After slowly closing the door to William’s office, Oren let out a heavy sigh. Only then did he turn to face Dysaia and the others behind him. After a moment’s hesitation, he asked quietly,

“But… is that really okay?”

“What do you mean?”

Dysaia replied with a smile, already stepping forward. Oren scratched the back of his head and hurried after him.

“I mean… asking straight out for an autonomous zone. Isn’t it too soon?”

“I think it’s perfect timing,” Yamwen murmured from the side, pulling her hood up to cover her head just as a student passed by.

“We need to make our stance clear. Otherwise, William and the Archduke will keep treating us like disposable labor.”

“Mhm. I agree with Yamwen.”

True to form, Lontan voiced his support immediately, hand resting on the axe at his waist. “I’ll ignore the Archduke for now—but even this academy’s headmaster acts so arrogantly. We can’t let this slide.”

“Well,” Dysaia interjected lightly once Lontan finished, “William’s an idealistic man. A saint, by human standards. But as he said—our views simply clash. Disagreements are natural.” He adjusted his collar slightly, revealing a rune mark freshly etched over his collarbone—the same one sealed in William’s office. His crystal-bright eyes locked onto Oren’s. “Back to your question. The moment’s right. I intend to spread my plan… and that Kante Elf, Lacres, can help me.”

“Is that so?” Oren murmured, his lips twisting oddly. Yamwen then spoke up softly:

“William told me Lacres bears the surname ‘Sunrest’—the royal house of the Kante. From what I know, the Kante are the largest Elvenfolk faction today. Legend says their prince was… disfigured by humans.”

“So Lacres is royalty?” Oren cut in, turning to her. Yamwen nodded.

“The current Kante king is Edwin. He has two sons: Lacres and Hilwen. Though Lacres is the elder prince…” She trailed off, glancing at Oren meaningfully. “His father favors Hilwen for succession. You’ve seen Lacres’s face.”

“Lacres has far greater military merits and public deeds,” she added quietly, as if lamenting fate. Dysaia smoothly took over, sensing her disappointment.

“That’s why I’ll reach out to Lacres. If possible, I’ll bring his faction into our cause. This is our first step. And…” He turned fully to Oren, his gaze magnetic. “I told you—I’ll stop this war. I won’t let innocent blood flood the rivers. But I never said I’d hesitate at necessary killings.”

*Necessary killings…*

*He means Isaerel.*

Oren’s jaw tightened. *How much “necessary” blood must spill? Will killing Isaerel truly end it? “Necessary” sounds so clean… but what if we drown in it?*

A headache throbbed behind his temples. He shook his head with a bitter smile. *Too early. Iris’s birthday is still far off. Focus on what’s before you.*

Then his eye twitched.

“Dysaia… I have a serious problem.”

“Oh? What is it?”

Before Dysaia could finish his question, a voice cut through the air behind Oren.

“Brother.”

Oren flinched violently. Turning, he saw Lia in a black robe approaching, her expression reproachful.

“You didn’t wake me after getting up. Don’t you know it’s the first day of school?”

“Ahaha… sorry!” Oren grinned sheepishly. Lia didn’t seem truly upset. She bowed politely to Dysaia.

“We didn’t properly greet last time—it was too rushed. Thank you for looking after my unreliable brother, Miss Saya.”

*Unreliable?* Oren winced internally. He recalled Dysaia using a false name when first meeting Lia. *She knew she was my sister back then… yet hid it.* He understood her caution, but unease lingered.

Yamwen suddenly leaned close, whispering fiercely:

“Oi, Oren—since when are you this psycho’s brother?”

*Psycho?* Oren winced again, remembering their disastrous entrance exam clash. “It’s… complicated. We’re siblings. Nothing to worry about.”

“Worry? About what?”

“You know—sleeping together and all. I’m not *that* twisted. I’d never—”

“SLEEPING?! WITH YOUR SISTER?!”

Yamwen recoiled several steps, ears twitching visibly under her hood. Her pale face flushed crimson.

“Wait! I meant no—!”

“BEGONE, PERVERT! BEGONE! BEGONE!”

“Agh! I said I’m not—! Damn it! Stop throwing sand! Sand’s in my eyes!”

Amid the chaos, Dysaia calmly shook Lia’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Lia. Your brother’s an exceptional person. His resolve keeps me standing here. He’s… occasionally absentminded, but utterly reliable.”

“Absentminded? ‘Pervert’ fits better,” Lia quipped. Both women laughed. Lia’s eyes sparkled as she added, “Miss Saya—you’ve lived with my brother long enough. Are you… my future sister-in-law?”

Though meant as a joke, Dysaia’s ever-composed face flushed deeply. She looked away, fiddling with her skirt hem. “Well… I’m not entirely sure…”

Lia burst into giggles. “Just teasing! But your reaction tells me—”

***BOOM!***

A deafening crash cut her off.

“What now?!” Oren rubbed sand from his eyes, squinting ahead. Sidius students scattered like frightened birds down the corridor. Where they’d stood, a group of black-robed exchange students knelt on one knee.

*Oh no…*

Before Oren could process the dread coiling in his gut, a petite figure in white emerged, escorted by a silver-armored knight. Spotting Oren, she beamed and hurried over.

“Fancy meeting you so soon, Oren of Nivea.”

Oren’s eye twitched at the sight of the loli princess. Dysaia turned with a serene smile. Yamwen tugged her hood lower. Lia dropped instantly to one knee, head bowed.

“Irina…” Oren muttered.

Irina’s grin widened. She jabbed a finger at him, voice dripping with glee:

“Rejoice, commoner! I’m officially enrolling at Helistar Academy as an exchange student!”

“…Huh?”

Oren’s blank stare seemed to delight her. She snapped her hand back, laughing.

“Call it… cultural immersion, peasant. Well then—look forward to my presence, *classmate* Oren.”