Warmth, a Thief Cat, and Sparks Flying at the Annex

Grip!

Sylvia's slender fingers seized Ethan's hand once more, hard enough to crush. It was pure, desperate instinct—the terror that the moment she let go of this hand, she would be flung straight back into that murderous frozen wasteland.

No detonation sounded between their interlocked fingers. Instead, a frigid current came swirling in, fierce as a whirlpool, streaming up along Ethan's wrist.

Whooooosh—

The deep-freeze mana that had been rampaging through Sylvia's heart came pouring into Ethan's body. It was a monstrous cold that would have frozen an ordinary knight's blood solid and burst his veins where he stood. But Ethan's necrotic circuits swallowed that lethal chill whole, like a sponge. The fever of his soul—blazing from the Abyss's curse—began to cool, and a bracing wave of freshness spread through the depths of his lungs.

...Huh, Ethan murmured flatly to himself. This is actually kind of refreshing. Nice.

The pain that had always smoldered in him like swallowed charcoal was washing away, clean. An entirely unplanned form of heat dissipation, as it were. Meanwhile, the murderous ice spikes and frost sheet that had sheathed the clearing, cut off from their source of mana, crumbled apart.

Crrrack... shatter.

Azure walls of ice scattered into transparent frost and beads of water, melting away into the sunset. The icicles clinging to the branches turned to clear dew and pattered softly onto the dirt below.

And the most dramatic change of all took place in Sylvia's own body. Healthy color crept back into her deathly bloodless cheeks, and her frozen lips regained their natural red. Her sapphire-blue eyes were brimming over with shock and wonder.

It was the first time in her life. The chill of despair that had frozen life itself dead at the mere brush of her fingertips. The elders of the palace had called her an Ice Monster, and even her own father had turned his back on her as though fleeing a plague. A frozen hell where not one person had ever reached out a hand.

And yet the languid, dark-haired instructor before her was holding her hand, calm as anything, without spilling so much as a drop of blood. Human warmth—gentle and solid—was flowing into her through her fingertips. Clear tears welled up between Sylvia's lashes and slid down her cheeks.

Plop.

A teardrop struck the back of Ethan's hand and burst.

"Why...?"

Sylvia's chin trembled like a leaf in the wind.

"Why aren't you freezing to death...? Why aren't you... afraid of me...?"

The loneliness and sorrow that had coiled around her all her life came bursting out together with her tears.

Ethan looked down at the lukewarm teardrop on the back of his hand. The cooling relief in his chest was welcome enough—but getting dragged into an emotional tug-of-war was the last thing he wanted. Once he'd confirmed her rampage had fully subsided, he tried to quietly ease his hand free.

"Afraid of what? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠The forest sprouting ice spikes was way scarier."

Ethan replied in a perfectly level voice as he withdrew his hand.

"You've calmed down now, right? Let go, my hand's going numb. What's the idea, using somebody else's hand as a pocket heater? Don't your parents wait up for you at home?"

But the instant his fingers began to part—

The moment Ethan's hand slipped away, Sylvia's whole body shuddered head to toe. As the warmth receded, dread closed over her, as if the murderous deep freeze were stirring awake in her heart once more. She could not—she would never—go back to that horrific loneliness.

Snatch!

Sylvia, in a flat panic, seized Ethan's hand with both of hers. And still not satisfied, she grabbed the hem of his navy coat hard enough to wrinkle it and pressed herself flush against his arm—then shrieked, scarlet to the ears.

"K-Kid?! Parents?! Are your eyes crooked or something—can't you see this crest on my uniform?!"

Sylvia jabbed a finger at the gleaming pure-gold buttons and the golden embroidered crest on her chest. It was the emblem of the sun and the lightning, one that only immediate royalty of the Helios Empire was permitted to bear.

"You see this radiant platinum hair and this imperial crest, and you still call me a kid?! I am Sylvia de Helios, First Imperial Princess of the Empire!"

Ethan started to yawn, then stopped mid-breath and blinked. The girl's flushed face, the golden crest at her chest, the murderous deep freeze that had shimmered from her fingertips—as the puzzle clicked together, a warning flashed through his mind: the one Headmaster Seraphim had given him in his office earlier that day.

...Huh? That really is the imperial crest.

A single line of cold sweat ran ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠down Ethan's spine.

Platinum hair, berserk deep-freeze mana... so she's that walking time bomb of a princess the old man warned me about? Damn it. I'm supposed to quietly serve out my one year, move to the countryside, and live off my pension—and I just grabbed the princess's hand and talked down to her, calling her a kid?

A horrific future flickered before his eyes: disciplinary charges for insulting the royal family, and his precious civil-service retirement pension going up in smoke.

In the very next instant, a soulless business smile—the kind forged by a max-level veteran of ten years in office politics—snapped onto Ethan's lazy face like lightning.

"...Ah. So you are Her Highness the Princess."

Immaculate, bone-dry formal speech came flowing out of Ethan's mouth within the space of a single second.

"It was too dark, I'm afraid—I failed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to recognize you. Please forgive my countless transgressions. I had no idea I was in the presence of so exalted a personage."

"Wh-what...?"

"Your mana seems to have settled down completely now, so if you'd kindly release my hand. I'm in genuine danger of frostbite—I would like to keep all ten of my fingers."

At Ethan's lightning-fast about-face and his perfectly drawn boundary line, this time it was Sylvia who stood gaping.

"Wh-what's with that soulless tone?! You were talking down to me just a second ago—why are you suddenly being polite?!"

"Because if I get formally disciplined for disrespecting royalty, they'll dock my precious pension, and that would be a tragedy. Now, if you would—my hand, please."

Sylvia glared at him as though he'd spoken in tongues... and then gripped the fabric of his coat even harder.

"N-no way...! Don't let go! If you do... it'll get cold again!"

"Excuse me—the cold stopped coming off your body some time ago. What, exactly, is going to get cold?"

"It gets cold because it gets cold! You think I'm holding on because I want to?!"

Sylvia clutched at his sleeve all the harder.

"Your hand just happens to be a little warm, that's all! I'm renting it on a temporary basis for thermoregulation purposes! An official measure taken in service of the Empire!"

"And am I to assume rent will be paid on this rental?"

"Wh-what did you just say?!"

"I'm afraid I must decline free rentals. My fingertips are going numb from all this stove duty."

Ethan sighed, fished a peppermint candy out of his pocket, and popped it into his mouth.

Sylvia puffed out her cheeks and snapped at him.

"Money? I'll have the imperial treasury cracked open for you—so don't you dare take your hand away!"

"What are you putting in your mouth over there all by yourself? How stingy can you get..."

"A peppermint candy. Far too intense for a little kid's palate, so kindly keep your distance."

"Who are you calling a kid?! I'll have you know I am a perfectly respectable seventeen years old!"

For all her haughty delivery, Sylvia's small hands were clinging to Ethan's fingers for dear life—like a child with separation anxiety.

Ethan clicked his tongue and looked up at the evening sky.

Great. One more troublesome piece of luggage stuck to me.

It felt as though dark clouds were rolling in over his modest little plan to quietly retire on his pension.

"Then do try to behave while you're holding on. I'll walk you to the annex."

Ethan had barely suppressed his irritation and was just moving to set off—

Rustle—! Tap-tap-tap!

Frantic footsteps came racing from beyond the brush.

"Master! Are you safe?!"

Bursting through the undergrowth at that clear, ringing cry came a figure with black hair—the sword maiden, Elena von Arden. In her hands she carried a steaming bowl of medicinal broth; she had rushed over, worried sick about the master who'd been summoned to the headmaster's office that afternoon.

"Master, how is your—"

But Elena's footsteps stopped dead.

A dazzling platinum-blonde princess with both hands wrapped tight around Ethan's, her face pressed up against the front of his coat. Sylvia.

Click.

Every last trace of life evaporated without a remnant from Elena's ruby-red eyes. Cold shadow settled over them—her fall to darkness, complete.

Elena set the bowl of medicinal broth down on a rock with flawless grace, without spilling a single drop. Then her right hand sank quietly to the hilt of the wooden sword at her hip.

Srring.

The wooden blade slid halfway out of its sheath.

Elena murmured, in a voice carved from ice.

"Master."

"...Er, Elena."

"That woman glued to your side, Master... may I ask who that thieving cat is?"

It was the voice of someone dragging a fingernail across a sheet of thin ice.

Sylvia, still hanging off Ethan's coat, arched an eyebrow.

"Th-thief cat?! The audacity!"

Sylvia fired back with imperial arrogance.

"You dare call the First Imperial Princess a thief cat?! Has that thrown-away failure of an Arden daughter lost her mind—does she want her head to leave her shoulders?!"

But there wasn't the slightest tremor in Elena's eyes. If anything, the moment she confirmed the girl's rank as princess, bloodlust came swirling up from the deepest reaches of those crimson irises.

SHING—!

Elena drew her wooden sword in a single smooth motion. A cold sword-wind shimmered at its tip.

"Princess or Emperor—it makes no difference to me."

Elena took one step forward, letting her frigid killing intent bleed into the air.

"The impertinent thief cat who dares covet my Master's sacred side... I will cut down where she stands."

"Ha! A failing student who can't even channel mana into her blade, calling other people thief cats?!"

Sylvia, for her part, sent blue frost mana crackling from her fingertips.

The blind-struck sword maiden out to monopolize her master, and the haughty princess who would not surrender her newfound warmth. In that taut, stretched air, vicious sparks flew.

Ethan pressed a hand to his throbbing temple and heaved a long, deep groan.

"Ugh, please... somebody just put me out of my misery."

A standoff, one spark from detonation.

Tap.

Ethan stuck out a slipper-shod foot squarely between the two of them.

"Both of you, that's enough. Break anything and I'm billing you the full cost of cleanup. Kid, put the sword away. And Your Highness—please return to the Class A dormitory."

At Ethan's indifferent ruling, Elena's bloodlust settled in an instant.

"...If it is your command, Master, then I shall obey."

Elena slid her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wooden sword back into its sheath, docile as a lamb. But the look she leveled at Sylvia was steeped in murderous warning.

Meanwhile, Sylvia's heart plummeted at Ethan's words.

Go back to the Class A dormitory...?

Back to that frozen prison where no one had ever come near her? Let go of this warm hand?

Absolutely not. She would survive this, even if she had to seize this lazy instructor by the collar and never let go.

Sylvia squeezed Ethan's hand all the harder and lifted her chin.

"Who said anything about going back?! I've made up my mind!"

"...Decided what, exactly?"

"I-I'm dropping Class A and transferring to Class E, starting tomorrow!"

"...What?"

Ethan stopped mid-crunch on his peppermint and echoed blankly.

Sylvia declared it loud and proud enough to shake the clearing off its foundations.

"And I hereby appoint this incompetent instructor... as my personal tutor, and as the Imperial Household's official Thermoregulation Officer!"

Earth-shattering words. The top-seat princess of Class A, voluntarily demoting herself into the outcasts' Class E.

Ethan gave a hollow laugh.

"Have you lost your mind, Your Highness? Just graduate from Class A like a normal person. Why on earth would you come to some crumbling annex?"

"Because I said so! What good is a hundred days of Class A lectures if they can't even keep my own body from killing me?!"

Sylvia huffed, her face flushed red.

At that, Elena could contain herself no longer and sprang forward.

"Absolutely unacceptable! Class E is a training ground for Master and me alone! What business does a thief cat have trying to nest there!"

"Would you quit it with the thief cat already! Once I stamp the papers under the Imperial Special Prerogative, not even the headmaster can refuse!"

Reluctantly, Sylvia released Ethan's hand—and blew a snort through her nose.

But the look she cast back at him, cheeks burning scarlet, was brimming over with shy, lingering feeling.

"See you tomorrow morning, Instructor! Don't even dream about running away!"

And with the hem of her splendid dress fluttering, Sylvia swept out of the forest, every inch the princess.

Left behind, Elena stood trembling, her hands gripping the broth bowl on the rock.

"Master... you must never, ever surrender to such a bewitching hussy."

Ethan held his head in his hands. The headache-shaped future was all too clear.

The next morning.

The great bulletin board in the main-building lobby of Thera Imperial Academy looked like a painting of hell itself.

An official public notice, stamped in crisp detail with the golden seal of the Empire.

"Impossible...!"

"Her Highness the Princess is transferring to Class E?!"

The students' cries of disbelief shook the lobby to its rafters.

Head Supervising Professor of Class A Hermann von Berg stood facing the proclamation, white as a corpse, clutching the back of his neck.

"H-Her Highness...? Abandoning Class A... for Class E...?"

The humiliation of it—the Empire's supreme talent, the living symbol of the imperial house, stolen away into a den of rejects.

"Gahk...! Ethan Valentier... what scheme are you working, you fiend...!"

Professor Hermann howled, foamed at the mouth, and toppled over; the assistant instructors shrieked and hauled him off on a stretcher.

And while the main building reeled in the storm's wake, the Class E annex classroom had an icy wind of a very different sort blowing through it.

In the morning sunlight streaming into the center of the room, Ethan propped his chin on the old lectern and let a yawn stretch long out of him.

"Awfully lively for first thing in the morning..."

He had just been about to slump over for a nap when—

Screeeech—! THUD!

With a rude shriek of wood on wood, an old desk came sliding up flush against the left side of his lectern.

Elena, immaculate in her pressed uniform, spoke with frost in her voice.

"The space at your left, Master, is the absolute and exclusive domain of your first disciple and senior disciple. That would be me."

But before she had even finished—

WHAM—!

The right corner of the lectern took a rough, deliberate hit.

A first-rate, custom-made desk laid with a crimson velvet cushion—imperial issue, no less. Having pushed it in with her own two hands, Sylvia planted her claim on the right side of the lectern.

"Senior disciple by whose decree? A princess's seat is right at the Instructor's right hand!"

Sylvia fixed Elena with a blazing sapphire glare.

"It has to be where his hand is easiest to reach, obviously! Emergency thermoregulation cannot afford even one second of delay!"

"Withdraw, thief cat. I shall regard any incursion into Master's personal space as treason."

"And who are you to be throwing around the word treason?! You discourteous little failure!"

The two girls waged a vicious war of glares across the lectern. Crimson sword-light flickered at the corners of Elena's eyes; blue frost spat and hissed from Sylvia's fingertips.

A brutal turf war of desks slamming into one another, back and forth.

And at the very center of the storm—

Ethan, chin still propped on the lectern, fished a peppermint from his pocket and placed it in his mouth.

Crunch.

The candy cracked, sharp and clear in the air.

Without sparing either girl so much as a glance, Ethan stared blankly out the window at the drifting clouds.

"...Haah."

A deeply wretched sigh leaked out from the depths of his lungs.

Where on earth did my peaceful retirement-and-recuperation lifestyle go?

Behind him, the frost-cold, burning stares of both heroines drilled into the crown of his head, in perfect unison.