After Irina and several of her female classmates got their meals, they chose a seat very close to Freya—whether intentionally or not.
The group was laughing and chatting as they settled in.
Lyra already found Irina annoying, and seeing her sit so close made her even more furious.
Freya did not miss the heavy atmosphere radiating from her.
She picked up one of the honey biscuits and stuffed it directly into Lyra’s mouth, successfully stifling the girl’s rage.
Lyra chewed on the honey biscuit Freya had provided, her cheeks bulging as she ate, looking like a hamster hoarding food for the winter.
The sweet aroma of honey melted on the tip of her tongue, effectively suppressing the urge in her chest to rush over and throw the blonde woman out the window along with her meal tray.
However, she still could not help but appeal to Freya with her eyes — ‘Boss, she’s sitting near us, so close!’
Freya read the dissatisfaction written in those red eyes and simply shook her head slightly. Her voice was very low, audible only to the two of them.
“We leave after eating.”
As she spoke, she pushed the entire plate of golden, tempting honey biscuits toward Lyra.
Lyra grumbled as she took them, lowering her head to continue gnawing on the biscuits.
Her sharp little canine teeth left neat bite marks on the edges of the treats.
She ate with great effort, as if she were biting not a biscuit, but the bones of a certain blonde woman.
Freya withdrew her gaze and continued to sip her thick soup, which had already grown a bit cold.
She did not want to cause trouble, at least not during lunch and in front of so many people. She had no desire for any direct conflict with Irina Ewell.
‘That woman is best at transforming every conflict into an image of herself as a pitiful, bullied victim,’ Freya thought.
Unfortunately, just because Freya did not want trouble did not mean Irina’s side was willing to stay quiet.
Sitting at the table with Irina were two girls from commoner backgrounds.
One of them, a girl with a ponytail and a round face, took a bite of the stew on her tray and looked up at Irina with eyes practically sparkling with adoration.
“Senior Irina is truly amazing! You learned the Healing Art so quickly!”
Her voice was filled with undisguised admiration.
“Unlike me, I’m always failing to control my Mana. Every time I practice the Healing Art and try to heal a small wound, the Mana rushes out and blows the practice dummy into two halves…”
She scratched her head sheepishly as she spoke.
Irina gave a soft laugh, her smile as gentle as a March spring breeze. She shook her head slightly, her voice tender.
“Mira, you are already very capable, truly. I only managed to learn it by chance. I’m not some exceptionally gifted genius. If you practice a few more times, you will surely be better than me.”
“That’s not true!”
The girl named Mira shook her head vigorously, her ponytail swinging back and forth.
“Senior Irina is just that good! We are both commoners, so I know exactly how hard it is for a commoner to stand out at the Magic Academy. Not only does Senior have rare Light-element Mana, but your talent is also wonderful. I believe it won’t be long before you become a top-tier Healer!”
Another short-haired girl sitting next to Mira nodded frantically in agreement, her tone even more direct and even tinged with a bit of indignation.
“Exactly! Irina, stop being so modest. In our Academy, your talent is truly among the best. Otherwise, why do you think His Highness the Crown Prince would invite you to be his Assistant? That is an honor others couldn’t get even if they begged for it!”
At this point, she suddenly changed the subject, her voice rising as if she deliberately wanted everyone nearby to hear her clearly.
“Unlike a certain someone who isn’t even that great, yet keeps His Highness the Crown Prince hanging with a cold attitude, acting as if she’s so pure and lofty. Hmph, who knows what she’s actually thinking.”
The sentence was like a stone thrown into a calm lake.
The spoon in Freya’s hand remained steady at her lips; even her eyelashes did not quiver. It was as if those sharp words were nothing more than a passing breeze.
But Lyra’s movements froze.
She still had half a honey biscuit in her mouth, but her red eyes instantly turned sharp, like two unsheathed blades aimed directly at the short-haired girl who had spoken — Sara.
Irina seemed to only then realize that her companion had said something inappropriate.
A hint of perfectly timed panic and bashfulness appeared on her face.
She gently nudged Sara’s arm, her voice as thin as a mosquito’s buzz.
“Senior Sara… don’t say things like that…”
Her tone was less of a reproach and more of a flirtatious scolding.
However, Sara clearly had no intention of stopping there.
She glanced in Freya’s direction and, seeing no reaction, became even more emboldened.
She put down her utensils and spoke with a clarity that could be heard by nearly half the Academy Canteen.
“I just feel that Irina is much stronger than a certain someone!”
As the words fell, the atmosphere at their table turned awkwardly quiet for a moment.
Mira looked at Sara with some unease, then stole a glance at Freya, who remained calm not far away.
Her lips moved as if she wanted to say something to smooth things over, but she was pressed back by Sara’s “I’m going to say it” aura.
As for Irina, she lowered her gaze, her pink eyelashes casting a soft shadow over her eyes.
The corners of her lips still held that gentle, faint smile, as if none of this had anything to do with her.
She looked like a kind girl who was simply at a loss because her companion was overprotecting her.
But Freya knew. Inside those lowered pink eyes, a satisfied light was surely swirling at this moment.
Lyra slammed the half-eaten biscuit onto the table with a thud, her long white hair nearly standing on end. She could no longer restrain herself.
Regardless of the occasion or the rules, if anyone dared to speak ill of her Boss to her face with such sarcasm, she would —
A hand gently pressed down on her wrist.
Lyra looked down; it was Freya’s hand.
That hand was slender, pale, and well-defined. The pressure on her wrist was not heavy, but it possessed an irresistible steadiness.
Lyra looked up, the lingering fire of anger still in her red eyes, but it miraculously began to subside as she met Freya’s calm, lilac eyes that looked like deep pools.
Freya did not look at her. Her gaze remained on the bowl of cold soup in front of her.
She picked up the bowl and slowly finished the last sip, her movements elegant and composed, as if nothing in the world were worth her panic. Then, she set the spoon down and used a napkin to wipe the corners of her mouth.
Only after completing the entire sequence did she slightly turn her face. Her lilac eyes moved unhurriedly toward Irina’s table. Her gaze was calm — no anger, no disdain, not even any emotion. She was simply looking.
It was as if she were looking at a trivial object that had nothing to do with her.
Then, she withdrew her gaze and spoke softly to Lyra.
“Are you full?”
Lyra blinked and nodded vigorously.
“Let’s go.”
Freya stood up and picked up her tray. Lyra hurriedly grabbed her unfinished plate of meat — she couldn’t bear to let it go to waste — and followed closely behind.
They walked past Irina’s table. Freya’s steps were steady, her eyes looking straight ahead, as if the people at that table were just ordinary students found anywhere in the canteen.
Just as they passed by Irina’s side —
“Student Freya.”
A soft, somewhat timid voice rang out.
Freya stopped in her tracks. She did not turn her head, but merely tilted her face slightly, her lilac side-ponytail tracing a cold arc over her shoulder.
Irina looked up, her pink eyes filled with sincere apology and innocent worry. Her voice was soft and light.
“The things Senior Sara just said… please don’t take them to heart. She didn’t mean it; she’s just outspoken. Actually, she… she was just feeling indignant on my behalf; she didn’t mean to target you…”
Her voice carried a well-placed tremble, as if she were blaming herself for her companion’s lack of restraint, or as if she were anxious about Freya’s potential “misunderstanding.”
Students at several surrounding tables had already begun to cast curious glances.
In the eyes of bystanders, this scene was a vivid contrast — a weak and kind commoner transfer student fearfully apologizing for a companion’s mistake, and a cold, arrogant “noble flower” who remained silent after being poked in her sore spot, as if she were too disdainful to respond.
Who was innocent and who was haughty seemed obvious at a glance.
Lyra nearly crushed the tray in her hands.
Freya still did not look at Irina. She simply lowered her eyes slightly, and the corners of her mouth curved up so faintly that it was almost impossible to see.
It was not a smile. It was more like a silent crack forming beneath a layer of ice.
“Outspoken?”
Freya’s voice was very soft, like a snowflake landing on water, yet it reached the ears of every student nearby who was listening intently.
“I see.”
She paused for a moment.
“Then — “
Her tone remained calm, even carrying a hint of near-polite gentleness.
“Who do you think she meant by ‘a certain someone’?”
The expression on Irina’s face stiffened for a nearly imperceptible moment. The stiffness was extremely brief — so brief that if Freya had not been watching her through her peripheral vision, she might have missed it.
But it was precisely this momentary slip that caused a flash of hard-to-capture sharpness to flicker deep within Irina’s pink eyes — like a hunter becoming instinctively alert when a carefully woven web is disturbed by the wind.
However, her reaction was faster than anyone else’s.
“I…”
Irina lowered her gaze, her eyelashes trembling slightly. Her voice took on a hint of grievance and helplessness.
“Student Freya, I didn’t say who she meant… Senior Sara was just speaking casually and had no malice. If it caused you to misunderstand, I apologize to you on her behalf…”
As she spoke, she actually bowed her head slightly, revealing a section of her fair, slender neck. Her posture was so humble it bordered on being subservient.
As this scene played out before the surrounding students, it immediately triggered a wave of whispers.
“Isn’t Freya being a bit too aggressive…”
“Irina has been apologizing the whole time…”
“Not really, Sara was definitely being sarcastic earlier…”
Lyra heard those fragmented discussions clearly, and her red eyes nearly spat fire.
She did not understand verbal sparring or hidden undercurrents; she only knew that the woman in front of her was bullying her Boss in a way she couldn’t quite put into words.