Karenina and Annie’s figures vanished at the doorway.
Only Romieu and Sylvia remained in the classroom.
And a group of background extras, temporarily robbed of their sense of presence, steeped in the sorrow of a credit deficit.
“Let’s go.” Sylvia turned around, taking the first step.
Her high heels clicked crisply and rhythmically against the floor, echoing through the empty corridor.
Romieu followed behind her, keeping a distance that was neither too close nor too far.
He could smell a cold, sharp fragrance wafting from her.
If he were to quote the game’s original description, it would be like the scent of the first snowflake landing on pine needles on a winter morning.
Dangerous.
Yet it made one want to draw nearer.
“They’re really forcing me to go all out, huh.”
Romieu was perfectly clear-headed.
Six hundred and fifty credits.
That was all he had now.
A vast sum.
It carried his good brother’s complete trust, and a teammate he barely knew wagering an almost absurd bet.
Originally, his plan was just to fleece a little off this wealthy senior Sylvia, make a quick buck.
But now?
If he didn’t go head-to-head with this SSR, and pull off a major scam, Romieu wouldn’t even deserve to call himself a player!
The two of them made their way upstairs, arriving at the top floor of the teaching building.
This was a special area reserved for senior students.
Sylvia stopped in front of an unremarkable metal door, pressing her student badge against it.
A soft glow flashed, and the door slid open without a sound.
“Not bad at all.”
Romieu offered his praise.
Beyond the door was a space that defied all expectations.
Rather than a lounge, it was more like a private mini-parlor.
A soft carpet, plush sofas, and an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the academy’s magnificent scenery.
There was even a bar in the corner, stocked with all manner of exotic beverages.
“Sit.”
Sylvia casually slipped off her coat and draped it over the back of the sofa, revealing her perfectly tailored black uniform.
She walked behind the bar and deftly took out two crystal glasses.
“What will you have? I can mix any drink you like.”
“Just water, thanks, Senior.”
Romieu dared not drink at a time like this.
Especially not in front of a Dragonborn.
Who knew what strange quirks this dragon might have.
After all, everyone knew dragons were prone to using force.
Sylvia didn’t press him, pouring two glasses of water and placing one on the coffee table in front of Romieu.
She kept her own glass, settling onto the single-seater sofa opposite him, legs elegantly crossed.
A posture full of pressure.
“All right, Romieu.”
She spoke up.
“There’s no one else here now. You can start your performance.”
“Senior, you’re joking. I’m just a bit curious about the history of the Russell Empire.”
Romieu wasn’t foolish enough to take that bait.
“Is that so?”
A slight curve formed at Sylvia’s lips, but there was no warmth in her inhuman, slit-pupiled eyes:
“First you claim the title of Sage’s Disciple, then you defend Empress Russell with theories I can’t understand.”
“Romieu, every word you said in class pointed at one goal.”
She leaned forward slightly, each word crisp and clear.
“You want to be alone with me.”
“You want something from me.”
“Of course, it’s because you’re beautiful, Senior, and I’ve fallen for you… Though I doubt you’d believe that.”
“It’s hard to imagine a man like you ever truly interested in any woman. Just like…”
Sylvia left the words unsaid, her gaze flickering over her wineglass, staring at her own reflection.
“You’re right. Actually, I prefer seeing my account full of credits.”
Romieu admitted openly:
“But so what? Everyone in this world has their own pursuits. Mine are just a bit more mundane.”
The more crucial the moment, the calmer he had to be.
Since the mask was off, it was better to lay things bare.
“By the way, Senior, you really are sharp-eyed.” Romieu gave up on roundabout talk, leaning back on the sofa with a relaxed posture.
“This time alone, I do have a purpose.”
“Oh?” Sylvia seemed quite interested in his honesty.
“Of course, I need credits.” Romieu was straightforward.
“A lot of credits.”
Sylvia gave a clear, crisp laugh, like ice cubes clinking in a crystal glass.
“Of course, it’s for credits. I’m just curious, though—why do you think I’d give you credits?”
“Were you planning to use that body to bring me a moment of pleasure?”
As she spoke, her gaze brazenly swept over Romieu.
Young, energetic, exuding high-quality and mysterious bloodline aura.
Even though they weren’t standing close, Sylvia could sense her inhuman instincts entering hunting mode.
A prey worth tasting.
But… she would never submit to such impulses.
“How could that be? A shameless man is no better than a worn-out shoe or a pretty vase.” Romieu met her gaze:
“And I don’t need charity.”
“I simply possess information that others can’t access. That’s how I get by, nothing more.”
“Oh?” Sylvia swirled her glass gently.
“I admit, that is a little attractive. But the value of intelligence depends on its truth and rarity.”
She paused, then added, “And, what benefit it brings me.”
“Of course.” Romieu nodded.
“In business, I understand the rules.”
“Then name your price, Romieu. For your so-called ‘one and only.’” Sylvia’s posture was like an appraiser awaiting a bid.
“Information isn’t your average commodity, but I do have something you can check for yourself. For example…”
Romieu sipped his water, turning the topic into a question and tossing it back at her:
“Senior, you know the dragons never actually ‘protected’ Russell, don’t you?”
Sylvia froze for a moment: “Everyone knows the Guardian Dragons left because of a contract.”
“Still trying to avoid my traps at a time like this—Senior, you really are worthy of being the Valentin heir.”
Romieu clapped lightly a few times, falling into the rhythm of his own performance:
“But in fact, the contract was only the result, not the cause. The real reason is that the ‘protection’ of the Guardian Dragons was a lie from the start.”
“What did you say?” Sylvia’s voice turned icy.
He knew?
No, that was impossible. He was just the son of a minor border noble—how could he know all this?
This was connected to the Valentin family’s history, information not accessible through ordinary means.
He must have someone backing him…
“It wasn’t protection at all.” Romieu enunciated each word clearly, revealing information he’d dug up from the game’s backstory.
“The so-called ‘Guardian Dragons’ simply lived there, indifferent to the changes of the human world.”
“And the Russell royal family, generation after generation, just happened to need their power to suppress negative effects within the powers of magi.”
“When the Valentin family appeared, offering a better choice through bloodline contracts, the dragons naturally obeyed their kin, rushing toward new benefactors without hesitation.”
“Senior, you know this better than anyone, yet you still tried to shift the topic onto Empress Russell. That’s truly devious.”
Sylvia said nothing.
She merely stared at Romieu, those golden slit pupils contracting into two straight, icy lines.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop by several degrees.
Romieu felt a pressure rising from the depths of his bloodline, enveloping his entire body.
His breathing grew difficult, his heart pounding faster.
Dragon’s Might.
It was the innate pressure of the dragon race.
She was testing him.
And warning him.
Romieu forced himself to remain calm.
He could not back down now.
If he showed the slightest fear, his position in this negotiation would plummet.
He had to hold his ground, and strike back.
“What you want—why must it only come from the Chief Squad?”
Romieu’s voice was a little hoarse, but he pressed on.
“You all have plenty of credits. Of course, that draws me.” Sylvia said, taking a sip of ice water.
“Oh? Just credits?”
Others might not notice her wavering, but Romieu did—she was lying.
Just like in the game’s plot, when the protagonist sees through her heart, and she stubbornly refuses to admit it.
“Credits are never the goal, only the means.”
Romieu struck directly at the core of the issue:
“I’m just curious, Senior. How do you plan to use those credits—for example… to change your fate?”
For the first time, a crack appeared in Sylvia’s always elegant and aloof demeanor.
She sprang to her feet.
A powerful gust exploded from her, shattering the crystal glasses on the table.
Water splashed everywhere.
“Who are you, really?”
Her voice was no longer pleasant, but carried a metallic rasp, filled with dangerous hissing.
“Don’t get agitated. I’m just someone who knows a little about Dragonborn, a Sage’s Disciple.”
Repeating his identity, Romieu smiled slightly, and began to take the offensive:
“Even if you don’t want to talk, Senior, the scales on your cheek are already telling me the answer.”
“…Hmph.”
Sylvia walked to stand before him.
She looked down from above, dangerous and complicated emotions churning in those golden slit eyes.
She didn’t make a move.
Just reached out a hand, slender fingers hovering by Romieu’s cheek, not touching, but sharp as a dagger.
“Information has a scent.”
Her voice was low, carrying a strange enchantment.
“Lies reek of rot, truth is sharp and clear.”
Her fingertip traced slowly, a centimeter from his skin.
“But you…”
“You have both the emptiness of lies, and the burning heat of truth.”
Her finger stopped at his lips.
“Tell me.”
Sylvia’s body slowly pressed down, those inhuman slit eyes almost touching his.
“You interesting liar, just what other secrets are you hiding?”
“Sniffing out people and labeling them—that really is classic Dragonborn thinking.”
Withstanding the pressure, Romieu quietly dropped his own concealment.
The aura of charisma stopped hiding, fully released:
“I’m neither virtuous nor vile. I’m just an ordinary student who wants to enjoy academy life.”
“If you must say I did something wrong, ended up like this…”
“It’s probably because, to be born ‘a man’ in this world is already a kind of original sin.”
“In that sense, you, bound by ‘dragon blood’…”
“Aren’t you the same?”