Damn this character. What a total pest!" Akira muttered under his breath, seething as his beloved Alise Antoinette Seraphim was once again harassed by the one figure she loathed most—a figure he had come to despise just as fiercely.
That character existed for one purpose: to torment Alise. Not as a antagonist, but as a constant thorn in her side. And that was exactly why Akira hated him with every fiber of his being.
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An elegant wooden-framed café stood at the end of the city street. Orange light from the magic lamps dangling from the ceiling cast a warm, tranquil glow. Patrons murmured over their afternoon drinks, the soft clink of porcelain blending with a gentle instrumental melody that floated like a lullaby through the air.
In a corner near the window, three academy girls sat together.
Alise was in the center, her smile as radiant as ever, her voice bright and animated—though a faint weariness lingered in her eyes like morning mist. Flanking her were Liane and Marcia, both top students from noble bloodlines, as inseparable as shadows.
But what they didn't notice…
A familiar figure sat just out of their line of sight.
Half-hidden behind a carved pillar and a cascade of hanging ivy, he hunched slightly, eyes narrowed. The café's fogged glass panes and tightly packed seating offered just enough cover.
"This place is packed," he whispered to himself. "But... it's almost too much like the cafés back home."
His gaze never left Alise's table.
One minute. Two. Everything seemed ordinary—light laughter, idle chatter, the occasional sip of tea.
Until—
"Alise, restroom break," Marcia said, standing. Alise rose too, smoothing a strand of hair behind her ear.
That left Liane alone.
She stared at Alise's teacup.
Too long.
Far too long for simple daydreaming.
Then, slowly, she reached into her satchel… and withdrew a small packet wrapped in faded purple paper.
His pulse quickened.
What is that…?
Liane glanced around. No one paid her any mind. Patrons were lost in their own worlds.
But she didn't see the pair of eyes watching from behind the dried vines.
She tilted the packet.
Fine white powder spilled into the golden-brown liquid.
It dissolved almost instantly.
Then, just as calmly, she tucked the packet away.
Poison?
His fingers tightened around the edge of his table.
Or a sedative? But why?
Alise returned with Marcia, laughing as if nothing had happened. She reached for her cup—
No.
He was on his feet before thought could catch up.
His stride was deliberate, but his face slipped back into that mask—cynical, arrogant, insufferable.
"Well, well," he announced loudly, stepping into their space. "Mind if I join the tea party?"
Alise's smile vanished. "What are you doing here?"
"Can't a guy enjoy a quiet afternoon?" His eyes flicked to the cup. "That tea looks… tempting."
"Leave us alone," Marcia snapped.
He ignored her.
Liane's composure flickered—just for a breath before hardening again.
"Why so tense?" she asked coolly.
He forced a laugh, loud and grating. "Suddenly lost my thirst!"
With a deliberate sweep of his hand, he knocked the cup from the table.
Crash.
Golden liquid bled across the floor. Shards glittered like broken stars.
"YOU—!!"
Alise's hand flew before he could blink.
A sharp slap cracked across his cheek.
The café froze.
Every head turned. Whispers died. Even the music seemed to pause.
Alise stood trembling, face flushed with rage and revulsion.
"Get. Out."
The owner approached, voice low and firm. "Young man, leave. Now. Or I call the guards."
He didn't argue.
He bowed his head—just enough and walked out.
But in that final glance back, he caught it:
Liane, staring at the floor.
Lips pressed thin.
Eyes wide.
Guilty.
The silence lingered like smoke after a spell gone wrong.
Marcia broke it first.
"What he want?"
Alise didn't answer. She stared at the shattered cup, chest rising and falling too fast.
A young barista,barely older than them, apron slightly crooked—approached with a broom.
"I-I'm so sorry, ladies," she stammered, kneeling to sweep. "I'll bring new tea. On the house."
Liane's voice was calm. Too calm.
"No need. We were leaving anyway."
But Alise didn't move.
Her fingers curled into fists.
"Why does he always do this?"
Marcia snorted.
The barista glanced up, eyes wide.
"Um… your friend, that guy paid for the damage. Before he left."
Alise blinked.
"...What?"
"He left this." The girl held out a small silver coin, etched with the academy crest. "Said to tell you… 'next time, I'll bring my own cup.'"
Marcia scoffed. Liane said nothing.
Alise just stared at the coin and then crushed it in her palm.
Dawn crept over the city.
Magic lamps dimmed along the cobblestone streets. The distant clatter of early carriages echoed in the quiet.
He walked slowly, no destination in mind, just the weight of the night pressing on his shoulders.
The slap still stung.
But the real ache was deeper.
He'd done the right thing.
And still, he was the villain.
Because that's who he was supposed to be.
At the gate, his father waited on the porch, arms crossed.
"Where were you?"
No answer. Just a nod as he passed.
His father didn't press. No lecture. No anger.
Just silence—thick, tired, and final.
"Sleep early. Up at dawn."
He ignored it. Shut the door. Collapsed onto the bed.
Stared at the ceiling.
"I changed something today," he whispered. "I stopped it. Whatever it was."
His eyes drifted to the desk.
The novel…
It was still there.
He exhaled slowly.
Tomorrow, then.
"Chester! Up!"
The voice jolted him awake. Stern. Urgent.
"Driver's down with a fever! We leave now! Move!"
No hesitation. He dressed in silence. Moved like a man on borrowed time.
Outside, the carriage waited. His father's brow furrowed—just slightly—at the lack of protest.
"What?" he asked, catching the look.
"Nothing," his father said.
And they rode.
The Grand Magic Academy shimmered under a cleaner sky than he'd ever seen.
Birds of light skimmed the rooftops. Dew sparkled like scattered diamonds. Students milled about, same faces, same whispers—
But the air felt lighter.
Did I do it?
His steps were heavy, but not from dread.
From possibility.
"Hey, Chester!"
Marcia's voice, sharp as ever.
He didn't stop. Just glanced back.
Alise stood with her friends. Alive. Breathing. Safe.
Relief hit him like warm sunlight.
Liane leaned in. "He didn't even snap back?"
Marcia huffed. "After last night? He's got nerve."
He paused. Turned halfway.
And said—quietly, but clear enough:
"You should let me buy you a drink sometime, Alise.
So I can watch your back."
Not a taunt.
Not a joke.
Just truth.
Alise's face twisted—classic disgust.
"Gross."
But he didn't push.
Didn't smirk.
Just smile and walked on.
Marcia muttered, "What's wrong with him?"
Liane said nothing but her eyes followed him.
Long after he'd vanished into the corridor.
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In the corridor , just before the first bell—
A girl with short, ear-length brown hair sat alone on a stone bench, knees drawn to her chest.
Her uniform was new. Too new. The crest still stiff.
She clutched a small leather journal, fingers tracing the embossed rune on the cover.
"...I have to do it alone again," she whispered to no one. "I wonder if someone can lend me a hand?"
A breeze stirred the leaves.
She flinched.
Then, softer:
"...I just wanted to interact with them so badly but they didn't came after the ice breaking"
She stood.
Took one step.
Froze.
And vanished behind the oak wood door.