After that, the Hero left a cheerful line—“Alright, I’ll go kill the one stealing my husband”—and bolted like a gust of wind.

I was baffled, mind a jar of fog, wondering if she was really a Hero.

However she looked, she felt like a thrill-killer, smiling like a blade tasting blood.

Maybe it was a younger sibling in disguise, a mask painted over a baby face.

I don’t know if Stini used her dad’s clout, a mountain throwing shade.

She got placed in my class, desks moored like tied boats.

Every day she finds me for the walk to class, a puppy at my heel.

During breaks, she pulls me to play, a bee drunk on bloom.

Raven’s in the Magitech Department, a different river.

We’re not the same class, not even the same year, two trains on separate tracks.

Thankfully, Mana Flow is a second-year elective there, and a first-year staple in our Combat track, a bridge between shores.

I checked the schedules; our class links with Raven’s, gears catching teeth.

Thank heaven, our paths still cross, like two rivers sharing a bend.

Also in my class: the third princess of the Iron Kingdom Colonna, a thorned rose I won’t grab.

Stini’s danger is the colossus behind her, a palace wall.

The third princess is danger herself, a walking storm.

All in all, the next few days slid smooth as oil on water.

Vega finished scouting potential Fallen, and now recruits in secret, threads weaving in the dark.

I also heard no thunder like “the student council secretary got killed by the next-generation Hero.”

The trouble was, Stini stuck to me like wet paint.

“Morning, Andor.”

I reached the classroom and had barely sat when Stini rushed in, grinning like morning sun.

On the bright side, she likely won’t swing a sword at me for no reason now, no lightning from a clear sky.

But that blocks me from courting Raven, a gate jammed by a smiling stone.

So I show her a little malice—cold shoulders, sharp words—frost tracing the glass, hoping she reads it.

Best if she takes the hint and keeps a polite distance, like stepping off thin ice.

It’s not that I dislike the cute‑but‑dangerous type; yet when she’s near, my nerves flutter like caged birds.

I fear she’ll suddenly go all in and end me, a guillotine falling.

“Morning, Stini.”

“Eh? Did you take the wrong meds today? You’re actually being nice to me,” she said, eyes popping like firecrackers.

Hearing “wrong meds” told me she knew I didn’t like her, a splinter under the nail.

“Or did something good happen, so your attitude thawed?” Her voice tinkled like wind chimes.

She knows I don’t like her, yet she crowds in anyway, a cat kneading a lap that isn’t offered.

Is she a masochist, or just someone who talks over others, a wave talking over rain?

Either way, you don’t want that kind too close, smoke in your lungs.

Still…

“Something good will happen today,” I said, card warm as a stone in my palm.

Second period is Mana Flow, perfect for step one with Raven—a plan I drafted all night, ink dark as midnight.

“Yeah, something good will happen today,” Stini said, still all sunshine, her smile a painted baseline like my deadpan mask.

I can’t read her; her face is a curtain of light, and mine a wall of stone.

I feel we’re not talking about the same thing, two birds in different skies.

Not important; Stini shouldn’t harm me, not by the setting, guardrails on a cliff road.

Raven comes first; if I can turn her into a thrall, I’ll drop the disguise and quit Hero Academy, a snake shedding skin.

I told Stini I fell for Raven at first sight, a spark on dry tinder.

Girls might share intel; I can’t slip on details, or a hawk-eyed nose will catch the odd scent.

I came early and staked two seats in the back row, flags on a quiet hill.

I planned to sit near Raven, but I can’t trust seats to sprout around her like mushrooms.

So I asked Vega to delay her with a neat excuse—spill food on her—and hold her till the bell, a breath held tight.

Two classes share the period, so the room will be packed, air like a crowded market.

When Raven slips in late from the back door, the empty seat by me will shine like a beacon, the nearest harbor.

That starts step one: increase our face time, raindrops carving stone.

Also, Raven can’t store items with magic, so she carries her tools, a peddler’s bundle.

I asked Vega to lift her tools, and I’ll bestow a favor—no, offer friendly help—like a hand in a river.

I can’t use that trick often; patterns show like tracks in fresh snow. For now, it plants goodwill.

Flirting is a grand art, a kite steered by wind and string.

After all the prep, I patted my cheeks, drumming up a first impression like a warbeat.

Good—I put on what I think is my kindest face; the mirror says it’s still a corpse mask.

Fine. Some hardware won’t change, stone pretending to be silk.

Huh?

When I slid the mirror back into my shadow, I caught Stini taking the seat at my right, a sparrow choosing a branch.

She flashed a sun-bright smile, light pooling like honey.

Ah. Feels like today won’t be smooth, a cloud dragging its shadow across the field.