The mess hall buzzed with midday energy — the clinking of cutlery, the thud of trays hitting wooden tables, and the low hum of hundreds of overlapping conversations. The warm scent of baked bread, roasted meats, and fresh herbs mingled with the sharper tang of broth and spices drifting from the kitchen, wrapping the entire space in a comforting heat. The sunlight streaming in from the tall windows painted golden squares across the long wooden tables, catching on the steam rising from bowls of soup.
Riley sat across from Ace, her tray untouched except for a torn bread roll she'd been absently picking apart, scattering pale crumbs onto the plate. She had barely taken a proper bite since they sat down. Every time she tried to focus on her food, her mind kept drifting back to that morning's War Tactics class, replaying each detail like an unfinished sentence she couldn't stop reading — as if the answer to an unspoken question might appear if she looked closely enough.
Ace bit into a grilled meat skewer with the full enthusiasm of a man entirely unburdened by academic worries. Still, he was sharp enough to notice something wrong. His bright eyes narrowed in playful suspicion as he caught her third sigh in under a minute.
"You've sighed three times in the past sixty seconds," he announced, pointing the skewer at her like an accusation. "Spill. What happened?"
Riley blinked, dragged out of her thoughts. She hadn't even realized she'd been doing it.
"Ah... it's nothing. Just..." She gave up halfway through pretending. "...It's about the War Tactics class."
Ace perked up, leaning forward with exaggerated intrigue.
"Ooh, what happened? I hear the projects in that class are always done in teams." His red eyes suddenly lit up even more. "Don't tell me they paired you with one of those prideful Thrivers? Or worse — a slacker?"
Riley stared at him, then muttered, "I got paired with Lord Riellischus Desillix."
Ace froze mid-bite. "...You what?"
"I know." She sighed again, this one heavier. "I couldn't believe it either."
"But what exactly bothers you?" he asked, brows lifting in curiosity.
Riley didn't answer right away. Her gaze slid away, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her cup. How could she explain it without sounding ridiculous? That it wasn't his reputation or his title that unsettled her — but the way he'd looked at her, as if her name itself was a memory he'd been waiting to hear again.
Her mind slid back to that moment earlier that morning, when everything began in that elective class.
----
Professor Helstam, the instructor for War Tactics, had wasted no time with small talk or pleasantries. The moment the murmur of voices died down, he strode to the front of the lecture hall, his boots clicking against the polished floor as he approached the podium. His crisp dark-brown attire was so sharply pressed it barely creased when he moved. A clearly visible scar ran through his left eye, lending him the air of a seasoned military veteran. His steel-grey eyes swept the room like a blade, taking in every face as if weighing their worth.
"This class," he began, his voice carrying a sharp military snap, "will require more than memorizing historical battles. You will not only study formations, supply logistics, and command theory — you will think and act as commanders yourselves. Fail here instead of out there. That is the purpose of this class."
With a sharp clap of his hands, the wall behind him shimmered. Projection crystals embedded beneath the wall and the podium floor pulsed to life, casting luminous terrain maps into the air. The maps appeared in two dimensions at first, then began to shift and swell until they pushed forward into three-dimensional form — a full-color, high-detail holographic terrain that seemed almost solid, the illusion so precise that even the shadows shifted as the perspective changed.
Riley had learned about such devices in her very first class, The Introduction of Macht and Artifacts — but seeing one in action at this scale was still impressive.
In the projected terrain, rivers shimmered like glass ribbons, mountains loomed with snow-dusted peaks, and faint clouds drifted lazily over miniature landscapes. Army markers moved like living pieces on a game board, shifting in complex formations.
A ripple of interest passed through the students.
"You will be assigned virtual armies and a predetermined terrain," the professor continued. "Your mission: defend your territory... and conquer two of your enemy teams."
Another ripple of excitement moved through the room.
"Six groups will share each terrain. You will not know which pairs of the other five teams are your enemies. Therefore, you must be ready to face all of them. The top twelve teams in this first round will proceed to Round Two. The rest will not be dismissed..." His lips twitched faintly, as though enjoying the tension he created. "...but reassigned — as unpredictable variables."
That drew a few scattered, nervous chuckles.
"Variables," he explained, "are not bound by rules of fair play. They sabotage. Manipulate. Spread misinformation. Enable natural disasters. And trust me — they've eliminated more competitors than direct combat ever has. Keep that in mind."
Someone across the room whispered, "Now this is worth taking."
Riley felt her own interest spark — until the professor began reading the teams.
"...Team Nine: First Year, Vyrilleya Vreisz. Fourth Year, Riellischus Desillix."
The words landed in her head like a struck gong. Of all people in the class...
After finishing the list, Professor Helstam gave his final instructions. "Find your partners. You will remain seated with them for the rest of the term."
The room filled with scrambled footsteps, muttered greetings, and the shuffle of reluctant pairings. Riley drew in a steadying breath and turned toward the back of the class.
There he was.
Riel sat alone in the furthest seat against the wall, posture straight, coat immaculate, the silver of his Acknowledgement Pin catching the light like a drop of blood frozen in metal. His gaze was fixed on the front, his stillness complete — unnaturally so, like a figure carved from obsidian. One carved too perfectly.
It didn't feel right to wait for him to move. He was both a senior and a high-ranking noble; etiquette dictated her to approach first. So, gathering her composure, she crossed the room.
He blinked once as she stopped beside him. For the briefest moment, something in his eyes shifted — a subtle clearing, as though fog had lifted for just a heartbeat.
She sat beside him and offered a seated curtsy, her smile perfectly practiced.
"Hello. Vyrilleya Vreisz of the Vreisz Viscounty greets the heir of Desillix."
He blinked, and after a heartbeat of stillness, he replied, "Yeah. Nice to meet you."
Riley hesitated. He wasn't cold, exactly — just unreadable. His tone was flat as still water, his face a mask she could not figure out.
And yet, she had to admit — his tousled jet-black hair and the way the light from the nearby window caught the blue in his irises made his features almost unreal. Dangerously so. The words so good-looking felt nowhere near enough; it was the kind of face that could pull attention even in a crowd of nobles. There was something magnetic in the contrast — the sharp lines of his jaw against the softness of his gaze when it shifted toward her.
But that beauty didn't erase the heavy shadow of his surname or the murmured stories that clung to it.
Riley couldn't help but feel nervous.
This was just the first week, and she had already introduced herself to two sons of the four most powerful dukedoms in Fillemina.
Since the man beside her seemed less severe than rumors claimed, Riley gathered her courage to ask, "I'm sorry if this sounds rude," she ventured, "but since we'll be working closely, maybe we could speak a little less formally? Formality might just slow us down."
Under the desk, her fingers gripped the hem of her skirt to hide the tension in her hands.
Riel tilted his head slightly, studying her for a brief moment. "Sure. You can call me Riel. No formality needed."
She blinked. "...What?" That was definitely not what she'd expected when she'd mustered her courage to ask.
"I mean it," he said, voice even. "You said formality hinders teamwork. I agree. So let's just drop it completely."
He said it so seriously she couldn't tell if he was teasing or testing her.
Riley looked at him carefully. There was no trace of a joke in his eyes. He was dead serious.
Hesitantly, she reckoned it might be better to accept than to spend an entire semester worrying she might offend him if her courtesy and etiquette slipped.
"...Alright then. Thank you... Riel." The name felt strange on her tongue — strange, and oddly familiar. "I guess... you can also call me Riley."
His gaze sharpened.
"Riley," he repeated, as though tasting the word. It came out softer than she expected, almost careful. Then — to her utter shock — he smiled.
It wasn't wide, but it wasn't polite, either. It was real. And it stunned her.
The heir of Desillix — rumored cold and untouchable — suddenly looked human. Warm. Almost too beautiful. His eyes softened, catching the sunlight that streamed through the high windows, turning them faintly gold.
Then he said her name again, lower this time.
"Riley..."
And his smile deepened, like someone finding a treasure they'd once thought lost.
Riley stared, caught between awe and confusion. "...Why do you keep murmuring my name? Is it... weird?"
His gaze didn't waver, only grew softer.
"No," he said quietly. "It's beautiful."
----
"So what exactly troubled you?" Ace's voice yanked her back into the present. "Was he rude to you?"
Riley flinched, her spoon clattering lightly against her soup bowl. "Eh—no, not really..."
"Then?" he pressed.
She fell silent, fingers tightening slightly around her cup. That smile. That strange, almost tender way Riel had looked at her. It lingered in her mind — not because of his face, but because of the inexplicable feeling it carried. As if for a moment, she'd stepped into a memory she didn't remember making.
"Maybe I'm just... overwhelmed," she said at last. "It's a lot."
Ace grinned. "You're paired with the Riellischus Desillix. That alone is chaos waiting to happen. And this is just day one of the elective."
Riley groaned, dropping her head into her arms. "Why did I think this would be simple?"
"Hey, chaos can be fun." He winked, sliding half his dessert bun toward her. "Here. You'll need it."
She smirked faintly. "Thanks, but you might need it more. Our next class is math."
Ace groaned theatrically. "Aah, maybe I need two buns."
Her laughter eased the knot in her chest — but as she stirred her soup again, her thoughts drifted back.
Riel.
That smile.
And the way he'd said her name.