・┆✦At Aster’s Bedroom✦ ┆・

Aster sat by the window, gazing at the stars.

Her mind replayed the debate again and again—the tension in Randall’s voice, the way his expression had shifted in that final moment.

“Because I know.”

“What did he mean? Did he truly know something that the history books never recorded?”

‘I have to know. I want to know.’

She told herself it was because she aspired to be a diplomatic scholar—that a true diplomat must understand history. Yet deep down, she knew it was more than that. Something about Helios stirred a hidden thread within her. And with Randall’s last words lingering in her mind, it felt as if he knew something personal about what had happened there.

She drew in a slow breath, trying to calm her restless thoughts. Yet a spark of excitement lingered. For once, she had faced Randall without humiliation, without shrinking under his gaze.

But there was another feeling…

The thrill of speaking to him again after so long, even if it had only been through a debate.

And strangely, that feeling outweighed even Ranley’s praise.

・┆✦At Celentine Academy Dormitory✦┆・

Meanwhile, Randall stood on the balcony, feeling the cool breeze calm his mind. His hands rested on the cold stone railing as moonlight stretched across the courtyard, casting long shadows over the gardens below. He exhaled slowly, eyes unfocused, lost in thought.

Footsteps echoed behind him. He didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“Still thinking about what happened in History class?” Wren’s voice was calm, laced with something between curiosity and concern.

Randall remained silent, his usual composed mask slipping, just enough to reveal a flicker of regret, of quiet suffering..

Wren came to stand beside him, leaning against the railing with an easy air. “That girl, Miss Aster… she has a way of making you feel things you don’t expect, doesn’t she?”

A moment of silence stretched between them before Wren spoke again “You don’t need to dwell so much on the past,” he said softly. “Don’t let it bury you in guilt. Back then, you were only seven. You followed what you wanted because you were a child. That’s normal.”

Randall exhaled, the sound heavy with restrained frustration. “But you know that’s not what was expected of me. Even then, being young wasn’t an excuse to neglect my duty.” His voice firmed, steady as steel. “Now that I’m of age, I have no excuses left. I won’t let myself be swayed again.”

Wren tilted his head, studying him. “So… you admit something is swaying you now.” His lips quirked in amusement. “You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

Randall let out a low, humorless chuckle. “Hn. Just yesterday you were the one reminding me of what happened before. And now you’re telling me not to dwell on it?”

“I wasn’t trying to guilt you,” Wren said with a shrug. “I was reminding you not to be reckless. But you should move forward without letting the past weigh you down.”

Randall’s eyes slid toward him, sharp, as he shifted the subject. “By the way… Miss Aster, huh?” His tone was calm again, but deliberate. “How close have you gotten to her, that you don’t even call her Miss Winslow when she’s not present?”

Wren blinked, then smirked. “Is that so wrong? We’ve gotten closer since I taught her the piano.”

“You shouldn’t act so familiar with her.” Randall’s voice had hardened.

Wren raised a brow. “So even I’m not allowed to be friends with her?”

Randall exhaled sharply, his gaze hardening.

“Her arguments this morning brought back the weight of my past failures. I’ll treat that as a reminder of the role I have to uphold. I can’t allow emotions to outweigh duty anymore. And neither can you, if you’re to stand beside me one day. So keep your distance. Don’t let yourself get too involved with her.”

“I say you’re just jealous,” Wren muttered under his breath, eyes shifting to the side.

Randall’s head snapped toward him, a glare with an icy warning. “What was that?”

Wren forced an awkward smile, hands raised in mock surrender. “Nothing. No need to be so serious.”

Randall drew a slow breath, gaze lifting back to the vast, silver-lit sky.

It didn’t matter what he felt.

Whatever Aster stirred in him—it had no place here.

He had made his choice.

And this time, nothing—not his emotions, not his past—would make him falter.

・┆✦Thursday – Melodic Literature Class✦┆・

The class went on as usual. This time, Lady Shane handed out music sheets they had to study. Each student was to pick an instrument and pair up with a classmate who had chosen a different one. Together, the pair would arrange the piece and perform it in harmony.

Aster paired with Katharina. But as they studied the sheet, they noticed a difficult marking neither of them could decipher. Katharina turned toward Randall, but he was still occupied with tuning his violin, so instead she leaned toward Wren, who sat nearby with Randall as his partner. Wren was tracing the notes with his fingers, as if already imagining playing them on the piano.

“Excuse me, Lord Wren,” Katharina said. “You’re good at reading music sheets, aren’t you? Do you understand what this is supposed to be?”

Wren glanced over lazily before his lips curved into a grin. “Hmm… that’s just a quick note change. You bounce between two notes really fast. It’s called a trill. Easy, right?” He lifted his hand and tapped his fingers against the desk, demonstrating as if he were playing the piano.

“Well, easy for you maybe. Not all of us are prodigies, you know.”

Wren chuckled. “I never said I was a prodigy. But I’m glad you think so. Someone finally noticed my brilliance.”

Katharina rolled her eyes. “Aren’t you full of yourself. But fine—I’ll still say thank you.”

“Well,” Wren leaned back smugly, “since you’re humble enough to ask, I suppose I could teach you more.”

Aster, listening quietly, realized that unlike before, Wren hadn’t spoken to her at all. He hadn’t greeted her that morning as he usually did, nor tossed her one of his casual, playful remarks.

She shrugged it off. It didn’t really matter. Besides, he still seemed the same—laughing and teasing as lighthearted as ever, only this time with Katharina. He was like that with everyone, so perhaps it was a relief nothing had changed. Maybe he simply had nothing to say to her.

Her gaze drifted instead toward Randall, who was still focused on tuning his violin.

‘I wonder when I’ll hear him play that music again… the one he played that day.’

She didn’t even realize how intently she was staring until, as if sensing her thoughts, Randall lifted his head just as he raised his violin to test the strings. His eyes met hers.

Her breath caught. Quickly, she turned away, heat rushing to her face. The chatter of the class filled her ears, yet all she could hear was the pounding of her own heartbeat—and the weight of his gaze.

His eyes were colder than before.

Randall’s chest tightened the instant their eyes met. He hadn’t meant to look at her. He hadn’t meant to let his attention slip. But there she was watching him. His fingers curled tightly around the violin, and only then did he notice the rapid thrum of his own heart.

‘Not again.’

He reminded himself of the promise he had made to Wren on the balcony, the oath he had sworn to himself. He couldn’t falter. He couldn’t let her awaken the feelings he had long buried—emotions he once knew but had sworn never to feel again for anyone. He forced his heart to steady until Katharina and Wren’s bickering finally came to an end, just as Wren’s voice pulled at his attention. Katharina soon turned back to Aster, steering her focus toward planning their arrangement once more.

But though Aster kept her eyes fixed on the music sheet, she couldn’t shake the memory of Randall’s gaze.

The distance between them had never felt so wide. Not long ago, they had shared a quiet conversation in the library. Now, it felt like a dream that had happened a lifetime ago.

・┆✦Afternoon – Refined Expressions Class✦┆・

Miss Lydia stood at the front of the room, her posture as graceful as ever, and addressed the ladies with a composed smile.

“As you all know, the Celestial Tourney is fast approaching. It is not merely a contest of swordsmanship, but a celebration of honor and the virtues expected of men who will one day serve the kingdom. As part of your Refined Expressions studies, you too shall join this tradition through an embroidery project. Each of you will design and stitch a token of encouragement—perhaps a handkerchief or a scarf—to present to the gentleman you wish to support. The neatness of your stitches and the thought in your design will reflect not only your artistry, but also your sincerity and refinement as a lady. A well-made token is more than a gift; it is a mark of esteem, a quiet promise of trust, and a symbol of your grace. For this reason, each piece must be shown to me for approval before it may be offered.”

Excited murmurs rippled through the room.

“I’ll give mine to Lord Randall!” one girl gushed.

“Me too!” another chimed in.

Flavia shot them a sharp look. “Hmph! As if Lord Randall would accept yours. He’ll only accept mine.” Her voice softened into a dreamy sigh. “He’ll only be looking at me.” Her eyes gleamed with admiration.

Katharina leaned toward Aster with a playful smile. “No need to say who you’re giving it to. I know it’s for Lord Ranley.”

Aster laughed softly. “You got me.”

“Maybe I’ll give mine to Lord Randall. He’s the finest gentleman I know,” Katharina said with a chuckle.

Aster smiled, though a fleeting thought unsettled her.

‘Why did I suddenly think of giving it to Lord Randall?’

She shook the notion away.

‘I’m losing it. Of course, it’s for Lord Ranley.’

・┆✦At the Knight’s Arena- Martial and Chivalric Arts Class✦┆・

The men were in the midst of drills when Sir Ethan’s voice cut through the clang of steel. A retired knight turned instructor, his stance was firm and his tone steady, tempered by years on the battlefield.

“Listen well, men. The Celestial Tourney is upon us. This is no mere display of skill—it is a proving ground. You will face each other in honorable combat and measure your growth as future noblemen of the kingdom. One day, you will inherit the titles of your households. But remember this: leading is not enough. A true lord must also be a tactician and a fighter, one who can protect both his people and his kin.”

With a sweep of his arm, a large tournament bracket was unveiled. Names filled the board, the matchups carefully ordered by skill.

Near the top stood Randall’s name. Further down, Wren’s.

Wren let out a low whistle. “Looks like I’ll be facing Randall if I win my first match.”

Ranley clapped his shoulder with a smirk. “Good luck with that.”

Sir Ethan’s gaze swept over them, his voice carrying the weight of command.

“This event will not be held in private. All instructors and even the headmaster will be in attendance. Every student of the academy, from first year to fourth, will bear witness. But I’m certain you are all eager to hear this—by tradition, the ladies of your own year will present tokens to those they choose to encourage. These tokens are no mere trinkets; they are marks of respect and honor. The more you receive, the greater the weight of expectation upon you. Yet even a single token is no small thing—it signifies trust, freely given. And if you receive none, do not take it as shame. Your worth will be proven on the field, where steel speaks louder than favor.”

A ripple of chatter stirred among the men.

“I hope the noble ladies send me their gifts,” one called out, sparking laughter from others who quickly joined in.

Ranley smirked, puffing his chest a little. “Well, I expect more than a few. I’m rather popular, after all.” He exchanged a triumphant high five with Jarrett, earning a round of chuckles.

Wren only shrugged. “I’m not really expecting anything.” His lips curved into a wry smile as he cast a sidelong glance at Randall, curious for his reaction.

Randall, however, remained silent. His gaze stayed fixed on the board, unmoved by the noise around him. Whether he received a token or not mattered little to him.

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