Phoebe stepped into her apartment.
The soft click of the door shutting behind her sounding much louder in the gentle silence that filled the space.
Located just beside the imposing glass-and-steel façade of the Imperial Security Department's complex, the apartment was modest but elegantly arranged.
Apersonal haven away from the cold efficiency of the ISD's halls.
She slipped off her high heels one by one.
Each movement deliberate, almost ritualistic after the long hours spent standing.
Her gait remained steady and composed, not even a hint of fatigue in her stride.
Only when she reached the edge of the hallway mirror did she pause, slowly removing the reading glasses perched on her nose.
Glasses she'd forgotten she'd worn the entire day.
Her blue eyes blinked softly, adjusting to the absence of the lenses.
With a sigh, she reached up and untied the ribbon in her long red hair.
It cascaded down in soft waves, gleaming under the apartment's warm amber lights.
She shook her head lightly, loosening the strands before sweeping them back with her fingers in a practiced motion, her expression thoughtful.
The apartment was silent.
Phoebe liked it that way.
Back at the Pierremont Mansion, her family's sprawling estate nestled deep in the noble district, peace had been a rare commodity.
The house staff—efficient, well-meaning, and terribly overzealous—never left her alone for more than a moment.
From folding her laundry to preparing her shoes to offering her tea before she even thought of it.
Their dedication, while admirable, had worn her patience thin more than once.
This—this quiet and self-sufficiency—was a luxury.
She made her way into the kitchen.
In this sector, where many of the ISD's operatives resided, the apartments were built with practicality in mind.
Their duties at the Obsidian, the towering nexus of all Imperial Security operations, left little time for domestic life.
As a result, automation was abundant—machines for brewing, preparing, sorting, and cleaning.
But Phoebe preferred a gentler touch, especially when it came to things like making her tea.
Tonight, she wanted honey lemon tea.
And she wanted to prepare it herself.
She reached for the cast-iron kettle and filled it with water from the cold tap.
Setting it down over the stove, she turned the knob until the flame sparked to life—steady and blue.
Her fingers moved with methodical precision as she pulled out a lemon and a small honey jar.
Then, without hesitation, she lifted her hand over the cutting board, her fingertips glowing faintly.
A soft gust of wind shaped itself like an invisible blade.
It sliced cleanly through the lemon in two strokes, the air singing gently as it passed.
The cut was precise—something no ordinary kitchen knife could do without bruising the fruit.
Phoebe hummed lightly under her breath as she worked.
A simple tune that her mother used to sing during quieter moments in the estate's solarium.
She squeezed the lemon juice into a porcelain cup, added a spoonful of honey, and stirred gently as the kettle began to whistle.
Pouring the steaming water into her cup, she inhaled the scent slowly—citrus and warmth mingling to ease the tension coiled in her shoulders.
It always calmed her.
Gave her time to think.
She carried the cup to her desk in the corner of the room.
A polished darkwood surface littered with open notebooks, ink pens, and half-folded letters from the last few weeks.
She sat down with a soft rustle of her skirt and reached for her smallest notebook, flipping it open to jot something down.
As she did, something slipped from her coat pocket and landed on the floor with a faint clink.
Phoebe blinked and bent down, picking up the object between two fingers.
It was a key.
Not an ordinary one—this key was longer than most, forged from a metal so dark it appeared black in the low light.
The bow of the key was adorned with faint etchings—almost like veins or cracked stone—that shimmered slightly when tilted.
The teeth of the key were sharp and narrow, intricate in design, almost ceremonial.
It carried a weight to it, not just in feel, but in meaning.
Phoebe stared at it for a long while.
She remembered now.
She had found it when she was in Noel's office earlier that day.
Rummaging quietly—carefully—through drawers and ledgers, hoping for any clue about the missing funds allocated under his name.
She hadn't intended to steal anything.
But the key had been wedged behind the assistant's desk, almost hidden as though someone had dropped it unintentionally.
She sipped her tea.
She'd worked at the ISD long enough to know what keys belonged to what.
None of their classified storage rooms, archives, or secure vaults used keys like this.
So… what was this key for?
She tilted it again, watching the light catch on its edge.
Whatever it was, she would find out.
Eventually.
For now, she took another quiet sip of her tea. The lemon was just right.
And the storm in her mind... slightly less loud.
***
Lumi and Grassia were cozied up in their dorm room.
Their room was quaint—two desks facing opposite sides, a large window between them, and plush pillows strewn about their shared carpet.
The air smelled faintly of fabric softener and dried rose petals from the sachet Lumi had tucked under her bed.
They were lounging in their usual spots.
Lumi sitting cross-legged on the rug near her work table.
And Grassia lying stomach-first on her bed, her chin resting on her palms, legs swinging lazily in the air.
They had been chatting for a while now, mostly about the Embroidery Club, which Lumi had recently become rather passionate about.
"Do you think it's really going to work out though?"
Grassia asked, her brows furrowing as she fiddled with the end of her braid.
"I mean, like… grow and all, like the other clubs?
Not a lot of people are into embroidery, you know.
Some even say it's… kind of old-fashioned.
Like something only elderly folks would do."
"What? But the club patron does it!"
Lumi exclaimed, her pink brows rising in disbelief.
"And she's experienced in fashion…!"
Grassia shrugged a little, curling her fingers into the pillow.
"Yeah, I know, but—"
Lumi waved her hand in the air, cutting her off with an energetic grin.
"Don't worry about it! Even I didn't know how to sew properly before..."
She said brightly.
"But now I do! I learned… after being taught by him."
Lumi said vaguely, pressing her finger to her lips in mock mystery.
With a sudden burst of passion, she stood up and spun slightly, her oversized hoodie swaying around her waist.
She wore the standard school skirt beneath it, and over everything, her trademark pink apron that matched her bubblegum-pink hair to near perfection.
Her eyes sparkled like star-lit glass.
"One day, I'll open the best fashion and clothing brand in the entire empire!"
Her cheeks puffed out in pride, and she raised a fist to the sky as if declaring war on boring wardrobes.
Grassia closed her eyes and smiled warmly, exhaling through her nose.
"That's why I like you, you know?"
She said with a soft chuckle.
"You always manage to see things in the most positive way."
Lumi grinned and gave a quick, exaggerated rub of her nose with her thumb.
"Heh. It's a talent."
She dropped back down onto the floor with a light thump and then tilted her head.
"But hey, speaking of weird things… why did the club patron suddenly sniff him?"
Grassia raised an eyebrow.
"Sniff?"
"Yeah! It was weird! She just leaned in and—sniff!"
Lumi mimicked the motion dramatically, leaning forward and sniffing loudly toward nothing in particular.
"It's like she smelled someone else on him… or in the room.
Or… maybe she's just extremely weird?"
She said, giggling behind her hand.
"She probably smelt Senior Instructor Noel from him."
Grassia said flatly, like she was pointing out that the sun rises in the east.
Lumi blinked.
"Eh?"
"Why would she smell the Senior Instructor?"
She asked, scooting a bit closer.
Grassia looked at her like she'd just asked what color the sky was.
"Because Noel Saint Grenn is Nox Saint Grenn's elder brother."
Lumi's expression warped in slow motion.
First confusion… then shock… then complete bafflement.
She stared at Grassia, eyes wide, mouth open, clutching her cheeks.
"HUH!?"
"Wait—you didn't know?"
Grassia asked, raising her shoulders in disbelief.
"Well… I guess that makes sense. Your courses aren't connected to the Senior Instructor's at all, so you wouldn't run into him.
That's probably why you didn't recognize him… even after literally colliding with him in the hallway."
"B-But still! you should've known through Nox, right?!"
Lumi's eyes widened.
"Umm...I guess, But it's nothing like that...!"
Grassia smirked.
"Oh? Is that so? Then why..."
She leaned in mischievously.
"...are your cheeks as red as a farm-fresh tomato?"
Lumi instantly yelped, waving her hands in front of her face.
"W-What!? No! H-He was just teaching me stuff! Nothing else!"
She quickly tucked the loose pink strands of hair behind her ear, her hands fidgeting nervously.
Grassia couldn't stop giggling, leaning back with a smug, knowing grin.
But Lumi, desperate to change the topic, blurted out.
"Even if they're related—why would the club patron be smelling the scent of the Senior Instructor of all people?!"
"Well, you said he was in the clubroom, right?"
Grassia asked casually.
"Yeah…"
Lumi replied slowly, her confusion deepening.
Grassia folded her arms and gave her a look.
"Lumi, you really don't pay attention to things around you, do you?"
"Huh?"
"I mean, sure, we're only first years, but you do know there are tons of rumors and senior-student info passed down every year, right?
Like… stories that circulate from generation to generation?"
Lumi stared at her like a puppy trying to understand algebra.
Grassia sighed dramatically.
"The club patron and the Senior Instructor were engaged."
Lumi's jaw dropped.
Her hands shot up to her head as she clutched her hair in disbelief.
"They were engaged?!"
Grassia nodded.
"Well… not anymore. At least, that's what the upper-year students say.
Apparently, it was confirmed they're not together now."
She leaned back and added.
"Senior Instructor Noel just came back to the academy three years later.
That's all I know."
"...So sad," Grassia muttered under her breath.
Lumi began to panic, arms flailing slightly.
"I didn't know! Agh—I have to apologize again for spilling ink on him!
That's Nox's big brother!!"
"You said he's in the Magic Engineering Tower, right?"
She asked quickly.
"Yeah…?"
Grassia replied, slightly thrown off.
"I know just the thing!"
Lumi declared, springing to her feet.
She spun around to her bed, popped open her suitcase with a loud fwump, and began digging through neatly folded fabrics and threads.
Her eyes lit up as she pulled out a large, pristine white shirt, her arms stretching it open with flair.
Behind her, she laid out golden threads and materials with the precision of a master tailor unveiling her next creation.
Grassia watched from the bed, one eyebrow lifted, and smiled faintly.
'Oh dear.
Here she goes again.'
***
[Next Morning]
The next morning arrived with a crisp, pale light filtering through the tall, arched windows of the academy's east wing.
Inside one of its grandest lecture halls—known among students and faculty as Ganesha Hall.
Grassia sat slumped over her desk, resting her cheek against her palm.
Ganesha Hall was famed for being one of the largest and best-equipped lecture spaces in the Magic Engineering Tower.
With rows of ascending seats, multiple blackboards, and embedded arcane conduits lining the room's perimeter.
It was a marvel of both architectural grandeur and magical utility.
Normally, it housed high-level theory lectures or guest seminars.
For some reason, today, it had been allocated to first-year students.
Grassia let out a long sigh, her brown eyes drooping with disinterest as she stared at the smooth wooden surface of her desk.
The tips of her short brown hair lightly brushed her cheeks with every little shift of her body.
Her thoughts wandered back, bitterness creeping into her mind like a cold breeze.
'I was forced into this course…'
She thought.
'All because of Father. . .
Magic Engineering this, career stability that… tsk.'
She frowned.
Then muttered aloud.
"But seriously… why this lecture hall?"
Lifting her head slightly, she glanced around the large room.
It was spacious—far too spacious.
The kind of place that echoed with even a whisper.
The high ceiling stretched like the inside of a cathedral, with hanging crystalline lamps floating silently in the air above.
Only a few first-year students were present so far, all scattered and small in comparison to the towering structure.
"For first-years alone, this place is way too big…"
She muttered to herself, her eyes scanning the massive seating area.
"Did they run out of rooms or something?"
With a soft grunt, she reached into her school satchel and pulled out her student-issued notebook, flipping it open to the page that listed her weekly schedule.
"Let's see… Room [WS 1-8]…"
She read aloud, as well noting the time standard used for lectures at the academy.
Before she could finish processing the details, the sound of murmuring voices and shuffled footsteps drew her attention.
She looked up.
More students were entering the hall—but these ones were different.
She blinked, straightening up as her eyes scanned the new arrivals.
They wore the same blue uniform as the others—blue blazer, white shirt, blue skirts or trousers—but there was a subtle yet unmistakable difference.
Black ties.
Grassia's eyes narrowed slightly.
"The second years?"
She said, confused, watching as the black-tie students took seats with equal confusion, glancing around just as puzzled as she was.
She furrowed her brow and flipped her notebook back toward the schedule page, wondering if there had been a mistake.
Maybe she'd mixed up the location or the time?
Her eyes trailed down to the bottom right of the timetable page—where the instructor's name was written inside a thin box.
Her gaze landed on it.
[Senior Instructor Noel Saint Grenn.]
Her lips parted.
"Eh?"