The Price Is Your Everything - Chapter 19

“Is there a Rhiannon Berta in this class?”

Natasha Grünhals, with her ginger hair cascading down her shoulders, was well-known enough that her words, spoken as she peeked into the freshmen’s classroom, made the students immediately look at Rhiannon without question.

Rhiannon froze. She had no idea why a student council member would be looking for her.

Natasha smiled when she spotted Rhiannon, who felt overwhelmed by Natasha’s confident and stunning presence as she stood up. Natasha laughed loudly as Rhiannon hesitated and shuffled toward her.

“Why are you so nervous? You sent the letter, didn’t you?”

A letter? Rhiannon blinked, confused. Natasha raised a letter and waved it for the entire class to see.

“This is yours, right?”

“What? No, that’s not mine.”

Why would Rhiannon send Natasha a letter? Besides, the letter Natasha was holding looked unfamiliar to her, so she shook her head. Natasha frowned.

“Aren’t you ‘Nona’?”

There was no one else in their class who used that nickname. The closer Rhiannon got to Natasha, the smaller and meeker she felt, replying in a shrinking voice.

“That’s me…”

“Then it’s you. There isn’t another ‘Nona’ among the freshmen, is there?”

From Rhiannon’s perspective, Natasha seemed irritated. Who wouldn’t be terrified at the idea of upsetting Natasha, the notoriously temperamental daughter of a duke? Rhiannon’s gaze darted nervously around the room.

Her guess was correct. Natasha’s irritation showed as she raised her voice slightly and read the letter aloud.

Her only task had been to bring Rhiannon to the student council. But if the young girl was going to stubbornly deny it, Natasha figured a slightly harsher method would make her confess. After all, admitting fault was the first step toward reflection, wasn’t it?

“To the most wonderful and kind Nellusion Elandria. Hello? I want to be friends with you. On the first day of class, you kindly explained the upcoming test to us, and I can’t forget how thoughtful you were. I may be young, but I’ll grow into someone amazing soon…”

The entire class hung on Natasha’s every word. Megara furrowed her brow, Alecto burst into laughter, and Aidalia turned pale.

Rhiannon Berta wrote that? The girl who always acted so quiet and proper?

Embarrassed by the letter’s contents, Rhiannon shook her head vigorously.

“I didn’t send that! I’ve never even heard of it!”

“But you said you’re ‘Nona,’ right?”

“Yes, but I’ve never written anything like that!”

“Your signature is on it, though. Can someone verify? Who’s friends with her?”

As Natasha scanned the room indifferently, Aidalia stood up immediately. Megara tried to stop her, but it was too late. The entire class had shifted their attention to Aidalia now.

Usually, Aidalia would crumble under such attention, but she surprised everyone by speaking boldly.

“I’m her friend. I know Rhiannon’s handwriting.”

“Do you? Then take a look.”

Judging by the content and spelling, the letter clearly belonged to a freshman. The student council was certain about that much. However, since signatures could be faked, they needed confirmation of the handwriting.

Natasha handed the letter to Aidalia. Rhiannon looked at her, pleading her innocence with every fiber of her being.

As Aidalia read the letter, her face turned red and pale alternately. By the time she reached the signature, she spoke in a strained voice, trying to suppress her emotions.

“It’s Rhiannon’s handwriting.”

“What?!”

Rhiannon was dumbfounded. Natasha folded her arms and watched the two freshmen interact.

“I told you it’s not mine!”

“Then whose writing is it if not yours?” Aidalia snapped, showing Rhiannon the signature at the bottom of the letter. Written in familiar handwriting was the name “Nona.” Rhiannon gaped at it, her face turning crimson with humiliation and rage.

“This is ridiculous!”

“Look at the spelling mistakes here. It’s the same way you usually get them wrong! You liar!”

The class had never seen Aidalia so furious before.

Rhiannon was overwhelmed. The letter was undeniably in her handwriting—not just the signature, but the content, too. Yet, she had no memory of writing anything like it.

And to Nellusion, of all people? How could she, someone of her modest status, have the audacity to send such a bold letter to someone as prestigious and popular as him?

“Look closely! This dot here—it’s similar, but my writing isn’t this bad—”

“Alright, that’s enough. I’m a busy person, kids.”

Natasha clapped her hands, cutting the argument short.

As Aidalia, without realizing it, crumpled the letter in her hands, Megara watched thoughtfully. It didn’t add up. Timid Rhiannon sending a letter to a boy she barely knew? It didn’t seem like her.

Yet, Aidalia seemed so certain. Both the handwriting and the spelling matched Rhiannon’s usual mistakes.

“Come along, Rhiannon. Sir Nellusion has some questions for you.”

Though Rhiannon wanted nothing more than to disappear out of shame and confusion, she couldn’t ignore the summons from the student council. With reluctant steps, she left the room, her back turned to Nerys, who watched her departure with a hidden sense of satisfaction.

—

Nerys knew exactly why Natasha had come to fetch Rhiannon.

Whenever Nellusion had documents that needed to be hidden from Abelus’s prying eyes, he would tuck them into a secret drawer in the student council room. Nerys, who had been adopted by the Elandria family, had once secretly disposed of papers Nellusion left behind from his school days, so she knew about the drawer.

She had intentionally written that letter, imitating Rhiannon’s handwriting—which she had carefully studied during class to ensure accuracy—and placed it prominently at the entrance of the secret drawer.

Seeing Natasha instead of Nellusion himself meant that Abelus had found the letter as planned.

The student council room was, in principle, a space freely accessible to all students. According to Nerys’s recollection, female students often lingered around it, hoping to catch a moment with Nellusion or Abelus.

The most rational theory for the current situation was that Rhiannon might have visited the student council room to speak with Nellusion, saw him open the secret drawer, and mistakenly assumed it was his personal locker.

It was unlikely anyone would think that someone familiar with Rhiannon’s handwriting had deliberately planted a fake letter in Nellusion’s secret drawer to set her up.

Nerys had timed her actions carefully, ensuring the room was empty. It didn’t matter much whether Nellusion or Abelus saw the letter first; Rhiannon was bound to be embarrassed either way.

Still, Nerys hoped Nellusion would also face some discomfort—and things had gone exactly as planned.

—

By the next day, rumors spread among the upperclassmen that Rhiannon Berta had presumptuously written a love letter to Nellusion Elandria, sneaking into the student council room to leave it on his desk instead of delivering it directly.

“I heard Nellusion was furious. These freshmen are causing such a stir this year,” said Ren Fayel, who had become Nerys’s regular seatmate in Verlaine Language class, his tone laced with amusement. Nerys didn’t bother looking at him.

Eventually, Ren revealed his true concern, glancing at Nerys with a worried expression.

“Are you okay? Seems like there are a lot of weird people around.”

“What’s there to not be okay about?”

Nerys replied nonchalantly. Ren chuckled. With his large eyes and small jawline, he looked younger than his age, and his mischievous grin only enhanced that impression.

“You’re such a busybody.”

“I’m not.”

Perhaps because she had meddled in his affairs during their first meeting, Ren seemed to have a fixed—and incorrect—impression of her.

Nerys knew herself well. She was cold, cruel, and self-serving. She wouldn’t flinch if someone died in front of her, nor hesitate to kill someone if it served her goals. Many people had been used and discarded by her for the sake of the Elandria family and the Bistor Empire.

Of course, Ren knew none of this. He merely laughed at her reaction, finding it endearing. Sir Voltaire, their strict instructor, cleared his throat loudly.

“Esca buus havete fini a ekaril?” (“Have you finished the assigned writing?”)

“Oui, Seigneur.” (“Yes, sir.”)

It was time to read the given text and write an essay. The students initially worked quietly, but soon fell into chatter, only resuming their work after Sir Voltaire’s interruption.

Nerys submitted her essay without a fuss. Mahradi Ennyn muttered under his breath.

“Show-off.”

Nerys ignored his blatant provocation. Ever since the mistranslation incident during the first class, Mahradi had taken every opportunity to nitpick at her actions. However, as long as his complaints didn’t sway the class, Nerys saw no reason to respond.

Besides, responding required the other party to have a valid point, and Mahradi’s grumblings were nonsensical at best. Paying attention to him felt like a waste of time.

Ren, however, wasn’t as restrained. He glared at Mahradi.

“What’s your problem, Ennyn? Why are you picking on someone who’s minding their own business?”

“What did I do?”

Mahradi raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. Nerys sighed inwardly.

There was no need to engage with fools, but Ren couldn’t seem to let even minor irritations slide. Was this an inherent trait of his personality, or a reaction to his circumstances?

Either way, one shouldn’t speak up unless they could steer the situation to their advantage. Ren, however, was still too young to grasp that.

“What’s with you always jumping in for her, Ren Fayel? Is that your thing? A taste for girls six years younger than you?”

Predictably, Mahradi smirked as though he’d landed a solid jab. Sir Voltaire looked displeased but refrained from intervening. The school’s policies emphasized student autonomy, and Sir Voltaire himself was the type to let situations play out for the sake of teaching.

Anticipating this, Nerys finally lifted her gaze toward Mahradi. Remaining silent any longer would risk allowing the situation to escalate into a personal insult. It was clear that Ren wouldn’t be able to diffuse it himself.

When Mahradi met Nerys’s calm violet eyes, he flinched instinctively. Realizing this only made him angrier, his face flushing red.

She was just a lower-ranked noble from an unremarkable family and significantly younger than him. Yet, her composed demeanor was as though she looked down on him from above, unbothered by their disparity in status.

Nerys’s small, full lips parted slowly.

“Interesting, Mahradi. Speaking of age differences, how old are you compared to Megara? Five years?”

Arthur Pendland, who had once seen Mahradi try to approach Megara only to be coldly rebuffed, couldn’t suppress his laughter. Mahradi’s face turned crimson.

“Watch your mouth, freshman. That’s disrespectful.”

“You spoke disrespectfully first, senior. Are you implying that ‘don’t pick fights with people minding their business’ equals ‘he likes her’? Why, because it’s too reasonable?”

This time, more students burst into laughter. Mahradi glared at Nerys.

“You’re insufferable. Were you always like this?”

“I’ve always been insufferable, and my personality isn’t great either. So let me make it simple—if you’ve got something to say, say it to my face. Don’t mumble behind my back like a coward.”