Amon leaned against the classroom window seat, the gentle morning light catching his frame as he rested his cheek in his palm, looking visibly worn out. The chaotic ordeal with Zephyra had drained far more of his mental energy than any life-or-death battle ever could.
Observing his unusually drained posture from across the aisle, Seraphina felt a sudden wave of concern wash over her. She hadn't managed to get a single word with him yesterday—his schedule had been an absolute whirlwind following the duel, and their tracks hadn't crossed once. She had even scoured the grounds after his meeting with Headmistress Jacqueline, only to find he had vanished into thin air.
Stepping closer, she leaned in slightly. "Is something wrong, Amon?" Seraphina asked, her voice laced with genuine curiosity and a soft, tender worry.
Amon shifted his head, his blindfolded gaze turning toward the sound of her voice.
The moment his attention fell upon her adorable, upturned face—her eyebrows knit together in pure, unadulterated concern for him—every last drop of his lingering exhaustion disintegrated in an instant. His heart melted effortlessly, a soothing warmth flooding his chest as if heaven itself had quietly descended into the room to heal his weary mind.
"Nothing at all, Sera," Amon answered softly, his tired expression melting into a breathtaking, infinitely gentle smile. "Simply seeing you standing here... I feel completely revitalised."
"Then... why did you look like you had barely survived a natural disaster before walking in here...?" Seraphina asked, her brows furrowing with a touch of endearing confusion.
"It is truly nothing to concern yourself with, my dear," Amon chuckled smoothly, his voice regaining its usual effortless charm.
"Are you sure?" She slid gracefully into the seat right beside him, resting her chin on her hand as her bright eyes searched his face with thoughtful persistence.
"Entirely," Amon replied, his soft smile radiant and absolute. "I must apologise for not speaking with you yesterday, Sera. Between the sheer exertion of the duel and the prolonged audience with the Headmistress, I was completely drained. I spent the remainder of the evening on the Observatory Tower roof just to clear my head in peace."
Seraphina offered him a quiet nod of assurance, her eyes softening as she looked at him.
"It's fine, Amon," She said gently. "Ever since the duel, the entire academy has been talking about nothing else. Some of the upperclassmen are even claiming you've made history by felling a third-year student of her calibre."
She let out a soft sigh, her expression shifting into one of firm determination. "Just promise me that you won't do something so utterly reckless ever again."
Amon let out a low, melodious laugh at her words. There wasn't a trace of mockery in the sound—only genuine, warm amusement. "Where was the recklessness in that, Sera? I merely accepted her challenge to shake off the lingering lethargy from that bed rest."
"I want a proper promise, Amon," Seraphina pouted, crossing her arms and puffing out her cheeks in a display so devastatingly adorable that Amon felt a metaphorical arrow pierce straight through his heart.
"Too much sweetness! Critical damage!" He screamed internally, his soul temporarily ascending into the heavens while his outward demeanour remained unfazed, perfectly composed, and serene.
"I cannot make that specific promise to you, Sera," Amon murmured, extending a hand to gently caress her hair, his fingers threading through the silky strands with tender care. "However... I will promise you this: I will always ensure my safety. No harm will ever reach me, nor will I ever leave your side."
"Geez, why is the very first thing I'm forced to witness in the morning you two openly romancing each other?" Lucy interjected with a dramatic sigh, her tone dripping with a sharp, teasing edge. "We get it, alright? You two are completely head-over-heels for each other..."
At the sudden accusation, Seraphina's face flushed a deep crimson, and she instantly flinched away from Amon's tender touch in flustered embarrassment.
Despite the serene, effortless smile remaining immovably fixed on Amon's face, a single, prominent vein pulsed visibly against his temple.
"Lucy, perhaps if you dedicated even a fraction of your effort to developing actual charm, you might find yourself enjoying similar morning affection with Percy and Calisto," Amon replied, his voice terrifyingly calm. However, the underlying venom and absolute irritation were impossible to miss. "Regrettably, you invest all your talents into insufferable antics that guarantee you will never attract a suitor—assuming you haven't permanently driven them all away already."
"Ha?! Are you seriously trying to start a fight with me right now?!" Lucy barked, her temper flaring as she balled her fists, her knuckles turning white.
"Hardly. I hold zero interest in dropkicking weaklings," Amon shot back coolly, leaning back into his seat without so much as turning his blindfolded gaze in her direction.
An amused chuckle drifted from behind Lucy, courtesy of Percy Pantalone. "Ye two never change, do ya?" he chimed in, thoroughly entertained by the chaos. "Though I must say, ya two really do suit each other."
"I would sooner leap off a cliff than spend a single second linked to Lucy," Amon replied, turning his blindfolded gaze toward Percy, his voice completely flat and utterly unamused.
"And I would rather remain single for the rest of my life, Percy," Lucy snapped, crossing her arms and scowling.
"You are already single, though," Seraphina chimed in quietly, her cheeks still burning as she stared intently down at her desk.
The sudden, brutal delivery caused all three of them to freeze, turning toward her with wildly contrasting expressions. Lucy looked as though she had just been stabbed in the back by her dearest friend; Percy was biting his lip furiously, fighting a losing battle against a burst of laughter; and Amon wore a look of radiant, silent approval that screamed 'that's my girl!'
"Oh my, what do we have going on here?"
A light, melodious voice drifted over as a familiar figure approached their group. It was none other than Jeanne. She halted beside the desks, her eyes sweeping over the scene with playful curiosity. "Why does Lucy look as though she has just endured ten stages of betrayal?"
"Because she has," Percy wheezed, desperately trying to maintain some semblance of composure. "Sera just dropped a line that has left her completely sulking."
Before Jeanne could inquire any further, the classroom door swung open, and Professor Celestia stepped inside.
"Alright, settle down, you problem children," she commanded calmly, her authoritative voice instantly cutting through the lingering chatter.
At her instruction, the students scattered to their assigned desks. Jeanne slipped gracefully into the seat directly behind Amon, while Percy and Lucy took their places in the row right in front of him.
"Today's class will follow a slightly different structure," Professor Celestia announced, resting her hands against the podium as her eyes swept over the room. "The chairpersons of the various Academy clubs will be arriving shortly to present their respective organisations. Each club maintains strict entry prerequisites. Should you meet the necessary criteria and hold a genuine interest, you may approach the corresponding representative to initiate your application."
. . .
"Join the Student Council, Amon," Sophia coaxed affectionately, clinging to his right arm and pulling it against her chest.
"Join the Combat Republic, Dear," Zephyra demanded in that same sweet, possessive tone, tightly wrapping her arms around his left.
The atmosphere in the classroom spiralled instantly into pure, surreal chaos. The moment the club representatives had filed into the room, Zephyra Valkaress and Sophia Von Crown had completely ignored the rest of the student body, vaulting straight toward Amon to lay their claim.
To the average onlooker, Amon remained the picture of composure—sitting tall with a serene, polite smile fixed on his face. But to the sharpest observers in the room, like Jeanne, the faint twitch in his jaw made it glaringly obvious that he was suffering through agony. It was a spectacular, deeply amusing sight, effortlessly stealing the attention of every single person in the room.
"I have no intention of joining either the Student Council or the Combat Republic," Amon stated smoothly, his voice flat as he pulled himself out of their grasp.
The entire room went dead silent.
"Why?!" Both girls demanded in unison, their eyes snapping toward each other before Sophia locked Zephyra in a venomous glare.
"My brother has no business joining a club for brutes," Sophia spat, her voice dripping with pure hostility as she shielded Amon. "He belongs at my side, managing the academy's elite. And more importantly—why are you addressing him as 'dear'?"
Zephyra's grin only widened, entirely unbothered by the sudden spike in murderous intent radiating from Amon's sister.
"Because he is my husband, of course," Zephyra declared casually, resting a hand on her hip.
The revelation hit the classroom like a physical shockwave. Gasps echoed off the walls, students dropped their pens, and even Professor Celestia's icy posture shattered as her jaw visibly slackened in disbelief.
"She made that up," Amon sighed, his exasperation finally breaching his polite facade. "We are not—"
Before he could finish the sentence, Zephyra lunged forward, sweeping him up into a suffocatingly tight embrace.
"Oh, stop being so coy, Dear," she cooed, her voice dripping with playful malice as she deliberately buried his head against her chest. "Are you truly going to pretend we didn't share a bed last night? After all that desperate affection you gave me the moment you woke up?"
"WHAT?!" Sophia shrieked, her voice skyrocketing an entire octave as her face twisted into a volatile mixture of unadulterated shock and white-hot fury.
Meanwhile, a cloud of utter despair hung over the adjacent desk. Seraphina had retreated into the far corner, curled in on herself and rocking gently back and forth as she chanted under her breath like a defensive spell: "This is just a bad dream... this is just a bad dream... this is just a bad dream..."
"Indeed it is, Sera. A particularly absurd one at that."
A light, melodious chuckle sounded right beside her ear. In a fraction of a second, Amon had seamlessly folded space around himself using magic, escaping Zephyra's suffocating grip to materialise instantly at Seraphina's side.
Gently placing a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, he offered her a warm, reassuring smile.
"There is no need to worry," He murmured, his blindfolded gaze flicking back toward the chaotic front of the classroom where Zephyra and Sophia were already glaring daggers at one another. "I assure you, no such travesty ever took place."
While the chaotic storm surrounding Amon, Zephyra, and Sophia continued to escalate across the room, Jeanne had already turned her attention toward the back row. Stepping away from the drama, she approached the senior from the Chess Club.
"I'd like to apply for membership, Senior Claudia," Jeanne said politely, though her trademark playful edge still glinted in her eyes.
"Hmm..."
Clara Claudia didn't look up immediately, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the glass of her digital tablet as she reviewed Jeanne's academic file.
She was a striking second-year—fair-skinned and tall, with a slender yet beautifully curved silhouette framed by the standard academy uniform. Golden embroidery blazed across the back of her robe, depicting a coiled dragon that marked her status as a member of the prestigious Dragon House. Fastened around her left biceps was a polished brown armband embossed with a silver Queen chess piece, signalling her authority as the club's chairperson.
"Your credentials are more than adequate," Claudia stated calmly, finally lifting her dark brown eyes to meet Jeanne's gaze. "However, paper qualifications mean little on the board. To secure a spot in the club, you must complete a rapid match against one of our senior members. If you manage to force the game into an endgame phase without getting crushed in the opening and middle game, you're admitted."
"That sounds simple enough," Jeanne chuckled, leaning against the desk with effortless confidence.
"I wouldn't celebrate just yet," Claudia added, her tone dry and matter-of-fact. "Your assigned opponent is not known for showing mercy."
"Even better," Jeanne said, smiling, her bright, sapphire eyes flashing with excitement. "I'd be terribly disappointed if you handed me an easy victory."
. . .
"Do not joke with me!" Khalia slammed the digital dossier onto the metallic table, her frustration boiling over as she glared at the holographic display floating before her. "You are telling me I have to deploy on a high-priority mission with Amon?"
On the other side of the transmission stood Arnold Von Crown.
As the head of the Magic Administration Bureau, Arnold held supreme authority over all matters regarding Magium, effectively overseeing Khalia's division, the Magic Research Department. Yet despite the weight of his position, the patriarch of the Crown family exuded only an air of effortless, polite elegance.
"Precisely, Miss Silverstone," Arnold replied, his smile serene and his voice perfectly measured. "Originally, the assignment was designated for you and Oberyn Lockhart. But instead of Mr Lockhart, my son will be going."
"What brought about this absurd change?!" Khalia demanded. "Sir, Amon was only recently appointed as a Prosecutor, and the Aimus managed to assassinate him merely a short while ago! He is an extraordinarily high-priority target. Permitting him to drop into an active combat zone is absolute madness!"
"Miss Silverstone," Arnold's smile remained immovably fixed, though his golden eyes narrowed with a sudden, razor-sharp edge. "Every Prosecutor walking the field is a high-priority target for the Aimus. Amon is my son, yes, but he is first and foremost a Prosecutor. He accepted the mantle fully aware of the mortality rate attached to it."
He folded his hands and put them on his desk, his tone laced with quiet, terrifying pride. "Furthermore... my son is not so pathetically fragile that a handful of disposable Aimus toys could ever hope to put him in the ground."
Khalia forced a slow, deep breath into her lungs, fighting to regain a shred of professional composure.
"Sir, with all due respect," She said, her voice strained against her rising temper, "the intelligence brief you forwarded indicates the presence of multiple Harbingers. Beyond that, the enemy has deployed both Disruptor Mechs and Cobra Reapers to the sector. I assume you have not conveniently forgotten the fate of my colleague, Michael Marks?"
"Mr Marks was ambushed by a strike squad of Disruptor Mechs anchored by a Harbinger," Arnold noted smoothly, his expression unbothered. "At the time, we possessed zero tactical data on the Disruptors' anti-magium capabilities. His casualty was an unfortunate anomaly we lacked the foresight to prevent."
"SIR, EVEN WITH THE FUCKING DATA WE HAVE NOW, WE ARE LOOKING AT MULTIPLE HARBINGERS AND AT LEAST THREE FULL SQUADS OF DISRUPTOR MECHS!" Khalia's composure snapped entirely, her voice echoing violently off the reinforced walls of her office. "WE CANNOT AFFORD TO LOSE AMON! I AM NOT FUCKING OMNIPOTENT! I CANNOT DEFEND AMON WHILE ALSO SIMULTANEOUSLY DEALING WITH THOSE PRICKS! AND YOUR SON DOES NOT EVEN KNOW HOW TO KILL A HARBINGER PERMANENTLY!"
Arnold's expression remained perfectly unruffled, the quiet authority in his eyes contrasting sharply with Khalia's furious outburst. He picked up a porcelain teacup from his desk, taking a slow, deliberate sip before setting it down without making a single sound.
"You sell my son far too short, Miss Silverstone," Arnold said smoothly, his tone dipping into a velvety, dangerous warmth. "He has proven on multiple occasions that he is exceptionally capable of handling high-risk scenarios, has he not? Furthermore, he is hardly unfamiliar with Harbingers; he has engaged them in combat before."
"Sir, he was unable to kill them permanently!" Khalia interjected, her voice tight with mounting agitation. "The Aimus possess near-absolute regeneration. Even if their body, soul, mind, and foundational information are completely erased—even if you scrub them from collective memory and historical record—they still manifest back into existence!"
"He invoked Pandora's Box—an SS-Rank Void spell—against them," She continued, pointing a sharp, accusing finger at the projection. "He wiped their physical form, consciousness, soul, memory, and very history from reality, yet they still returned! What in the world makes you think this time will yield a different outcome?"
"Because the variables have shifted." Arnold chuckled softly, unbothered by her intensity. "He commands his familiars now, he has refined his Personal Magic, and according to my reports, he has acquired a blade capable of projecting madness through its concept alone."
He rested his hands neatly on his desk, his smile remaining serenely confident. "I have complete faith that my son will devise a solution this time."
Khalia stared at the holographic feed, a bead of cold sweat tracing down the back of her neck. "You are insane. Both of you. The entire Crown family is completely out of their minds."
"Perhaps," Arnold replied with a light, noncommittal shrug, the projection beginning to distort as he prepared to terminate the connection. "Deploy into the designated sector with all deliberate speed, Miss Silverstone. My son will rendezvous with you shortly after your arrival."
The feed cut to black, leaving Khalia standing in the heavy silence of her office within the R.S. Advanced Academy.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, she let out a long, exasperated sigh. She picked up the metallic tablet from her desk, her thumb flicking rapidly through the updated file on Amon Von Crown.
"This is going to be an absolute nightmare of a mission," she muttered under her breath.