Extra long chapter as we are going to reveal Toji backstory in the next few chap.
Give my other story a visit otherwise......
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Toji didn't look back at the balcony. He didn't need to. People like Thornhill always watched from high places—they liked the vantage point, the illusion of safety. He'd learned that type a long time ago.
And right now, he had no patience for spectators.
"Come on," he said, brushing past Enid and heading toward the academic wing.
She followed quickly, her steps light but uneven, like she still wasn't used to how close they had become. A few students parted instinctively as they walked—Toji didn't make threats; his presence did the job for him.
The hall leading toward Herbology was quieter than usual. Too quiet.
Enid noticed before he did.
"Why is it empty?" she whispered.
"That's the wrong question," Toji muttered. "Ask who cleared it."
Before she could react, a door creaked open ahead, slow, deliberate.
Eugene.
Of all people.
He stepped out with the confidence of someone who had spent the last hour hyping himself up in front of a mirror. His curls were messy, his glasses slightly fogged, and his hands kept wringing the hem of his sweater. He looked terrified.
But determined.
"Toji," Eugene said, voice cracking. "Can I… talk to you?"
Enid blinked. "Eugene? Are you okay?"
He nodded stiffly. "I—I just need to get something off my chest."
Toji sighed. Loudly. "Make it fast."
Eugene planted his feet like he was about to confess to a murder.
"You hurt Wednesday."
Enid flinched.
Toji did not.
"And I know she's strong, and I know she was the one who filed the papers, and I know she said it was mutual but—"
Eugene swallowed hard enough to be heard.
"—but she cried, Toji."
Silence.
Heavy. Static-thick.
Enid's breath hitched. Toji's jaw tightened by a fraction—just enough to betray something only someone very observant would catch.
Eugene continued, voice trembling but brave in the way only loyalty makes a person brave.
"She won't admit it. She won't show it. But I saw.
And… and I think you owe her something.
Not love. Not marriage. Not a reunion. But—something."
Toji stepped forward.
Eugene didn't step back.
That alone impressed Toji more than he wanted to admit.
"And what," Toji asked quietly, "do you think I owe her?"
Eugene swallowed again.
"Closure."
Enid's heart squeezed at the word.
It made sense. Too much sense.
Toji stared at Eugene for a long, cold moment… then exhaled.
"Fine."
Eugene's shoulders sagged with relief. Enid felt the tension loosen in her chest.
But Toji wasn't finished.
"It doesn't concern you again," he said. "You said your piece. Don't make it a habit."
Eugene nodded quickly—too quickly—and scampered off like he had just survived negotiating with a wolf.
Enid turned to Toji, eyes soft. "That was… really mature of you."
Toji snorted. "Don't get excited."
"I'm not excited," she lied immediately.
He gave her a look.
She sighed. "Okay, maybe a little."
They continued walking, the quiet between them no longer heavy—just thoughtful.
But that peace lasted exactly ten seconds.
Because as they reached the next hall, Toji stopped suddenly.
Enid bumped into his back. "Ow—hey, warn—"
She froze.
Toji froze.
Ahead of them, Wednesday stood in the center of the hall, arms folded behind her back, posture perfect, gaze unreadable.
But something new lingered in her expression.
Not anger.
Not regret.
Not softness.
Preparation.
"As convenient as timing can be," Wednesday said, "I was coming to find you."
Toji's eyes narrowed. "Why? Didn't you say what you wanted to say"
Wednesday glanced briefly at Enid, then returned her gaze to him.
"There is something we must settle," she said calmly ignoring what he said as if he didn't even days anything
"A matter left unfinished between us."
Enid's stomach twisted.
Toji didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't breathe.
"What matter?" he asked.
Wednesday stepped forward, heel clicks echoing like a metronome.
"The prophecy," she answered.
Enid went pale. This was exactly why she wanted to stay far from Wednesday but she just can't help herself.
Toji felt his heartbeat kick once—sharp, deep—before settling into something dangerously calm.
Wednesday's voice was barely above a whisper now.
"You know what you are.
You know what you bring.
And the school is already beginning to feel it."
Enid's skin prickled.
Toji said nothing.
Wednesday continued:
"If we are done being married… then we must finally be honest."
She held his gaze without flinching.
"You are not free of me yet."
The hall dropped into a suffocating silence.
Enid looked between them—confused, tense, afraid of something she couldn't name.
Toji, however, understood her perfectly.
And Wednesday knew that he did.
This wasn't about love.
Or jealousy.
Or heartbreak.
This was something far older.
Far darker.
Something that divorce couldn't sever.
Before Enid could ask what any of this meant, Wednesday spoke the words that made the air itself tighten:
"You are the descendant the prophecy warned about.
And I am the one meant to stop you… or save you."
Toji exhaled once.
Cold.
Controlled.
Deadly calm.
"It was never going to be that simple," he murmured.
"No," Wednesday replied. "It never is."
Enid stepped back, heart pounding.
She had no idea which of them she should fear more right now.
And neither of them reassured her.
For a moment, no one moved.
The hall felt colder than it should have been, the kind of cold that settles in the bones of buildings and waits.
Toji finally broke the silence.
"Prophecy?" His tone was flat, dismissive. "I don't care about some old poem."
Wednesday's expression didn't change—but her eyes did. A faint, razor-thin flicker of something like disappointment—or maybe calculation.
"You should care," she said quietly. "It concerns you more than you understand."
"I don't follow destinies," Toji replied. "I break them."
A faint twitch at the corner of Wednesday's lip—too small to be a smile, but close enough to feel like one.
"Arrogance suits you. It always has," she said. "But breaking something you don't understand rarely ends well."
Enid swallowed, caught between them.
"Toji… maybe just hear her out? Just once?"
He didn't look at her.
He kept his eyes locked on Wednesday.
"Start talking," he said.
Wednesday stepped closer—close enough for Enid to tense, close enough for Toji's muscles to coil without him realizing.
Her voice was quiet, but every syllable hit with surgical precision.
"You are the last living branch of a family line tied to an old hunger… something buried beneath this school long before Nevermore had a name."
Enid's eyes widened. "Hunger… like a monster?"
Wednesday didn't glance at her.
She spoke only to Toji.
"The old texts call it Veylar. The First Hunger. A soul that fused itself to another, creating a curse that fed on life—on vitality—on spirit itself."
Toji's expression didn't crack, but inside him, something flickered.
Something he recognized but didn't want to.
"Sounds like a bedtime story," Toji said.
"It isn't," Wednesday replied. "Your bloodline carries traces of that same curse—latent, waiting. And Nevermore… reacts to it. The grounds feel it. The creatures feel it. I felt it the first night you arrived."
Enid whispered, "Wait… Wednesday, are you saying he's dangerous?"
Wednesday didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
Enid flinched, but Toji didn't move.
Wednesday continued:
"But not in the way you think. The curse doesn't turn you into a monster."
A beat.
"It tempts you to become one."
Toji scoffed. "You're assuming I'm some ticking bomb."
Wednesday's gaze sharpened.
"You are assuming you're fully in control."
Toji stepped toward her—slow, deliberate, not threatening but undeniably dominant.
"And you think you can stop me if I'm not?"
Enid's breath caught.
Wednesday didn't step back.
"No," she said plainly. "I cannot stop you."
Silence.
Dead quiet.
Then Wednesday added:
"But I can warn you."
Enid tugged at Toji's sleeve, voice trembling. "Toji… she wouldn't say this lightly."
He didn't shake her off.
But he didn't break eye contact with Wednesday either.
"What exactly am I supposed to be afraid of?" he asked.
Wednesday exhaled softly, the faintest sign of restraint slipping.
"Yourself," she answered.
Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded, weathered page—old ink, old script, older truth.
She handed it to him.
Toji didn't take it.
So Wednesday held it in the air between them, her voice low and unwavering:
"The prophecy says the last descendant will awaken the Hunger… unless tethered to something stronger than the curse itself."
Enid whispered, "Stronger? Stronger than… that thing?"
Wednesday's eyes, for the first time, shifted toward her.
"Yes."
Enid's heart dropped.
"What kind of tether?"
Wednesday looked back to Toji.
Her voice was steady.
Perfectly steady.
"Love."
Toji froze.The FUCK kind of BULLSHIT was this love Fucking love. Toji expected lots of thing but love wasn't one of them. Especially coming from Wednesday.
Honestly he was wondering if he was in a shitty fanfic written by a stupidly handsome guy who's 6.4 and built like a machine.....*cough* Let's get back to situation at hand.
Enid felt her pulse stutter, her knees nearly give out.
Wednesday pressed on:
"The curse cannot take hold if your will is anchored. If someone grounds you. Not through obedience. Not through control."
A breath.
"But through attachment."
Enid went red.
Toji went still. From this BULLSHIT
Wednesday's face softened—barely, but undeniably.
"And that," she finished quietly, "is why your divorce was necessary.
You cannot be tethered by obligation.
Only by choice."
Toji was forced to wonder why did that old hag engaged Wednesday to him knowing it will end in a divorce then Toji finally spoke.
"I don't need a tether."
Wednesday stepped closer, her voice a whisper sharp enough to cut:
"You already have one."
Her eyes flicked toward Enid—who stood frozen, heart hammering, more exposed than she had ever felt in her life.
Toji's jaw tightened. He shouldn't have thought with his dick but oh well.
Wednesday continued:
"Whether you admit it or not doesn't change the fact."
The hallway felt like a heartbeat.
Steady.
Loud.
Inescapable.
Wednesday turned, preparing to leave.
But just before she stepped away, she said one more thing—soft, deliberate, and aimed directly at the truth Toji refused to acknowledge:
"Do not make the mistake of thinking this is about fate.
This is about who you choose… before the curse chooses for you."
And then she walked off, her silhouette cutting through the hall like a shadow that knew exactly where it belonged.
In her heart she wanted to be his anchor, his teather, his truth, but she failed.
Not only did she failed herself, she failed grandmama aswell.
Leaving Toji standing there, heart pounding harder than he expected.
Leaving Enid staring at him like the truth had just punched her in the chest.
Leaving both of them with one realization:
This wasn't a love triangle.
It was a countdown.