Chapter 102: Everything will be alright

He suddenly felt that none of that mattered anymore.

The people who looked down on him, the people who doubted him, the people who hurt him—

Once he became the Holy Sword Hero, everyone would shut up.

“What is Your Highness thinking?”

Irina’s voice came from beside him.

“Thinking about…”

Ross paused.

“…what comes after becoming the Hero.”

Irina smiled softly.

“Your Highness will surely become the greatest Hero.”

That night, Ross dreamed again.

In the dream, he was still standing on a mountain peak, still holding the Holy Sword.

But this time, Freya wasn’t looking up at him from the crowd.

She stood opposite him, her pale lavender eyes cold as she watched him. Her lips parted slightly and she said something.

He wanted to hear, but the wind was too strong, scattering her voice.

He wanted to walk toward her, but his feet felt nailed to the ground. He couldn’t move an inch.

Freya looked at him for a long time, then turned and walked away.

He stood there, watching that figure grow farther and farther.

He snapped his eyes open.

Outside the window, it was already bright. Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the curtains, falling on his pillow.

He gasped for breath, his heart pounding as if it would burst from his chest.

Then he saw the book—

The Examination of the Holy Sword Legend that Irina had brought, still open on his pillow.

He looked down at the book, at the Holy Sword pattern drawn on it, and stared for a long time.

He remembered Irina’s words: “Once you become the Holy Sword Hero, everyone will look at you anew.”

He remembered Freya from his dream, remembered the cold back of her as she turned away.

He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, something in those blue eyes had changed.

He closed the book and placed it on his pillow.

Then he got up, walked to the window, and pushed it open.

The morning wind rushed in, stirring his golden hair.

He gazed at the distant horizon, at the clouds dyed red by the dawn glow.

“I will become the Hero.”

He said it softly, each word light yet deliberate, like a vow.

“Then everything will be all right.”

Outside the window, sunlight pierced through the clouds, bathing the entire Imperial Palace in resplendent gold.

In the distance, behind a certain window, a slender figure withdrew her gaze.

Irina stood at the window, the corners of her lips curving into a smile.

The smile was deep, deep as a bottomless well.

“Almost.”

She murmured to herself.

“Soon, he will belong to me completely.”

She turned and walked into the shadows of the room.

The day Ross returned to the Academy was an ordinary morning.

No carriage escort, no accompanying guards, not even a change into a proper uniform—

He simply walked through the school gate in casual clothes, crossed the stone path under the phoenix trees, and entered the classroom.

A murmur rippled through the room. Everyone’s eyes landed on him—

A few weeks had made him much thinner. His chin was sharper, his cheekbones prominent. Though his golden hair was neatly combed, it couldn’t hide the deep dark circles under his eyes.

He walked to his seat.

As he passed Freya, his steps paused for a moment.

Just a moment, so brief it was almost imperceptible.

Then he continued, sat down, and opened his textbook—his movements calm as still water.

Lyra frowned. She leaned close to Freya and lowered her voice.

“Boss, he…”

Freya didn’t speak. She just watched Ross.

He sat there, back straight, eyes fixed on the textbook, motionless.

It wasn’t concentration. It was a deliberate, almost rigid calm.

She withdrew her gaze.

“Class has started.”

Lyra blinked and didn’t ask further, but her frown didn’t ease.

Over the next few days, Ross indeed stopped bothering Freya, just as she had said.

In class, he sat quietly in his seat, never turning around or sneaking glances.

In the cafeteria, he carried his tray to a corner far from her, ate alone, and left as soon as he finished.

When they crossed paths, he would stop, give a slight nod, then step aside to let her pass—

Polite, distant, like an ordinary classmate.

Anke was the first to notice something was off.

“Freya, don’t you think the Crown Prince is acting weird?”

She kept her voice low, her brown eyes full of confusion.

“Didn’t he say he wouldn’t bother you anymore? Why do I feel like he’s… even more off than before?”

Freya didn’t answer.

Of course, she had noticed.

Ross’s change was too complete.

It wasn’t the relief of having figured things out and let go. It was a deeper, more thorough detachment.

The way he looked at her had changed—

No longer the burning desire or longing, nor the hurt and resentment of rejection. It was an empty, almost transparent calm.

Like looking at a stranger, or like looking at an old memory that had long blurred.

And then there was the way he looked at Irina.

Irina had returned to class, sitting not far from him.

Ross would occasionally glance at her—

Not the gentle trust of before, but something more complex, something Freya couldn’t understand.

It seemed like dependence, or some hidden expectation.

That evening, Freya went to the library to return a book.

By the time she came out, it was almost dark. Twilight bathed the entire Academy in a gray-blue haze.

She walked back along the corridor. Passing a half-open window, she suddenly heard voices inside.

Very soft, like someone speaking in a low voice.

She stopped and peered through the gap in the window. Ross stood in front of the window, his back to her.

In front of him stood another person—Irina.

She had her head lowered, her voice gentle as if coaxing a child.

“Your Highness did very well today. Keep this up, and Freya won’t bother you anymore.”

Ross said nothing.

Irina looked up, her pink eyes brimming with smiles.

“Your Highness will soon become the Holy Sword Hero.

Then everyone will see you in a new light.”

She paused, and her voice dropped even lower.

“As long as Your Highness listens to me, everything will be fine.”

Ross nodded.

The motion was light, obedient, like a tamed animal.

Freya stood outside the window, her fingers slowly tightening.

She watched Irina reach out and gently pat Ross’s shoulder.

The gesture was so tender it was almost motherly, but it sent a chill down Freya’s spine.

It wasn’t the intimacy of lovers, nor the comfort of friends. It was something more insidious, more dangerous—

Like a tamer soothing its prey.

She didn’t listen any longer.

She turned and walked away from the corridor, her footsteps silent.

When she returned to the dormitory, Lyra was sprawled on the floor mat, flipping through the Monster Illustration.

At the sound of the door, she looked up.

“Boss, you’re back!”

Freya didn’t answer. She just sat down at her desk. Lyra put down the book, crawled over, and crouched at her feet, looking up.

“Boss, what’s wrong?”

Freya was silent for a long time.

“Lyra, do you think Ross has changed?”

Lyra blinked.

“Changed? Didn’t he say he wouldn’t bother you anymore?”

“Not that kind of change.”

Freya’s voice was very light.

“A different kind. The way he looks at people, the way he talks, the way he walks—everything.”

Lyra tilted her head, thinking.

“Now that you mention it… yeah, a little.

Before, when he looked at Crybaby, there was light in his eyes.

Now, when he looks at Crybaby, the light’s gone… like…”

She struggled to find words.

“Like he’s looking at a teacher?”

Freya didn’t speak. Lyra watched her expression and suddenly grew tense.

“Boss, is something wrong?”

Freya shook her head.

“I don’t know. It just feels off.”

She paused.

“He used to do a lot of wrong things, but he had his own judgment. Now he…”

She didn’t finish.

Lyra looked at her, reached out, and took her hand.

“Boss, whatever happens, I’ll be with you.”

Freya looked down at the hand holding hers and stared at it for a long time.

Outside the window, the night deepened.

In the distance, a light still burned in Ross’s dormitory.

He sat at his desk, the Examination of the Holy Sword Legend spread before him, flipping through page after page, his gaze focused yet hollow.

Irina’s words echoed in his mind: “As long as Your Highness listens to me, everything will be fine.”

He turned a page, his fingers lightly tracing the Holy Sword pattern on it.

“Everything will be fine.”

He repeated softly, his voice as light as a spell.

Moonlight poured coldly through the window, falling on his face, making his gaunt features pale as paper.

On the seventh day after Ross returned to the Academy, Freya finally confirmed one thing—

Something in his eyes had gone out.

It was a change hard to describe.

Not sadness, not anger, not even the deliberate avoidance she had expected.

When his gaze passed over her, it was like passing over a desk, a window, an insignificant decoration.

No lingering, no resentment, not even a calculated coldness.

Just nothing.

That empty feeling was more unsettling than any emotion.

That afternoon, Freya went to the library to research. When she came out, it was already dark.

She walked back along the corridor. Passing the training ground, she saw a familiar figure.

Ross stood in the center of the training ground, holding an ordinary practice sword, swinging it.

His movements were mechanical and repetitive, like a puppet following a program—

Lift, bring down.

Lift, bring down.

The blade cut through the air with a monotonous whistle.

Freya stopped, standing in the shadow of the corridor, watching him.

His posture was wrong.

As a Crown Prince trained in swordsmanship from childhood, Ross’s technique had always been known for its precision and elegance.

But now his movements were stiff and clumsy, as if he had forgotten all his skills and was only swinging by instinct.

“Your Highness.”

A gentle voice came from the other side of the training ground.

Irina emerged from the shadows, holding a coat.

She walked up to Ross, rose on her tiptoes, and draped the coat over his shoulders.

“It’s getting cold. Your Highness should go back.”

Ross stopped, looking down at her.

Those blue eyes reflected her silhouette, but there was no ripple.

“All right.”

He leaned the practice sword against the rack and followed her out.

As they passed the corridor where Freya was hiding, his footsteps faltered—just for an instant.