Chapter 82: Girls and the Morning Light

“Forget it, I can basically guess who's stirring up those rumors again.”

Ariel pressed her fingertips against her temple, clearly growing irritated.

In the Academy, aside from the notorious News Club—those bastards who couldn't get their hands on real news and found joy in fabricating their own—there probably wasn’t anyone else bored enough to keep fueling this nonsense.

“Looks like I’ll have to pay the News Club a little visit sometime. No matter what, I can’t let those rumors keep spreading.”

“Eh? But isn’t the president of the News Club that famous sixth-year, Senior Mingot? Will he even listen to you?” Liya blinked, asking with some concern.

Sure, Ariel had earned a bit of a name for herself among some students, but compared to a sixth-year senior? That tiny bit of reputation wasn’t worth much.

Let alone enough to make the News Club change their usual way of ‘entertainment.’

“But I can’t just ignore it either.”

Ariel gritted her teeth.

“I refuse to randomly become that Muen Campbell’s ex-girlfriend.”

The thought alone—being pointed at behind her back like that—felt worse than death.

“Not just ex-girlfriend, the ex-girlfriend who had an abortion, too,” Liya added seriously.

“...Alright, you little brat, it’s been forever since we’ve seen each other and the first thing you do is roast me?”

Ariel slapped the ancient book onto the pillow beside her, her phoenix-shaped eyes narrowing with a sharp glint before she let out a sinister chuckle and lunged toward Liya.

“Come here and let me inspect you. Let’s see if you’ve gotten chubbier again.”

“No way—quit it! That tickles... heehee...”

“Oh ho, saying no, but in just one short break your underwear size secretly jumped a whole number. Liya Angel, you’re such a baby!”

Realizing this unbearable truth, Ariel’s expression turned to outrage.

“Today, I must deliver divine punishment!”

“Ugh... stay away, get off—haha, that tickles!”

Liya dodged Ariel’s wicked claws, laughing sweetly, “Hey, it’s not my fault they grew! Honestly, I envy you—at least your shoulders don’t ache when you walk, and you don’t wake up suffocating because of your chest...”

“Damn it, damn it—you’re still talking, still talking!”

A certain ultra-flat figure felt her pride shatter and launched an even more ferocious assault.

In the middle of their scuffle, the dormitory filled with the lighthearted atmosphere of carefree girls.

...

Moonlight drifted coolly through the window.

After their playful fight, Ariel lost the mood to read. She leaned by the window, admiring the bright moon in the sky while running her fingers through the mess Liya had made of her long hair.

At that moment, Liya, her cheeks still flushed, crept over cautiously and asked:

“So, what now?”

“What now?”

“I mean, Muen Campbell’s apology.”

Liya propped her chin in her hands, gazing at Ariel with curiosity.

“What do you think? Are you going to forgive him?”

“Are you kidding me?”

Ariel rolled her eyes without hesitation.

“He did so many awful things to me, and you think one little apology’s enough to erase that? I’m not that easygoing.”

“True enough. But still...”

Liya pondered for a moment.

“It’s Muen Campbell, after all—the Duke’s son. He used to be so arrogant and insufferable, but today, he suddenly apologized to you, and in front of so many people too. He must’ve worked up a lot of courage to turn over a new leaf.”

“Yeah, right. Feels way more likely there’s some kind of scheme going on.”

Thinking back to Muen Campbell’s behavior today, and comparing it to the one stored in her memory, Ariel found it hard to believe a single break could change someone that much.

What, did he get possessed by an Evil God or something?

Maybe she should trick him into going to the Church of Life for a purification ritual one of these days?

“And besides, his sincerity is... questionable.”

Ariel’s tone turned bitter.

“You know what gift he offered me today as compensation? A kebab. And not even a whole one—he took a few bites first. You call that sincerity?”

“Uh... maybe it was a spur-of-the-moment thing?”

“Sure, he did say he’d properly make it up to me later, but knowing his usual vulgar tastes, it’ll probably be some gaudy jewelry or whatever.”

“Well, jewelry might be vulgar... but you don’t want it?”

Liya’s eyes sparkled mischievously, seeing right through Ariel.

“Our dear, penniless Countess-inheriting Ariel—you seriously don’t want jewelry?”

“Aaaah, of course I want it! Do you know how expensive everything I have to do is, ahhh...!”

Ariel latched onto Liya’s leg dramatically.

“Miss Liya, please, have mercy, lend me more money...”

“I already lent you everything I had,” Liya pouted.

“I don’t even know what sneaky thing you’ve been doing that costs so much, and you won’t tell me either.”

“Hehe, actually... I’ve been researching the world’s only Patchichi Cake recipe!”

Ariel declared with complete seriousness.

“Uh-huh, sure, you keep researching that.”

Liya obviously didn’t believe a word of it, but she wasn’t the type to pry into others’ secrets.

Waving a hand, she turned to leave.

“It’s getting late, I’m heading back to my dorm.”

“Alrighty, careful on the way!”

“Oh, one more thing.”

Just as she reached the door, Liya glanced back, reminding her seriously:

“Tomorrow’s the opening ceremony—you better not be late.”

“Pfft, as if.”

Ariel thumped her chest with confidence. “You think I’m the type to be late for an important event?”

“What do you think?”

Liya gave her an exasperated look.

“Who was the student with the most deductions last term for being late, again? Oh right—Ariel Bugalde.”

“Hehehe...”

“Forget it, I’ll come wake you tomorrow. Good night...”

“Good night, Liya-chan.”

...

After Liya left, Ariel slumped onto her desk, sighing in defeat.

“Learning magic is so damn expensive...”

Even though she was now the heir to a Count, she couldn’t touch the Bugalde family’s real finances. Her monthly allowance barely covered anything.

Especially with the kind of magic she practiced.

That unconventional path was stronger, sure—but also a money pit.

Truly depressing.

“Magic’s always been called the nobility’s plaything, after all. That saying about how the lower class are all brutes? Not entirely an insult—pretty much describes the harsh reality of this world.”

The candle flame flickered.

A faint, ethereal mist rose from the antique ring Ariel wore, gradually shaping itself into a graceful, hazy figure.

“Master, do you have any ways to make money?”

Seeing that figure, Ariel immediately burst into louder, more pitiful wails.

“Your beloved disciple is about to starve to death...”

“Of course there are ways.”

The hazy, enchanting figure—Ariel’s Master—spoke with ease.

“You’re already a Gold-tier mage now. There’s no end to the ways you can earn money.”

Indeed, while mages burned through cash fast, they made it fast too. Selling a few magic scrolls alone brought in a decent income.

“But...”

Her Master’s voice turned helpless.

“You know the situation. It’s not that we can’t make money—it’s that there’s nowhere to make it.

Because of that incident, most of Belrand’s underground black markets shut down temporarily. There’s nothing I can do about that.”

“Mmm... That’s only because Master taught me ancient magic that makes everyone jealous. If I could sell my scrolls through legal channels, I wouldn’t be so stressed!”

“You could always switch to regular magic, you know—it’s not too late,” her Master teased with a smile.

“No way.”

Ancient magic is way cooler. Why wouldn’t I stick with it?

“Speaking of which... this is kinda my fault too.”

Ariel’s eyes softened as she stared into the candle flame, faint regret flashing beneath her gaze.

Back at the Duke’s estate, she had sensed something was off.

But out of trust for the Duke—and, well, the temptation of Patchichi Cake—she hadn’t pushed to uncover the truth.

And then... everything happened.

The assassination attempt on Princess Celicia.

Muen Campbell caught up in the aftermath, gravely injured.

Duke Campbell and His Majesty erupting in fury, unleashing a ruthless crackdown on Belrand’s criminal underworld.

Now the whole dark side of Belrand was like rats hiding in the sewers, too scared to show their faces.

Forget the black markets—even random people in hoods walking down the street got snatched up by squads of muscle-bound knights for “tea time.”

Belrand was so peaceful now, you could barely find a thief.

“If only I’d taken another step back then...”

Ariel sighed deeply.

What a prime opportunity that was to rack up goodwill points by saving Celicia—and she’d let it slip through her fingers.

Such a waste!

Still... at least one thing cheered her up.

Princess Celicia got attacked, but the one seriously injured... was Muen Campbell.

Surely Celicia must be utterly disappointed in that useless man by now!

(*Note: The Duke’s Estate suppressed the ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) assassination news. Ariel’s intel comes from special sources and is incomplete.)

“Speaking of making money, I just thought of an excellent way,” her Master suddenly chimed in.

“Simple, fast, and totally effortless.”

“Oh?”

Ariel’s eyes lit up. “Tell me, Master!”

“Didn’t Muen Campbell say today he’d make up for his pathetic excuse of an apology with a real gift later?”

Her Master’s hazy form smiled slyly.

“Tell Muen Campbell that if he gives you a million, you’ll forgive him. Who knows, maybe he’ll gladly hand it over.”

“No way!”

Ariel slammed her palm on the desk, flat-out rejecting the idea.

“Do I look like some shallow woman who’d toss aside her principles for a measly million?

If Muen Campbell wants my forgiveness, he better show genuine change and character worthy of my approval. Otherwise? Impossible.”

“Really?”

“Of course! Truer than pearls!” Ariel declared with steel-like certainty.

“Hmm... that’s a shame.”

Her Master caressed her cheek with a faint, wistful sigh.

“Personally... I thought Muen Campbell looked pretty sincere today.”

...

Early Morning

A faint mist lingered, the world utterly still.

But at this hour, Professor Prang was already awake, starting his usual morning routine.

It wasn’t about fitness. For him, morning walks were a duty—a responsibility as an educator.

“Early birds catch the worm. And yet this year’s students? Hah, they don’t even grasp that basic truth.”

Professor Prang stood beneath the avenue of plane trees, gazing over the quiet dormitory district with visible disappointment.

“Back when I taught the Golden Generation, those prodigies were up before dawn—studying, training, driven to surpass themselves. But this year? Two hours before the opening ceremony, and not a single one of them’s awake.”

He shook his head, lips curled in disdain.

“Pitiful. Absolutely pitiful. Not a shred of pride as Saint Maria students.”

Professor Prang lamented the decline in student standards, already considering whether to suggest to the Headmaster that the Academy tighten control over these so-called ‘future pillars of the Empire’—can’t let them run wild like weeds.

Deep in those bitter thoughts, he was ready to head back.

But just then, brisk, rhythmic footsteps echoed through the mist-shrouded plane trees—unusually clear in the quiet.

“Hmm?”

Professor Prang’s eyes lit up.

Could it be? One student, at least, hadn’t wasted the most important hours of the day?

Gratified, he turned, already preparing to shower this student with praise. Maybe even single them out at the ceremony later, show those lazy idiots what a real model student looked like.

“Morning, Professor.”

“Mm, morning, Muen—Muen Campbell?!”

“Eh?”

Muen startled so hard at the old man’s sudden roar he nearly reflexively lashed out, instincts screaming of ambush—PTSD flaring.

Thankfully, he remembered this was the Academy, not some nightmare zone where Evil Gods popped out of thin air. He held himself back.

“C-Can I help you?” Muen asked cautiously.

He had good reason to tread carefully—he recognized this old man instantly.

Prang Ronir. Head of the Magic Department.

The most senior professor of the entire Magic Division.

Also, the man the ‘original’ Muen Campbell had feared most.

The reason? Probably because after a full year under his instruction, all Muen had mastered was the Illumination Spell—no wonder the Professor nearly exploded with rage every time he saw him.

“Muen Campbell, what are you doing?”

Realizing he’d lost composure, Professor Prang cleared his throat, adjusting his tone.

“Me? Morning run.”

Dressed in lightweight shorts and a T-shirt, Muen didn’t even stop jogging in place as he answered.

“Morning... run?”

Professor Prang’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull.

Shock. Confusion. Disbelief.

It was like watching a terminal patient leap out of bed, smack their ass, and sprint a marathon.

Prang stared him down, voice grave:

“Are you sure you’re not sneaking out after peeping on the girls’ dormitory?”

“Professor, what the hell? Girls’ dorm isn’t even in this direction!” Muen retorted, horrified.

“Or maybe... you’re on your way there?” Prang hypothesized with unnerving seriousness.

“I’m not, okay?!”

“Suspicious.”

The Professor stroked his beard, eyes narrowing as if confronting an unsolvable arcane mystery.

“Muen Campbell up early, dressed in... revealing attire. If it’s not to stir up trouble, what other explanation is there?”

“I’m not doing anything bad! Am I really that kind of person in your eyes? And this is literally just sportswear—how is that revealing?” Muen protested, exasperated.

“What else would it be?” Prang shot back, equally stunned. “You’re telling me you didn’t cause enough trouble last term?”

“...T-That was last term...”

You’re seriously bringing up last term?

You’re really dragging that up now?

But... Muen couldn’t argue.

Because, well... it was true.

Muen Campbell—last term’s chaos incarnate.

“I’m seriously just out for a morning run,” Muen sighed helplessly. “Professor, don’t overthink it.”

“Hmph. But at your cultivation level, simple jogging does nothing for your body.”

Prang, a veteran warrior in his own right, understood—after reaching Tier 2 Aura Cultivation, ordinary exercise barely registered.

“I know.” Muen shrugged. “It’s just to wake myself up.”

“To wake yourself up?”

“Yeah. Run a bit, hit a cold shower, and bam—energy for the whole day.”

Muen smiled lightly. “At least I won’t be dozing off in class, right?”

“...Won’t be dozing off...”

Professor Prang’s face froze like someone witnessing a shrimp pull off their own testicles in front of him.

You bastard.

How can you say that with a straight face?

Last term, every single one of his lectures—Muen had slept through them all.

“Anyway, I’ll be off now. Bye, Professor.”

Sensing danger if he stuck around, Muen seized the chance to bolt.

Leaves crackled underfoot as he jogged away, disappearing into the morning light.

“Can a person... really change that much in such a short time?”

Professor Prang stared after him, years of teaching unable to mask his shock.

From a distance yesterday, it hadn’t seemed real. But seeing Muen up close—the behavior, the words... it all felt strangely authentic.

Unconsciously, Prang snapped a strip of bark from a nearby plane tree and shoved it in his mouth.

Ugh—bitter!

My office—

No, no, no.

I can’t let myself waver so easily!

Don’t get fooled, Prang Ronir!

Expose Muen Campbell’s facade!

For the Academy... for decades of my reputation!

“Hmph.”

Gnashing the bark between his teeth, Prang sneered coldly.

“Muen Campbell... just you wait. I’ll be watching you nonstop.”

...

“Ugh—”

Mid-jog, Muen suddenly shivered, skin crawling.

“Why do I feel like some psycho yandere’s locked onto me again?”

He glanced around warily.

“This is Saint Maria Academy. Anne shouldn’t be able to get in...”

...

Morning light trickled in.

The building’s rare peace was shattered by the crisp clack of heels against tile. The bun-headed girl dozing by the entrance startled awake, snapping to attention at the sight of the silver-haired beauty approaching.

“Your Highness!”

“How many times—don’t call me that here.”

Celicia Leopold barely spared Viere a glance, noting her still-damp lips from hurriedly wiping them clean.

“And stop staying up late reading ‘The Evil God CEO Fell in Love with Me’ nonsense. It’s bad for your work.”

“Yes, President,” Viere blushed, mortified.

“Let’s go.”

Without wasting words, Celicia strode into the empty building.

Up familiar corridors, ascending the stairs, until she reached a door engraved with: [Student Council Office].

“I’m back.”

She murmured softly, pushing the door open.

Inside—an ordinary desk, plain chair.

Bookshelves stuffed to the brim. A simple guest sofa.

Nothing else.

Ordinary, mundane... untouched for two months, a fine layer of dust coated everything.

With a sweep of cold wind, the space was instantly scrubbed spotless.

“Wow... no matter how many times I see it, President, your ability’s so handy,” Viere marveled softly behind her.

“If you had enough sense to clean during the break, that’d be even handier.”

Celicia shot a glance at her student council secretary—who’d clearly spent vacation partying—before wiping frost from the desk.

“Hehe...”

Viere stuck her tongue out sheepishly, but nearly froze solid from the lingering chill in the room.

“S-So cold... President...”

“...”

Celicia sighed quietly.

She walked to the window, pushing it open.

Though autumn’s chill lingered, the fresh outdoor air was far warmer than the icy gusts haunting the room.

Breeze stirred the plane trees outside, shadows swaying gently.

In the faint rustle of leaves, Celicia caught the crisp crunch of footsteps—a nearly imperceptible sound, yet it drew her gaze instinctively.

And she saw him.

The blond boy, haloed in sunlight, clad in sleek athletic wear, running along the tranquil path beneath the trees.

Him?

Celicia’s silver lashes fluttered faintly. She turned to Viere:

“What time is it?”

“Eh? Uh... lemme check... six-oh-six.”

“When’s the ceremony?”

“Eight sharp.”

“So, nearly two hours early?”

Celicia’s pale lashes fanned downward, deep in thought.

“President, what are you looking at?”

Viere peeked curiously—spotting the golden-haired boy running below.

“Ah... Muen Campbell.”

Viere hissed, then spat viciously.

“Pah! Scumbag!”

“...What’s he done now?” Celicia asked, turning away.

“You don’t know?”

Viere’s face twisted in disbelief, like Celicia had been living under a rock. She whipped out crumpled newspapers from behind her.

“Hm?”

Celicia accepted the papers, scanning the bold headline:

“Shocking! The Arrogant Noble Muen Campbell Bows to Ariel—What’s the Hidden Truth?!”

“Bows... apologizes?”

Celicia’s brows lifted.

Below the headline, a magically captured photograph—Muen, bowing before Ariel, the image unmistakable.

Before surprise could fade, more headlines caught her eye:

“Ex-Girlfriend? The Untold Story of Muen Campbell and Ariel Bugalde Before the Academy!”

“Worse Than a Beast! They Had a Child Together?!”

“Thirteen-Timer! Is She the Battleship Class Girlfriend?!”

...

Exaggeration.

Nonsense.

Lacking even a shred of credibility.

The old Celicia wouldn’t have spared it a glance.

But for some reason... she read every word this time.

By the end, after Muen supposedly toyed with Ariel’s feelings three times, forced five abortions, triggered seven suicide attempts, and almost got her run over by a carriage nine times...

She finally noticed the tiny, almost invisible disclaimer at the bottom:

“All content above is speculative fiction by the News Club, for entertainment purposes only.”

The first rays of sunlight crested the trees, casting faint warmth across Celicia’s cool features, softening her expression briefly.

But her eyes soon cooled again.

“See? Told you—Muen Campbell’s scum to the core,” Viere huffed beside her, righteous indignation blazing.

“You...”

Celicia folded the newspaper, tapping it lightly against Viere’s head.

“Stop reading this trash. It’ll rot your brain.”