Lyra spoke, unconsciously rubbing her cheek against Freya’s bedsheets as if she could draw a sense of security from the familiar fabric scented with Freya’s essence.
However, her eyes remained locked onto Freya, waiting for her answer.
Although her thinking was direct and sometimes seemed foolish, she appeared to have a beast-like intuition when it came to combat, hostility, and potential threats.
Freya glanced slightly to the side as she listened to Lyra’s blunt, almost crude, but spot-on analysis.
She hadn’t expected Lyra to proactively consider such an issue, and her observations were quite accurate.
‘It seems this girl isn’t just a troublemaker and a fool,’ Freya thought.
She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she reached out, her fingertips unconsciously brushing aside a lock of white hair that had fallen across Lyra’s cheek while she was lying down.
The movement was so natural that even Freya paused for a moment.
Then, she withdrew her hand and looked calmly at a point in the empty space ahead. Her tone was indifferent yet possessed a convincing steadiness.
“Professor Mabel’s words were both a warning and a buffer. She gave the Bouquet brothers, and especially the Discipline Office and the Academy, time to intervene and mediate.”
Freya’s voice was clear and cold in the quiet dormitory.
“Raymond Bouquet may be impulsive and vindictive, but he isn’t completely brainless. He values strength and ‘logic’ — his own logic. Today, he was in the wrong first, and he was suppressed on the spot by the Professor and the Disciplinary Director before being lectured afterward. Unless he intends to completely ignore the school rules and pressure from higher levels, he won’t come after us openly in the short term.”
“As for Willow Bouquet —”
A nearly imperceptible coldness flickered at the corners of Freya’s mouth.
“He cares more about the family’s evaluation, his own image, and long-term interests. Until he figures out my background or finds a safer, more covert method, he won’t encourage his brother to use force again. Besides…”
“…Perhaps another ‘variable’ has already intervened. The Bouquet brothers’ attention might not remain focused on me forever.”
Lyra only half-understood, but Freya’s composed manner, as if everything was under her control, caused her tense shoulders to slowly relax.
She trusted her Boss the most. If the Boss said there was no need to worry, then there certainly wasn’t!
“Oh…”
Lyra elongated the sound, the worry on her face replaced by curiosity.
“Boss, you’re so amazing! You think about so much! I would only think that if they dare come again, I’ll… I’ll bite them!”
As she spoke, she symbolically bared her teeth, revealing a small sharp fang while making an expression she thought was fierce.
Freya looked at her, a faint trace of a smile flashing deep in her eyes before quickly vanishing.
“There’s no need for you to bite anyone,” she said calmly. “Just do your own thing, stay by my side, and stay out of trouble. That would be a huge help.”
“I promise not to cause trouble!”
Lyra immediately raised one hand to swear, then happily flopped back down, rubbing her face contentedly against the sheets.
“Boss’s bed is so soft and smells so good… It smells like Boss and the sun…”
Her attention was quickly diverted by the comfortable sensation. Her previous worries seemed to have vanished into thin air. For her, as long as she stayed beside someone who made her feel safe and felt that warmth and protection, future troubles didn’t seem so frightening.
Freya said no more, lifted the covers, and lay down.
Lyra also consciously rolled back into her own bedding on the floor.
She remained lying on her side, facing Freya’s bed, her eyes bright in the dim light until Freya said “Sleep,” and then she obediently closed them.
The next morning’s light filtered through the Magic Crystal Window, plating the corridors and classrooms of the Central Magic Academy with a pale golden glow.
The Basic Theory Course was a mandatory lecture for all departments and grades in the school, aimed at consolidating the students’ understanding of Magic principles, the History of the Continent, and general knowledge of Basic Incantations.
At this moment, in the circular tiered lecture hall large enough to hold several hundred people, many students were already scattered about. The sounds of low conversations and the rustling of turning pages created a hum of activity.
After having a simple breakfast at the Academy Canteen, Freya and Lyra arrived at the classroom early.
Freya habitually chose a seat near the window in the middle-back rows, where the view was clear but she wasn’t too conspicuous.
Lyra sat down beside her with a look of utter boredom.
She clearly lacked the basic interest and patience for a course that required sitting still and listening for a long time.
Not long after her bottom hit the chair, she couldn’t help but let out a wide yawn.
A few physiological tears even welled up in the corners of her eyes.
She slumped over the desk like a wilted seedling in the sun, her fingers unconsciously picking at the smooth wood grain.
Freya ignored this and simply took out a quill, ink, and a thick blank notebook from her leather bag.
She spread them out on the table, prepared to take notes.
The sunlight danced through the window onto her light purple hair and her focused profile, complementing the quiet atmosphere surrounding her.
A few minutes before the bell was set to ring, a noticeable commotion broke out at the classroom door.
The originally noisy classroom instantly quieted down as many gazes shifted toward the entrance.
It was the Crown Prince, Ross Castor.
Today, he wore a well-tailored, high-quality deep blue Academy uniform. His short golden hair was meticulous, and his handsome face carried his usual, well-measured air of reserve and nobility.
However, anyone familiar with his daily routine knew that the “spectacular” formation behind him was the norm — a group of girls, either radiant or shy, with eyes shimmering with admiration, and several noble followers of distinguished birth who followed his lead.
They entered the classroom in a grand procession, surrounding him like stars around the moon.
Ross’s gaze habitually swept over the classroom. When his eyes landed on Freya sitting by the window, his footsteps faltered almost imperceptibly.
He remembered the brief conversation at the banquet that could only be described as a “defeat” — her attitude that was calm to the point of being cold, her clear and sharp logic, and that final word “meaning” that had left him speechless.
There was also her panicked reaction, as if she had seen a ghost.
It was like a tiny thorn, not particularly painful, but stubbornly stuck in a corner of his heart, leaving him feeling strangely uneasy over the past few days.
Seeing her now, Ross subconsciously pursed his lips.
According to his usual education and status, he should maintain his poise and take the initiative to say hello, even if it was just a simple nod of acknowledgment.
But for some reason, watching Freya immersed in her own world, seemingly unaware of the commotion at the door… or rather, simply not caring… the proper words of a Crown Prince that were ready in his throat suddenly became difficult to say.
His lips parted slightly several times, but in the end, under the curious gazes of those around him, the greeting never came.
A trace of nearly invisible frustration and a faint sense of disappointment crossed his eyes.
He eventually looked away discreetly, as if his pause had been nothing more than an accidental glance.
Then, surrounded by the crowd, he walked straight to the reserved center position in the front row with the best view and sat down gracefully.
His followers and admirers also took seats near him, forming a striking circle with him at the core.
Lyra had been lying down lazily, but the commotion of the Crown Prince’s entrance caught her attention.
She lifted her eyelids, her red eyes glancing at the scene in the front row where he was surrounded like a star.
Then she looked at Freya, who was still focused on her preview notes without even lifting her head, and whispered a quiet grumble.
“That’s quite a spectacle…”
Then she buried her head back down, clearly lacking interest in such aristocratic displays.
“You’ll get used to it. After all, he is the Crown Prince,” Freya replied.
It wasn’t that Freya hadn’t noticed the movement at the door, but she truly didn’t care.
She had caught Ross Castor’s hesitation and his final decision to give up on communicating out of the corner of her eye, but her heart remained undisturbed.
To her, the Crown Prince was no different from any other classmate. He was just a part of the Academy’s ecosystem — perhaps carrying more symbolic meaning and potential for trouble, but not enough to disrupt her rhythm.
Soon, the lecturing Professor entered carrying heavy tomes, and a booming voice began to echo through the spacious classroom.
Most of the theory course content was material Freya had already mastered, but she still listened seriously, her notes meticulous.
As for Lyra, she went from slumped over to nodding like a chicken pecking for grain, until finally, her head tilted to the side against the back of the chair, and she breathed evenly — she fell asleep.
The sunlight moved slowly, shining on the tip of Freya’s constantly moving quill and on Lyra’s thick, lowered golden eyelashes.
In the front row, Ross Castor sat with a straight posture, appearing to listen intently, but his gaze would occasionally drift toward the window uncontrollably, or… discreetly sweep toward a quiet corner by the window in the back.
Beneath the surface calm of the large classroom, different thoughts flowed silently like undercurrents amidst the chanting of basic magic theory.
And no one noticed that in another inconspicuous corner of the classroom, the pink-haired Irina Ewell was bowing her head slightly as if focused on her notes.
Her peripheral vision, however, took in every subtle movement of the Crown Prince in the front and Freya’s indifference in the back.
Deep within her pink eyes, an indecipherable calculation flickered.
After class, there was a twenty-minute break.
Freya stretched her fingers, which were a bit sore from writing, and looked at the sleeping Lyra next to her, wondering if she should buy her a sweet to pass the boring time.
“Freya! Is your body feeling better?”
A cheerful voice called out. Freya looked toward the source of the sound.
It was her good friend, Anke Bliss.
“I’m much better. That’s why I’m back in class,” Freya said with a smile, waving her notes toward Anke.
Anke sat down beside Freya, glanced at Ross sitting in front of them, and then pulled her gaze back.
“What’s going on with you and His Highness the Crown Prince?”