A week passed in a blur, with every mont filled to the brim. I wasn't just focused on dark mana and light mana anymore; every facet of my training needed sharpening. My spellcasting had to be seamless, my swordsmanship flawless, and my mana rank constantly advancing. If I wanted to achieve everything I had set my sights on, I couldn't afford even a single weak link.
Two months. That's how long it would take until I reached White-rank. I had been stuck at high Silver-rank for over three months now, clawing my way up with the help of my illegal training thod. It was finally paying off, but the strain was enormous. Each leap forward demanded more intensity, more ntal endurance, more pain. And while the thought of abandoning the thod was a relief, I couldn't help but acknowledge its necessity. If I had to push any further, I wasn't sure my mind could withstand the strain.
And now, here we were. February 14th. Valentine's Day—or at least, the version of it that existed in this world. Like most things, it was wildly different from what I rembered from Earth.
Professor Nero addressed us with his usual flair for formality. "As you may know, Valentine's Day is celebrated on the day Emperor Julius Slatemark proposed to his future wife." His voice was deep and steady, the kind that demanded attention even from the most inattentive student. "It is a day to celebrate love in all its forms—not rely romantic, but also platonic and familial. Respect these bonds. They are what make us human."
There was a thoughtful silence when he finished, though that silence didn't last long. Soon, the classroom humd with quiet chatter as students began pulling out chocolates, flowers, and notes to exchange with their friends—or, in so cases, their crushes.
I wasn't expecting much. I an, Valentine's Day was more of a background event in the novel. At least, it had been for Arthur Nightingale. But then again, my life had diverged from the novel in so many ways already, so maybe I should've seen this coming.
"Arthur," Rachel's familiar voice called, and I looked up to see her standing at my desk with a bright smile and a tiffin box in her hands. Her golden hair shimred as if catching sunlight that wasn't even there. She held out the box like it was the most natural thing in the world. "I made so chocolates. Tell if you like them, okay?"
Her smile could've powered half the city's lights. "Thanks, Rach," I said, taking the tiffin from her. She gave one last dazzling grin before turning on her heel and walking back to her seat.
No sooner had she left than Cecilia swooped in, moving with the kind of hurried determination that suggested she was trying to get this over with before she could change her mind. She held out an elaborately designed box, the kind you'd see in the display window of a luxury chocolatier.
"Here," she said, thrusting the box toward . Her usual teasing air was nowhere to be found, replaced by sothing quieter, more uncertain. "I—I'm giving it to you sincerely, okay?"
And before I could say a word, she spun around and practically fled back to her seat, leaving holding a box that probably cost more than most people's monthly groceries.
I blinked, trying to process the sudden influx of sugar-based affection. Before I could fully recover, Seraphina appeared, her silver hair as immaculate as always, her presence as quiet and commanding as the wind before a storm. She didn't say much, just set a box of chocolates on my desk with the kind of finality that suggested there would be no argunt.
"Mint chocolate," she said simply. "Eat."
And then, without another word, she walked back to her seat, leaving with a growing pile of chocolates and a room full of eyes sneaking glances at my desk.
For a mont, I just sat there, staring at the three boxes. One was warm and homade, the kind of gift that radiated care and effort. Another was polished and expensive, wrapped in layers of elegance and thought. The last was straightforward, practical, and distinctly Seraphina. Three completely different personalities, reflected perfectly in their gifts.
It was… pleasant.
I placed the three boxes carefully into my spatial ring, their weight—both literal and taphorical—lingering in the back of my mind. It wasn't every day soone gave you chocolates, let alone three distinctly personal and aningful ones. But there they were, nestled among my other items, a silent testant to connections I hadn't fully understood before.
The second sester was proving to be different in more ways than just chocolates. The structure, for one, had shifted significantly, and for the better. The first sester had felt like a relentless barrage of practical evaluations, as if the Academy was determined to grind us down to our core and see what was left. Three evaluations before midterms alone. And that didn't include the countless other challenges we faced.
This sester? Different. Lighter in so ways, though no less important. We'd already completed the first practical evaluation during the field trip to Nimran City. Now, only two major milestones stood between us and the end of the year: the end-of-year project and the Sovereign's Tournant at the year-end festival.
I welcod the change. It gave room to breathe, to focus on growing—not just in power, but in understanding. Because if I was going to achieve everything I'd set out to do, I needed to grow. A lot. And quickly.
Lunch ca around, and as I walked into the dining hall, the usual noise and energy greeted like an old friend. Class A was already seated in our usual spot, the table at the far end of the hall that gave us just enough privacy to talk freely while still being part of the larger chaos.
As I sat down, Rose appeared beside , holding out a small box wrapped in silver paper. "Here," she said, plopping it unceremoniously in front of . "Don't read too much into it; it's just a thank-you for being a half-decent teammate during the field trip."
I raised an eyebrow but took the box with a smile. "Thanks, Rose. I'll try not to let the flattery go to my head."
"Good," she said, sliding into the seat across from . "It's already big enough."
Four boxes now. I glanced at the other boys at the table. Lucifer's seat had beco a small shrine of affection, stacked high with boxes of chocolates, flowers, and even a few handwritten notes. Ren, sitting next to him, wasn't far behind, though he seed far less interested in the pile steadily growing beside his plate.
Ian and Jin had modest collections compared to the top two, but even they had a handful each. It seed I was squarely in the middle when it ca to Valentine's popularity—less overwhelming than Lucifer and Ren, but still respectable.
"Not bad," Rose said, catching looking at my small but growing collection. "For soone who spends half his ti buried in books and the other half fighting deadly beasts, you're doing alright."
I shrugged. "I'm not competing."
She snorted. "Sure you're not."
As the chatter around the table continued, my gaze wandered over to Rachel. She was sitting a few seats away, chatting with Cecilia, though her eyes flicked over to every so often. Finally, I leaned over.
"Hey, Rach," I called softly.
She turned, her golden hair catching the light as she smiled at . "What's up?"
"About the chocolates," I started, "How many did you make?"
Her smile widened, her cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink. "Twelve."
I blinked. "Twelve? Just for ?"
"Of course," she said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
I stared at her, dumbfounded. "You didn't make any for Lucifer?"
Her expression flickered for a mont, her smile softening into sothing quieter, more sincere. "Why would I?" she asked. "I wanted to make chocolates for soone who's precious to ."
That threw off balance. I had assud… well, sothing different. Sothing more in line with how things usually went in Class A, where Lucifer's presence lood over everything like a green-eyed shadow. But Rachel wasn't looking at Lucifer. She was looking at .
Seraphina, sitting nearby, sighed audibly, her icy-blue eyes flicking between us. She reached up and made a little circling motion with her finger near her temple, the universal gesture for are you dense?
I couldn't even muster a response, still caught up in the unexpected weight of Rachel's words. She had said it so plainly, so matter-of-factly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Arthur," Seraphina said finally, her voice calm but pointed. "Change your thinking."
And for the first ti, I really thought about what she'd ant. About what Rachel had said. About the connections I'd been too busy—or too blind—to see.
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