Chapter 1: The Young Lady with Emerald Eyes  

The annual Lovers’ Gala at St. Lorrain Magic Academy had reached its fevered crescendo, the air thick with anticipation. 

Only three remained on the stage: two young women and a single young man. 

The question hung heavy in the night—who would pair with whom?

The host, resplendent in a crimson gown, commanded the crowd with a voice that danced over the murmurs. 

Each spring, as the academy welcomed its students back, this gala wove its magic, uniting hearts across the myriad races—humans, dragons, elves, vampires, and more. 

All were welcome to step into the spotlight of romance.

At the heart of the stage stood a young man in a sleek black suit, his gaze fixed on the breathtaking beauty opposite him. 

A faint, wistful smile curved his lips. 

“Lady Veronica has truly come into her own,” Ian thought, his heart swelling with quiet pride.

Veronica, a descendant of the goddess, was the cherished daughter of the Holy Family—the only one in a century deemed worthy of earning the goddess’s blessing and ascending to the mantle of Saintess. 

When Ian first met her, she was a shadow of her current self: a plain, timid girl who shrank into corners, her voice barely a whisper. 

Back then, her younger sister, Lillian, had been plucked from obscurity by the family, stealing the spotlight and leaving Veronica to fade into neglect.

It was during those lonely days that Ian had come to her side. 

With his guidance and unwavering support, Veronica had undergone a dazzling transformation. 

From an unremarkable duckling, she had blossomed into a radiant swan, passing her family’s trials with grace and emerging as the academy’s darling.

“Now, according to the draw, it’s time for Miss Veronica to choose her beloved!” the host announced, her voice cutting through the hum of the crowd.

At those words, Veronica—draped in a vivid scarlet gown, her peach-hued hair cascading in soft waves—turned her luminous pink eyes toward the audience. 

They shimmered like spring waters, brimming with unspoken emotion. 

The crowd erupted into a tidal wave of cheers, their voices crashing like waves against the shore.

“Holy Saintess, you are my goddess!”  

“Saintess, our love for you is eternal!”  

“Please, look my way, Your Grace!”

Ian felt the fervor of the crowd like a physical weight, beads of sweat prickling down his spine. 

“If they knew the young lady’s heart belonged to me,” he thought, “what would they do? 

Tie me to a stake and set me ablaze? 

Or drag me to the guillotine for a swift end?” 

The mere thought sent a shiver through him.

His fears weren’t baseless. 

Just the day before, Veronica—usually so aloof, as if the world held no sway over her—had sought him out, her cheeks faintly flushed. 

To his astonishment, she had asked him about matters of the heart, her voice soft and hesitant. 

She had even insisted he sign her up for the Lovers’ Gala. 

The memory sparked a suspicion in Ian’s mind: could the young lady have fallen for someone?

He racked his brain, but no other name came to mind. 

Veronica kept to herself, her circle of confidants so small it barely existed—save for Ian himself. 

“Could it be… me?” 

The thought took root, persistent and unshakable. 

The more he considered it, the more certain he became. 

Emboldened by the possibility, Ian had enrolled himself in the gala, convinced she would confess her feelings to him.

Now, with only three left on the stage—two women and himself—and Veronica yet to declare her choice, his conviction grew stronger. 

Surely, she wouldn’t confess to the other girl. 

In all his memories, Veronica had never shown such inclinations. 

That left only one possibility: she would choose him, the sole man standing.

“I… I like…” 

Veronica’s voice trembled, her cheeks blooming with color, her gaze flickering uncertainly.

Ian’s mind raced. 

“Once she confesses to me, how do I escape this unscathed?” 

The crowd’s fervor had shifted; he could feel their eyes boring into him, sharp with unspoken hostility. 

If he didn’t plan his exit carefully, he doubted he’d leave the stage on his own two feet.

After a moment of halting hesitation, Veronica’s voice steadied, and she spoke her truth. 

“The one I like… is Miss Ethelrina.”

The world seemed to freeze. 

Ian stood petrified, his mind blank. 

“Ethelrina? Who’s that?”

Snapping back to reality, he realized the stage held only three: himself, Veronica, and another girl. 

If it wasn’t him, then… Veronica had confessed to the other young woman.

“So, the young lady has emerald eyes,” Ian thought, stunned. 

“How did I not see it?” 

A pang of regret twisted in his chest. 

“If I’d known she leaned that way, I wouldn’t have come. A whole gold coin, wasted!”

The thought of that coin—his entire month’s wages, enough to sustain an ordinary family for two months—made his heart ache. 

The gala’s entry fee was steep, and every participant paid the same price: one gold coin.

“I refuse.”

Ethelrina’s voice cut through the square, cold and devoid of warmth.

The crowd gasped, the air crackling with shock. 

Veronica, who had summoned every ounce of courage to confess, faltered, her composure unraveling into chaos.

The onlookers, already stirred by Veronica’s bold declaration, descended into further pandemonium. 

“Who is she to reject the Saintess?”  

“Don’t you know her? She’s the top of our second-year class—a hybrid of human and silver dragon blood.”  

“She’s the one who shattered the entrance trial records! She and the Saintess would make a striking pair.”  

“Compared to that nobody over there—no strength, no looks, no status, no noble blood—Ethelrina’s clearly the better match.”  

“Do you think he actually believed the Saintess would choose him? Why else would he even be here?”  

“No one’s that foolish. He can’t possibly think those fairy-tale stories of noble ladies falling for their stewards happen in real life!”

The crowd’s whispers stung, but Ian’s resolve held firm. 

Years as a steward had forged a heart strong enough to weather such barbs. 

Still, he noticed something amiss. 

Veronica’s vibrant eyes had dulled, her exquisite face shadowed with sorrow.

“Why?” she asked, her voice trembling. “What don’t you like about me? I can change.”

Ethelrina’s gaze was steady, unyielding. 

“I don’t like you. The person I admire stands on their own, unbound by family or shadow.”

“Without your goddess lineage, would you have achieved anything?”  

“Without your family’s name, would you even be standing here?”

Veronica’s face paled, her steps faltering as she retreated.  

“Enough,” Ian said, stepping protectively in front of her. 

“The young lady has worked tirelessly to become a worthy Saintess. 

You can’t dismiss her efforts just because of her lineage.”

Ethelrina’s eyes flicked past him to Veronica. 

“You’re hiding behind someone again. 

That’s no way to become a true Saintess.”

At those words, something shifted in Veronica’s gaze. 

She looked at Ian, resolve hardening in her eyes, as if she had made a decision.

Ethelrina turned and walked away, muttering something cryptic about “the Book of Prophecy failing again.”

Ian glanced at Veronica, her head bowed, her spirit bruised. 

She had always had everything handed to her—her family ensured it. 

Even in her overlooked years, rejection was foreign to her. 

Ethelrina’s refusal had clearly struck deep.

“Ian,” Veronica whispered, her voice quivering.

“I’m here, my lady,” he replied softly, ready to be her confidant. 

He knew those rejected in love often needed a friend to unburden their pain, and he was the only one she trusted enough to listen.

After a long pause, Veronica spoke again, her words slicing through the air. “Ian, you’re fired.”