"Forget it, I can pretty much guess who's been fanning the flames behind these rumors again."

Ariel rubbed her temple in mild frustration.

Apart from the News Club—an absurd group that enjoyed fabricating stories since they seldom dug up actual news on campus—there was likely no one else this idle in the academy.

"Looks like I'll need to pay a visit to the News Club sometime. I absolutely can't let these rumors spiral further out of control."

"Eh? But the president of the News Club is that famous sixth-year senior, Mingote. Do you think he'd even listen to you?" Lea blinked, voicing her concern.

While Ariel had recently made a modest name for herself among some of the students, compared to an upperclassman in sixth year, her reputation might as well have been negligible.

Not to mention convincing the News Club to abandon its usual mischief-making ways.

"But I just can't sit back and do nothing."

Ariel gritted her teeth.

"I refuse to be arbitrarily labeled as Moen Campbell's ex-girlfriend."

The very thought of being pointed at and whispered about in the future felt more unbearable than death.

"Not just an ex-girlfriend, but one who had..." Lea added matter-of-factly, her tone entirely serious, "...an abortion."

"...Oh, you've got some nerve, you cheeky little imp. We haven't seen each other for so long, and now you show up just to roast me, huh?"

Slamming the ancient tome she had been reading under her pillow, Ariel's slightly slanted phoenix eyes flashed with a sharp glint as she pounced on Lea with a wicked grin.

"Let me see if you've been slacking! Have you gained weight again?"

"I have not! Stop... that tickles... hahaha..."

"Well, well, you say you haven't, but in just one vocation break, you've secretly gone up a full bra size! Lea Angel, shame on you!" Ariel growled in faux outrage at this unwelcome revelation.

"I'm going to have to punish you today in the name of justice!"

"Eek! No, stay away! Get off me... you're going to tickle me to death... hahaha..."

Dodging Ariel's "claws," Lea giggled while teasing back, "It's not my fault they keep growing! If it were up to me, I'd trade with you any day—I mean, at least your shoulders don't ache when you walk, and you don’t feel suffocated lying down to sleep..."

"That's it! You dare say more?!"

An indignant Ariel, thoroughly insulted as a self-proclaimed "ultra-flat" figure, launched an even fiercer assault.

The dormitory filled with the carefree, joyous laughter of young girls savoring the prime of their youth.

---

The moonlight was cool and gentle.

After the playful tussle, Ariel had lost her mood for reading. Leaning by the window, she gazed at the bright moon overhead, absentmindedly running her fingers through her now-tangled locks.

Lea, her cheeks still red from both exertion and laughter, cautiously edged closer.

"So?" she asked.

"So what?"

"You know, Moen Campbell's apology."

Propping her chin in her palm, Lea studied Ariel.

"What are your thoughts? Are you going to forgive him?"

"Are you kidding me?"

Ariel rolled her eyes dramatically.

"After what he did to me, how could a mere apology fix everything? I'm not good-natured enough for that."

"Fair enough. Still..."

Lea paused, considering.

"It's Moen Campbell we're talking about, the duke's son. He used to be so arrogant and pompous, yet now he's apologizing to you in front of so many people. He must’ve really thought it through. Maybe he genuinely wants to turn over a new leaf?"

"Forget it. More likely, there's a hidden scheme brewing somewhere."

Thinking back to Moen Campbell's actions that day and comparing them to her memories of him, Ariel found it hard to believe one short vocation could produce such a dramatic transformation.

Had he been possessed by the Dark God or something?

Maybe she should trick him into visiting the Life Church someday for purification rites, just to be safe.

"And besides, how genuine could he truly be?"

Ariel's tone became even more aggrieved.

"You know what his 'peace offering' for me was today? A skewer! And not just that—it was one he'd already taken a few bites out of! Tell me, does that sound sincere to you?"

"Erm... maybe he was caught off guard by the situation?"

"Sure, he mentioned he'd make it up to me later, but knowing him, it'll probably be some gaudy gemstones or jewelry at best."

"Hm, gaudy or not, don’t you at least want them?"

Lea fixed Ariel with a sly, knowing look.

"Our dear Ariel, the new heir to a count yet still living as broke as a street rat—are you saying you wouldn’t want them?"

"Ugh, I do want them! Who wouldn’t?! All the things I need to do cost so much money!" Ariel groaned, clinging desperately to Lea's leg.

"Oh, kind and generous Lea, spare me some funds, won't you please?"

"My allowance already went entirely to bailing you out!" Lea puffed out her cheeks indignantly.

"I still don’t know what on earth you’re secretly up to, burning through cash faster than anyone but refusing to explain."

"Heh, I’m perfecting the one and only recipe for the legendary Pachichi Cake!" Ariel declared solemnly.

"Sure, sure, you keep researching that," Lea said dismissively, waving her hand. Digging for someone else's secrets wasn't something she was keen on anyway.

"It's late; I should get back to my dorm now."

"Alrighty, be safe on your way back!"

"By the way," Lea stopped at the door, turning back with a serious expression, "don’t be late for tomorrow’s opening ceremony."

"How could I be?"

Ariel thumped her chest confidently.

"Do I look like someone who’d be late for an important occasion?"

"You really want me to answer that?"

Lea raised an eyebrow.

"Who was it that racked up the most tardy marks in the entire school last term, hm? Miss Ariel?"

"Uh... hehe..."

"Never mind. I’ll come fetch you myself in the morning. Good night."

"Nighty night, Lea cute!"

---

After Lea left, Ariel flopped face-down onto her desk, sighing in exasperation.

"Studying magic is so expensive…"

Though she'd officially been named the heir to a count, Ariel was nowhere near gaining control over the Bugard family’s finances. Her paltry monthly allowance barely scraped by.

And it wasn’t like she was studying conventional magic either.

The unique path she'd embarked on promised unmatched power—but at the cost of extortionate prices.

What a headache.

"Magic is often called a noble's toy for good reason, isn’t it? The common rabble have no place here—not so much an insult as stark truth reflecting the sheer class disparity."

As the candlelight flickered in the room, ethereal blue smoke rose from the ancient, unadorned ring on Ariel’s finger. Bit by bit, it formed into a graceful, misty silhouette.

"Master, do you have any ideas on how to make money?"

Spotting the figure, Ariel immediately turned up the theatrics, wailing with extra drama: "Your beloved pupil is about to starve to death!"

"Of course there are ways."

The elegant, dreamy figure—Ariel's master—smiled faintly.

"As a gold-tier mage now, you have countless options to earn income."

After all, while mages burned through money quickly, they could also rake it in just as fast. Selling even a few properly-made magic scrolls could net a tidy profit.

"However..."

A hint of regret tinged her master's voice.

"You know the reality of our situation. It’s not that we can’t make the money; it’s that we have nowhere to make it.

Because of that incident, most of Belland's underground markets have temporarily shut down. My hands are tied in that regard."

"Ugh... isn’t this all because the Ancient Magic you taught me gets too much attention? If only the scrolls I made could be sold via standard channels, I wouldn’t have all this stress."

"We could switch to conventional magic, you know. It's still not too late."

Her master’s tone carried an unmistakable smirk.

"No way!"

Ancient Magic was so powerful—why would she want to settle for anything less?

"Speaking of that incident... I suppose I do bear a share of the blame."

Gazing into the candle flame, Ariel’s eyes flickered with a trace of guilt.

Back at the duke’s mansion, she had indeed sensed something amiss.

But trusting the duke's assurances—and lured away by the beckoning call of a Pachichi Cake—she had ultimately ignored her instincts.

And then... tragedy struck.

Princess Celicia was ambushed.

Moen Campbell sustained severe injuries as collateral.

The enraged duke and the emperor launched a brutal crackdown on Belland’s underworld in the aftermath.

Now, Belland’s shadows had all but vanished, skulking like rats desperate to avoid discovery.

Forget underground markets—even anyone in a hoodie risked being dragged off for questioning by hulking enforcers.

It was so "peaceful," there were hardly any pickpockets left on the streets.

"If I’d just followed through that day…"

Ariel sighed.

Rescuing Celicia in that pivotal moment—what a golden opportunity it would have been to win her favor! And she let it slip right past her fingers. Such a shame!

Still, one consolation brought Ariel a flicker of satisfaction.

Though Celicia had been targeted, it was Moen Campbell, useless as always, who got hurt the worst.

Surely, Celicia had seen him for what he truly was by now and completely lost faith in him!

(Note: The Duke’s mansion had tightly locked down details about Celicia’s ambush. Ariel received only fragmented intel from a special source.)

"That reminds me— I might’ve thought up a new way to make money," the misty figure interrupted lightly.

"Fast, simple, and hassle-free."

"Oh?"

Ariel perked up.

"Master, do tell!"

"Why don’t you go to Moen Campbell tomorrow and tell him this: if he gives you a million, you’ll forgive him. If anything, he might be thrilled to hand it over."

Her master spoke with an amused, mischievous tone.

"Impossible!"

Ariel slammed the desk, rejecting the idea outright.

"Do I look like the kind of woman who’d abandon her principles for a merely million?!

If Moen Campbell ever wants my forgiveness, he’d better completely reform himself and prove his worth. Nothing less!"

"Really?"

"Really! Genuine as jewels!" she declared resolutely.

"Is that so? What a shame."

Her master stifled a laugh behind her hand.

"I must say, Moen Campbell did seem rather sincere today."

---

Dawn broke slowly over the quiet campus, mist cloaking the world in a silvery veil.

Professor Pulan, as diligent as ever, had already risen early for his daily walk—less for exercise, more as part of his self-imposed duty as a respectable educator.

"The early bird catches the worm. This incoming crop of students really failed me. Not even a basic truth like this seems to land with them!"

Standing beneath the avenue of sycamore trees, Pulan gazed across the serene dormitory area and shook his head in dismay.

"Back in the days, when I taught the Golden Generation, those prodigies rose before dawn to study and train. But this class? Here we are, a mere two hours away from the opening ceremony, and not a single one of them is up yet.

Sigh, terrible, just terrible. Do they have no sense of being students of Santa Maria College?"

Professor Pulan couldn't help but lament over the decadence of this class. At the same time, he began contemplating whether he should suggest to the dean that these future pillars of the Empire should be more strictly supervised, rather than being allowed to grow so freely and wildly.

Lost in thought, an increasingly disappointed Professor Pulan was about to turn back and leave.

At that moment, he heard the urgent and rhythmic sound of footsteps, particularly clear in the silence of the sycamore grove.

"This is..."

Professor Pulan's eyes brightened in an instant. Could it be? Could there be an exceptional student who hasn't squandered the most precious hours of the morning?

Feeling gratified, Professor Pulan turned around, resolved to commend this student thoroughly. He even decided to showcase them as a model of excellence during the upcoming ceremony to shame the lazy ones.

"Look! Look at this! This is what a real student looks like. Learn from them, you lazy slobs."

"Good morning, Professor."

"Mm, good morning, Mo... Moen Campbell!"

"Eh?"

Moen was startled by the professor's sudden shout, and, on reflex, almost lashed out with a kick, PTSD flaring up momentarily. Thankfully, he remembered that they were in the academy, and there was no danger of dark gods' suddenly showing up. He managed to restrain himself.

"Is there... something wrong?" Moen cautiously asked, thoroughly on edge. He couldn't help it—he recognized the wide-eyed, bell-like gaze of this elderly man.

Professor Pulan Lonir.

The head of the Academy's Magic Department.

The longest-serving magic professor at Santa Maria.

And the professor the original Moen feared the most.

The reason for that fear? Probably because under his tutelage, it took an entire year just to learn a single Lightning Spell. Moen had always been afraid that one day Professor Pulan might grow so enraged that he'd devour him whole.

"Moen Campbell, what are you doing?"

Realizing how inappropriate his reaction had been, Professor Pulan cleared his throat and composed himself.

"Me? I'm on a morning run."

Moen, dressed in a practical outfit of shorts and a T-shirt, kept his legs moving even as he spoke with the professor, jogging in place.

"Morning run!"

Professor Pulan's eyes widened with shock, confusion, disbelief.

It was as if he'd just witnessed a terminally ill patient leap out of their deathbed, spank someone behind them, and then finish a whole marathon.

Fixing his gaze on Moen, Professor Pulan seriously asked, "You're sure you didn't just run away after spying on the girls' dormitory?"

"Why would you even think that, Professor?!"

Moen was flabbergasted. "The girls' dorm isn't even in this direction!"

"Or... you're on your way there?" Professor Pulan suggested with complete seriousness.

"I'm not going there at all!"

"How strange," Professor Pulan murmured, stroking his beard with a furrowed brow. He looked as perplexed as if he'd stumbled upon the magical riddle of the century.

"Moen Campbell, you're up so early, barely clothed. If you're not up to no good, how can this be explained?"

"I'm absolutely not up to anything bad!" Moen was thoroughly fed up. "Professor, is that really the impression you have of me? Also, this is just a workout outfit! How is that considered barely clothed?"

"What else would it be?"

Professor Pulan seemed equally astonished. "After all, you didn’t exactly have a good reputation last semester."

"..."

You’re bringing up last semester?

You’re seriously talking about last semester?

If you're talking about last semester... well, I can’t argue with that. Everything you said is true.

Because Moen Campbell really *had* done nothing but get into trouble last semester.

"Anyway, I'm really just on a morning run, that's all." Moen sighed helplessly.

"Don't overthink, Professor."

"But this level of physical activity shouldn't have much of a training effect, right?"

Professor Pulan, with his own solid foundation as a warrior, knew well enough that for even a late-stage Tier 1 warrior, let alone Tier 2, simple physical exercise offered little to no benefit.

"I know," Moen said. "This isn't about training my body. It's just to wake myself up."

"Wake yourself up?"

"That’s right. Getting in some exercise early in the morning, followed by a cold shower, keeps me energized all day. At least this way, I won’t be dozing off in class."

"Won’t be dozing off in class..."

Professor Pulan stared at him like he'd just seen a giant shrimp running past with a balloon tied to its tail.

You brazen liar.

How dare you say something like that, when every single one of my classes last semester turned into your naptime!

"Alright then, Professor, I’ll be on my way. See you later."

Sensing that sticking around would bring nothing but trouble, Moen seized his moment and scrambled off.

Before Professor Pulan could react, Moen's footsteps receded rapidly into the distance, the sound of crushed leaves fading into the early morning light.

"Is it really possible for a person to change so much in such a short period of time?"

Staring at the spot where Moen had disappeared, Professor Pulan—despite having nurtured countless students throughout his career—found himself genuinely astonished.

From afar yesterday, the changes hadn’t seemed quite so striking. But now, up close, Moen's actions... they almost seemed real.

Lost in thought, Professor Pulan absentmindedly plucked a piece of bark from a nearby sycamore tree and popped it into his mouth.

Ugh, bitter!

If this were my office desk—

No, no, no. Snap out of it! I can’t let myself be so easily swayed.

Don’t fall for it, Pulan Lonir!

Unmask Moen Campbell's façade!

For the sake of your office supplies... and for the dignity of your decades-long teaching career!

“Hmph.”

Professor Pulan bit down hard on the bark and sneered.

“Moen Campbell, just wait. From now on, I’ll be watching you like a hawk!”

…

“Yikes.”

Still jogging, Moen suddenly shivered involuntarily, a sharp sense of foreboding washing over him. He cast a wary glance around.

“Why do I suddenly feel like I’m being stalked by a yandere again?”

“That’s odd. This is Santa Maria College—there shouldn’t be a way for Ann to get here…”

…

The first glimmer of dawn crept across the horizon.

The rare tranquility before a tall building was shattered by the crisp sound of high heels clicking against the ground. A bun-haired girl, who had been dozing against the door, was startled awake and hastily turned to face a silver-haired beauty in front of her. Straightening up, the girl greeted at full voice:

"Your Highness!"

"I’ve told you, don’t call me that at the academy."

Celicia glanced over at Weier, who had hastily wiped her face yet still showed faint traces of moisture. Her tone softened but still carried some reproach.

“And stop staying up late reading those *‘Obsessive Dark God Falls in Love With Me’* novels. It’s affecting your work.”

“Yes, President,” Weier replied, her cheeks reddening slightly.

“Let’s go.”

With Weier giving her agreement, Celicia didn’t press further and entered the deserted building.

They moved along familiar hallways and staircases, until finally arriving at a door bearing the words **Student Council Office**.

"I’m back," Celicia murmured softly before pushing open the door.

Opposite the entrance was a simple desk and an unassuming chair.

To the side stood a bookshelf crammed with volumes, and a sofa set aside for entertaining visitors.

Beyond that, the room held nothing more.

Unpretentious, modest, everything as it had always been.

But two months of abandonment had coated the room in a fine layer of dust.

With a flick of her wrist, Celicia summoned a cold wind that swept the room clean in an instant.

"Wow, no matter how many times I see it, your powers are always so convenient, President," Weier remarked in awe.

"If you’d bothered to come clean up during your vacation, it would’ve been even more convenient than magic," Celicia replied, casting a meaningful glance at the student council secretary before stepping inside. She brushed the remaining frost off the desk with her hand.

"Ehehe," Weier giggled sheepishly, but the cold in the room soon had her teeth chattering.

“So... cold, President.”

“...”

Celicia sighed softly.

Walking to the window, she reached out and pushed it open.

The air outside, though hinting at autumn’s chill, was still much warmer than the frosty gusts that had just swept through the room.

As the breeze stirred the sycamore trees outside, the sound of crushed leaves being trodden upon caught Celicia's ear—soft but distinct.

Normally, such a minor sound wouldn’t merit attention, but for some reason, Celicia turned in the direction it came from.

And then she saw.

A blonde boy running through the serene sycamore grove, his head bathed in the faint morning sunlight, his outfit simple and athletic.

It’s him.

Celicia’s silver-white lashes fluttered gently, her gaze sharpening slightly as her thoughts turned inward.

She turned to Weier behind her and asked,

“What time is it now.”

“Now? Now...Let's see, six o'clock and six minutes.”

“What time does the opening ceremony start?”

“Eight o'clock sharp.”

“Is it at least two hours early?”

Celicia's silver-white eyelashes fluttered, unsure of what she was thinking.

“President, what are you looking at?”

Weier curiously leaned in for a look and quickly spotted the golden-haired youth running below.

“Ah, Moen Campbell,” Weier muttered, then abruptly twisted her features into a scowl and spat on the floor.

“Tsk! Scumbag.”

“…What did he do this time?”

Celicia, turning back, asked matter-of-factly.

“You seriously don’t know, President?”

Weier looked utterly incredulous—as if unable to fathom how Celicia could be unaware of such earthshaking news—then promptly produced several crumpled newspapers from behind her back.

“Hm?”

Celicia accepted the papers and gave them a glance.

**“Shocking! Arrogant Noble Moen Campbell Apologizes to Ariel—The Surprising Truth Behind the Scandal!”**

The headline, emblazoned in bold red font, practically jumped off the page.

"Lower his head and apologize?"

Celicia raised her eyebrows slightly.

Beneath the bold, highlighted text was a magically captured photograph—it was an image of Moen bowing to Ariel in apology.

Feeling a bit surprised, Celicia's gaze was drawn further downward to the next line of text:

"Ex-girlfriend? Unspoken truths about Moen Campbell and Ariel Bugard before their admission to the academy!"

"Lower than scum! They even have a child between them!"

"Juggling thirteen relationships—the fearless warship is actually her?"

"......"

Exaggerated wording.

Sensational language.

Completely unreliable.

Previously, Celicia would barely glance at such content, brushing it off without wasting her precious time.

But for some reason, this time, she found herself patiently reading through every single word on the newspaper, even the absurd details.

After the despicable scumbag Moen Campbell supposedly toyed with Ariel Bugard's feelings three times, forced her into five abortions, drove her to commit suicide seven times, left her with an uncurable illness, and nearly got her killed under nine random passing carriages...

Celicia finally noticed, at the very bottom of the newspaper, one very tiny, almost invisible line of text that she could have easily missed without careful scrutiny:

—"The above is purely speculative conjecture by the news agency, intended for amusement and does not reflect actual events."

As the first rays of dawn grazed past the treetops, spilling onto Celicia's cool and sharp visage, they softened her expression ever so slightly.

But then, her gaze turned cold again.

"Well? That Moen Campbell is a complete scumbag, isn't he?"

Weier leaned in and grumbled indignantly.

"You..."

Celicia retracted her gaze and sighed lightly.

She rolled up the newspaper and gently whacked Weier on the head with it.

"Spend less time reading this nonsense. It'll make you stupid."