A Mate To Three Alpha Heirs Chapter 189: Without Breaking Any Rules

{Elira}

~**^**~

MONDAY.

By the ti the last bell rang, I felt like I had been holding my breath since morning.

Lunch had been a circus with eyes following from table to table, hushed voices whispering "that’s her" like I was so rare creature on display.

Both lectures today had been worse. Professors pretending not to notice the restless curiosity in the room, students sneaking glances whenever I shifted in my seat.

By the ti I got to my locker, I just wanted air—quiet, unbothered air.

I slung my backpack over my shoulder and shut the locker door, the tallic clang echoing through the hallway.

Just as I was about to head toward the small training hall, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I took it out and glanced at the screen.

Lennon’s na stared back at .

I blinked, surprised. He never called before training. He usually just waited to ambush with one of his teasing grins.

"Hello?" I answered, adjusting the strap of my bag.

His voice ca low but brisk through the line. "Elira, don’t co to the training hall yet."

I frowned. "Why? Did sothing happen?"

"Just listen," he cut in quickly. "Go to the school library. Pick a shelf, any shelf. Pretend you are reading. Stay there for fifteen minutes. Then after that, you can co straight to the hall."

"What—"

He hung up.

I lowered the phone slowly, staring at the screen as if it could explain his sudden cryptic tone.

"What in the moon goddess’ na was that?" I muttered under my breath.

A few students passed by , chatting, their laughter trailing down the hallway. I just stood there, feeling caught between curiosity and irritation.

But I knew Lennon. If he was being mysterious, it wasn’t just to annoy — well, mostly not. It ant sothing was off.

I sighed, tucking my phone away. "Fifteen minutes, then the training hall," I repeated softly to myself, like a small promise.

The library wasn’t far. Just tucked near the east wing of the academy, quiet and dim with the faint sll of parchnt and old ink. As soon as I stepped in, the silence felt like balm against my skin.

A few students were scattered around the long tables, heads bent over books or notes. The librarian barely glanced up from her desk.

I wandered down an aisle until I found myself in the history section—rows and rows of forgotten legends and old pack records.

My fingers trailed along the spines until one caught my eye: Origins of the Bloodline Wolves.

I pulled it out, opened a random page, and sank into the nearest chair.

But I couldn’t focus. My mind kept circling back to Lennon’s voice—calm, clipped, urgent.

What could possibly be happening that required to hide in the library for fifteen minutes?

I drumd my fingers against the page and checked the ti. Just five minutes had passed.

My pulse wouldn’t settle. I tried reading again, this ti landing on a paragraph about "wolves of rare lineage." The words blurred together.

I shut the book softly. I still had ten minutes left.

Whatever this was, I could only hope it wasn’t trouble. Because if it was, I already had a strong suspicion that Lennon was involved — and Zenon was going to kill him for it.

---

By the ti I reached the small training hall, an extra five minutes were up. I checked my watch and then opened the heavy doors. Then, I walked in and shut the doors.

Lennon was the only one here, with a faint crease between his brows. No grin this ti. That alone was enough to unsettle . I inclined my head towards him.

"You are here," he said as he made his way to .

"What’s going on?" I asked, setting my backpack on the floor. "Why did you want to waste fifteen minutes pretending to read in the library?"

He tilted his head slightly. "Because we needed to make sure you weren’t being followed."

That froze . "Followed?"

Before he could answer, the door at the back creaked open, and both Rennon and Zenon stepped in. The tension in the air sharpened imdiately.

Rennon closed the door carefully behind them before saying, "Lennon noticed a few students have been monitoring your movents since Friday."

My pulse stuttered. "Monitoring ? Why? I haven’t—"

"It’s not about what you’ve done," Lennon interrupted, voice low and steady now. "It’s about what they think you’ve done."

Rennon nodded, his expression grave but calm. "We’ve been hearing a lot lately—whispers about your acu-point strategy, and how your duels are going too well for soone who ’barely knew how to throw a punch’ before this contest began."

My throat felt tight. "The rumors."

"Yes," he said softly. "And you need to know sothing else—the professor’s council has banned the use of the acu-point tactics during any further combat rounds."

The air left my lungs. "What?"

Zenon’s voice cut in, flat and unyielding. "Anyone caught using it will face disqualification."

"But... that was the only move that worked for ," I blurted before I could stop myself. My words sounded desperate even to my own ears.

Lennon sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We know, which is why we are going to work around it and train you differently. But you need to understand, Elira... things are getting complicated now."

Rennon stepped forward, gentler in his tone. "From now on, no one—not even your closest classmates should know that we are training you personally. Do you understand?"

I stared between the three of them, my heart thudding. "But my friends already know I co here every day after classes."

"That’s fine," Lennon said quickly. "They don’t need to know the details. Just be careful what you say. There are people waiting to twist your progress into sothing ugly."

I swallowed hard. "You think soone is trying to sabotage ?"

Rennon’s gaze flicked to Zenon before returning to . "We don’t think, we know."

Zenon’s silence was heavy, his expression unreadable as always. He crossed his arms, his voice steady but carrying an edge that made stand straighter.

"You are a target now, Elira," he said. "Every win earns you more attention, and not all of it is admiration."

I felt the truth of it settle deep in my chest. Every pair of eyes in the cafeteria, every whisper in the corridors, all made sense now.

I exhaled slowly. "So, what do I do?"

Zenon’s gaze didn’t waver. "You train harder. You get better."

Lennon smiled faintly at that, his fire returning for a heartbeat. "And you learn how to win without breaking any new rules."

"Okay," I straightened and nodded.

Then, Zenon motioned toward the middle of the hall—the familiar mat spread out beneath the high ceiling lights.

I swallowed and stepped forward, shrugging off my backpack and my jacket. Lennon was already stretching his shoulders, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth again—that one expression that sohow made both irritated and nervous at the sa ti.

Rennon stayed off to the side, a notebook in hand as if this were a lecture instead of training. His calm gaze swept from Zenon to .

"We are focusing on endurance and precision," he began, "The contest doesn’t demand that you destroy your opponent, only that you hold them down when the clock stops. That ans balance, awareness, and control."

"Easy for you to say," I muttered.

Zenon’s sharp gaze snapped to . "Say it louder."

My shoulders tensed, but I still repeated my words. "I said it’s easy for you to say."

"Then make it easy for yourself," he said coldly. "Start."

Before I could even adjust my stance, Lennon lunged. His movents were quick, not the playful sparring I had grown used to.

This was sharper, deliberate, like he wanted to shake the hesitation out of .

I dodged left, barely avoiding his sweep, my breath catching as he pivoted and ca again. I dropped low, ducking under his arm and rolling to the side.

"Good," Rennon said quietly, still scribbling. "She’s anticipating better."

"Not good enough," Zenon replied, his voice cutting through the air. "Lennon, press her harder."

Lennon grinned—the kind that promised trouble, and lunged again. I jumped back, blocked, and barely kept my footing. He was faster this ti and more unpredictable.

My breath ca shorter, sweat breaking across my forehead. Every few seconds, I would hear Zenon’s voice—calm, precise, impossible to ignore.

"Don’t flinch."

"Your stance is too wide."

"Keep your center steady."

Each command hit like a pulse through , pushing to move sharper, quicker.

Lennon tried to grab my wrist; I twisted away and used his montum to shove his shoulder instead. He stumbled half a step. My heart leaped.

Rennon nodded from the side. "That. That’s what you use—weight redirection. He is stronger, but you are smaller and faster. Use his own balance against him."

I focused on that. Every ti Lennon reached, I evaded, redirected. My body started rembering patterns—duck, pivot, grab, release.