…… so tender……."
Clutching burning cheeks, she buried her face in my firm chest, moaning incoherently. Twisting, gripping my shirt collar like a lifeline, I tightened my arms to keep her from slipping.
"Pardon? What was that? Fever causing tinnitus?"
"N-no…… Just, your heartbeat…… so loud…… like it'll burst…… Hngh!"
She startled deeper into my chest. Suppressing the urge to check her forehead, I hurried on.
She's delirious. Hand her to the nurse quick, then retrieve my papers.
Gently easing open the infirmary door, I laid her on the cleanest empty bed by the window. To ward off chills, I tucked the crisp white blanket meticulously to her shoulders.
Pure alibi-securing aftercare: "I didn't knock her down hard—she was already flu-ridden, and I rescued her in good faith." Prevent any marquis family injury claims or bills later.
Kneeling bedside, eye-level with her peeking from the blanket, I matched her gaze.
"My lady. When the nurse comes, tell her exactly this."
"Long before our hallway bump, you had high fever, cold sweats, breathing issues from breakfast. Got it?"
"It's clearly acute seasonal flu—no misunderstandings. Nail the initial statement."
Her upward gaze welled fully moist now, clutching blanket edges trembling.
"Ahh…… Mr. Evans……. Covering for me, caring for my well-being so thoroughly……."
She panted hot breaths under covers, whispering ecstatically like sharing a grand secret.
Not cover—facts. Stress I didn't hurt you.
Sighing inwardly at her emotion-drowned obliviousness, I noted my hallway papers might broom-swept by morning cleaners if delayed.
Maintaining max social perfect-gentleman smile, I rose, hand to chest in elegant bow.
"Then, rest well and get better soon."
Picture-perfect romance hero exit.
Seraphina's lips quivered, eyes glued to my back; I shut the door with utmost grace.
Click.
The instant it closed, hiding me, I shed the gentleman shell and sprinted madly back to salvage my all-nighter.
Please, don't let the cleaners mistake them for trash!
Panting back to the scene, I sighed relief: parchments still sunlit-scattered on the floor.
Squatting with aching knees, I brushed shoe-smudged edges carefully with my sleeve, gathering them.
Sorting jumbled pages, swallowing bloody tears—
"……Huh?"
Shaking and flipping the binder, a gap glared.
Core pages gone.
Where's page 4? Page 7?!
My painstaking [Mana Explosion Trajectory Equations] and soul-crushed [Urgent Repair Budget Request Conclusion]—vanished.
"Fuck……."
Scoured corners, wind-blown spots, planters—no dice. Just dust bunnies.
Done for. My 3-hour equations. No budget request means repairs from my salary?
World spun. No submission today—redo tonight. Despair tsunami hit.
Clutching my half-toothed bundle, I zombie-shuffled to Class 1-1.
Creak.
Heavy push on back door. At window-back seat, basking in sun, lounged the silver-haired beast peacefully.
Reina's eyes widened at my soul-drained, dark-circle-to-chin face.
"Eh? Cadel, you okay?"
Her pure, innocent purple gaze—something hot surged from my gut.
The root of all: wrecked cafeteria, sliced pillar, all-nighter, morning chase, lost papers.
Ah…… All your fault, you damned beast…….
I wanted to wail, "The pillar repair estimate just evaporated!"
But forcing quivering lips up, I glued on the world's most benevolent guardian smile.
"Hahaha. Nothing at all. Just……."
Grinding teeth, I rasped.
"Just thrilled for…… deep, sweet sleep in first period magic theory, Lady Reina."
Inwardly craving floor-collapse and blood-vomit, I sensed tomorrow's discipline hell—silently collapsing into the seat beside her.
Thus waned my long, brutal morning.