Then, she looked away.
“Let’s go, Lyra.”
She stepped forward, walking right past Irina.
She didn’t stop.
She didn’t respond.
Irina stood where she was, the gentle smile on her face slowly freezing.
She watched Freya’s back disappear through the door at the end of the hallway, noticing the white-haired girl cast a hostile glance back at her before entering.
The door closed.
Silence returned to the corridor.
Irina lowered her gaze, her pink eyelashes casting a small shadow beneath her eyes.
Her fingers tightened slightly, digging into her palm.
The dormitory door clicked shut behind them, sealing everything else outside.
The moment they entered, Lyra flopped onto her floor mat and began flipping through the Monster Bestiary with a loud rustle, wearing a “don’t bother me, I’m busy” expression.
However, she was flipping the pages so fast that she clearly wasn’t taking in a single word.
Freya sat down at her desk and turned on the lamp.
The room was quiet.
Only the occasional sound of turning pages broke the silence.
After a long time, Lyra’s muffled voice drifted up from the floor mat.
“Boss.”
“Mm.”
“That woman moving in next door—”
She paused.
“She’s coming for you, right?”
Freya didn’t answer.
“What does she want?”
Lyra rolled over to lie on her back, her red eyes staring up at the ceiling.
“Why is she watching you like that?”
Freya remained silent for a moment.
“Many possibilities.”
Freya turned a page in her book.
“Power. Status. Certain things she believes belong to her.”
“Does the Boss have anything that belongs to her?”
Freya didn’t respond.
Lyra waited for a while, but when no answer came, she turned her head toward the desk.
Freya sat there with her back to her, her light purple hair shimmering softly under the lamplight. Her shoulders were held stiff and straight, like a string that could snap at any moment.
Lyra watched her.
She watched for a long time.
Then, she stood up, walked over to Freya’s side, and crouched down.
“Boss.”
Freya didn’t look back.
Lyra reached out and, with great care, gently took hold of Freya’s hand hanging at her side.
That hand was very cold.
Lyra wrapped both of her own hands around it, warming it up bit by bit.
“No matter what she wants—” Lyra said, her voice soft but incredibly serious, “I’ll help you protect it.”
Freya’s body stiffened slightly.
She didn’t turn around or respond, but she didn’t pull her hand away from Lyra’s grasp.
Outside the window, the night grew deeper.
In a distant window, a pink silhouette stood looking toward their room.
She couldn’t see what was happening inside.
But she knew that the person she intended to deal with was right there, alongside that “dog” she had picked up.
The corners of Irina’s lips curled up slightly.
‘No need to rush,’ she thought. ‘I’ll take it slow. I have plenty of patience.’
Besides, she had already found that purple-haired girl’s weakness.
It wasn’t the Crown Prince.
It wasn’t power.
It was that white-haired, foolish “little trouble” she kept protected behind her.
Inside the Moonlight Hall, candlelight flickered.
Vanessa sat before her vanity, her dark blue hair cascading over her shoulders as she held a letter.
The stationery was thin, and the handwriting on it was elegant and neat.
“…As His Highness commanded, I have moved in next door to the target. Everything is proceeding smoothly.”
The smile on her lips deepened.
She brought the letter close to the candle flame, watching it burn until it turned to ash.
Outside, the night wind blew.
Something was quietly taking root in the darkness.
That night, Freya didn’t sleep well.
It wasn’t insomnia, but rather a state somewhere between being awake and asleep—her consciousness drifted, with dreams and reality intertwining.
She saw scenes from her previous life flashing through the darkness—Ross’s hand gripping a sword, the cold sneer on Irina’s lips, and her own body collapsing.
Then the scene shifted.
Lyra was standing in front of her, a silhouette of white, her red eyes burning with an unfamiliar light.
Something surged out from behind her—a massive, silver outline that unfolded under the moonlight.
Freya opened her eyes.
The ceiling met her gaze.
The lamp cast a dim, yellow glow.
From the floor mat came the sound of steady breathing.
She turned her head.
Lyra was sound asleep, curled into a ball with her forehead resting against the wooden frame of the bed, looking like a young cub that had built its nest beside its master’s bed.
Freya watched her for a long time.
Then, she closed her eyes.
This time, there were no dreams.
In the early morning, when Freya opened her eyes, sunlight had already filled half the room.
She sat up and habitually looked toward the floor mat—it was empty.
The bedding was neatly folded, the mat was straightened, and even the pillow had been fluffed. The Monster Bestiary sat perfectly squared beside the pillow.
The sound of water came from the washroom.
Freya gathered her loose hair, got out of bed, and walked to the washroom door.
The door was slightly ajar. Through the crack, she saw Lyra standing in front of the mirror, baring her teeth at her reflection—intently studying the position of her small wolf fang.
“…What are you doing?”
Lyra spun around abruptly. A flash of embarrassment at being caught red-handed crossed her face, but it was quickly replaced by a sense of self-justification.
“I’m seeing if it’s going to grow longer!”
Freya went silent.
Lyra leaned in closer, pointing at her sharp little tooth.
“Look, isn’t it a bit longer than before?”
“…No.”
“It is!” Lyra insisted. “I had a dream last night that it grew long, just like the Snowfield Wolf King—long and sharp!”
Freya looked at her.
Those red eyes were full of sincerity, as if the length of that tooth were a matter of life and death.
She remained silent for two seconds.
Then, she turned away.
“…Wash up. Eat breakfast.”
Lyra blinked, then quickly chased after her.
“Boss, you haven’t answered me yet!”
“It didn’t grow.”
“But it did in the dream!”
“Dreams are fake.”
“What if it’s real!”
Freya’s footsteps paused for a moment.
She didn’t look back.
However, Lyra noticed that the tips of her ears seemed a bit redder than usual.
In the Academy Canteen, Anke was already waiting for them.
The breakfast in front of her remained untouched, and her brown eyes shimmered with a complex light.
Seeing Freya and Lyra approach, she waved them over to sit.
“Did something happen?” Freya asked as she set down her tray.
Anke nodded, then shook her head.
“I wouldn’t say something happened,” she said. “But there’s some trouble.”
She paused and lowered her voice.
“Last night, someone saw Irina and the Crown Prince together at the Training Ground. It was very late.”
Freya’s movements didn’t falter.
Lyra’s brow furrowed. “And?” Freya asked.
“And—” Anke’s voice dropped even lower. “Someone heard them talking about you.”
The air grew still for a moment.
Lyra’s fork clattered onto her plate. “Talking about what?”
Anke glanced at her with a hint of hesitation but continued anyway.
“The specifics aren’t clear. But the person who overheard said Irina mentioned your name, and the Crown Prince’s expression became very grim. Then Irina cried, and His Highness… he comforted her for a long time.”
She paused.
“Finally, Irina said something that the person couldn’t hear clearly, but they caught a few words—’caution,’ ‘letting go,’ and ‘opportunity.'”
Freya lowered her gaze.
She picked up her cup and took a sip of tea.
Her movements were as steady as ever.
But Lyra noticed that her knuckles were turning slightly white.
Freya attended her morning classes as usual.
She sat in her usual spot, opened her notes, and picked up her quill as if nothing had happened.
However, Anke noticed that she didn’t write a single word today.
She simply stared at the lectern, her gaze fixed on a point in space, not moving for a long time.
Lyra didn’t sleep either.
She leaned on the desk, her red eyes half-open, staring toward the classroom door.
She was waiting for someone.
That person didn’t come.
Irina did not show up for class again today.
—
During the lunch break, Freya didn’t go to the canteen.
She walked toward the Training Ground alone.
Lyra followed behind her without saying a word.
The Training Ground was empty.
The midday sun baked the grass, sending up faint waves of heat.
Freya came to a halt and raised her hand.
Silver-white mana surged from her fingertips, condensing into countless tiny ice crystals in the air. They swirled, rose, gathered—and then suddenly exploded.
The ice crystals scattered, reflecting the blinding sunlight like a miniature blizzard.
Freya lowered her hand.
Her chest heaved slightly.
Lyra stood behind her, watching.
She watched her stiffened back, her slightly trembling fingertips, and the way her usually calm, water-like expression finally showed a crack—anger, or perhaps something else, was spilling out.
Lyra walked over.
She didn’t ask or say anything.
She simply stood beside her, reached out, and took her hand.
That hand was very cold.
Lyra wrapped her own hand around it, warming it bit by bit.
“Boss—” she said. “Teach me magic.”
Freya turned her head to look at her.
Lyra’s red eyes were bright and filled with sincerity.
“I don’t know magic. I only know how to use my claw—my hands,” she said. “Teach me magic so that the next time someone bullies you, I can use magic to hit them back.”
Freya looked at her.
She looked into those honest, unreserved eyes.
She was silent for a long time.
Then she spoke, her voice somewhat hoarse.
“…Magic isn’t for hitting people.”
“Then what is it for?”
“It’s for protecting.”
Lyra thought about it, then nodded vigorously.
“Then I’ll use it to protect you.”
The sunlight fell on both of them, stretching their shadows long until they overlapped.
Freya didn’t speak.
But she didn’t let go of Lyra’s hand.
Perhaps—she should let Lyra learn magic.
—
As evening approached, Freya and Lyra returned to the dormitory building.
At the turn of the stairs, they encountered that person again.
Irina was standing in the hallway, facing an open door—her door.
Upon seeing Freya, a gentle smile appeared on her face.
“Freya—” she greeted softly. “What a coincidence.”
Freya stopped in her tracks.
Her gaze swept over the room behind Irina—it was decorated warmly with pink soft furnishings, a few potted plants on the windowsill, and a desk piled with books.
“Did you go to the Training Ground today?” Irina continued, her tone as light as casual conversation. “I saw you when I passed by this afternoon. You were practicing very hard.”
Freya didn’t say anything.
Irina didn’t seem to mind the silence, continuing on her own.
“I just brewed some tea. It’s floral tea I brought from my hometown. If you have the time, Freya, would you like to come in and sit for a while? We could have a chat.”