<Chapter 20>

In truth, Jian was putting on a show of nonchalance. He had no idea what had gotten into Ren, but the guy had taken to trailing after Kar like he was the cutest thing alive.

Even when Kar shot off waves of utterly terrifying killing intent, Ren brushed it aside without a second thought—and that alone stirred a flicker of admiration in Jian. *If anything, it’s Ren who’s the real menace with those threats of his.*

The first time Jian had glimpsed that sharp, gleaming aura radiating from Kar, it had choked the air right out of him. But Ren? He ignored it outright. And Kar, perhaps worn down by his own efforts, simply hung there in Ren’s arms with a look of utter boredom.

From a distance, Jian had always pegged him as frightening. Up close, though, he wasn’t quite what he’d imagined. That impassive face gave off an oddly languid vibe, almost slothful. The way his eyes shifted, the overall slowness of his movements—it all moved at a deliberate crawl.

*Sir Kar is…*

In Jian’s estimation, Kar was a creature of profound laziness. So much so that he might even find the effort of shoving Ren away too bothersome, opting instead to just dangle along for the ride. And that guess? It hit perilously close to the mark.

“Kar, you’re not planning to skip out on the dorm again tonight, are you?”

“…”

“That silent treatment’s cute in its own way, but don’t forget—your smile’s even cuter.”

“…”

“I warned you: no answer, and I’ll kiss you.”

*A kiss.* At Ren’s not-quite-a-threat of a threat, Kar’s expression darkened. He ground his teeth, and a low voice rumbled out from him.

“…I’ll kill you.”

“Where’d you pick up language like that, you little punk!”

“Put me down.”

Jian, who’d been watching the back-and-forth, nearly burst out laughing. He clapped a hand over his mouth just in time, but Kar’s eyes flashed with sharp awareness.

With a flick of his arm to shake off the grip, Kar rose lightly onto his toes and slipped free from Ren’s hold. Freed so effortlessly, Ren’s eyes drooped at the corners in a crestfallen pout.

“You’re running again! Hey, Kar! How’s a tiny thing like you so damn fast!”

The sheer absurdity of chasing him at that speed made Ren’s retreating figure look almost pitiful. Jian stared after him, his face a tangle of conflicted emotions.

*Is this… really okay?*

* * *

“Submit your pair reports by the end of the week. Fall behind, and you might miss out on the sparring sessions altogether.”

Time flew by in a blur. Laren had been scrambling to track down the professor from the recent Qualitas theory class. As a six-circle mage with deep expertise in Qualitas, she juggled an endless stream of specialized duties—which made catching her outside lecture hours a nightmare.

*What now?*

Laren propped his chin on his hand, frustration mounting. He couldn’t exactly bombard her with questions about the Demonium Curse right in the middle of class.

And then there was the sparring pair issue he’d completely spaced on—his head throbbed at the thought. Jian had teamed up with his cousin, and the rest of the students still wouldn’t even deign to chat with Laren.

*At least there’s one other person who’d talk to me…*

Right now, that “one other” was Pignone and his crew, slinking closer with oily smirks. Ever since the cafeteria dust-up, they’d ramped up their bullying to a relentless pitch.

Before, they’d at least kept up a veneer of courtesy—but now? No need for pretenses. It was clear as day: no matter how Laren played it, Pignone’s antics wouldn’t let up.

“Where’s that filthy stench coming from…?”

“Smells like it’s wafting off you, Lord Pignone.”

“You bastard!”

“Oh? Shocked by how spot-on that is?”

Sick to death of it all, Laren couldn’t sling spells—not without consequences—so he poked at Pignone’s nerves with barbed words instead, then bolted like always. He edged backward on tiptoe, grinding his teeth.

*Damn it, just run into me off-campus for once.*

“Commoner scum!”

Every time, Pignone couldn’t resist the bait and flew into a rage—but why did he keep picking these fights in the first place? *What, is it the proud Pignone family honor to never let a slight slide?* Laren shook his head in pitying disdain, and that was all it took—Pignone forgot all decorum and charged.

“You filthy rat!”

*Whoops.*

Laren’s face flushed with panic as he whipped around to flee. The hallway dead-ended into a wall. Trapped. Eyes darting, he flung open the nearest window and vaulted out, clinging to the frame before leaping precariously onto the broad branches of a campus tree ahead.

“You!”

“Quit being such a pain in the ass. What, you leave something with me?”

“You son of a biiiiiitch!”

“Bored much? ‘You bastard’ is all you’ve got? Aaaah!”

Laren had pushed Pignone’s buttons to the hilt when his body suddenly tilted toward the ground. His foot slipped on the vertical grain of the branch. As the earth rushed up to meet his vision, Laren went pale as a ghost.

*I’m gonna hit!*

He curled his arms over his head to shield it on impact—but the bone-jarring pain he braced for never came. Instead, a faint, familiar whiff of cologne wafted over him, and he squinted through furrowed brows. There, in his line of sight, was someone who had no business being here.

*…En…sis?*

His own reflection stared back from those golden eyes, catching the sunlight. Laren’s mouth fell open a fraction, breath forgotten.

What twist of fate had dragged Ensis—buried in ducal duties—here? It couldn’t be official business; the academy uniform he wore said otherwise.

Maybe he’d enrolled at Reditern Municipal Academy with some goal in mind—or, more likely, come sniffing for leads on Laren. The latter felt all too probable.

Ensis’s face showed no flicker of recognition, and Laren flicked cautious glances his way, probing. It was near-expressionless, but Laren knew better: gears turning furiously beneath. Then Ensis’s lips curved in a gentle smile, and he lowered Laren carefully to his feet.

“You should be more careful.”

*…He doesn’t recognize me?*

Laren’s features twisted in wary suspicion. He wanted to say something—anything—but remembered his voice hadn’t changed. One slip of the tongue, and Ensis might put two and two together.

With no contingency in place, he couldn’t risk even the slimmest opening. Infuriating as it was, when it came to scheming, Ensis sat squarely at the top of the heap. There was only one way out of this mess.

Laren inched his feet backward, then broke into a sprint at top speed. A clean getaway bought time for next time. No retreat, no advance.

“Huff… huff. What the hell is *he* doing here?”

Only after running until his lungs burned at the brink did Laren finally glance over his shoulder. Thankfully, there was no sign of Ensis pursuing him.

“Haah….”

Laren exhaled a breath of pure relief, but it did little to ease the brooding weight settling over him. Among the people he least wanted discovering the truth of his curse, one had just appeared out of nowhere.

Ensis Tatio.

The most inscrutable soul he’d ever encountered in a lifetime of crossings. Though lately, one more had joined that dubious rank.

Ensis had breezed through every education thrown at him, and his swordsmanship had surpassed academy entry standards ages ago. For someone like that to enroll here just to bury himself in studies? Absurd. The only hypothesis that held water was that he’d deliberately enrolled to track down traces of Laren.

“Does he not recognize me… or is he pretending not to…?”

A chill, ominous aura began to seep from Laren as he muttered to himself. In a situation where he hadn’t even grasped a single thread on the curse, trying to game out what churned in Ensis’s mind felt utterly overwhelming.

His eyes rolled as a tangle of worries knotted in Laren’s head. Even Ensis might not deduce the full extent—not just the male disguise, but an actual gender swap. Maybe he’d dismiss it as a mere resemblance….

“Aaaargh!”

With a guttural howl, Laren clawed at his white hair. If he was found out, he’d be Ensis’s lifelong plaything—no question. The only option was to steer as clear of him as possible. A foreboding premonition swept over him: academy life was about to get even more exhausting.

* * *

Ensis finally shook free of the throng and brushed the wrinkles from his uniform. He’d planned to hunt for Laren on day one, but fat chance of that.

The Reditern Municipal Academy, where noble heirs studied, doubled as a kind of social club. Some enrolled purely to lay groundwork for their eventual place in society.

He’d slipped in under the radar, but word had spread like wildfire—soon enough, students from every corner were swarming him. The Tatio Ducal House sat at the apex of the food chain, not just in the academy but across the realm. There was no better spot to cozy up to the next-generation heir.

Day one: hounded by classmates. Day two: hemmed in by circling young ladies, rendering movement impossible.

By day three, with the same circus unfolding, Ensis skipped lectures outright to claim some solitude. There were weightier matters than class.

*Shall I go?*

The recommended enrollee named Ren was a commoner in the magic division’s D-Class. The swordsmanship A-Class building and the magic D-Class were separated by the academy’s farthest expanse.

Without seeking him out deliberately, they might not cross paths for months. Ensis strolled leisurely toward the magic division’s courtyard, scanning his surroundings.

“The noisiest spot should do it.”

Wherever trouble brewed—that was prime Laren territory. Oddly enough, Laren’s presence always drew crowds, and chaos trailed in his wake like a shadow.

“You wretched cur!”

As Ensis wandered the new courtyard by the magic building, a shrill, fractured shout pierced his ears. His lips curved into an involuntary arc.

“There he is.”

Certain now, Ensis drew nearer to the building—and through a window on this floor, he caught shadows twisting in a tangle. The window flew open with a bang, and a slight-framed boy leaped precariously onto the branches of a tree across the way.

The boy, clambering up and gripping a limb, cocked his head in a taunting tilt toward the pink-haired man below. The fellow jabbing a finger from the sill looked familiar.

Ision Pignone. Eldest son of the Pignone count family. The boy yelling back at him was half-obscured by foliage, his face not fully visible.

“You!”

“Quit being such a pain in the ass. What, you leave something with me?”

“You son of a biiiiiitch!”

“Bored much? ‘You bastard’ is all you’ve got? Aaaah!”

The boy, mid-snarl, slipped from the tree and plummeted. Ensis reacted on instinct, propelling himself forward. A weight far lighter than the boy’s build suggested landed in his arms.

No surge of pain hit as expected, and the boy cracked open the eyes he’d pinched shut in a scowl. Those blue eyes began to quiver as they locked on Ensis. Ensis studied the boy’s face, laced with shock, inch by inch.

*A boy?*

At first glance, he’d assumed it was Laren in male disguise—but the frame cradled against him was boyish through and through. Had he taken to blowing up the ducal manor and, what, invented a gender-swap spell on top? A wildly outlandish fancy, defying all natural order, but with Laren? It wasn’t impossible.

Either way, the dazed face staring up from his arms belonged to Laren, no doubt. Ensis, observing closely, clocked the sidelong flickers—the boy’s clear intent to bolt.

“You should be more careful.”

After a beat of deliberation, he decided to play along. The gaze of a mere bystander could prove entertaining, after all. His golden eyes crinkled with mischief.

* * *

*…I’m exhausted enough to drop dead.*

Try as he might to calm himself, the shock of encountering Ensis wouldn’t settle. Deciding at least to give his body some rest, Laren headed for the dorms. The door swung open to reveal an empty room, just as he’d half-expected.

*Still gone.*

From what he’d observed, Kar spent more nights away than in. The Reditern Municipal Academy enforced strict controls on entry and outings.

*Definitely suspicious.*

As the empire’s flagship school, it housed vital texts and hazardous materials, and with most students hailing from noble houses, security was ironclad. For Kar to treat overnight absences like casual meals—where on earth was he crashing?

That tiny frame didn’t scream danger—scratch that; given his sword skills, peril seemed unlikely. Kar still clammed up tight about why he’d ended up captured by the slave traders.

Laren’s lips pursed in a pout as he clutched his aching head. Wrestling with a day’s worth of thoughts had left him starving on top of it. He rummaged in his treasure chest for chocolate with a rustle when the dorm door creaked open. His eyes widened at the welcome sight.

“Kar, where’ve you been? Want some chocolate?”