Poor Chester Owen remained oblivious to the terrifying duo now targeting him. His mind was fixed on how to discipline his twin brother after class that afternoon—determined to make him understand, once and for all, that *he* was the superior one. That boy deserved nothing but to live in his shadow!

How dare a mere Baroli possess greater talent than him? Unforgivable!

During the afternoon’s noble etiquette lesson, Leyang coasted through effortlessly. The instructor wasn’t Soya Jemi but another specialized tutor. Leyang slacked off whenever the teacher wasn’t looking, snapping to attention only when observed. For him, it was child’s play.

When the bell rang, students had ten minutes to rest.

Groaning, they massaged aching arms or slumped onto the floor. Etiquette training demanded holding perfect poses for hours—like military drills. One mistake meant a ruler’s sting on the palm. For restless seven-year-olds, it was pure torture.

Lumiere, however, remained effortlessly poised. Having endured rigorous palace training, this was nothing to her.

Just then, Chester Owen left Class B’s area and strode toward Chester Baroli.

At the sight of him, Baroli trembled slightly.

“B… Brother.”

“Relax, my dear brother,” Owen said, clapping Baroli’s shoulder with deliberate force. Baroli winced, cold sweat beading on his forehead—Owen had struck his fresh bruises. “Just checking on you. Etiquette practice must exhaust you. You’ve always hated exercise, always so frail. Don’t collapse midway and shame the Chester name.”

“Oh? Baroli, are you unwell?” Owen’s voice dripped with false concern. “Should you rest?”

The crowd murmured in admiration:

“I wish I had a brother like that.”

“My own brother despises me. What a difference!”

“Master Owen truly embodies nobility.”

A flicker of vanity lit Owen’s eyes. He savored the praise.

Suddenly, a hand seized Owen’s wrist, wrenching it off Baroli’s shoulder.

“Our Class A members look after our own,” Leyang stated coolly, his gaze icy. “No need for your concern. Mind your own business.”

“Who are you?” Owen flinched.

“Nebis Leyang, Class A’s vice monitor.” Leyang’s voice turned sharp. “I suggest you behave. I have little patience for tricks under my watch.”

A primal chill shot through Owen—as if pinned by a predator’s stare.

“L-Let go!”

Leyang released him. Owen retreated to Class B, teeth grinding in silent fury.

“You alright?” Leyang glanced at Baroli.

“Y-Yes. Thank you,” Baroli stammered, surprised. Public defense from a stranger sparked unexpected warmth in his chest, easing his fear.

“Don’t thank me,” Leyang said flatly. “Others’ help is temporary. Only your own strength shields you. Grow powerful. Fight back. Strength commands respect.”

He turned and walked back to Phoenix and Lumiere.

*Grow strong… fight back?* Baroli whispered to himself. *Can I really defy my brother?*

“Master Leyang is so kind,” Phoenix beamed, her doll-like face radiant. “Like a true knight.”

“I’m revising my opinion of you,” Lumiere added, eyes gleaming. “I expected you to ignore him.”

“Just an eyesore,” Leyang shrugged. “Nothing more.” Others’ thoughts meant nothing to him.

Etiquette class resumed. By dismissal, Owen brushed past Baroli, hissing:

“The usual spot. Run, and you’ll regret it.”

He vanished from the hall.

Baroli clenched his fists, scanning desperately for Leyang—but the trio was gone.

*He promised to help… Was it all a lie?*

With a resigned sigh, Baroli trudged toward yesterday’s clearing, his figure lonely against the fading light.

From the shadows, Leyang’s voice cut through the silence:

“Move out. Execute the noon plan.”

“Got it.”

The three slipped after Baroli.

Unseen, Soya Jemi watched their furtive movements from a pillar.

*What mischief are those three plotting now?* she mused, tailing them.

Baroli reached the thicket. Owen and his two lackeys waited, smirks twisting their faces.

“He’s here, Owen!”

“Dared to sic outsiders on me earlier?” Owen sneered. “Beat him hard—but avoid his face.”

“Understood!”

Fear flooded Baroli. He wanted to flee. These were the hands that left his bruises; his own brother treated him like a sworn enemy. Yet escape was impossible—they shared adjacent rooms. His right hand gripped his left arm, knuckles white.

“Brother… I came,” he whispered.

“My *dear* brother,” Owen purred, stepping close. “You humiliated me today. Think you’ve grown strong enough to challenge me? Found a protector?”

“I… I didn’t mean to—”