The classroom was deathly silent.
The students looked at Avila with expressions of either pity or contempt.
As the only student of commoner background in the class, Avila was often mocked by the noble-born students—not just because of her humble origins, but also because she consistently ranked dead last in the academy.
It wasn’t for lack of effort. In fact, among those who got into this academy, hard work was the bare minimum. What Avila lacked was talent.
She could recite theoretical knowledge flawlessly, but when it came to practical magic, she was always the worst.
No matter how much she practiced, her performance remained at the bottom of the academy—and the gap between her and the second-lowest scorer was like a canyon.
Class ended.
Aurora was soon surrounded by a group of curious students. They were all amazed at how quickly she had reacted earlier, as if she had predicted the future in advance.
Aurora didn’t want word to spread that she possessed an inherent magic ability. It would only bring unnecessary trouble. ‘
So she told them this instead: it was simply a basic skill expected of a maid.
“Aurora, is your arm okay?” one classmate asked, pointing to her forearm.
She showed the white bandage on her arm and replied, “It’s already bandaged—nothing serious. Thank you for asking.”
“This is all Avila’s fault. No ability, but still insists on charging forward.”
“Exactly. Even when the teacher told her to stop, she just kept going.”
…
No one knew who started it, but soon many classmates were openly mocking Avila. Some even began spreading filthy, exaggerated stories—clearly made-up slander meant to humiliate her.
“It wasn’t Avila’s fault!”
Suddenly, a voice rang out from within the crowd, jarring and out of place.
Aurora was actually angry—an unusual sight. Her elegant brows furrowed, and her tone carried unmistakable irritation.
Avila had been the first to help her after she left that place. Aurora didn’t want to see her being insulted like this.
“Avila is a very kind person. She even helped me out before.”
“So I hope you won’t judge her so harshly. She just… wanted to prove herself too badly. That’s something we all feel sometimes!”
As soon as the words left her mouth, the classroom fell silent again.
Then a sneering voice spoke from the side: “But not everyone’s stupid to that degree.”
“Pff—hahaha!”
The classroom exploded with laughter.
The sound pierced Aurora’s ears like needles and seemed to drill into her skull. Her head throbbed, and her mood took a sharp dive.
“Even if she is a fool—at least she’s trying her best to change, isn’t she?!”
As if Aurora’s words had struck a nerve, her voice rang out louder than ever, overpowering the noise of the entire classroom.
“Everyone who’s clumsy is trying their best to change! You can’t talk about them like that!”
Click.
The classroom door opened with a soft sound.
Avila stood outside.
She looked in Aurora’s direction, but Aurora was surrounded by students, her line of sight completely blocked.
As Avila walked toward her seat, the surrounding students, upon seeing her enter, automatically dispersed.
Seeing her figure, Aurora called out with concern, “Miss Avila… are you alright?”
Avila’s eyes were bloodshot, her cheeks streaked with tears—it was clear she’d just been harshly scolded by Beatrice.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, Miss Aurora.”
Avila bowed at a full ninety degrees, her voice heavy with guilt.
“I’m fine. You don’t need to blame yourself.”
Aurora smiled gently, then raised her arm as if to prove it. She lightly patted the bandaged area and said, “See? Just a little scratch.”
“But the bandage is soaked in blood.”
“Huh?”
She wasn’t sure who said it, but when she glanced at her arm, she saw that the once-white bandage was now stained deep red.
Blood had begun to seep through and drip onto the floor.
Avila’s expression turned anxious.
“It might’ve reopened… Let me heal you!”
She quickly pulled her wand from her sleeve—only for it to be snatched away by a hand from behind.
“What are you doing?!”
A student grabbed her wand and, without hesitation, flung it toward the back of the classroom.
The wand traced a perfect arc through the air before crashing to the ground—splitting cleanly into two pieces.
“You? Use healing magic? You can’t even cast a basic flight spell.”
“Sounds to me like you’re trying to make Aurora’s injury worse!”
“Yeah, how did someone like her even get accepted here? She’s just a commoner.”
“Probably cheated her way in, using some shady dark magic or whatever. Hahaha!”
Once someone opened the floodgates, all the resentment and disdain others had been holding back came pouring out.
The shrill voices filled Avila’s ears.
She stared at her wand lying in pieces on the cold floor—just like her dreams, discarded and unreachable, no matter how far she stretched out her hand.
Aurora wanted to stand up for her. Compared to the blood on her arm, what she couldn’t bear more was seeing her friend in tears.
But clearly, none of the students cared about what she had to say—no matter how loudly she spoke, her words fell flat and powerless.
“I’m sorry, Miss Aurora… I’m so sorry…”
Lowering her head, Avila ran out of the classroom. As she passed the doorway, Aurora saw crystalline tears still clinging to her cheeks.
“Wait—”
She tried to chase after her, but just as she extended her arm, it was grabbed.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
A cold voice came from behind. She turned around—and met Beatrice’s pitch-black eyes.
“Miss Avila, she…”
The worry in Aurora’s gaze was plain to see, but to Beatrice, it was a dangerous signal.
She yanked Aurora into her arms and, under the shocked stares of the entire class, swept her up in a princess carry and flew out of the room.
“P-please wait!”
Aurora struggled in her arms, but her injured arm hit the broomstick, sending a wave of pain shooting through her.
“Stay still.”
A pale hand clamped tightly over her wound—another wave of sharp, searing pain surged through her.
Aurora gasped from the pain and fell silent in Beatrice’s arms, not daring to move again for fear of aggravating the wound.
For the rest of the way, Aurora behaved—at least on the surface. In truth, she kept throwing resentful little glances at Beatrice the whole time.
Beatrice flew straight through the second-floor window into her bedroom, then roughly tossed Aurora onto the bed.
“P-please wait a moment!”
Aurora clutched her wound and tried to sit up—but in the next instant, a soft weight pressed her back down.
Beatrice gripped her chin, forcing Aurora to meet her gaze. Her eyes were so cold they seemed to frost over, sending a chill down Aurora’s spine.
“You seem to care quite a bit about that classmate Avila… don’t you?”