The mess hall buzzed with murmurs. Wooden spoons clattered against metal bowls, but the crowd's attention had long since drifted elsewhere.
At the center, a boy with cropped brown hair and a face far too arrogant for his age sneered down at a smaller figure—a girl, barely thirteen, her long black hair sticking to her face like wet ink.
Her trembling hands clutched a bowl of watery porridge, most of which now dripped across the floor.
Lucien recognized the boy immediately.
Rick.
Or was it Dick? No—Rick. Yeah, that was it.
He remembered him clearly—once the heir of some "great clan" before being kidnapped like the rest of them. Lucien could still recall the day the priests shattered their cultivation—Rick had screamed the loudest. The kind of scream that made you think of a cornered dog, right before it's put down.
And now, that same dog was barking again—louder than ever.
Lucien sighed. He didn't recognize the girl, but she looked too young, too fragile for this kind of humiliation. Still, he just quietly made his way toward the serving counter.
He was hungry.
What? Was he supposed to go play hero?
Lucien snorted under his breath. No thanks.
He wasn't a hero. Never had been. In fact, on most days, he was barely what you'd call "a decent person."
So he took his tray, sat down in the corner, and watched the drama unfold.
The food, if you could call it that, was little more than gray paste. It tasted like despair and glue had a child. He forced down a spoonful anyway.
"Hey, are you going to apologize or not?" Rick barked, towering over the girl.
"It—it's you who walked into me," she stammered, voice shaking but defiant. "Why should I apologize?"
Lucien paused mid-bite and smirked faintly. Not bad, he thought. At least she's got a spine.
Rick, however, didn't appreciate courage. His face twisted with anger.
"I see how it is," he snarled. "Looks like you won't learn without a little lesson, huh? You damn brat—"
He raised his hand, ready to strike.
Lucien frowned. Okay, this is getting out of hand.
He was about to stand when movement at the edge of his vision made him pause.
"Oh," Lucien muttered. "Looks like the hero's already here."
Before Rick's hand could fall, someone caught his wrist mid-swing.
The girl flinched and turned her head away—but the blow never landed.
Lucien leaned back in his seat, watching with mild curiosity.
The newcomer stood tall, golden hair catching the pale light, golden eyes steady and sharp. His robe was cleaner, neater, almost too immaculate for this filthy place.
Lucien recognized him immediately.
Adam.
Yeah, that was his name. Another one of those noble-born prodigies who'd been dragged here. Handsome, righteous, annoyingly heroic—the kind of guy who'd normally be the protagonist in a story like this.
Lucien took another slow bite of his tasteless paste.
"Of course," he muttered dryly. "Perfect hair, perfect timing. Straight out of a damn novel."
Rick scowled. "Stay out of this, Adam. This isn't your business."
Adam's voice was calm but carried weight. "When you start hitting people half your size, it becomes everyone's business."
The room fell silent. Even the spoons stopped clattering.
Lucien smirked faintly.
Guess the main character has to make his entrance sooner or later.
"Enough, both of you!"
The voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
Everyone turned. Even Lucien looked up from his seat.
At the entrance of the mess hall stood a woman who could only be described as ethereal. Her silver hair fell like threads of moonlight, her eyes sharp as cold glass. The faintest shimmer of authority clung to her every motion.
"Rick. Leave." Her tone was calm but brooked no defiance. "You too, Adam."
Her words carried the weight of command—quiet, yet absolute.
Lucien recognized her instantly.
Selene.
Another heir of one of the great clans—one of the so-called "The Celestial House." The previous Lucien hadn't known much about this world's power structure; his former self came from a minor clan, barely worth mentioning. But even he had heard of her.
Rick's jaw tightened. He grit his teeth, ripping his wrist free from Adam's grip. He turned toward the girl on the floor and sneered.
"You're lucky," he spat, his eyes glinting with malice. He ran his tongue across his lips with a smirk before storming out. His cronies followed.
Adam watched him go, then crouched slightly beside the girl. "Are you alright?"
She nodded, silent and shaken.
Adam gave her a reassuring smile, then straightened. "Good. Be careful next time."
He exchanged a brief word with Selene before walking out as well. She followed soon after, her presence leaving the hall colder than before.
Within moments, the initiates dispersed too—murmuring, whispering, pretending they hadn't just witnessed everything.
And then it was quiet again.
Only the black-haired girl remained, sitting weakly on the floor, one knee scraped and bleeding.
Lucien sighed. "Figures," he muttered.
He stood, carrying his tray, and walked over. The girl was trying to clean the cut with the edge of her sleeve—futilely.
He sat down opposite her at the empty bench.
"Hello," he said.
She blinked up at him, startled. "...Hi?"
Her voice was soft, uncertain. Her posture guarded, like a stray cat that wasn't sure whether to hiss or run.
The silence stretched.
Lucien cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh, my name's Lucien. Do you—uh—want me to cover your wound? I'm… pretty good at it, actually."
Her brow arched slightly.
He hurried on. "I used to fall a lot when I was a kid. From my bicycle—uh, I mean, from my horse. Yeah, horses. Totally normal horses." He paused. "Anyway, I cried a lot but I always fixed my own wounds, so… I know a thing or two."
She just stared at him.
Lucien shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. "Right. That… sounded better in my head."
Then, to his surprise, her lips curved upward.
A soft laugh escaped her—light, almost musical. "Hehehe… sorry," she said between quiet giggles. "I just didn't expect that."
Lucien blinked.
"Name's Aria," she added, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "Nice to meet you… Lucien, right?"
Lucien managed a small smile. "Yeah. That's me."