Chapter 75: Pressed against the wall

She leaned in slightly, her voice growing even softer.

“Lyra, you’re a good child. You should have a better future.”

“Instead of —”

She paused, her gaze falling meaningfully onto the bag of breakfast in Lyra’s arms.

“Running errands to buy breakfast every day and being a… well, a nanny.”

Lyra said nothing.

Irina thought she was hesitating, and her smile deepened.

“I know you have a good relationship with Freya. But Lyra, you need to think clearly — what can she give you? She’s just a student herself, barely able to take care of her own needs. If you follow her, you’ll always be nothing more than her shadow. But if you follow me, if you join the Mutual Aid Society —”

She didn’t finish her sentence.

Because in the next second, a hand clamped around her throat.

That hand was incredibly fast.

It was so fast she couldn’t even see its trajectory. It was so fast she didn’t even have time to react.

By the time she realized what was happening, she had already been pinned against the wall. Her back slammed into the cold stone bricks, making it difficult to breathe.

Lyra’s face was mere inches away.

In those red eyes, there was none of the silliness, ignorance, or the soft sweetness she displayed when acting spoiled with Freya.

There was only coldness.

A coldness like a deep pool on a winter night.

A coldness like the sneer she had shown Freya in the alleyway when they first met.

“You…”

Irina’s voice squeezed out of her throat, strained and broken.

Lyra didn’t speak.

She simply looked at Irina, watching those pink eyes finally reveal panic and fear.

The strength in her hand was neither too light nor too heavy — just enough to make breathing difficult without actually suffocating her.

Silence.

A few seconds passed.

Then Lyra spoke. Her voice was very quiet, as if she were discussing something trivial.

“Do you know why I stay by Boss’s side?”

Irina couldn’t speak; she could only stare at her with wide eyes.

The corners of Lyra’s lips curled up slightly.

That sneer was completely different from her usual silly smile — it was cold enough to send a chill down one’s spine.

“Because she gives me food, a place to stay, buys me snacks, combs my hair, and explains things to me that I don’t understand.”

She emphasized every word.

“Because she doesn’t mind that I’m stupid, she doesn’t find me annoying, and she doesn’t think I’m useless.”

She paused.

“Because she is my Boss.”

The pressure in her hand increased slightly. Irina’s face began to turn pale.

“Everything you mentioned — being an Official Student, the future, your prospects —” Lyra’s voice remained incredibly light, like a snowflake falling on the surface of water. “I don’t care about any of it.”

She leaned closer, those red eyes staring straight into the depths of Irina’s soul.

“But if you ever dare to say another bad word about Boss in front of me again —”

She didn’t finish the threat.

But the look in her eyes said everything.

It was the gaze of a beast. It was the final warning given by a master when prey dared to step into their territory.

Irina’s pupils contracted violently.

She suddenly realized something — this white-haired girl who spent all day following Freya around, clutching bags of snacks and leaning against Freya’s arm, was not the harmless puppy she had imagined.

‘She’s a wolf. A true wolf that can snap a prey’s throat in an instant.’

Lyra watched the change in her expression, and the sneer on her lips slowly deepened.

Then, she let go.

Irina slid down the wall, gasping for air.

One hand clutched her throat as she looked at Lyra with eyes full of terror.

Lyra didn’t look at her again. She bent down and picked up the breakfast she had dropped, checking it over carefully.

Fortunately, she had held it tightly, so it wasn’t ruined.

Then she turned and walked toward the dormitory. After a few steps, she stopped, though she didn’t look back.

“By the way.”

Her voice drifted back, still very soft.

“If you tell anyone about today, I’ll tell Boss.”

She paused.

“Boss told me not to cause trouble. But if you’re the one to complain first, then I’m not the one causing trouble.”

Having said that, she continued walking. Her footsteps gradually faded into the distance.

Irina leaned against the wall, panting heavily. Her fingers brushed against her throat — it was already starting to feel red and hot. It would certainly leave a mark by tomorrow.

She watched the departing figure, her pink eyes swirling with complex emotions.

Fear. Anger. Disbelief.

And a hint of — an excitement she was unwilling to admit.

She had always thought Lyra was Freya’s weakness. But now she knew — this wasn’t a weakness. This was the hardest bone of all. You couldn’t chew it; you couldn’t break it.

‘But if I can find a way around it…’

She lowered her eyelashes, masking the deep, dark light in her eyes.

When Lyra pushed open the dormitory door, Freya had just sat up.

Her pale purple hair was scattered over her shoulders, and her matching purple eyes were somewhat hazy, as if she had just surfaced from a deep sleep.

She looked at Lyra, her gaze falling on the bag of breakfast and then on Lyra’s face.

“What took you so long?”

Lyra blinked. Then she grinned, revealing a small fang.

“There were just a lot of people in line!”

She placed the breakfast on the table and began taking things out one by one.

“This is hot soup. This is soft bread. They said this one is good for people who are tired… and this, this is a side dish I got for you…”

Freya watched her.

She looked at that silly smiling face, at those bright red eyes, and listened to her chatter on about the breakfast items. Then, her gaze landed on Lyra’s hand.

On the web of her right hand, there was a small, faint red mark. It looked like it had been pressed into her skin by something.

“What happened to your hand?”

Lyra’s movements stiffened for a moment. She looked down at her right hand and then let out an “Oh.”

“I accidentally bumped into a wall on my way back.” She looked up and smiled again. “It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt at all.”

Freya looked at her for two seconds. Then, she reached out, took Lyra’s hand, and turned it over to inspect the red mark.

It really wasn’t serious. It was just a little red.

She let go of her hand. “Be careful next time.”

Lyra nodded vigorously. “Mhm!”

Freya withdrew her gaze, picked up the soft bread, and took a bite. It was warm and very soft. It was indeed delicious.

She ate slowly, as if savoring every bite. Lyra crouched at her feet, looking up at her with eyes full of satisfaction.

“Boss, is it good?”

“…Yes.”

Lyra smiled, her eyes curving into two crescent moons.

Outside the window, the sunlight grew brighter, filling the room with warmth.

Irina stood in the shadows of the corridor, fingers touching her reddened neck as she stared at the closed door.

After a long time, she turned and walked in the opposite direction. Her steps were slow, her mind racing with every pace.

That white-haired girl… she had underestimated her.

But it didn’t matter.

Every time she underestimated someone, it was a lesson.

She would remember today’s lesson, and she would remember that cold gaze that had been fixed on her while her throat was being squeezed.

‘One day. Someday…’

She disappeared at the end of the corridor.

One week passed in a state of surface-level calm.

There were no provocations from the Mutual Aid Society, no “chance encounters” with Irina, and even the students wearing Pink Armbands simply looked away when they saw Freya, making no further moves.

Freya enjoyed a rare period of peace.

She attended classes as usual, trained as usual, and ate meals with Lyra as usual.

Lyra also continued to wait for her outside the training room as usual, clutching a bag of snacks and smiling like a little sun when she saw her come out.

But Freya noticed one thing.

Irina had disappeared.

She wasn’t in class, she wasn’t in the Academy Canteen, and even the Mutual Aid Society’s daily affairs were being handled by a new, unfamiliar face.

“She took a leave of absence,” Anke told her during lunch one day, her brown eyes sparkling with gossip. “I heard she’s unwell and took one week off. Nobody knows the specific reason.”

Unwell?

Freya didn’t respond. She thought back to that morning one week ago when Lyra had returned with that faint red mark on her hand and the excuse of “accidentally bumping into a wall.”

She hadn’t thought much of it then. Now…

She glanced at Lyra, who was sitting across from her, focused on gnawing on a piece of meat. The golden-brown girl felt her gaze and looked up, half a piece of meat still stuffed in her mouth, her red eyes bright.

“Boss? What is it?”

“Nothing.”

Freya withdrew her gaze. Lyra blinked and went back to eating.

Freya lowered her eyes, poking at the vegetables on her plate with her fork.

‘If Lyra really did something… what should I do?’

She thought for a long time but couldn’t find an answer.

One week later, the morning sun poured through the classroom windows, spreading a warm golden glow across the floor.

Freya sat in her usual seat by the window, opening her notebook to wait for class to begin.

Lyra was slumped over the desk next to her, eyes half-closed in a state between sleep and wakefulness.

Several dozen students were scattered throughout the classroom; some talked in low voices while others flipped through textbooks.

Everything was the same as always.

The bell rang.

The classroom door was pushed open.

Professor Mabel walked in. But today, someone was following behind him.

It was a young man.

He was very tall.

He was taller than most of the boys in the classroom, with a tall and straight build. Standing behind Professor Mabel, he almost touched the top of the doorframe.

His hair was a very pale ice-blue, reaching down to his waist and loosely tied with a simple silver-white ribbon.

A few stray strands fell over his forehead. His ice-blue color was like the light shining from deep within a polar glacier.

His eyes were deep blue.

That blue was not the blue of the sky or a lake, but the blue of the deep sea — profound, vast, as if hiding endless secrets.

Looking into them made one feel as though they were falling into a boundless ocean.

His features were sharp, yet they carried a nearly gentle softness. His brow bone was high, his nose straight and delicate, and his lips were beautifully shaped, pressed together in a faint, enigmatic smile.

A slight stir ripples through the classroom.

Some girls gasped, others whispered “so handsome,” and a few people huddled together, speculating about this stranger’s identity.

Lyra’s eyes suddenly snapped wide open.

She stared at the young man, a flash of alertness crossing her red eyes — not the kind of alertness one had for an enemy, but a more instinctive, more complex reaction.

It was like one of a kind meeting another. Or a hunter meeting another hunter.

Professor Mabel stepped onto the podium and signaled for the young man to stand beside him.