When Morris opened his eyes, Sherlock’s golden hair was the first thing he saw—cascading down as she straddled him, hands braced on either side of his pillow. Dressed only in a thin white T-shirt and shorts, her crystal-blue eyes locked onto his. Flustered, Morris averted his gaze. “What is it, Your Highness?”
“Today’s your birthday, Morris,” Sherlock said, sitting up straight with a slight smile. “Right?”
“Well… yeah,” Morris replied, surprised. “I didn’t expect you’d remember. I only mentioned it in passing.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Sherlock said, tucking her legs around his waist. “We’re partners. Of course I’d remember.”
“Then what does that have to do with you sitting on me?”
Silence fell.
Sherlock stiffly turned her head, voice trembling. “This is… this is—”
*What do I do?! I can’t say I saw his sleeping face after my shower and thought it was cute…*
“Ah! Right!” she blurted. “I came to wake you up!”
“Wake me for what?” Morris adjusted the pillow behind his head. “Did Dean Max call us to assemble?”
“No… I just—I want to go shopping!” Her cheeks burned. Lying felt awful, especially to him.
“We worked so hard to get in! And you said we live together so I can wake you anytime—ah!”
She leaned down sharply, face nearly touching his. “I want to buy you a birthday gift!”
“Huh? I’m not a kid,” Morris sighed. “Birthday gifts are… kind of old news for me.”
*As the Pope, I’ve received more than enough.*
“No way,” Sherlock insisted, locking eyes. “A coming-of-age ceremony matters. If we weren’t in Helsing City, I’d throw you a grand celebration.”
“That’s too much,” Morris said, closing his eyes slowly before reopening them. “Fine. I’ll treat it as accompanying Your Highness.”
“N-not for me!” Sherlock’s face flushed. “It’s for you!”
“Then first…” Morris pulled her slender waist, sitting up until their foreheads touched. Sherlock’s eyes widened, lips trembling. *Is he…? As a princess, offering myself to someone I’ve known two weeks?! Even romance novels don’t go this far—*
“Please put on proper clothes first.”
…Huh? Wait.
Sherlock blinked out of her fantasy. Morris had looked away, scratching his head sheepishly. “You’re dressed too lightly. Though… you do look beautiful.”
She glanced down—the faint outline under her thin shirt, shorts barely reaching mid-thigh. She’d only thought of comfort.
Face crimson, she snatched a pillow and slammed it over his face. “Die! Suffocate, you jerk!”
“No—wait! Why?!”
“Pervert! Creep! Jerk! Scoundrel!” Tears welled in her eyes. “Go to hell and reflect ten thousand times!!!”
Thankfully, the room was soundproofed.
After the commotion settled, Sherlock slipped off her shorts. “Peek, and I’ll kill you.”
“I wouldn’t dare! Never!” came the muffled reply. The blanket shifted—fully turned away.
Sherlock sighed softly, pulling on black undergarments. She examined the academy’s crisp white shirt, fingers tracing the silk fabric. *No wonder it’s the Royal Arcanum Academy. Even uniforms scream luxury.*
Once she’d fastened a dark gray skirt and sheer white knee-high socks, she said, “You can look now.”
Morris peeked out cautiously. His eyes lit up. “No wonder it’s Miss Sherlock. You look absolutely stunning.”
“D-don’t say weird things,” she stammered, twirling a strand of hair. “Let’s go. I’ve got the keys.”
Morris, already in uniform, smoothed his collar. Noticing her odd gaze, he frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing…” Sherlock mused. “I thought you’d jump up so I could fix your collar.”
“I might have, once,” Morris smiled, standing. “But now I’m the princess’s bodyguard. Gotta keep up appearances.”
*True—he’d once worn holy robes inside out rushing to cathedral prayers. No one dared mention it. Alex still didn’t know.*
He only fussed for others.
Sherlock lowered her head, quietly leaning against him.
“Miss Sherlock, the Blood Pact’s effect has worn off.”
“Shut up, you idiot…”
***
Hathaway hummed while strolling academy streets. *If I meet my destined one again, I’ll make a perfect impression. After all… I’ll marry him.*
Spanning several city blocks, the Royal Arcanum Academy buzzed with life. Aromas from the snack street swirled—savory grilled skewers, delicate pastries—soothing weary souls. Lanterns glowed like daylight. The cafeteria stayed open till 3 a.m., offering late-night delivery, full menus, even aged wines chilled on request.
No wonder students never wanted to leave. Outside? No paradise like this.
Bael trudged through the crowd, mood sour. He’d asked an upper-echelon contact for new students’ addresses—flat refusal, laced with warning. *Don’t get ideas.*
Fuming, he’d dragged drinking buddies out.
“Morris… that wizard who ruined my plans,” he gritted, voice low. “If you didn’t pass the test—fine. But if you’re here? I’ll make sure you have no place to die.”
***
At that same moment, Sherlock and Morris stepped through the gate. Night air bit cold—but Morris silently wove Arcanum around her, shielding her from the wind.
For these youths, each carrying hidden thoughts, the academy’s first night had only just begun.
