Chapter 72: Gone

No one was there.

Only a gust of wind blew in.

They looked at each other.

No one noticed that in the shadows of the foyer corner, a pair of red eyes flashed by.

Outside, the sunlight was blinding. Freya narrowed her eyes slightly.

Lyra didn’t move.

She stood at the bottom of the steps, head tilted up, her red eyes staring past Freya’s shoulder at the half-open door. The sunlight fell on her face, yet it couldn’t reach into those eyes —

Something was condensing there, as cold as ice on a winter night deep in the mountains.

“Lyra.”

Freya’s voice was very soft.

Lyra didn’t respond.

The fingers holding the paper bag of snacks slowly tightened, her knuckles turning white.

The paper bag made a faint rustling sound, like a suppressed restlessness seeking an exit.

“Lyra.”

The second time, her voice was slightly firmer than before.

Lyra finally retracted her gaze and looked at Freya.

In those red eyes, the icy chill from a moment ago hadn’t completely dissipated, but the moment they met Freya’s gaze, they flickered slightly as if burned by something.

“Boss,” she spoke, her voice somewhat hoarse. “Your face is red.”

Freya instinctively raised a hand to touch the spot scorched by the spark —

It was indeed still a bit hot, but the skin wasn’t broken, just slightly reddened.

“It’s fine.”

Lyra said nothing.

She lowered her head, staring at the ground near Freya’s feet, her lips pressed into a thin line.

The little fang that she usually bared was tightly hidden away now.

Silence.

A few seconds later, she suddenly shoved the paper bag of snacks into Freya’s arms.

“Hold this.”

Then she turned and walked toward that door.

Her pace wasn’t fast, but every step was steady, like a beast locking onto its prey.

—

“Stop.”

Freya’s voice came from behind her, not loud, yet carrying an unquestionable power.

Lyra’s steps faltered for a moment, but she didn’t stop.

She continued forward. One step. Two steps. Her hand already touched the doorknob —

A hand reached out from behind and gripped her wrist.

The hand was cold, its fingertips still carrying the slight chill from leaving the training room, yet it acted like an invisible shackle, pinning Lyra firmly in place.

“I said, stop.”

Freya’s voice was right behind her ear, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath.

Lyra froze.

She didn’t look back, but her shoulders began to tremble slightly.

“Boss — “

Her voice was muffled, carrying an irrepressible sense of grievance and anger. “They bullied you.”

“I know.”

“They used fire to burn you!”

“I know.”

“Your face is red!”

“…I know.”

Lyra spun around abruptly, her red eyes staring straight at Freya.

In those eyes were anger, grievance, heartache, and an impulse bordering on loss of control —

That was the instinct of a beast provoked, wanting to tear apart the enemies who had harmed its companion.

“Then why can’t I go?” her voice rose. “I can fight! I’m very good at fighting! Those people are inside; I’ll beat them one by one and see if they ever dare — “

“And then what?” Freya interrupted her.

Lyra was stunned.

Freya looked at her, her gaze as calm as a pool of deep water. “You hit them, and then what?”

Lyra opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but found she couldn’t say a word.

‘And then what? And then… then they wouldn’t dare bully the Boss anymore, right?’

But why did the Boss’s gaze make her feel like her answer was wrong?

Freya released her hand and took half a step back.

“This is the Academy.” Her voice remained calm, as if stating a fact that had nothing to do with her. “This isn’t the Dark Market, nor is it the mountains.”

Lyra blinked.

“In the mountains, if someone bullies you, you fight back. Those are the rules,” Freya continued. “But in the Academy, there are the Academy’s rules. If you hit them, you’ll be kicked out tomorrow.”

Lyra’s lips moved. “…If I’m kicked out, then I’m kicked out.”

“What about me?”

Lyra looked up.

Freya looked at her, and in those pale violet eyes, something flashed by — too fast to capture.

“If you leave, what will I do?”

Lyra was dazed.

She stood there, her red eyes wide as she looked at Freya. She saw her own reflection in those eyes — the small, silly version of herself holding a paper bag of snacks.

She suddenly realized she had never considered this question.

‘If I leave, what will the Boss do? Who will buy snacks for her? Who will eat with her? Who will wait for her outside the training room? Who… who will protect her?’

Lyra’s hands slowly dropped to her sides.

The impulsive, destructive fire from before was extinguished bit by bit, as if doused by a bucket of cold water. She lowered her head, staring at her toes.

“I’m sorry.”

Her voice was soft, like a falling leaf.

Freya didn’t speak. She just reached out and gently ruffled that fuzzy head. The hair was soft, carrying the warmth of the sun.

“Let’s go.”

She turned and walked down the steps.

Lyra was stunned for two seconds before quickly catching up.

“Boss!”

“Mm.”

“I was wrong.”

“Mm.”

“I won’t be impulsive again.”

“…Mm.”

“Really!”

Freya stopped. She turned her head and looked at Lyra. Under the sunlight, those red eyes no longer held the previous coldness and rage, only a childish earnestness and a hint of guilt.

She looked into those eyes for a long time — long enough that Lyra began to feel uneasy.

“Boss?”

Freya retracted her gaze. “Let’s go.”

She continued forward, but her pace was a bit slower than before.

Lyra followed right at her side, trailing her every move. After walking for a while, she suddenly spoke.

“Boss.”

“Mm.”

“What you said earlier, about what you’d do if I left…” She paused, her voice getting smaller and smaller. “What did you mean by that?”

Freya didn’t answer.

Lyra stole a glance at her. The sunlight fell on Freya’s profile, illuminating the small patch of reddened skin. Her expression was as calm as usual, but Lyra noticed that the tips of her ears were a bit redder than normal.

Lyra blinked, and then she grinned. That little fang sparkled in the sun.

She didn’t ask again. She just took a few quick steps and hugged Freya’s arm, nuzzling against it.

In the distance, the training room door was pushed open a crack.

Several faces huddled behind the gap, peering out.

“Are they gone?”

“Gone.”

“She didn’t seem… to get angry?”

“I told you, that Freya is just a coward. She doesn’t dare say a word even when she’s bullied.”

“But didn’t the President say…”

“It doesn’t matter what the President said. What matters is that we’re fine. Let’s go, back to whatever we were doing.”

The door closed.

But no one noticed that in the shadows at the end of the corridor, a figure had been standing for a long time.

—

The afternoon classes proceeded as usual.

Freya sat in her usual spot, opened her notes, and picked up her quill.

Lyra sprawled on the desk next to her, rarely staying awake. Her red eyes were half-open, staring blankly at the blackboard.

Anke sat on Freya’s other side, glancing at her from time to time.

She felt like something was wrong.

There was a small, slightly reddened area on the side of Freya’s face. Although it wasn’t very noticeable, for Freya — who was always flawlessly perfect — it was enough to attract attention.

There was also that faint smell of burning —

Although it was very faint, Anke had a sharp nose. She leaned in and lowered her voice.

“Freya, did something happen?”

Freya’s quill paused. “Nothing.”

Anke frowned. She looked at Freya, then at Lyra, who was clearly quieter than usual as she lay on the desk. Her suspicion deepened.

But she didn’t ask further. She would wait until after class.

—

The bell rang to end the class.

Just as Anke was about to speak, a student walked over.

“Freya, someone asked me to give this to you.”

She handed over an envelope. A pink envelope. There was no name on it, only a hand-drawn white flower pattern.

Freya took the envelope. The student finished her task and left immediately.

Anke leaned over. “Whose letter is it? That pattern… is it from the Mutual Aid Society?”

Freya didn’t answer. She opened the envelope.

Inside was a matching pink sheet of paper with only one line of text. The handwriting was elegant and neat.

“What happened today was truly an accident. I have already punished those involved. I hope you will not misunderstand, Freya. I will certainly visit to apologize another day. — Irina Ewell”

Anke leaned in to see the line, and her brow furrowed even tighter. “An accident? What accident? Freya, what exactly happened?”

Freya looked at the letter for a few seconds. Then she folded the paper and put it back in the envelope.

“It’s nothing.”

Anke grew anxious. “What do you mean ‘nothing’? There’s definitely something fishy about her writing this letter! Freya, tell me, what exactly — “

“Anke,” Freya interrupted her. She looked up at Anke with a calm gaze. “It’s really nothing.”

Anke opened her mouth to say something, but was blocked by the stillness in those eyes.

That calm was too deep. It was like a well where nothing could be seen through.

Anke was silent for a moment before sighing. “Fine. If you won’t say it, you won’t. But — ” She paused, her tone turning serious. “If you need my help, you must tell me.”

Freya nodded. “Mm.”

—

Returning to the dormitory in the evening, Lyra remained very quiet.

She didn’t flop onto her floor mat to flip through the Monster Bestiary as usual. Instead, she stood by the window, staring blankly outside.

Freya sat at her desk and turned on the lamp.

The room was silent, save for the occasional bird call from outside.

After a long while, Lyra finally spoke.

“Boss.”

“Mm.”

“That letter — ” She paused. “It was written by that Crybaby, right?”

Freya didn’t answer.

Lyra continued, her voice muffled. “She’s being a hypocrite. ‘An accident,’ ‘punished those involved,’ ‘visit to apologize’ — it’s all fake.”

She turned around to look at Freya. The twilight outside cast a blurry silhouette around her, her red eyes appearing exceptionally bright in the dimness.

“She just wants to test you. To see if you’ll get angry, if you’ll lose your temper, or if you’ll show a weakness.”