Chapter 48

"Edwin Lowell. What happens next is for you to decide on your own."

That single line was the last thing said. Edwin watched Mikhail's retreating back in silence as he walked away.

Mikhail moved with nothing but composure in his step, crossed to the waiting area, and sat down.

"......"

Edwin's lips twitched. He pulled his gaze from Mikhail and looked down at the paper in his hands.

[Team Member Registration Form]

Below the heading: each member's combat role and fighting style, recommended formations, notes on covering weaknesses—all laid out in detail.

If the benchmark for team composition was textbook placement and flexible operation, this was a perfect score.

Edwin read through it in silence, then pinched his brow. His face twisted.

He clicked his tongue and raked his fingers roughly through his hair.

But that's not what's really bugging me...

Edwin lifted his head and glanced across the room. Mikhail sat with his arms crossed, staring at the floor.

That perfectly composed face seemed to say he had no intention of interfering with Edwin's decision in any way.

Edwin found himself thinking of voices that overlapped with this moment.

[What happens next is for you to decide on your own.]

...The words Mikhail had just spoken.

[Take what you saw just now, and think for yourself. Make your own judgment. Unless you want to keep being treated like an idiot.]

...And inside the armory, right before the semester began.

Advice thrown at him in the middle of a brutal exchange of fists.

[Bottom of the barrel. Absolute scum. ...And on top of that, I thought I'd at least get some scraps out of it. But no—you're the most worthless kind of deadweight!]

[You have any idea how sick I've been, putting up with that cocky act of yours? The more I think about it, the more it pisses me off! Son of a bitch!]

Last of all, ringing in his ears—the reputation he'd heard about Mikhail from his old friends.

Right after Mikhail had been flagged as magically deficient. The vicious talk that poured out as if they'd been waiting for the chance.

But whatever any of that meant... right now, he couldn't bring himself to take those old rumors at face value.

"Ngh."

Edwin dragged a tense hand down his face.

He'd heard the rumors—that Mikhail hurled whatever was in reach whenever things went sideways.

He'd heard through rumors that the guy's attitude score was rock bottom, thanks to a temper that spared no one from harsh words.

But the Mikhail he'd faced in person... was also the one who'd straightened out his thinking in just a few sentences.

"......"

Time passed, heavy with thought. Edwin slowly lowered his hand and looked at Mikhail.

...Right. Agonizing over it wouldn't change anything.

He'd never been the type to weigh backgrounds and connections the way his father or his older sister did.

If he had a goal set at the top of his priorities, charging straight toward it was what suited him best.

He would judge the person in front of him based only on what he'd seen and confirmed with his own eyes.

So.

Thud.

...There was no reason to shy away from joining him.

"Ahem."

Edwin walked up and stood before Mikhail.

The instant their eyes met, he cleared his throat a couple of times for no real reason, scratched the back of his head, and spoke.

"I don't plan on staying on bad terms with you either. And."

Edwin trailed off, his gaze dropping to an awkward diagonal. A flush of embarrassment spread across his face like a heat rash.

He recalled the scenes from the past that had just played through his mind and stammered out the words.

"So... we both got a hit in on each other. How about we just call the whole fistfight a wash?"

A voice smooth as marble answered immediately.

"Fine by me."

Movement stirred from up ahead. Edwin hesitated, then looked at the figure rising to his feet across from him.

Dark blue eyes seized his gaze and held it fast.

Mikhail tilted his head slightly where he stood and extended a hand.

"Take it. If you're coming with us."

Edwin stared at the hand right in front of him.

Then he swallowed once, dry and hard, and moved his own hand to match.

He clasped what Mikhail offered.

"......"

A firm grip tightened around his hand. Edwin raised his head and looked at the person across from him.

Mikhail wore his usual impassive expression—but a smile rested on his lips.

"Well, that settles it. Looking forward to working together."

---

Meanwhile, at that same hour.

"Lloyd, think it over carefully and let me know, okay—!"

"We'll be waiting!"

Lloyd Cloelle left behind the students scrambling to assemble teams and walked down a corridor leading to a remote part of campus.

A lounge in an older wing, too run-down to see much use.

He'd just learned that Ethan was holed up there. Lately, the guy had been disappearing on his own more and more often.

"......"

After about twenty minutes of walking, Lloyd spotted a wooden door at the end of a deserted hallway. Every other door along the corridor sat properly shut—this one was cracked open. That had to be where Ethan had buried himself.

"Hmm."

Lloyd let out a short hum and killed his footsteps.

He crept up to the open door, eased his head through the gap, and surveyed the room.

Just as expected.

Ethan sat alone inside the lounge. His beloved sword lay on the table directly in front of him.

"......"

Lloyd moved toward the familiar back of that head.

But even as he closed the distance step by step, Ethan showed no sign of noticing his approach.

The reaction was nothing like his usual self. Lloyd let a slight frown cross his face as he stopped behind him. He raised one hand, slowly and silently.

"Ethan."

Lloyd's voice split the quiet air. Ethan jolted and whipped his head around.

Poke.

Lloyd's index finger jabbed him square in the face.

"......"

Ethan's expression crumpled without mercy.

His glare screamed a string of profanities, and Lloyd withdrew his outstretched hand with a snicker.

"What's got you so preoccupied you didn't even hear me coming?"

"Nothing important."

Ethan brushed off the question and gathered the sword in front of him, sliding it off to the side.

Lloyd circled around to the seat across from Ethan and dropped into it.

"More importantly—what do you want?"

Ethan asked in an even tone. Lloyd studied his face for a moment, then spoke without preamble.

"I've got a message to pass along."

"From who."

"Mikhail. He's asking you to come to the outskirts of the dormitory this evening."

Ethan's hand, resting on the desk, gave a small twitch.

Lloyd caught it from the corner of his eye but offered no reaction. He simply lifted his gaze to Ethan's face.

Ethan sat with his eyes lowered, perfectly still. After a moment, he answered in a flat, toneless voice.

"Got it."

Lloyd studied the unreadable expression for a beat, then tilted his head to the side.

"Ethan."

Lloyd called his name in an easy voice, and Ethan raised the eyes he'd been keeping down.

Lloyd met the gaze that turned toward him. Ethan's gray eyes were as impassive as ever.

No—maybe it was more accurate to say nothing had changed, then or now.

Lloyd let a quiet sound slip through his teeth, settled a faint trace of a smile on his lips, and shrugged.

"I heard from Mikhail. He said he has no interest in butting heads with you anymore."

"......"

"That's good news, right? No more walking on eggshells. Actually, this might be the chance to build something new between you two. Use the fact that he's softened up. At the end of the day, Mikhail's the legitimate heir of the North—someone who'll inherit a position of real power. Turning your worst relationship into a useful foothold wouldn't be a bad move."

Ethan's eyes narrowed sharply.

Beneath a gaze keen enough to cut the air, displeasure bled openly into his voice.

"I didn't realize you had a hobby of meddling."

The tone was colder than usual, but Lloyd didn't rise to it.

He simply gave a light shrug, then let the smile drop from his face and looked straight at Ethan.

The standoff stretched through a heavy silence.

Lloyd held his expressionless gaze and slowly opened his mouth.

"I'm saying this because you need to take a good look at yourself."

"......"

"If you wanted to join a southern knightly order, I'd have told you to beat Mikhail down just as hard as you've been beaten. If you wanted an easy life, I'd have told you to squeeze him for every coin you could get. But is any of that actually inside you?"

Silence settled again, same as before. But the air between them had sharpened by another degree.

Lloyd held his gaze on Ethan, his lips set in a firm line.

Then he tilted his head slightly and spoke in a hard, deliberate tone.

"One piece of advice, Ethan Welton."

Lloyd curled his hand loosely into a fist.

Without breaking eye contact, he reached out and tapped Ethan once on the chest.

"Look ahead. Before it's too late. If you only watch the ground while you walk, you won't notice the cliff right in front of you."

Lloyd finished and pulled his hand back.

Ethan stared down at the spot Lloyd's hand had touched, then slowly raised his eyes.

His tightly sealed lips parted, and a voice dry and cracked as splintered wood pushed through.

"Busybody."

A long streak of orange afterglow lay between the two of them.

Ethan glanced toward the window, then gathered his sword and rose from his seat.

His shadow carved itself into the floor like a battle line. Lloyd looked down at it, then lifted his eyes.

"......"

Ethan turned toward the door and started walking.

But he hadn't gone far before he stopped. His grip on the sword tightened until his knuckles ached.

He turned back. Eyes that seemed pinned to a different time and place locked onto Lloyd.

"Thinking a single word can change someone... change anything. That's arrogance. Don't you think?"

Lloyd watched him without a word.

Ethan held the gaze—then in one instant, let every ounce of tension drain from his body and released a long, heavy breath.

When he spoke again, his voice had settled into something calmer.

"Come to think of it, I owe you an answer about your team-up offer. I'll give it to you after tonight's business is done."

Ethan turned once more and strode toward the exit with his usual straight-backed gait.

The open door swallowed the departing silhouette, then closed behind it with a flat, unremarkable sound.

Click.

Only Lloyd remained in the lounge.

He listened to Ethan's footsteps fade, then crossed his arms and let out a sharp sigh.

A single thought—one he'd turned over again and again, for longer than he could remember—slipped out before he could stop it.

"Stubborn bastard never listens to a damn word anyone says."