“Lady Adelaide never minded she was an orphan; she sheltered her like a true sister, a lamp held against the night. Now the royals fancy her, and she ghosted Lady Adelaide, even spat those words… too much!”

“Unbelievable—this world still breeds ingrates, white‑eyed wolves slipping through the flock.”

“And she sneers at us commoners, though she was born lower than our straw mats, a seed under the soil acting like a tall pine.”

“Ah, my heart aches for Lady Adelaide, like a lute string pulled too tight.”

In just a few days, what happened at the banquet spread through the school like smoke on a windy night.

Adelaide felt bright as a cat in a sunbeam.

After all, every piece lay where she’d placed it, neat as a chessboard under candlelight.

In the “script,” the Berlick heir was Mira’s nemesis, stepping onstage like thunder over a dry plain. The reason wasn’t stated, but their feud simmered long before the heroine enrolled.

Working from that, Adelaide seated them at one table, and sparks flew like flint and steel.

She cut in right on cue, a peacemaker when Mira’s arrogance peaked like a wave. Against Mira’s storm, Adelaide’s humble glow looked lily‑pure.

And—she’d lowered her pride for her “sister,” only to be slashed by those words—afterward the crowd’s sympathy rose for her like a warm tide, which was exactly the point.

No contrast, no sting; and Adelaide didn’t mind carving fame from a wound to her sister.

To climb the peak of power, nothing was off‑limits; even stepping on Mira’s shadow to shine, she wouldn’t hesitate, like a climber biting down on rope.

Yet when she was told, to her face, she wasn’t fit to be a sister, cold slid into her ribs, and she froze like frost on steel. She didn’t recover until Mira left.

Thinking of Mira’s eyes then, Adelaide’s pen stalled mid‑stroke, a lantern flickering in a draft.

Samir noticed. “Adelaide, if you’re not in shape, don’t force the live hunt.”

She blinked, then smiled. “No, no, I’m fine. See? Healthy as ever.” She half‑joked and showed her thin arms, willow‑slender, while her thoughts stayed knotted around Mira.

She’d known Mira would say something like that, just not with a blade so bare.

But that very edge lifted the performance like fireworks across a black sky.

On paper, the plan held. She should be pleased, silk over skin.

Yes, she was in a great mood; no, she wasn’t tangled up.

She snuffed that odd ember, then moved to the next step in her plan, letting a peach‑blossom smile bloom for Samir.

“Besides, even if danger finds us, His Highness Samir will protect me, right~”

The annual off‑campus field hunt for magical beasts called every second‑ to fourth‑year to a wild forest on the edge of the Sarman Empire. Students split into squads, entered the trees, used class‑taught magic, and raced to claim the token at the goal—so said the school.

In practice, it was closer to a spring outing in the “Dream,” a picnic with spellbooks.

Holywell Academy was an academy, not a battlefield; they wouldn’t throw fledglings at real monsters to die. They picked safe zones, populated by gentle beasts like Gleam Rabbits and Paralysis Sheep. A high‑rank magic instructor shadowed each group, a watchful hawk against surprise.

All told, beyond not setting the forest ablaze while burning vines, the hardest part was resisting the urge to pet the fluffy things.

The headmaster pushed up his glasses, voice grave as winter bark. “Once more: don’t approach the rabbits and sheep just because they’re cute. I petted a Gleam Rabbit once, and I still see with a scatter.”

Students below bit back laughter, cheeks puffed like carp.

He sighed. “Fine. No matter what I say, a few fools will get shocked and faint this year. However—”

His tone flipped like a blade, and his gaze sharpened.

“If you see any cave mouth leading underground, do not approach. Return to your squad and report to your instructor at once. Obey this—or watch your life end early.”

Ah, there it was, the perfect flag fluttering like a red cloth in a bullring.

In the “script,” the heroine heard that warning and promptly fell into the earth, discovering a vast hollow beneath the Sarman Empire, danger humming like bees. She was forced into her first real fight.

Then came the old song: hero saves beauty. She and the prince who fell with her cut through beasts, leveled up, hearts brushing like sleeves in a corridor, and ended with a scene where they share a bed.

None of that concerned Adelaide.

She glanced at her fellow Student Council members, Samir included, and her satisfaction pooled like warm tea.

The “script” wouldn’t truly start for another year, when the heroine transferred to Holywell Academy. For now, Adelaide wouldn’t be dragged into the storm.

She just had to play the fragile beauty needing protection, and glide alongside Samir collecting favor, dew on petal.

As for her sister…

She slid her gaze to the right. Mira stood with her squad. Adelaide wore ornate ruffles fit for a picnic; Mira’s golden curls were tied into a brisk ponytail, and she’d changed into leather trousers and a shoulder cloak, all clean lines.

Simply by standing straight on the grass, Mira’s posture recalled a Greek statue from the “Dream,” marble come alive.

Some people are beautiful no matter the costume, a swan in any lake.

Pity…

Adelaide watched Mira’s teammates avoid her like birds skirting a hawk, and a small smile curled.

At the aptitude showcase, Mira offended the Red Orchid Society, banner of the commoners; then at the banquet, she clashed with the Berlick family, helm of the council.

Adelaide remembered speaking with Duke Berlick at the ball; his campaign medals blazed like winter suns. A man who prized reputation above breath.

A son humiliated wouldn’t be left unavenged.

Which meant Mira drew dislike from both commoners and nobles, sand and sea at odds.

My perfect negative, my lovely sister.

Adelaide kept watching until the horn sounded, bright and clean as a silver blade, marking the start of the hunt. Then she let her gaze fall away.

The Student Council squad went first, cutting a path through the forest like a brush stroke.

But minutes in, noise rose behind them, rambunctious as monkeys in fig trees.

“Faster, faster, this thing can go even quicker—woohoo!”

They turned. A small boat skimmed the river beside them, packed to the brim, wobbling yet flying. It drew alongside with a whoosh, spray catching sun like shards.

As it passed, the council heard boos from the deck. Second Prince Neprah stood on a flamboyant dragon prow, grin sharp as a hook.

“Ha! You crawl like snails. First place’s mine!”

He began chanting wind magic. An impossible gale howled through the trees; bangs of air tossed everyone’s bangs. The Red Orchid Society’s sail puffed like a balloon, and in a blink, they pulled away.

Before anyone in the council could speak, Neprah’s boat vanished, leaving a fading “Long live Red Orchid Society!” echoing like drums over hills.

“W‑wait—wait for the teacher—aaah—”

Soon after, a red‑robed elder ran up, panting, breath ragged as torn cloth.

Clearly, the Red Orchid squad had ditched their magic instructor.

Only then did Samir’s face truly darken, hair blown to a storm‑nest; it was the first time Adelaide saw him like this.

“That… idiot!!”

He slammed a fist into a nearby tree. Leaves fell, a green shower over the group.

Known for calm, Samir finally snapped, words rough against his title.

Adelaide looked at him with a touch of pity, knowing this line would be his catchphrase in the “script,” echoing like hoofbeats.

At the time, everyone thought it was just a blip, a pebble in the stream. No one expected they’d see Neprah again so soon.

The forest was nearly flat, but lacked roads. The council paced themselves for Adelaide’s wheelchair, wheels whispering like moths, which slowed them.

Even so, they found Neprah’s trail quickly.

Yellow sand clouded the air. Trees lay felled in swaths. Leaves were shredded fine as tea. Stones bore crosshatched scars. Most cuts gleamed smooth as glass.

That was the hallmark of wind blades; only someone with an affinity ranked “Extreme,” like Neprah, could sweep an area that wide.

Seeing the marks, Samir’s eyes tightened. He urged them faster, voice like a taut string. Soon they met Red Orchid members—some injured, some tending—yet Neprah was gone.

Samir crouched by a man with bandages wrapped around his abdomen. “What happened? Is everyone alright? Where’s Neprah?”

“We ran into a huge wolf… it spits sand.” The man spoke through pain. His hand trembled and gripped Samir’s shoulder, a drowning grip on driftwood.

“We’re okay, but the boss… he drew the big wolf away to save us. Please, help him!”

“I will.” Samir nodded, wasted no breath, and sprinted along Neprah’s path, a line snapped straight.

“Y‑Young Lady, it’s too dangerous. Let’s leave…” Anisa’s voice shook, spooked by blood spattered like poppy petals.

Adelaide refused, steady as a moon over a lake.

“No, Anisa. People here still need help. We can’t abandon them.”

She stroked Anisa’s head, touch gentle as warm wind.

“Don’t be afraid. Prince Samir and the others can handle that sand wolf.”

Her voice poured soft as warm milk, a lullaby over thorns. The tremor beneath her palm eased.

Seeing Anisa soothed, Adelaide smiled, pleased as a gardener over a tamed vine.

“Good girl. Help the kids over there. I’ll take care of this side, alright?”

“...Understood.”

Adelaide watched Anisa go, then offered a few Red Orchid members practiced comfort, words like salve. When no one was looking, she slipped from the crowd and slid into the trees along Samir’s route, shadow over moss.

Leave?

Are you kidding? There was no way she’d let a ripe chance hang there like unpicked fruit.

Thrill first, plan second. She wouldn’t just go; she’d step right into Neprah’s crossfire, basking in sparks.

Afterward, Samir’s guilt would fall like rain. She could farm goodwill with a smile and a bandage.

Adelaide’s heart clicked like an abacus. Danger felt like a paper tiger, thin and harmless.

It was just a sand wolf. With Samir and Neprah here, that level of monster couldn’t stir a ripple.

And the scene matched her bet. A broad swath of forest lay scrubbed clean by wind, fire, and earth.

Grass and trunks were erased to a flat, pale beach of sand. The fight was nearly done.

She rolled out of the trees and saw Neprah plant a fist in the beast’s face.

Air boomed like thunder. The sand wolf, two men tall, skidded ten meters, then howled like an earthquake.

Its yellow coat was patchwork bald and scorched. Its foreclaws bled rivers. Even its roar sounded spent.

Samir saw it falter. His grimoire fluttered open, to a page drowned in black ink.

“Heads up, last hit!”

“Don’t need you to say it!”

His chant flowed like poetry over water. The spell-page caught fire and fed the hungry air.

Ashes whirled like fireflies, circling him. In a heartbeat they settled into a glowing magic array.

The sand wolf bellowed, feral insight flashing like flint. Its jaws bulged, then spat a lance of sand.

It meant to cut the casting. Neprah moved first, stepping in like a wall.

“Like hell I’ll let you!”

Mana surged. Teal streams tightened to visible threads, layering around his armguards.

The sand ray struck that woven wind. It split into a hundred torrents, fanning past them like knives.

Even the spray bit hard. Cuts scored stone, neat as a high‑pressure waterjet on slate.

Adelaide watched the damage bloom. Sweet satisfaction first, then thought: a small cut on her cheek would sell it.

“Done!”

While she weighed where to nick herself, Samir finished. Fire coalesced to a tiny singularity in his palm.

“Pat!”

He blurted Neprah’s middle name, the one from childhood, raw as an old scar.

“Don’t call me that!”

“Hurry!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know! You’re pissing me off!”

He vented with a roar. The wind shield burst like a storm, carving a clear pocket in the sand spray.

He seized that breath. Air pulled tight again around his hands. Samir let the spell run free.

The fire point sank into the current. Teal wind flushed to a fierce red, like dawn swallowing night.

“Go to hell!”

Neprah kicked off the wind and rose, soaring to a height no normal human could touch.

He fell like a divine hammer, arrowing for the sand wolf. That joint strike could one‑shot the beast.

Adelaide readied the blade and the excuse, heart beating quick as sparrow wings.

The blow whiffed.

The wolf twisted in an instant, soft as a serpent made of sand, and flashed away.

Neprah’s fist slammed the earth. The crash rolled out like a mountain splitting.

“You—idiot!!”

Samir snapped, rage crackling like dry tinder.

“You knew it could sand‑form, and you went single‑point? Is your brain all muscle?”

“Quit yapping. You’re the idiot.”

Neprah smirked back, the swagger wide as a banner. He turned to taunt, back bare to the beast.

“Idiot, watch out—!”

—Crack.

The ground under the sand wolf shattered. It vanished without a yelp, swallowed by the broken earth.

“Mwahahaha! I planned that ages ago! Bet you didn’t see it coming!”

No one answered. His laughter scattered across the empty field like loose leaves.

Adelaide’s hand stilled. Awe first, then thought. This muscle fool’s battle sense was beyond her script.

The “story” called him a combat prodigy, sure. Seeing it hit harder than any otome game CG.

If on Evaluation Day he’d worn his usual gauntlets instead of that sword, maybe Mira wouldn’t have erased him.

The notion hooked her. She missed the steady crackling that still crawled underfoot.

By the time the fissures reached her wheelchair, everything was too late.

“Ah.”

That was her last sound on solid ground.

Mid‑thought, the cushion vanished under her like pulled silk. Then came the endless drop.

Light pinholed to a dot. The rushing air went solid as stone. Breath wouldn’t come.

Only then, a heartbeat before impact, did it click.

Neprah’s punch had split the earth beneath her too.