Chapter 45

“Hey, Nerys! Nerys Truydd!”

Abelus unconsciously halted his steps. The voice, shrill with anger, was so loud it hurt his ears.

Through the stately columns, he spotted a small girl crossing the snow-covered courtyard.

A crimson velvet coat, sleek black shoes. Golden hair, bright as winter sunlight, spilled out from beneath the hood.

It was a luxurious appearance, though nothing remarkable by the Crown Prince’s standards. Still, it was a far cry from the ‘modest’ outfits she sometimes wore.

The way she turned at the sound of her name, pivoting lightly, was oddly pleasant to watch.

Abelus didn’t realize it, but that elegant, effortless movement was something only a royal etiquette instructor could teach. He had been surrounded by people who walked, stood, and turned just like that from childhood, so it was no wonder he found it familiar.

Which family is she from?

Abelus had reviewed the notable figures of each grade, but as the Crown Prince, he was a busy man. First-years who weren’t from major noble families often faded from his memory.

Soon, a red-haired girl stormed toward the golden-haired one. Abelus knew this one for certain. He couldn’t recall her name, but she was undoubtedly the daughter of Count Isalani.

He had heard that the new Count Bertha had been pressuring Count Isalani over conflicts between their children. Apparently, Count Bertha doted on his daughter.

Count Isalani might have had things to say, but with Count Bertha’s greater wealth and influence, he had little choice but to back down.

“What do you want?”

Nerys Truydd showed no sign of intimidation despite standing before a taller girl.

Hearing her voice, Abelus suddenly remembered who she was.

A relative of the Elandria family. The exceptional student who, despite being a first-year, was taking upperclassmen courses. The one Nellusion had taken an interest in.

Now that he recalled, it was interesting. Hadn’t he once seen her alone with Nellusion in the student council room?

Abelus quickly shifted his thoughts from this petty first-year squabble to the larger possibility of a conflict between the Elandria and Isalani families.

Count Isalani was stricter with his child compared to Count Bertha. If anything serious happened, Nellusion would likely intervene first.

Thus, he concluded that no major issue would arise.

“You really don’t know? Why did you just stand there earlier? Do you think dancing alone is better than pairing with me? You only have Diane as a friend!”

“You mean during dance class?”

“Yeah! I had to dance alone because of you! You faked an ankle injury, and now you’re walking just fine! Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was for me?”

Ah. Abelus quickly lost interest as he pieced together the situation.

No one had wanted to pair with the Isalani girl during dance class, and Nerys had used an excuse to avoid it as well.

This year’s first-years were especially noisy—more than one student had already gone to the teachers, claiming they were being ostracized.

Every grade had its outcasts, but Abelus couldn’t care less. He just wished they would handle it among themselves without bringing it to the student council.

To meet her taller opponent’s gaze, Nerys lifted her hood slightly. Her delicate, porcelain-like features became visible even from a distance.

The cold, unyielding expression on her face was oddly reassuring to Abelus.

It was familiar. He had seen it before—ah!

Camille.

A strange realization. Camille Visto, the Imperial Princess, had received the finest education and regarded all but the imperial bloodline as mere tools.

What could possibly connect a proud imperial princess and the daughter of a mere knight?

Surely, he was mistaken. Abelus dismissed the thought and walked away.

Behind him, Nerys’s calm voice gradually faded.

“I thought my ankle hurt at the time, but by the end of class, it didn’t anymore. Is that a problem? You didn’t complain to anyone else about refusing to dance with you, but you’re chasing after me because I’m an easy target. Maybe people dislike you because you’re that cowardly, Alecto. Think about it yourself…”

—

As the second semester’s midterms approached, the academy’s conversations naturally turned to grades.

Some students had already achieved a certain level of academic accomplishment before enrolling. Others had not.

Both groups had their complaints about their performance at the academy.

Of course, a few students had no concerns about their grades at all. Those from families where merely graduating was enough to uphold their household’s honor didn’t care if they ranked near the bottom.

And the student ranked first had no particular thoughts about their own grades either.

“Dali, your name is up there. You were worried, but you did well.”

“Hearing that from you makes me embarrassed, Maggie. You’re the top student.”

Aidalia responded humbly to Megara’s friendly remark. The posted results were from a minor quiz, but doing well was still better than the alternative.

“It was just luck this time.”

Megara replied modestly.

Aidalia was impressed by her composed and refined manner.

How could she maintain such a serene expression when everyone knew who the top student was?

The academy encouraged competition among students. By regulation, teachers were required to make student rankings publicly available at all times.

And last semester, both in mandatory first-year subjects and in overall academic performance, the number one student had been—

Nerys Truydd.

Before entering the academy, Aidalia had already received extensive tutoring. She had arrived confident in her well-rounded education.

The entrance exam was one thing, but even after that, she kept encountering students who ranked above her. It was discouraging.

Aidalia wouldn’t admit it outright, but a thought kept surfacing in her mind. Shouldn’t there be a distinction between those who spent their pre-academy days herding sheep and those who were reading assigned texts until the night before enrollment?

Megara was undeniably exceptional, so Aidalia didn’t mind her being ranked higher.

But Nerys?

Megara hadn’t voiced it, but she must have thought the same thing.

The more Aidalia dwelled on it, the more she realized something felt off.

Nerys had mentioned at the start of the year that she had no personal tutor.

Wasn’t that strange?

Learning from a small-town priest should have had its limits. Could it be that someone had secretly been teaching her shortcuts?

If so, that wasn’t fair.

All students paid the same tuition to attend the academy.

Sir Sheridan, the etiquette instructor, blatantly favored Nerys. And according to Megara, even Sir Henri Voltaire—a renowned diplomat-turned-professor—showed her preferential treatment.

Of course, how else could someone like that—Aidalia didn’t define what she meant by that—achieve so much?

But what truly unsettled Aidalia was the connection between Nerys and Nellusion.

She knew they were relatives, but their different surnames meant they were distant cousins—practically strangers by noble standards. Everyone in the aristocracy was technically related if you traced back far enough.

And yet, Aidalia had often seen Nellusion initiating conversations with Nerys.

To be honest, Nerys wasn’t unpleasant to look at.

Aidalia knew there were students who found her quite pretty.

Her striking eyes and platinum blonde hair, despite her humble background, could serve her well if she ever entered high society. Though her outfits were plain, they were always neat.

And while her personality was cold, many boys interpreted it as decisiveness. It wasn’t uncommon to hear them mention her name.

Nellusion, being the only heir of a ducal house, would, of course, consider his marriage prospects carefully.

Aidalia, with her precocious understanding of such matters, knew that before her turn came, a few high-ranking noblewomen would weigh and reject marriage proposals from House Elandria.

But she wasn’t without means to improve her standing in that lineup—at least, she believed so.

Beauty, refinement, the ability to manage a vast duchy and care for its people—what husband wouldn’t want such a wife?

Though she never admitted it to anyone, Aidalia sometimes indulged in fantasies.

She imagined herself, a few years older, having blossomed into someone as dazzling as Natasha Grünehals.

Nellusion would finally see her.

And, really, why wouldn’t he?

“At the very least, I’d do better than Nerys.”

No matter how intelligent she was, running an estate required real experience—being raised by parents who had governed vast lands and managed vassals from a young age.

Aidalia didn’t dislike Nerys.

She simply believed it was unfair if Nerys, by mere luck, received more than what should rightfully be hers.

Megara, noticing Aidalia deep in thought, smiled—a sweet, cherubic expression worthy of an artist’s brush.

Aidalia, reminded of her friend’s genuine kindness, returned the smile and shook off her concerns.

Who cared about being ranked first?

Good people didn’t obsess over status.

—

Spring had begun to fully bloom, shaking off the remnants of winter.

Sir Sheridan adorned the etiquette classroom with fresh spring flowers. Delicate violets, lilies of the valley, bistorts, and windflowers were arranged in perfect harmony, releasing a sweet, breath-like fragrance.

“It’s not just grand, carefully cultivated flowers that can be centerpieces,” he declared proudly.

The first-years, unaccustomed to seeing wildflowers arranged so elegantly, marveled at the sight.

“During winter, you only see the select few flowers that can grow in greenhouses. But in this season, adding wildflowers to your table can give it a unique charm.”

Nerys, listening to Sir Sheridan, didn’t need to turn her head to sense the sneering expression from across the table.

The sharp, mocking tone was as familiar as air.

Rejected by the other tables, yet unwilling to sit alone, Rhiannon had joined theirs, despite the mutual dislike.

She smirked.

“Did you pick them yourself?”

Despite being an official academy policy, the work-study program, which allowed students to assist teachers for small stipends, was looked down upon by the noble students.

After all, wasn’t manual labor beneath nobility?

A true aristocrat lived off land rents and taxes—not wages.

And there wasn’t a single first-year unaware that Nerys, despite taking upperclassmen courses, was also a work-study student.

Rhiannon’s taunt was obvious: You probably picked these yourself. And if you enjoy such menial labor, what separates you from a common farmhand?

It wasn’t a particularly sophisticated insult.

Nerys, predictably, didn’t acknowledge it at all.

Rhiannon, irritated, snapped.

“Are you ignoring me? What, are you embarrassed?”

“They say you only see what you want to.”

Diane interjected coolly, unable to hold back.

She knew all too well that Nerys had refused an offer from her own family to cover her living expenses and allowance until graduation.

Nerys had even declined the suggestion of hiring a maid.

Though Diane found it frustrating, she also secretly admired Nerys for it.

Her brother had described Nerys as noble-minded, and Diane, while unwilling to admit it outright, took pride in that.

So hearing Rhiannon spew nonsense when she clearly knew nothing was infuriating.

Rhiannon’s face twisted at Diane’s condescending tone.

How dare this girl from some insignificant family act superior?

Rhiannon’s eyes blazed with anger, but before she could lash out, Alecto spoke in a chilling voice.

“Shut up, Nona. That’s exactly why even Nerys Truydd looks down on you.”