"Hmm? Are you... inviting me?"

Faced with the girl's question, Moen's gaze suddenly became sharp.

This shy expression.

These halting words.

Could it be...

But no, that can't be right. He'd only met Sari twice, hadn't he?

"Mo... Moen, please don't misunderstand," Sari stammered, her face reddening even further under Moen's piercing gaze, "Actually, it's just... my father—yes, it's my father—he wanted me to invite you to our home as a guest."

Caught in a fluster, she hurriedly explained, "Earlier, I wrote my father a letter and mentioned everything. He recently sent a reply, scolding me for how I handled things. He said I couldn't just settle things with a cake for Duke Campbell's son and told me to invite you over. He's a renowned chef around the city, and he wants to prepare a grand feast for you as an apology."

"Ah, I see..."

Moen understood now—it wasn't Sari, but Sari's father behind this.

That made sense. After all, the more experienced one becomes in navigating society, the more concerned they are about matters of status and interpersonal relationships. Her father must be worried Sari was being disrespectful toward a duke's son.

"I truly appreciate both you and your father's gesture, but I'm sorry—I already have plans for the open day," Moen said apologetically.

"But the open day lasts three days."

"I can't guarantee I'll be able to make time. If I accidentally stand you and your father up, wouldn't that be even worse?"

"I... I see."

Sari visibly deflated, disappointment evident in her expression.

"Well, I suppose it's understandable. After all, someone like Moen would be very busy during open day," she muttered.

You're making it sound like I'm a philanderer juggling multiple dates, thought Moen, his lips twitching. He continued softly, "I'm really sorry, Sari, for rejecting your kind offer. But honestly, you don't need to worry about it—I told you before, that little misunderstanding we had, I never took it seriously. You can pass my sentiment along to your father; let him know he's got nothing to worry about."

"It's not because of that..." Sari mumbled under her breath.

"Hmm? What was that?"

"N-nothing."

Flushed and visibly flustered, Sari suddenly thrust a piece of paper into Moen's hand—a note she must have prepared beforehand.

"Then, whenever you find the time, please visit!"

"Eh? Wait a second—"

"I'll be waiting for you all three days!"

Before Moen could react further, Sari dashed off like the wind.

...

"Lower City District, Durank Street, No. 15."

Standing still, Moen glanced down at the note, which seemed to be an address. He sighed with a bitter smile.

"This... might be a bit difficult to handle."

"Quite a youthful scenario you've got there, Moen Campbell."

A stern and formal voice cut through the air unexpectedly.

An elder dressed impeccably in a suit, holding a silver cane, stood silently nearby, like a resolute pine tree rooted firmly in place. His steady gaze rested on Moen.

"Professor Pulan? What are you doing here?" Moen jumped slightly, startled, and hurriedly stuffed the note into his pocket.

Could it be that you've come to visit the hospital by coincidence too?

Professor Pulan didn't answer and instead turned around, stating simply:

"Follow me."

"Eh? Do you need me for something?"

Moen furrowed his brows, confused, wanting clarification.

However, Professor Pulan was already striding away without another word. Seeing this, Moen hastily trotted along and followed him.

...

The Grand Clock Tower.

Underground.

The Silver Well.

With the sound of a soft chime, the magic-driven elevator doors opened, revealing an unfamiliar subterranean world before Moen's eyes.

Underfoot lay an expanse of metal flooring, polished to mirror-like clarity, reflecting the image of everything within sight as it stretched into the distance. Pipes faintly glowing in hues of blue and red snaked like monstrous creatures, clustered together as if alive, before disappearing into the depths of darkness.

In the shadows on either side, enormous, elaborate mechanical constructs stood like silent giants, flanking the pathway as if on guard. The moment Moen stepped onto the ground, he felt two ominous, oppressive gazes sweep over him.

The overwhelming pressure made Moen's breathing hitch as though he were caught deep underwater.

"Don't be afraid."

Professor Pulan reached out and patted Moen on the shoulder.

"They're the guardians of the Silver Well. As long as you have authorization, you'll be safe."

The oppressive feeling vanished instantly, and Moen exhaled deeply, placing a hand on his chest to steady himself. He couldn't help but ask, curiosity overcoming caution, "But what happens if someone *doesn't* have authorization?"

"If they don’t?"

Professor Pulan's tone rose slightly, tinged with mockery.

"The very first thing any enemy attempting to infiltrate the Silver Well must do is deceive its guardians.

If they fail...

Well, those who fail are already dead."

His gaze flicked toward the floor beside the elevator’s edge, where a wide dark-red stain remained, reminiscent of dried blood.

Even after decades, that patch of ground—bearing the mark of countless intruders turned to pulp—refused to be cleaned completely.

The implications of this sent shivers down Moen’s spine. He shrank back instinctively, casting another wary glance at the towering steel constructs before quickening his pace to stay close to Professor Pulan.

Their footsteps echoed sharply in the vast, eerie silence of the hallway, layering into a steady rhythm that sounded disturbingly like invisible fingers keeping phantom time.

Moen rubbed his arms for warmth, searching for something to say to dispel the chill in his heart. But the aloof, authoritative presence of Professor Pulan ahead left him unsure of how to broach conversation.

"Your father was once my student as well," Professor Pulan suddenly broke the silence to speak.

"What?"

Moen blinked, slightly taken aback, but soon recovered.

"So my father attended Santa Maria too?"

"Since its foundation, every Campbell heir has enrolled in the college as tradition."

Professor Pulan hesitated briefly before continuing, "After all, the Campbell family was one of the founding families of the college. They remain one of its primary shareholders, with the authority to influence certain decisions for the institution."

"I had no idea the Campbells were shareholders of the college," Moen mused aloud, awestruck.

"Don't get ahead of yourself."

Professor Pulan’s tone turned cold.

"Per the agreement made long ago, only the Campbell Duke himself possesses the privilege to interfere in academy affairs. So neither your father back then nor you now have the right to meddle in the college's operations. You're just students—nothing more."

"I wouldn't have dreamt of such a thing," Moen said quickly, scratching his head with an innocent laugh.

Trying to manipulate the academy would only lead to being smacked against the wall by Professor Pulan himself—something he wasn’t keen to try.

He wasn’t the archetypal spoiled noble tossing champagne into swimming pools or hosting extravagant parties for the thrill of catching glimpses beneath young ladies' skirts.

Well… actually, he did prefer black stockings.

"So, um, what was my father like as a student in this academy?" Moen asked, steering the conversation away.

"Your father..."

Professor Pulan paused briefly, lost in thought, before his phrase carried a subtle undertone of wistfulness:

"Back then, Ron Campbell… was exactly as he's known today."

"Known today? You mean his title?"

Moen considered this for a moment. "The Lion King?"

"Indeed. The Lion King—the leader of the pride."

A glimmer of admiration flickered within Professor Pulan's aged eyes as he elaborated:

"From the moment he stepped into the college, Ron exuded the noble brilliance of a lion reigning supreme over all creatures.

Humility, courage, diligence, loyalty—each emblematic trait befitting an exemplary aristocrat shone brightly upon his chest like medals of honor. Many students were genuinely drawn to his virtues, following him with conviction as he continually advanced through life.

These same qualities he built into his student years formed the foundation which allowed him to rise rapidly during the chaos following your grandfather’s tragic passing—to take the responsibility of the Campbell family in its darkest hour.

Ron Campbell was a man whose first impression inspired heartfelt admiration for the noble name he bore.

And yet..."

Professor Pulan's expression shifted as his gaze settled on Moen with an enigmatic mixture of emotions.

"So when I first saw you at the academy a year ago, I couldn't help but feel… disappointed."