Adelaide snapped her head back; the classroom door had opened like a silent slit in night.

Through vision honed by Blood Magic, she saw a figure in matching black robes, face veiled, standing in the corridor’s ink-dark shadow.

“...Who are you?”

She answered in the same rasp she used with Skela, a desert-dry tone; he only curled his lip, a knife-edged sneer.

“Smart move, wearing our colors. If anything goes wrong, you can wash your hands clean—am I right, Miss Adelaide?”

He pressed her name like a thorn; Adelaide knew she couldn’t bluff. She dropped the voice-mimicry spell, a veil falling.

“Just a coincidence. For night work, black robes that melt into shadow aren’t exclusive to your group.”

She slid back into her usual warm voice, smooth as silk, yet barbed like a hidden hook.

“That kind of bright-faced lie feels cruel. You even copied our sigil,” his gaze tipped to the rose at her chest; the same rose bloomed on his robe.

“Your words wound. I thought we were friends, after all this time.”

“I’d be happy to be your friend. But friendship breathes in parity—if you want my candor, then answer my small doubt.”

Blood welled at her fingertips and shaped into a dark red blade, a crescent catching strange light in the gloom.

“The king just died. In this empire’s storm, why would your group appear here? Don’t tell me you came to rush me, because I haven’t decoded the scroll you buried in the garden.”

She met needle with needle, trying to seize the lead; he didn’t bend, only tilted his head like a curious crow.

“If I swear in His name, and say yes, would you believe me?”

“...”

Adelaide narrowed her eyes; red irises locked on him like twin embers, warning him not to step closer.

A Blood Mage invoking a god’s name is blasphemy writ large; he could only be speaking in reverse, like frost claiming to be fire.

So why did the Blood Magic group that cooperated with her appear here tonight?

Clues tangled like vines in her mind, possibilities sprouted like weeds, then sheared off one by one.

At least, the answer came soon, like thunder after a count of three.

Pop—splutch.

The first scrying eye she had seeded burst, a blood flower blooming midair; the other eyes ruptured, red liquid spatters arcing like rain.

The crimson spray gathered fast, like streams to a basin, flowing toward the magic array’s heart.

“Ah, looks like we’re out of time.”

He watched the array’s points, circles, and triangles lock in place, and shrugged, casual as drifting ash.

“Sacrifice Domain is pure cheat. I thought it’d take longer. Should’ve smashed it first, then chatted.”

While he spoke, the blood slurry coalesced in the air, shaped by unseen hands into a human silhouette.

Blood-Eye Reconstruction completed. Adelaide watched the blood-red figure replay that day’s path, each step tracing her laid sigils, until it reached the classroom door beside him—her worst fear took a face.

“It was you...!”

Black and red stood side by side, two shadows twin as mirrored reeds; same height, same build, the same rose at the same place.

The stare she felt that day wasn’t a phantom; its author stood right here, like a wolf stepping from brush.

“You killed the king. Why?”

He tilted his head, owl-innocent, voice milk-smooth.

“I don’t understand. I just happened to be there. Someone died, and I was as surprised as you.”

He poked the blood figure, fingertip a pin; it collapsed into a gleaming puddle.

“Don’t try to muddle through. Tell me—what’s your relation to Hakadi?”

At that name, surprise flickered in his single visible eye, a spark behind gauze.

“You do know interesting things. Care to share who told you?”

Her heart skipped, a drum missing a beat; that was as good as admission. No one had told her; the name lived in the “script” where Skela and Neprah would find the assassin group.

Skela would report them to prove his innocence; the royal house would send troops to burn them out. But the “script” never named who ordered the kill.

Jiaqi had assumed it was Mira, the villain’s hand; that theory just cracked like thin ice.

The shock of it struck Adelaide like the moment she learned the “script” existed at all.

It meant an unseen line ran beside the “script,” a hidden current under the river she knew.

She had been stupidly rowing by the “script,” thinking herself a tactician; the thought made her grind her teeth, iron against iron.

No. She had to know what moved along that shadow line.

“Why did you choose to kill the king early? Speak.”

“Early? What a strange way to phrase it, as if we had another plan waiting in the wings.”

Adelaide faltered. “Early” was only early to someone who knew the original “script.” She felt her calm break like glass; she breathed, then changed tack.

“Then tell me—why stand before me? What do you mean to keep me from knowing?”

He chuckled, a snake’s hiss under velvet.

“A friendly reminder. Miss Adelaide, sometimes more knowing is worse than less.”

Her blade began to glow with solid blood-red mana, a river of iron under skin; she smiled without warmth, lips like a painted mask.

“My friend, you don’t think you can walk away saying nothing, do you?”

“Yikes, so scary.”

He lifted his hands in mock surrender, eyes empty of fear, bright as a fox at play.

“I won’t fight you—if I break your precious ‘medium’ by accident, I can’t afford the bill.”

Medium? The word fell like a pebble in her mind’s lake. She frowned, ready to ask; he crooked a finger, and something large thumped down before her.

“More urgent than what you want to know.”

Adelaide stared. Her thoughts stalled, a windless sail.

It was the student council treasurer, Toniel, her coworker of nearly six years, a tree grown from a high school sapling.

He was wrapped layer by layer in fine wire, a silken cocoon; he squirmed on the floor like a helpless caterpillar.

“He’s been outside the door all along. He heard every word you and I said.”

The whisper slid into her ear like oil, a demon’s lullaby.

“I think you know what you must do, our Blood Magic prodigy—Adelaide.”

“You—!”

She tried to throw the voice-mimicry back on, a veil in a hurry; too late, the bell had rung.

Only now did she see why he kept pressing her name like a bruise.

Toniel knew she used Blood Magic. Toniel knew her tie to the black-robed group. If that leaked, the castle she built would crumble like sand.

Only one path lay between stones.

Her hand shook around the blood blade, a leaf in wind. She stepped to Toniel, one step, then a second.

She raised the blade—then Toniel tore free the gag at his mouth. Fine steel lines sliced his lips; blood dripped like berries from a cut vine. He forced a shout.

“I—I won’t say anything—Adelaide, trust me!”

Her hand stopped midair, a hawk frozen in dive.

“I’ll do whatever you ask. Anything. Please, don’t kill me!”

She looked at him, and hesitation flickered like a candle in draft.

“Why should I trust you?”

“B-because... I like you!”

The raw shout hit her like rain; Adelaide blinked, stunned, a thread pulled tight.

He liked her.

Right. Toniel liked her. She had known since the first meeting, like recognizing a tide by its pull.

For her, this man would even hurt his childhood friend, Senior Laya, who liked him; a blade turned inward to obey a gaze.

A man like that wouldn’t betray. Yes—if she kept feeding him misty hope, she could keep the leash.

Adelaide lowered her blade and let a gentle smile blossom, sunrise-warm, the perfect Lady Adelaide returning to her stage.

Toniel’s face lit with the light of birth; he looked at her, desperate, like a drowning man sighting shore—and froze.

Just as Adelaide parted her lips, fine red beads rose around Toniel’s neck, a necklace of blood blooming slow.

He gaped, disbelief wide as night, tried to speak; only bubbles gurgled like a drowning stream.

Then blood sprayed, a crimson fan painting the air.

The wires slid into his neck like slicing a banana, no resistance; his head dropped, rolled twice like a ball, arteries hissing, painting one side of the room.

“Hahahahahahaha, beautiful, beautiful—give hope, then snatch it away. You know how to savor, don’t you?”

Adelaide stared at the twitching, headless body; her pupils flared wide, black suns devouring light.

In the next instant, blood-red mana tore through the spot where the laughing man stood, a scythe in storm.

“Whoa, dangerous,” he slipped aside and patted his chest, annoyed, like a cat scolded. “I only helped. Why so mad?”

“He was mine. How dare you—”

“Anyone who sees Blood Magic can’t be allowed to live. You weren’t planning to let him go, were you?”

Before he finished, Adelaide’s follow-up was there, a blade wind that almost sliced his veil, silk flirting with steel.

He didn’t strike back. His eyes flashed, then his laughter ran wilder, a river over stones.

“What’s wrong, Adelaide? When you went after your sister Mira, you didn’t hesitate like this.”

At Mira’s name, her thundering heart skipped; a spike of pain stabbed her mind, white-hot, and she staggered. He took the chance and opened distance.

Two steps, and he melted into the shadow behind him, a fish sliding under black water.

Before the dark swallowed him, his laughter stopped; pity shaded his gaze like cloud over moon.

“You’ve grown weak, Adelaide.”

“Shut up!”

Adelaide bit down on the pain and swung toward his voice, a blood-lit blade howling through empty night; desks and chairs split clean in halves, wood sighing like felled trees.

Desks and chairs slammed to the floor with a thunderclap; the reverberation jolted distant guards.

The black-clad man didn’t flee fast. Adelaide could’ve caught him, but the drum of boots swelled close, and she stopped.

He never meant for Toniel to live as a stall.

He wanted blood to bloom and a corpse to stain the room, forcing Adelaide to tame the chaos before the guards flooded in.

Then he’d ride that brief dusk to escape.

His plan worked, but that wasn’t Adelaide’s only reason to stay.

Her fingers loosened; the scarlet blade of Blood Magic liquefied before it kissed the floor. She slid down the wall, hunched like a storm-battered shrine.

Panic surged; her heart hammered like a war drum she couldn’t silence.

Reason whispered, Be calm—your wounded heart can’t bear this—but calm wouldn’t come.

His last words cracked like a spell, shattering the layered walls she’d built around her heart.

The voice from the “Dream” rampaged through her skull; old failures—Jiaqi’s and Adelaide’s—snarled together, a hyena chorus trying to tear her soul.

Within that whirl of memory, one cold voice kept ringing clear.

— You wavered, like that weakling—naive and cowardly.

— She changed you.

— You’re no longer that Adelaide.

Under that ripping, Adelaide’s breaths came ragged; pain flared in her heart, nails bit her palm, and her clenched teeth bled iron.

Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!

I’m not… that failure!

Bracing against twin knives in heart and skull, she forced her gaze to the silent corpse.

She lifted her trembling hand and etched a crooked trail in the air.

A heartbeat later, blinding red light burst through the classroom, like a wound flaring open.

By the time the patrol arrived, only splintered desks, toppled chairs, and scattered teaching tools remained—emptiness receding like a tide.