Chapter 388
"From beginning to end, we will finish it with ease."
A faint smile lingered on Theo's lips, yet the light in his eyes had changed.
From a glow of amusement and satisfaction, it shifted into a flash of calm yet unshakable determination.
When his voice finally sounded, it no longer spoke of ties or playful flicks, but leapt far ahead, piercing through the comfortable dormitory walls and touching the very core of the dangerous reality they inhabited.
He delivered a statement, an affirmation that sounded simple yet carried the weight of an oath.
He declared that the two of them, Theo and Aldraya, would see through whatever unfolded in the first arc, these early eleven episodes.
He made the timeframe clear.
From beginning to end.
And the qualification was… with ease.
Fhuaaah!
'This alcohol tastes good tonight.'
His gaze was vacant, piercing through the shimmering lights reflected on the hall's glass windows toward the silhouette of the majestic and arrogant Star Academy castle, standing tall beneath the early sky adorned with its first stars.
In Ilux Rediona's hand, a crystal glass filled with golden liquid swayed gently, following the rhythm of his deep and measured breathing.
Each sip was not for pleasure.
It was a ritual to moisten a dry throat, an attempt to suppress the bitterness crystallizing within his chest.
Several hours had passed since the party began, and the merriment remained a foreign background noise, a symphony of joy that reached his ears only as meaningless white static.
'Not too bad.'
Ilux Rediona stood with his back to the party's glittering lights, like a dark statue planted upon the balcony.
The suit he wore was a silent manifesto.
Black, charcoal, and midnight blue fused into a minimalist cut devoid of ornament.
Every stitch, every fold of fabric spoke of deliberate control over the chaos raging within him.
His neatly styled hair and symmetrical, "safe" features formed a mask of acceptance, a camouflage that concealed a soul that had nearly slipped into madness and still bore the burden of guilt over the accidental death of a teammate.
His shirt, worn without a tie and with one button undone, was neither invitation nor open rebellion, but a subtle declaration of distance.
He did not fully belong to this rule-bound world, yet neither did he intend to challenge it head-on.
It was the body language of one who stood at the edge, observing from afar.
The sharpness of his gaze, when not hidden by a lowered head or averted face, revealed dark pupils filled with calculation.
Yet more often, that gaze dimmed, veiled by layers of solitude and deep introspection.
A smile rarely touched his face, and when it did, it appeared swiftly, small and asymmetrical, before vanishing like a mistake or a bitter memory that slipped out unintentionally.
His lightly athletic frame, with broad shoulders that made the academy uniform fit perfectly and lean arms beneath, moved with almost mechanical efficiency.
Every motion was calculated and measured, no energy wasted, as though he reserved all his strength for something far more important than socializing at a party.
That keen attention extended even to his choice of footwear.
His polished party shoes were immaculate, clean, simple, and expensive without flaunting wealth.
It was a conscious choice, not something carelessly taken from a wardrobe.
Every element of his appearance was a word in a long sentence describing his condition.
Shunned, wounded, filled with regret, and beginning to find a bitter comfort in his own solitude.
Those dark garments were both shield and mirror, reflecting the party's lights without absorbing their warmth, while concealing an inner darkness far denser within him.
'Trying to be pleasant.'
At first, a vigilance ingrained in his blood made his sharp eyes sweep the surroundings.
Ilux glanced right and left, a subtle motion nearly undetectable.
His view caught remnants of activity on the quiet balcony.
A pair of guests exchanging brief conversation near the door before returning to the crowd, the fleeting shadow of a servant passing by with an empty tray, and a few others who merely stepped out for a breath of night air.
He ensured, swiftly and efficiently, that no one would disturb his solitude anytime soon.
No overly curious stares were directed at him, no footsteps intended to approach.
After that brief verification, his broad shoulders loosened slightly, a micro relaxation possible only when unobserved.
"Ilux."
While gazing at the sky now adorned with stars like scattered crystals upon velvet, Ilux waited with a hunter's patience.
His breathing remained steady, his senses absorbing every piece of surrounding information until he was certain the final footsteps had truly faded, leaving the balcony entirely under his silent possession.
Within that now-perfect stillness, when only the night wind remained his companion, a call emerged.
Not from outside, not from the party beyond the glass doors, but a voice rising from the depths within him, ascending from the darkest chambers of his subconscious.
'I am not merely Ilux Rediona.'
A long breath escaped Ilux's lips, dissipating into the cold night air as though attempting both to expel and to process an impossible reality.
Though his reason resisted, though every fiber of his being wished to deny it, the murmur finally slipped free, light and restrained, meant only for his own ears.
He voiced a mad possibility—that the voice that had just spoken from within his heart was neither imagination nor a fractured fragment of personality.
That voice, bearing an authority and depth impossible to imitate, belonged to Xavier's soul.
His confession, spoken in absolute silence, hung in the air like a curse or a revelation.
The next logical conclusion struck him with almost physical force.
If Xavier's soul resonated from within him, then only one explanation remained, one that reshaped the entire narrative of his life in an instant.
He, Ilux Rediona—the wounded orphan, the lonely academy star—was the reincarnation of Xavier XVII.
That reality was not something discovered, but something unveiled, a truth that had always existed, embedded deep within his very cells, waiting for the right moment to proclaim itself.
The party, the alcohol, the solitude—all of it had merely been a prelude to the greatest confession of his life, one long steeped in pretense.
'For now, let me relax.'
Deep within his heart, far beneath the layer of consciousness besieged by that shattering revelation, another voice arose.
This voice differed from the heavy authority of Xavier's soul.
It sounded more like his present self, Ilux Rediona, yet with a pressing, pragmatic tone.
It offered a suggestion, a temptation to momentarily escape.
It whispered that it would be far better, easier, and more comfortable for him simply to relax.
To straighten his stiff shoulders, to lift his head, and calmly sip the remaining alcohol in his glass.
Let the golden liquid burn his tongue and throat, let its false warmth spread, and for a fleeting moment drive away the burden of truth he had just unearthed within himself.
Rather than contemplate the monstrous problem he now faced—reincarnation, destiny, the inevitable confrontation—it would be better to drown in the temporary foolishness offered by the drink.
To be continued…