I'll add the requested line about maintaining a facade at the end of the chapter.
"Arthur," Rachel murmured, leaning in slightly, "Should we go—"
She didn't get to finish.
Because that was when Cecilia arrived.
The atmosphere shifted instantly, the murmur of conversation dipping ever so slightly, as if the ballroom itself had noticed the entrance of someone who refused to be ignored.
She stepped onto the ballroom floor like it was her personal stage, dressed in a flowing gown of deep crimson, its fabric layered with sheer black accents that caught the light in a way that made her seem half-shadow, half-fire.
Her long, blonde hair had been styled deliberately loose, tumbling over one shoulder, framing her face with almost lazy elegance.
She smiled.
That smile.
The one that said, I am here to cause problems, and I am going to enjoy every second of it.
'Predictable,' I thought, keeping my expression carefully neutral. 'Always needing to be the center of attention. The Slatemarks' need for theatrical entrances is almost pathological.'
Her crimson eyes flickered over the ballroom, scanning for her favorite targets—and the moment she spotted us, her smile widened.
Rachel sighed.
Lucifer, to his credit, simply crossed his arms, watching with mild amusement.
And then, just like that, Cecilia was in front of us.
"Well, well, well, look at you all."
Her gaze swept over us, lingering briefly on Rachel before locking onto me, her grin stretching into something that bordered on conspiratorial.
'Here we go,' I thought, mentally calculating how many political favors I might need if I were to simply walk away from the heiress of one of the continent's most powerful families. 'Too many. Not worth it... yet.'
"Arthur," she said sweetly, tilting her head. "I must say, you do wear a suit rather well."
Rachel rolled her eyes.
Lucifer just chuckled under his breath.
"Thank you," I replied, deliberately lowering my gaze as if flustered by her attention. 'Your transparent attempts at manipulation would be amusing if they weren't so predictable.'
"Where's your date, Cecilia?" Rachel asked, entirely unimpressed.
Cecilia laughed, the sound light, playful, and completely devoid of sincerity.
"As if I need one," she replied smoothly. "I prefer to keep my options open."
'Options implies choice,' I thought coldly. 'And choice implies someone actually wants what you're offering beyond your family name and political connections.'
Ian finally turned from his audience, flashing her a grin.
"You're late, Ceci."
"I prefer fashionably late," she corrected, tapping her chin. "Besides, I had to make an entrance."
'Of course you did,' I thought. 'Heaven forbid anyone forget who you are for even five minutes.'
"That you did," Lucifer said, still amused.
Meanwhile, Jin and Ren remained completely detached from the entire conversation.
Jin had not moved from his isolated corner, his sharp, calculating gaze flickering over the ballroom, no doubt assessing everyone's mana signatures for his own amusement.
Ren, meanwhile, was pretending we did not exist, still standing near the refreshments table, looking as if he was two seconds away from punching someone for looking at him wrong.
Cecilia glanced at them briefly, before sighing dramatically.
"The anti-social duo is in full force tonight, I see."
"You should go bother them," Rachel suggested dryly.
Cecilia smirked. "Oh, I will. But first—"
She turned her attention back to me.
"Shall we dance later, Art?"
Rachel tensed instantly, her sapphire eyes narrowing.
I blinked, feigning surprise while inwardly sighing. 'Using a nickname we both know I despise. Classic power play, trying to establish familiarity that doesn't exist.'
"Uh—" I stammered deliberately, as if caught off guard by her boldness.
Cecilia laughed, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers.
"Relax, Ray-Ray, I'm just teasing," she said, voice dripping with amusement.
Rachel clenched her jaw.
Lucifer chuckled again, while Ian looked far too entertained by all of this.
'You're not teasing,' I analyzed silently. 'You're marking territory, testing boundaries, seeing who reacts and how. Politics dressed as playfulness.'
Cecilia then clapped her hands together, pivoting effortlessly.
"Alright, alright," she sighed. "Enough fun—for now. But I do expect a dance or two before the night is over."
She waved dramatically, before sashaying off to find her next source of entertainment.
Rachel watched her go, then let out a deep breath.
Lucifer just smirked. "You two are going to fight one day."
Rachel scoffed. "Obviously."
I exhaled slowly, mentally preparing myself for the rest of the night. 'The Slatemark princess wants something. That performance wasn't just social preening; it was reconnaissance. The question is, what does she want from me?'
Something told me, it was only just beginning.
The clinking of glass rang through the air, cutting through the hum of conversation with effortless precision. It wasn't just the sound—it was the intent behind it, the subtle manipulation of wind magic carrying it just right so that it commanded attention without feeling forced.
The room fell silent.
At the center of the ballroom, Instructor Nero stood tall, clad in a sleek navy-blue suit, looking far too comfortable in an event that many of us were still adjusting to.
"Welcome, everyone, to the Freshman Ball at Mythos Academy!" he declared, his voice carrying the warmth of a man who knew exactly how to hold a crowd's attention.
"You are all freshmen at the world's finest institution, destined for greatness and success in your lives post-graduation."
He let the words settle, letting the weight of them sink into the gold-trimmed, chandelier-lit air.
Then, with a slightly more relaxed tone, he continued.
"However, life is not just hard work and the pursuit of strength. To truly live, one must find pleasure in making connections, in spending time with those you consider precious. This event is designed to foster such connections—an occasion for pure leisure, to step outside the confines of our classrooms and training halls."
He smiled, then lifted his glass slightly.
"And so, we will now proceed with the first dance. I hope you all thoroughly enjoy the evening."
The orchestra, waiting for the signal, let the first soft notes of the waltz unfurl like a delicate thread of silk, weaving its way into the grandeur of the ballroom.
The moment had arrived.
I turned to Rachel, inhaling sharply before dropping into a formal kneel, meeting her gaze squarely. 'At least with her, I don't have to pretend.'
Her sapphire-blue eyes met mine, and for a moment, the rest of the room faded into the background.
"Would you honor me with this dance, my Lady?"
Rachel blinked, startled just for a second, before her lips curled into a small, delighted smile.
She placed her hand in mine, her fingers soft but sure.
"I would be delighted, Sir Nightingale."
I rose, her hand still resting lightly in mine, and together we stepped onto the dance floor, joining the other couples as the waltz began.
The music wrapped around us, filling the ballroom with a gentle, rhythmic grace.
Rachel and I moved in sync, our steps falling into the elegant rhythm of the waltz, the kind of dance that had survived centuries for a reason—timeless, fluid, a conversation without words.
One hand on the small of her back, guiding her movements, the other clasping hers firmly but carefully.
Rachel moved with natural poise, her every step graceful, effortless, as if she were meant for this.
Her dress swirled around her, shimmering under the chandeliers, catching the light with every turn, making her look like she had stepped out of some celestial painting.
I had read about moments like this before.
I had just never expected to be in one.
The tempo shifted, picking up slightly, and we followed its lead. Twirls, spins, steps that required unspoken trust to execute flawlessly.
Rachel's smile never faltered, her sapphire eyes glinting with something close to exhilaration.
And then, finally, the last soft note faded, bringing the first dance to its elegant conclusion.
We stood there for a moment, still locked in place, our hands still connected.
Then, Rachel tilted her head slightly, her smile softening.
"Not bad," she murmured.
I huffed out a quiet laugh. "Coming from you, I'll take that as high praise."
She laughed lightly, slipping her hand from mine but not moving away completely.
We stepped off the dance floor, heading toward the refreshment tables where a lavish array of mana-infused delicacies awaited.
The Academy did nothing by halves—even the food here was enhanced, the flavors sharper, the energy it provided borderline addictive.
Rachel and I were in the middle of picking out something when—
A familiar voice rang out.
"Sorry, sorry! But I already have a partner!"
I turned, eyebrows raising slightly at the sight of Cecilia Slatemark, surrounded by a small horde of suitors, each one desperately vying for a chance to dance with her.
'And there's the second act,' I thought coldly. 'Creating artificial demand to increase perceived value. Basic marketplace psychology applied to social dynamics.'
Which, honestly, made perfect sense.
She was a princess, Rank 6 first-year, and a walking enigma wrapped in dangerously deceptive charm.
'If I hadn't known her true nature, I might have been among them,' I thought, but corrected myself immediately. 'No. I wouldn't. Even without knowing what she is, there's something fundamentally dishonest about how she presents herself.'
Cecilia, however, had no intention of entertaining them further.
Because she was already walking toward me.
Rachel sighed, already bracing for whatever came next.
And then, before I could even process it, Cecilia was right in front of me, her hand latching onto my arm with the kind of certainty that didn't allow for refusal.
'Bold,' I assessed, keeping my face carefully neutral. 'Touching without permission, assuming compliance. Classic power move from someone who's never been told no.'
"Arthur is my partner for this dance!" she declared, flashing me a wink.
Rachel's expression flattened instantly.
"You're serious?"
Cecilia grinned wider, then leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just enough to be dangerous.
"Please, please do me this favor," she murmured, her breath warm against my neck.
'Favor implies reciprocity,' I analyzed while feigning a nervous swallow. 'She's establishing that I'll owe her after this. Interesting that she thinks such a minor social interaction creates debt.'
The temperature of the room spiked dangerously, though I was fairly certain it was just me.
Rachel's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.
And just like that, I was led back to the dance floor.
'I should at least check out her intentions,' I thought. I could have ignored her but that wasn't a good way to deal with someone like Cecilia Slatemark.
She was someone who could crush me completely right now if she willed using her political power. I needed to be careful when dealing with her.
'Let her think she has the advantage,' I decided. 'Better to appear as the naive student overwhelmed by her attention than to reveal I see through her games.'
Cecilia, naturally, ignored the standard positioning entirely, guiding my hand lower on her waist, closing the distance between us just enough to be scandalous.
My heartbeat kicked up a notch, my body acutely aware of every shift in movement, every press against her as she moved with practiced ease.
'Another power play,' I noted clinically, even as I allowed a faint blush to color my cheeks. 'Making me complicit in breaking social protocols. She's collecting leverage—witnesses seeing me behave "inappropriately" with a Slatemark princess.'
Her lips curled into a lazy, knowing smile.
She knew exactly what she was doing.
'She thinks I'm falling for it,' I thought as the waltz began. 'Good. Let her underestimate me.'
And then, at one particularly bold moment, she tiptoed, bringing our faces dangerously close, her crimson eyes locked onto mine.
'If she actually kisses me, I'll have to rethink my entire strategy with her,' I calculated rapidly, already mapping potential political and social ramifications. 'Too risky. Even for a Slatemark.'
I barely had time to react before she sidestepped at the last second, avoiding a full collision by a fraction of an inch, choosing instead to brush her lips against my ear.
"You're quite intriguing, Arthur Nightingale," she whispered, her breath hot against my skin, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.
'And there it is,' I concluded while outwardly appearing flustered. 'I've somehow caught her genuine interest, which is far more dangerous than her casual manipulation. She sees something in me she wants. The question is—what?'
It was exhausting, maintaining this facade day after day, but necessary. In a world where I didn't truly belong anywhere—not in my past life, not even here—these calculated performances were my only protection. The only way to survive.