Shattered Solitude
The direct sunlight settling over my eyelids stung quite a bit, but I didn't bother moving to find some shade. If anything, this brazen heat baking my face bare was exactly what I desperately needed right now.
"Cadel! I'm gonna run to the bathroom real quick. You have to wait right here, okay? Got it? Don't go anywhere else!"
Recalling the trail of silver hair that had just vanished around the corner of the hallway after those fervent instructions, I let out a very long, very deep sigh. The stagnant, heavy air pooled at the bottom of my lungs scraped its way out, and it felt like a massive boulder pressing down on the crown of my head had been lifted, opening up my ribcage with a refreshing snap.
Lunchtime, with maybe twenty minutes tops before afternoon classes started. This brief sliver of time alone was more precious to me than gold—a balm for my soul. I sank deep into the wooden bench in a quiet corner of the empty outdoor courtyard, a spot rarely trodden by other students. Tilting my head back fully and closing my eyes, an unnamed floral scent and the fresh smell of grass wafted into my nostrils on a lukewarm breeze. Reflexively, I raised my right hand and kneaded the rock-hard nape of my neck like I was tearing into it.
Crack. Along with that dry, eerie popping sound, I could feel the fatigue toxins clinging to each vertebra screaming as they scattered.
No wonder. The bizarre events unfolding in my field of vision these past few days weren't the kind you'd find in an intro to education textbook—hell, not even in the appendix of a psychology or psychopathology dictionary.
Class 1-1 of the first years. Supposedly the academy's top elite class, handpicked from the empire's highest-ranking noble offspring. In reality, it was nothing more than a massive "special holding pen for delinquents" overrun by hormonal tempests.
Ahh, I'm exhausted. Who knew I'd miss that cheap massage chair from my past life this badly?
Muttering futile complaints in my head, I gripped my nape harder. A cool early summer breeze swept under the stinging sunlight, lightly tousling the hair over my forehead. Wishing selfishly that the world would just freeze like this, I savored the fragile peace of the moment.
But my shallow tranquility didn't last even a few minutes before cracks began to spiderweb through it. An alien noise tore roughly into my ears as I kneaded my neck with eyes closed. Narrowing my brow, I perked up my auditory nerves without opening my eyes.
The sounds were coming from both directions of the outdoor courtyard at once.
Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap! The noise from my left—my benchmark—was excessively frantic and jittery. The friction of low-heeled leather shoes relentlessly pounding the hard ground, mingled faintly with shallow, ragged breathing.
Someone was sprinting toward me in a near-all-out jog.
And simultaneously, from the opposite side...
Thud...... Thud......
The sound from the right walkway was in complete contrast to the urgency. Heavy boot steps, like they had iron weights strapped to the soles. Each deliberate step hung in the air with unnecessary pauses, theatrical and exaggerated in its weightiness.
What kind of lunatics are crashing my precious honeyed break like this?
Swallowing my rising irritation, I slowly lifted my eyelids. My vision flashed white from the blazing sunlight, but I quickly adjusted my focus, and the scene sharpened before me. The moment I grasped the situation, I nearly snapped my own neck with the hand still gripping it.
The walkways of the courtyard stretched long on either side of the bench I sat on. From both ends, two ominous silhouettes were closing in at terrifying speed.
I turned my head slightly left first. Glittering silver-pink hair fluttering in the sunlight—it was none other than the stalker lady, Seraphina von Lumière. Her academy uniform shirt, usually impeccably pressed, was slightly rumpled at the shoulders from her hurried run. But more alarmingly, her face was in bad shape. Her cheeks were flushed so red they could burst any second—not just from the heat. Blood vessels from her earlobes to her slender neck were visibly throbbing, like a critically ill patient with a high fever and contagion.
Tucked tightly against her chest was a small box meticulously wrapped in a pastel ribbon like a gift. Her fingertips were white from clutching it so hard, and her gaze was glued stickily straight ahead—to the bench I was on—without a flicker.
My head throbbed; I whipped it right. There was the chuunibyou count's heir, Tristan von Shadow, who'd gifted me profound shame and stomach ulcers under the training ground's tree shade yesterday. Even in this sweltering near-midsummer heat, his drab uniform was buttoned to the collar. His gloomy asymmetrical bangs swallowed his left eye whole, and his perfectly uninjured right arm was wrapped in pristine bandages like a mummy. But unlike his usual hollow, brooding aura from lurking in corners, something was off. The exposed right eye gleamed with an unnaturally fierce light. A grotesque smile of ecstasy, like a pilgrim who'd finally found the Holy Grail after a lifetime's quest. And clutched to his chest was that tattered old notebook he'd been scribbling madly in yesterday.
...Good lord, what kind of nightmarish combo is this?
Straightening from my relaxed lean against the bench back, I alternated stares between them. The ecstasy on the right and the flush on the left were converging in a straight line on this bench—with me as the intersection.
Mobilizing my excellent dynamic vision and ex-teacher situational analysis, I cranked my brain into gear. Seraphina's ornate cookie box hugged dearly, her beet-red cheeks. The boy's ecstatic, sticky gaze. Their trajectories barreling unhesitatingly toward one destination. Click. The puzzle pieces in my head snapped perfectly into place.
A hollow chuckle escaped my lips unbidden.
Aha. I've parked myself in the wrong spot.
This secluded nook, shielded by big trees from prying eyes, was the perfect hideaway for young, vigorous lovers to sneak a secret rendezvous. No spot in the entire academy beat it.
A high noble lady rushing with a box of homemade cookies baked all night, shyly suppressing her feelings. And a sensitive literary boy approaching with his chest puffed, notebook of soul-searching original poems to show his beloved.
Sure, romance and dark fantasy clashed genres in a bizarre mashup, but...
For a radiant marchioness to fall for that gloomy, bandaged chuuni count's heir...
Noble ladies' tastes were truly unknowable.
But hey, love knows no class ranks or genre hierarchies. Respect the tastes.
It'd be rude to crash their love nest. Vacating the premises was the mature adult's virtue—and an ex-teacher's courtesy. Plus, the real kicker: Reina de Astrea would be back soon. If she saw these fresh-faced lovebirds(?) canoodling, who knew what new "attack" (seduction) she'd unleash on me? Better bail.
Time to dip. Sucks to lose my precious break, but I can't be the villain teacher gatecrashing young love.
With resolve, I dropped my kneading hand, gripped the bench armrest firmly. Tensing my thighs to muffle my presence, I tried to rise cat-like, quietly lifting my butt. So they could claim this bench for their secret, beautiful tryst.
But right as I half-lifted off in an awkward horse-riding stance to embody adult grace...
"Lord Evans—!"
"My comrade—!"
Two voices, wildly different in tone and volume, slammed my eardrums simultaneously.
"...Huh?"
My body froze mid-lift in that ridiculous pose, like a statue. Unguarded breath caught in my throat, leaking a dumb noise.
These two, who should've collided in an embrace, halted a meter from the bench on either side, drilling hot gazes right at me in the dead center.
My pupils vibrated wildly, darting left-right. Right-side Tristan clutched his unneeded arm bandages like he was about to swear a blood oath, eyes deadly serious. Left-side Seraphina squeezed her cookie box to crumpling, gazing up at me with overwhelming emotion on the verge of tears.
What the—? Not dating? Why's my name popping when they're meeting each other?
My brain short-circuited, grinding from overload. And I wasn't the only one clueless. They finally clocked each other, heads snapping around. Eyes locked in midair. A screeching spark of steel on steel echoed in my ears.
"...Who the hell are you?!"
Seraphina shattered the silence first. Gone was the blushing romance heroine; she hid her pastel box protectively behind her, raking Tristan top-to-bottom with razor eyes.
"Planning to interrupt my 'fated time' with Lord Evans? Back off now?!"
Her voice quivered.
"...Heh. Ha, hahaha!"
Tristan ducked his head suddenly, covering his remaining left eye with his bandaged hand, unleashing a creepy sneer.
My thighs trembled at the horse-stance limit, but the genre clash unfolding was so awe-inspiring I couldn't even think to sit properly.
"Foolish, pitiable lamb of light."
Tristan flashed fierce eyes through his bangs, barking at her.
"Daring to blind my 'comrade's' sublime gaze into the abyss with that vulgarly sweet worldly confection in your arms? This is the altar of oath for those who've shed mortal chains. Remove that trashy sugar lump now!"
"V-Vulgar?! You're the one parading a perfectly fine arm wrapped like a freak! Don't defile Lord Evans's noble soul!"
"This is a sacred relic holding the truth of the Black Flame Dragon, shared only by me and my comrade! A pleb like you would burn your soul just touching it!"
"Don't make me laugh! Lord Evans needs my sweet comfort!"
A meter apart on either side, these two from utterly alien worldviews snarled without quarter, speaking the same continental tongue yet failing to communicate. Seraphina teared up in tragic heroine fury; Tristan posed dramatically like a caped villain sans cape. It was like ripping half-pages from a romance novel and dark fantasy, gluing them sloppily together—pure textual pollution.
These kids scare me...
Unable to endure the thigh spasms, I straightened up with a sad joint pop. But the pair, lost in their catfight bubble, didn't even notice me standing.
Time to bail somewhere else for a bit more rest.
As I moved to salvage my break...
"Cadel—!"
A silver flash hurtled from afar toward the bench at terrifying speed. Reina de Astrea, back from the bathroom.
"I hurried so you wouldn't wait too long! Good job, right?"
Bright, innocent voice. Her clear purple eyes curved happily at me—then froze icily spotting the intruders flanking me.
"...Who the hell are these?"
Her chilling gaze speared them. Under the invisible predator pressure, Seraphina's box-holding hands shook; Tristan gripped his bandaged arm forcibly. But the lunatics stayed immersed in their world.
"Ah...!"
Seraphina clapped hands over her mouth, gazing dreamily at me. Her cheeks exploded red again; wet eyes shone with clear rapture.
"Sob... Because of you, I couldn't even deliver my love gift properly...!"
She glared daggers at Tristan, clutched her flushed face, tears flying, and bolted full-tilt toward the dorm hallway.
Tristan, absorbing the full venomous glare, let out his creepy chuckle.
"Heh... An obstacle appeared; no helping it."
He eyed Reina and me solemnly in turn.
"Comrade. None can hinder our oath. We'll discuss that brand's mark later. Farewell."
Clutching his bandaged arm, he struck a heroic retreating pose with imaginary cape billowing and vanished down the walkway.
After the storm, heavy silence blanketed the courtyard again.
...What the hell just happened? A dream? Hallucinating a nightmare standing up from exhaustion?
Feeling my mind haze as I swallowed dryly, Reina skipped over humming cheerily.
"Cadel, who were they?"
"No idea!"
My voice came out sharper than intended. The maniacs' invasion and Reina's faster-than-light return. My drought-ending golden break evaporated in farce and noise—deep irritation and fatigue bubbled up.
But oblivious to my gruff mood, Reina just tilted her head, clueless why I snapped. Far from angry, she grinned wide and seized my shoulders.
"Huh?"
Thud. Unable to resist her strength, my body collapsed back onto the wooden bench.
Without giving me time to react, she plopped her head squarely on my lap with a thunk.
"Hehe, Cadel's lap is still the best."
Rubbing her cheek on my thigh like a stuffed full large dog, she purred contentedly.
The courtyard's cool breeze, warm direct sunlight, and the beast's heavy, warm weight pinning my thigh. The bizarre genre war's echoes from moments ago melted away like a lie in that serene warmth.
Unconsciously, I reached out, mechanically stroking her silver hair, letting a familiar nag slip between my lips.
"Lying down right after eating ruins your stomach. Get up."
"Mmm, no way. Just five minutes. Exactly five."
Gazing at her round crown burrowing deeper into my inner thigh with whiny protest, I finally relaxed my tense shoulders and let out a small hollow laugh.
Sigh. Really, not a single moment of peace.
Grumbling inwardly, I closed my eyes gently, letting my hand trail very slowly and softly along the silver strands spilling over my lap.
The profoundly exhausting yet languid afternoon routine, after the boisterous storm had passed.