"Arthur," Rachel murmured, leaning in slightly, "Should we go—"
She didn't get to finish.
Because that was when Cecilia arrived.
The atmosphere shifted instantly, the murmur of conversation dipping ever so slightly, as if the ballroom itself had noticed the entrance of someone who refused to be ignored.
She stepped onto the ballroom floor like it was her personal stage, dressed in a flowing gown of deep crimson, its fabric layered with sheer black accents that caught the light in a way that made her seem half-shadow, half-fire.
Her long, blonde hair had been styled deliberately loose, tumbling over one shoulder, framing her face with almost lazy elegance.
She smiled.
That smile.
The one that said, I am here to cause problems, and I am going to enjoy every second of it.
'Predictable,' I thought, keeping my expression carefully neutral. 'Let's see what she wants this time.'
Her crimson eyes flickered over the ballroom, scanning for her favorite targets—and the moment she spotted us, her smile widened.
Rachel sighed.
Lucifer, to his credit, simply crossed his arms, watching with mild amusement.
And then, just like that, Cecilia was in front of us.
"Well, well, well, look at you all."
Her gaze swept over us, lingering briefly on Rachel before locking onto me, her grin stretching into something that bordered on conspiratorial.
"Arthur," she said sweetly, tilting her head. "I must say, you do wear a suit rather well."
Rachel rolled her eyes.
Lucifer just chuckled under his breath.
"Thank you, Your Highness," I replied with a polite nod. "You look quite striking yourself."
'Neutral compliment. Nothing she can use against me, but acknowledges her status appropriately.'
"Where's your date, Cecilia?" Rachel asked, entirely unimpressed.
Cecilia laughed, the sound light, playful, and completely devoid of sincerity.
"As if I need one," she replied smoothly. "I prefer to keep my options open."
Ian finally turned from his audience, flashing her a grin.
"You're late, Ceci."
"I prefer fashionably late," she corrected, tapping her chin. "Besides, I had to make an entrance."
"That you did," Lucifer said, still amused.
Cecilia glanced at Jin and Ren, who remained detached from the conversation, before sighing dramatically.
"The anti-social duo is in full force tonight, I see."
"You should go bother them," Rachel suggested dryly.
Cecilia smirked. "Oh, I will. But first—"
She turned her attention back to me.
"Shall we dance later, Art?"
Rachel tensed instantly, her sapphire eyes narrowing.
I paused for just a moment—long enough to make it clear I was considering, not just accepting automatically.
"I'd be honored, Princess," I said finally. "Though perhaps after I fulfill my obligations to my current partner?"
'Polite deflection. Shows I'm not jumping at her command while giving a reasonable excuse.'
Cecilia's eyes flickered with interest at the slight delay.
"Of course," she said, though I caught the brief tightening around her eyes. She wasn't used to even mild resistance.
"Relax, Ray-Ray," she added, turning to Rachel. "I'm just being sociable."
Rachel clenched her jaw at the nickname but said nothing.
'Good,' I thought. 'Let her think I'm just being polite rather than strategic.'
Cecilia then clapped her hands together, pivoting effortlessly.
"Alright, alright," she sighed. "I'll let you finish your refreshments in peace. But I do expect that dance before the night is over."
She waved dramatically, before sashaying off to find her next source of entertainment.
Rachel watched her go, then let out a deep breath.
"You handled that well," she said quietly.
I shrugged. "Diplomacy is important."
The clinking of glass rang through the air, cutting through the hum of conversation with effortless precision. It wasn't just the sound—it was the intent behind it, the subtle manipulation of wind magic carrying it just right so that it commanded attention without feeling forced.
The room fell silent.
At the center of the ballroom, Instructor Nero stood tall, clad in a sleek navy-blue suit, looking far too comfortable in an event that many of us were still adjusting to.
"Welcome, everyone, to the Freshman Ball at Mythos Academy!" he declared, his voice carrying the warmth of a man who knew exactly how to hold a crowd's attention.
"You are all freshmen at the world's finest institution, destined for greatness and success in your lives post-graduation."
He let the words settle, letting the weight of them sink into the gold-trimmed, chandelier-lit air.
Then, with a slightly more relaxed tone, he continued.
"However, life is not just hard work and the pursuit of strength. To truly live, one must find pleasure in making connections, in spending time with those you consider precious. This event is designed to foster such connections—an occasion for pure leisure, to step outside the confines of our classrooms and training halls."
He smiled, then lifted his glass slightly.
"And so, we will now proceed with the first dance. I hope you all thoroughly enjoy the evening."
The orchestra, waiting for the signal, let the first soft notes of the waltz unfurl like a delicate thread of silk, weaving its way into the grandeur of the ballroom.
The moment had arrived.
I turned to Rachel, inhaling sharply before dropping into a formal kneel, meeting her gaze squarely. 'At least with her, I don't have to pretend.'
Her sapphire-blue eyes met mine, and for a moment, the rest of the room faded into the background.
"Would you honor me with this dance, my Lady?"
Rachel blinked, startled just for a second, before her lips curled into a small, delighted smile.
She placed her hand in mine, her fingers soft but sure.
"I would be delighted, Sir Nightingale."
I rose, her hand still resting lightly in mine, and together we stepped onto the dance floor, joining the other couples as the waltz began.
The music wrapped around us, filling the ballroom with a gentle, rhythmic grace.
Rachel and I moved in sync, our steps falling into the elegant rhythm of the waltz, the kind of dance that had survived centuries for a reason—timeless, fluid, a conversation without words.
One hand on the small of her back, guiding her movements, the other clasping hers firmly but carefully.
Rachel moved with natural poise, her every step graceful, effortless, as if she were meant for this.
Her dress swirled around her, shimmering under the chandeliers, catching the light with every turn, making her look like she had stepped out of some celestial painting.
I had read about moments like this before.
I had just never expected to be in one.
The tempo shifted, picking up slightly, and we followed its lead. Twirls, spins, steps that required unspoken trust to execute flawlessly.
Rachel's smile never faltered, her sapphire eyes glinting with something close to exhilaration.
And then, finally, the last soft note faded, bringing the first dance to its elegant conclusion.
We stood there for a moment, still locked in place, our hands still connected.
Then, Rachel tilted her head slightly, her smile softening.
"Not bad," she murmured.
I huffed out a quiet laugh. "Coming from you, I'll take that as high praise."
She laughed lightly, slipping her hand from mine but not moving away completely.
We stepped off the dance floor, heading toward the refreshment tables where a lavish array of mana-infused delicacies awaited.
The Academy did nothing by halves—even the food here was enhanced, the flavors sharper, the energy it provided borderline addictive.
Rachel and I were in the middle of picking out something when—
A familiar voice rang out.
"Sorry, sorry! But I already have a partner!"
I turned, eyebrows raising slightly at the sight of Cecilia Slatemark, surrounded by a small horde of suitors, each one desperately vying for a chance to dance with her.
Which, honestly, made perfect sense.
She was a princess, Rank 6 first-year, and a walking enigma wrapped in dangerously deceptive charm.
'If I hadn't known her true nature, I might have been among them,' I thought, but corrected myself immediately. 'No. I wouldn't. Even without knowing what she is, there's something fundamentally dishonest about how she presents herself.'
Cecilia, however, had no intention of entertaining them further.
Because she was already walking toward me.
Rachel sighed, already bracing for whatever came next.
And then, before I could even process it, Cecilia was right in front of me, her hand latching onto my arm with the kind of certainty that didn't allow for refusal.
'Bold,' I assessed, keeping my face carefully neutral. 'Touching without permission, assuming compliance. Classic power move from someone who's never been told no.'
"Arthur is my partner for this dance!" she declared, flashing me a wink.
Rachel's expression flattened instantly.
"You're serious?"
Cecilia grinned wider, then leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just enough to be dangerous.
"Please, please do me this favor," she murmured, her breath warm against my neck.
The temperature of the room spiked dangerously, though I was fairly certain it was just me.
Rachel's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.
And just like that, I was on the dance floor with Cecilia.
'Time to see what she really wants,' I thought.
Cecilia, naturally, tried to guide our positioning closer than standard, testing boundaries.
I allowed it for a moment—long enough to avoid seeming prudish—then smoothly adjusted us back to proper form during a turn.
"The other students are watching," I said quietly, as if concerned for her reputation rather than my own comfort.
'Frame it as protecting her, not rejecting her advances.'
Her lips curled into a knowing smile. She knew exactly what I was doing, but couldn't call me out without admitting her own intentions.
"How considerate," she murmured.
As we danced, she leaned closer during a particularly close turn.
"You're more interesting than I initially thought, Arthur Nightingale," she whispered.
Instead of stammering or blushing, I met her gaze calmly.
"Thank you, Your Highness. Though I have to ask—what changed your mind?"
'Turn her observation into a question. Make her explain herself instead of just accepting the compliment.'
For a split second, her confident mask slipped, showing genuine surprise at being questioned in return.
"Most people don't think to ask," she said after a moment.
"I'm not most people," I replied simply.
"No," she said, studying me with new intensity. "You certainly aren't."
"Mhm," Cecilia murmured, her crimson eyes gleaming with a mischief that never truly left them—like embers perpetually waiting for the right moment to ignite into flame. Her fingers rested lightly on my arm, their warmth belying the calculated coolness of her expression.
"Let's have a real talk after this dance is over, yeah?"